Professor Janeway, thankyou for accepting my call' his voice sounds confident, he hides well the nervous energy that is catching him. He has his own command stance.

He looks at the cautiously polite, still face of the woman on the vidscreen, tracing the similarities and the differences. clearly related, but not similar. however, he can see the tenseness in the eyes and jaws, just like her daughter.

'this is a social call' he says gently, aware of her previous loss, that he is in uniform, that perhaps he should have thought just a little bit more. He chides himself. There is a lot of delta quadrant behaviour to let go of before rehabilitation is complete.

...and at this her face relaxes. It is only just noticeable to someone, who like him, has made a study of the Janeway mannerisms.

'i am sorry, Commander Chakotay I believe?' and he berates himself further for missing the other half of the introduction.

'Yes, sorry, Commander Chakotay XO of the federation starship voyager, your daughters...friend' and at this she raises an eyebrow, and there is the very slightest movement of her eyes, infinitesimally small, but clearly suggesting he is babbling. He would swear that it is an aborted eye roll.

'what can I do for you, Commander' he notes that she is still formal, her face giving nothing away, and wonders whether she has heard something of his recent relationship misadventure. Unfortunately, he thinks that this is likely. After all, a woman that had been told of his promise, would also be aware that it had ... not lapsed entirely but taken a back seat, particularly on the personal front.

He smiles his best smile to her, and explains that he has invited her daughter for dinner, something they used to do regularly, but, well, had stopped for a myriad of now inconceivable reasons. That he is hoping that he can atone for rainchecks past and go some way towards... re-establishing their friendship. That it is important to him, that it might be one of the most important things currently.

He trails to a close, babbling again. There are definitely improvements to be made to his civilian interactions. He also thinks that his earnestness has probably explained more of his hopes than he would have liked. However, sometimes it is best to put all the cards on the table, particularly to the mother of the woman that he has wronged.

She thaws, he smiles and dimples, and her mother's recipe for vegetable biriani that he was hoping for is eventually his, and as a bonus, the recipe for caramel chocolate brownies that she hasn't even shared with Phoebe. The conversation is longer than he had planned, he finds more of his hopes and aspirations are revealed than he had expected, and he blushes at her strategising on his behalf, clearly having completely understood the subtext of his call. He is left with an effusive goodbye, and request that he call her Gretchen. He believes that perhaps he has her approval. He hopes so.

The afternoon debrief and counselling is luckily straightforwards, allowing him to plan in the gaps to the minute his strategy for when he is released. He hurries back to his apartment with the ingredients delivered. He feels galvanised. First the dinner, following Prof Janeway's recipe, the vegetable biryani is prepared and placed to be heated at the appropriate time. The brownies are also created.

Smiling and humming an old song from his childhood he gazes critically at the sterile quarters that surrounds him. He shakes his head at the idiocy of ever thinking he could be happy in such an environment. He had pared himself down so much that none of him remained on view.

Today has been all about action, moving forwards, actually living. introspection, or the avoidance of introspection, has played little part outside of the counselling. This time with a betazoid expert, rather than the triage counselling of before. She knew when to push, when to listen. She said counselling was like an external validation of the internal conversation he should be having, but also a chance to re-examine where he placed importance. It had been a relief, to finally say what had been blocked, that had only just been touched on with Paris. To start to uncover all that he had buried, to understand why it was buried.

It gives him pause, Kathryn did this too, earlier perhaps than he did. Her responsibility was so much greater, her guilt a strangling vine that had periodically pulled her under. He wonders for the first time since that terrible time in the void about her health. He wonders about the Admiral that came back for them. He thinks that there was perhaps a lot they should have wondered sooner together.

At least they have that chance, now.

He swings back into action. He is a man who given a chance balances introspection with purposeful action. He has sublimated personal purpose to a shared goal, a shared gaol he thinks, and now he is reclaiming the personal. He is actively shaping his future.

Opening a beamed down crate from Voyager he is soon singing loudly a medley of songs, often hopping from one to another mid verse, as he spreads his treasures around the room before consigning the crates back to starfleet requisitions.

His favourite throw sits once more on the back of the couch, he smiles at it, imagining Kathryn snuggled in it , late in the evening perusing PADDS with a frown until he plies her with coffee, wine and stories. His smile widens remembering her capitulations, and then false reprimands when she realises how much time has flown past laughing. His smile deepens as he now wonders where coffee, wine, stories and laughter may lead now that they have the freedom and opportunity to explore this friendship.

The hotchpotch of tribal carvings he created on voyager and, he thinks with reverence, New Earth are interspersed with his memory laden archeological finds. He can finally give his life on New Earth the position it deserves. It was short, but it was important. Hiding it from himself, the crew and not sharing the relevance with Kathryn after their return damaged him. It damaged them both, making decisions to demonstrate they had moved on. There will be no more burying of actions and consequences.

He even places some much treasured books mostly kept at his bedside on the shelves. The eagle glyph sits happily with the representation of flight he carved after seeing the sky spirits. His spiritual and creative side comfortable with his passionate interest in xeno-anthropology. This is not a starfleet commander's quarters. This is his space.

His hands start to itch to feel wood take shape in his hands once more. it has been years since he had the desire to be creative, let alone had the time. Not today, he has other priorities today.

The biryani has started cooking, and the wafting spice smells warms him. He is happy, truly happy. Not just because of the delicately judged neurotransmitter rebalance required and given that accompanied the treatment to his jaw, nor the betazoid counselling although both of these has played a part. He knows that now, and he can use these tools to become himself. No, he is happy because he has a path, a journey, and a hope for its ending. He is not lost.

He feels his heart expand. He knows that there are no certain outcomes from this dinner, even if he secretly, or perhaps not so secretly, hopes she might stay for breakfast. He tells himself that they first need to rebuild trust, air those grievances and lance the past. The hopefully they might together find the spark that fizzed between them, give time for the feelings to grow... His body responds to his elation, and he has to tamp that down.

Friendship first, he says to himself sternly.

But he hopes.

He looks around his quarters, yes they feel like his, there is still a something he needs to add.

Candles and some peace roses are placed on the table, but still...

he then replicates some frames with Voyager celebratory images through the years and places these on a shelf. He has gained everything from this time. These people are his family, thrown together they created a whole. He speaks a blessing as his fingers trace the frames. Not his only family though, and a much beloved image of his sister, husband and son is placed on the shelf too.

Finally, and somewhat bashfully, he unwraps the image of himself with kathryn from a luau right at the start of the journey. He has always loved this picture. It has been hidden, but now he places it with the others. There to be seen, but not dominating. He imagines her fingers trailing over it, wondering. He hopes that it will be a message.

The crate contains other items, dear and precious.

He unfurls the silk quilt of many colours and takes it to his bedroom. It doesn't cover the bed, and instead he drapes it like a banner across the middle. He has finally admitted to himself the imagery and purpose of this gift, its promise not just its beauty.

his dream catcher once more takes pride of place above his bed, and then, with some reverence, he brings the headboards into their place. Created on New Earth, packed away for years, he can look on them again.

He is content with the honest simplicity of this room. It is done. It is ... enough.

It catches him by surprise, that he can be content again. Such a change from just one action. He owes Tom.

-0-0-0-

He showers unhurriedly, letting the water flow across his muscles, moving them with the powered flow and letting them dance, and then relaxing into the sensation. As always he had before he says the short prayer for the blessing of water, reconnecting both with his spiritual self and history, and feeling the strength it gives him. He could say that he is being reborn in the water, enjoying the warmth as it cleanses him, visualising stepping forth the man he plans to be.

He imagines the course of the water droplets, closed eyes and deep regular breathing, a meditation, placing in them worries of the day, of previous days to carry away. Those worries are his no more. He feels the jets massage his head, and he shakes it, allowing water to fly free, with his concerns over his past actions, dispersed and without power to hurt.

He feels a course of water move down his jawline, edge the sternocleidomastoid and then trickle down over the sternum. Some of the water divaricates over the pectorals, outlining the muscle. He is honed. Since Quarra he has boxed, worked out, trying to instill that way self worth. He allows the mistaken accounting of self worth through body image flow free as the water streams across rectus abdominis. Despite it being a poor representation of self worth, he is rather proud of his toned body, the delineation of muscles and he hopes that she will like it too, that she will think him worth waiting for. He knows that it is on the level of their souls, their heart, their mind that the real joining occurs, but he has some vanity, and for this moment he wants to see desire for his body in her eyes.

In the shower he imagines her small yet so active hands following the trajectory of the water, down past the psoas, lower. He is at one with the water. He feels it ebb and flow across him, caressing and promising. He is at one with the primeval forces and he draws strength from that.

In this watery cocoon, he allows himself the luxury of imagination.

Humming once more, he steps out towards his future. A low slung towel loosely wrapped around his hips, he towels dry his hair and shaves, a nice close smooth shave. He remembers how she likes to run her hands across the side of his face. He hopes that she will do so again, his imagination again has her slim fingers stroking, caressing. He growls at himself as he raises his eyebrows. Just friends, remember. Slowly! He has plenty of time...

He looks in the mirror and sees a confident alpha male looking back, wanting to demonstrate his... best for his mate. He grunts dismissively at the black hair that he faces. It is time to be completely true to himself so he runs the sonic over his hair. the doctor promises it will return to its natural look, though clearly couldnt leave well alone and commented on the aging effect and how undesirable this might be to a young woman. He is somewhat shocked by the amount of grey and is nearly tempted to replace the colour. Instead he holds true and looks more carefully grins and thinks...wolf! It suits him, it is him as he is now with seven years of additional peppering of wisdom, seven years! it was folly to hide.

He hid so much.

The glint is back in his eyes, and his dimples are primed. The woman of his heart, dreams and future is once more in his sights, and he is confident. Yes! Finally he is confident. He is confident that they can share dinner, laugh and draw closer.

Clothing, well, he thinks it is time for something new. Something bold, and yet understated. He wants her eye to rove over him, he wants to be the focus of her attention. It is time for them to see each other as the people they are, not hiding beind their roles. Yes, he would like to reference their shared past, but the time for uniform is gone. his replicator rations are copious. Although he knows she liked his maquis look, he wants to reflect who he is now, or who he hopes he might be. Starfleet and maquis, combining his contrary nature. he looks through the options, yes a deep wine red silk shirt, slightly loose at the top, but tailored. He shrugs it on, keeping the top buttons undone. He knows what even one undone button has acheived in the past. three? he has hopes.

He grins at himself and shrugs on the very tightly fitting black jeans. Usually he might be more casual, a T and a loose overshirt or jacket with loose trousers, she mocked his vests, but this time... semi formal and also more revealing. She has always liked to place her hand on his chest and there is no harm in reminding her and ensuring a sensual experience when she inevitably does. The shirt tucked in, to remind...people... that tucked in things can be untucked. A belt with a buckle he designs, silver, worked and shaped like the serpents in the book of kells. He likes the symbolism, even if not his tribe. It also draws the eye.

He grins at the effort he is taking. She deserves his best.

He is stepping out into the living area as the feeling hits him. Absolutely spot on time. He hopes that she has dressed casually too. He feels that thrill of excitement in his belly, and somehow he knows that this is going to work.

He has hopes.