'what the actual...!' he thinks, nursing his sore jaw as he sits in starfleet medical. That Paris got a punch in shows him how much things have changed. That he broke Paris's jaw as an automatic maquis response reflex makes him more despondent. No, actually he is horrified. He is not this man, he doesn't recognise himself. What the hell is going on? To him and to the crew. That they should have come to blows! That Tom wouldn't press any charges is neither here nor there. He should have had control. He is better than this.

Kathryn would be both furious and disappointed. He knows shame.

The medic fusses around and fixes, and then scuttles out. He is gazing at the counsellors card with mandatory appointment in his hand when a cough and a barked 'report' has him jumping off the biobed and at attention.

A clearly angry Admiral Paris hoves into view before him. He looks down from the glare, unable to justify his eye contact. Well, so ends his starfleet career, he supposes.

Spirits, but Kathryn would be so ashamed of him. He cannot help the sag to his shoulders, and unwanted, his face falls into a picture of misery.

Kathryn! He had no idea. He hadn't known. He hadn't...cared.

'two to beam to my office'

and unexpectedly he finds himself in a well appointed but not ostentatious space. Paris orders tea from the replicator and puts it on the table infront of two comfortable chairs.

'Sit'

the automatic reaction has him sat even before his brain has processed the command, the chair and the tea mean not a ream out. Paris is looking carefully at him, and as before, he cannot meet the gaze.

'i see' paris begins in a considered, almost avuncular way.

'When I read Katie's logs around making you first officer, I was horrified. She made leaps of faith that I could find no basis for. Yes, she made a rational plan based on crew merger, but first officer?' he pauses.

'drink up!' barked again, and he hurriedly picks up the tea, and despite its temperature being hotter than he is used to, and lacking sugar more bitter, he does indeed drink.

'and then as her logs progress, I can see her trust paying off. In fact, I see her seeing you as an equal, worthy. I know Katie, and I know how to read her when she talks about her crew. She trusts you implicitly. With her life, in all respects'

He doesn't know what to say, so he takes a sip of tea. He is thinking of Voyager, and how he wishes that were still true.

"I would think that for the second time in her life she has let her heart rule her head, except that my son and his wife also see you as that man. Or did.'

He looks up and sees compassion in the Admirals eyes. 'I have been there Chakotay, perhaps not the same there, but I have lost my sense of self, of worth and made... unfortunate choices'

Paris stands up and walks to his window, San Francisco streets spread out. Not a bridge view, Chakotay notices.

'I let down my family, alienated and lost my son. Kathryn has brought them back. I have a second chance. You cannot wait for so long for your second chance Chakotay'

Paris turns and faces him again. 'PTSD? Decision Fatigue? I'll let the pyschs sort that for you slowly over time, but I would like you to start now and step back up to the plate'

He starts to shake his head, but Paris is not going to let it go so easy. 'What about Kathryn?' he demands 'aren't you going to stand by her side?' he quotes 'and make her burdens lighter?'

He is quick to anger and stands, 'those are...'

'private logs?' Paris responds. 'Maybe, but I got those words from Gretchen. You may wish to consider how they got there?' and after a pause 'and if you still want them to hold true'

Paris has spoken in an even tone, and sits in an un-threatening way, and is out of shape, and yet... He bows to the inevitable, nods and sits. He has come to this.

'drink your tea' says Paris.

Silence stretches between the men. Chakotay continues to gaze into the tea, hoping to find truth, hope and resolution in the leaves at the bottom.

Finally he talks. Halting, ragged half whispered sentences pick up momentum and turn into rushed cadences, falling over themselves in the eagerness to be said, to escape, words jostling for primacy. Paris, for all of his unprepossessing exterior has been there, as he said. he has been shaped by his experiences, and realises that he is the fulcrum, the pivotal point for Chakotay to reshape his future before he loses the chance. And so Paris sits and listens. It is akin to the confessional.

He does it because of their shared love for Kathryn. He does it to repay her for returning his son. He does it because he recognises the lost soul in front of him. He does it because he is an excellent starfleet admiral.

Finally the turbulent stream in spate that is Chakotay's cry for self-understanding trickles to a close. Paris replaces the empty cup with a fresh one and nods. This, then, is the forgiveness.

He looks at the mug and then Paris, finally meeting his eye. They both know he will go to the counsellor, whose card is tucked in his uniform. They both know that he has already achieved the key step. He has self-recognition.

Stepping back into himself, he straightens and then with Paris, begins to formulate a plan. A plan to get Kathryn released back to them.

-0-0-0-

He doesn't need to decline Seven's offer for dinner. It has been decisively withdrawn. She is quick to inform him that she is horrified at the primitive exchange of punches earlier. Chakotay is not who she thought, a gentle man. Instead, he appears to have had an energetic rage about him. He has never shown her this side, although she had heard stories of his past and discounted them as hearsay. Clearly she saw him in command, but even so, and despite the terms of their meeting, she has created a different underlying frame of his personality. She has confused him with a tempered and adapted holocharacter developed for her instruction. She has been in... error. She suddenly feels apprehensive in his presence, uncertain what trigger would make this stranger re-appear.

She states her approval of their relationship termination, that it was inappropriate to have attempted intimacy with a father figure, and that she will avoid similar disappointment in the future.

He agrees that perhaps he felt more of a paternal responisbility for her welbeing, and the lines were inapporpraitely blurred. He is not aware how his violent outburs has affected her. Even if he thought about it, he may well have underestimated its impact. He has never really fully understood that Seven has several different developmental ages due to her time with the Borg. He knows the tsunkatse fighter in her and believes she is not affected, unlike the captain, who understood Seven's horror all to clearly and her visceral response to primitive violence. He therefore calmly agrees that there has been learning on both sides and wishes her all the best, rather than apologise and attempt an explanation for his altercation.

Borg do not run away, even humanised borg, but she certainly has a rather brisk pace as she makes her escape. He hopes that it isn't into the doctors photonic arms that she falls. She deserves to test romance more appropriately.

Instead he goes to join what is left of the senior team, boosted by Ayala and prepares to take their condemnation.

-0-0-0-

Finally back in his quarters he gets to replay the day. He sees the connections between the debrief, keeping him off balance as it continues to push an offensive action against his captain, his dissociative state related to the PTSD the counsellor has provisionally diagnosed and he and Adm Paris both clearly agree with, and his avoidance of decision making , also attributable to keeping his requirements to place his life and welbeing at Voyager's disposal. The window the admiral opened and the counsellor widened has let in a cleansing draft that allows him not only to see those decisions, but forgive himself, well, at least in part.

More surprising has been the ready forgiveness of his voyager family. A punch from B'Elanna before she handed over Miral, and he had slipped back into their company as if he had never beem away. A humble apology to Tom, gracefully accepted before a resumption of friendly banter that was wholesome, and medicine to his torn heart and worn soul. Breathing in their friendship, as necessary as the oxygen in the air, he is finally able to see a path to his future.

As more of the senior team join them, overjoyed at their return, he finally joins the dots, that the captain's segregation is a pre-court martial protocol. The harshness of questionning looking for divisions, the tearing open the logs and parsing them for dissension. The senior team's outrage he captures, placing it in a context, a statement to present to the admirals determining her immediate future. Reviewing all their worst disputes, the resolutions as well as highlighting the beacon she set for them, they work into the night.

He was energised by being back in the team, he wonders when and how he was ever separated. His sense of self, confidence in his command and strategy, lessons deeply embedded, are there to surface. When Seven and the doctor creep in, uncertain of their welcome, he is the first to step up, welcome them and get them up to speed. This is the team that Kathryn built, working together with purpose under his direction. He isn't quite back to himself, but he feels something unfurl. He feels confidence and strength return. This is not just her team, it is his too, as she has always said.

As he opens his medicine bundle, retrieved from obscurity, he clears his mind to make his peace with his sense of self. He needs to be all that he is to stand for the crew at her side.

Akoocheemoya...

-0-0-0-

He strode into the tribunal venue as the XO of Voyager. Proud, commanding of presence and yet also as an honest witness for interogation. He was succesful. He felt as he gave his testimony and that derived from their crew, the flux of the admiral's position. His years of experience, his tactitian skills, honed with the multiples of first contacts and negotiations in the delta quadrant allowed him to direct those currents. In truth, the admirals were keen to find his Captain excellent. They needed the raw data, the lens of his experienced eyes to be confident. The dominion war had disturbed them from their confidence, they had tasted doubt, fallibility and were keen for surety where there was uncertainty. He provided it.

Their final questions, delving into the interpersonal relationship of the command team gave the truth of the Captain's parameters, if not in the direction she would have supposed. He also clearly stated his objective to change those parameters irrevocably now the command team were home. He was not asking permission.

-0-0-0-

i am sorry, this is a nth multiple attempt to re-write this. Either my mojo has left, or my plan was too complicated for my skillset. But I did need to put out the turning chapter, and so here it is. I might try again.