Note: Everybody's asking for some J/C. So here's some...sort of. More soon.

Part 4

"I'm trying to understand why you're doing this."

Chakotay sighed. As if by an unspoken agreement to keep things as light and normal as possible, they'd eaten dinner in his quarters. But the meal had been suffused with a tense and wary silence, a marked contrast to the warm, affectionate evenings they'd shared since her return. The trappings were the same as always – candles and flowers, a fine wine and a rich dessert – but there was an anxiousness that hovered over the table, too, a careful stillness that amplified every click of flatware and magnified every guarded look.

The caution was as familiar as the affection had become. It dated back to their first trip through the quadrant and the many times he'd sat in the same quarters, at the same table, and said some variation of the same words to her.

He tossed his napkin onto his empty plate. "I don't think I need to justify my decisions regarding ship's business to you, Admiral."

She turned away from him as if she'd been struck, no doubt hearing an old echo of the words in her own voice. While he regretted her reaction, he knew he'd again made the necessary point: Voyager was his ship now, and unless she chose to overrule him as Fleet Admiral, his decisions were final.

Kathryn folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. "No, you don't need to justify your decision, Captain, and you know that whatever you decide will stand. But I had hoped…" She closed her eyes. "I had hoped you would at least explain yourself to me."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if there was a difference, but he refrained when he heard the catch in her voice.

Of course there was a difference.

The Admiral would never overrule him and undermine the Captain's authority with his crew, any more than the Commander would have undermined the Captain's in anything other than a life-or-death situation. He knew that deep in his bones. But he also knew in that same deep place that it wasn't the Admiral asking him to clarify his reasoning. It was the lover, the friend, who needed to understand why he wanted to send the young family away.

He leaned his elbows on the table. "It's not safe enough."

She swung around to face him, eyes flashing. "It's safer than it was last time."

"We didn't have a choice last time."

"And that's what makes it safer! We're a fleet now. We have backup. Not much backup, I admit, but backup. We're in contact with HQ and we have the means to send them to safety if we have to."

"Not good enough," he countered. He pointed to the viewpoint behind her. "If some hostile alien drops out of warp right now, hell-bent on our destruction, how long will it take us to ready a shuttle with the drive, load B'Ela and Miral into it and send them back?" When she didn't answer, he leaned across the table toward her. "How long, Kathryn?"

She raised her chin. "Hours."

"Hours they can't spare." He gathered their dirty dishes into a pile, rose and crossed the dining area. "It's just not safe for them to stay here." The loud clatter of the dishes in the recycler was deafening in the silence that followed his declaration.

"What if we pre-equipped a shuttle and kept it on standby?"

"We'd still lose precious minutes getting them into it and launching it. And then they'd be a target, too." He retrieved the battered silver coffee mug he'd taken from her office after her funeral and filled it with black coffee from the replicator, and ordered a chamomile tea for himself. "It's out of the question."

"If it's the space you're worried about—"

"Damn it, Kathryn, it's not the space." Exasperated, he stomped to the sofa and placed their drinks on the coffee table. When she didn't join him right away, he looked up to find her still seated at the table, staring at him with wide, sad eyes. "It has nothing to do with the space," he said, more gently. "We have plenty of that."

"So you have no objection to sharing quarters?"

He ran a hand over his face. "I didn't say that."

"You do have an objection to it?"

"I didn't say that, either."

"Then what's the problem?
He clenched his fists in his lap, tamping down his anger. "The problem is that you assumed without asking me. You made the decision for me."

She blinked away the tears that were threatening in her eyes. "I tried to tell you, Chakotay. It wasn't a decision, it was a suggestion. You've made it very clear that you and only you make the decisions on this ship." Her voice, cold as ice, was one he'd heard before.

"On the ship, I do. You know that." He waved to the space between them. "But in here, in this relationship, we're equals."

"Are we? Given our positions, can we ever be equals?"

He felt his shoulders slump. "Kathryn…"

She held a hand up to stop him. "No, I understand. I do. Better than you can possibly know." She rose swiftly and retrieved her boots from the corner where she'd left them.

He stood up. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk. I need to get away to think."

"Wait." He darted to her and took her arm gently. "Just wait a minute." She looked up at him with wary expectation. "A few weeks ago I told Hugh I knew this relationship wouldn't be easy for us. I told him we were going to have to be careful not to fall back into old patterns of behavior. I think maybe this is one."

"What is?"

"You walking away from an argument."

She wrenched her arm away from his grasp. "Maybe. But maybe you should look to your own behavior."

"Excuse me?"

"You say it's not the space issue that's driving this. You say it's resources and safety. But I suspect there's something else at play that you haven't even bothered to think about yet."

His mouth fell open. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You letting your emotions drive your decisions seems very familiar to me, Captain."

He turned his back on her. "Enjoy your walk, Admiral."

When the door slid open and closed behind him, he picked up her full coffee mug and flung it across the room.

Damn it.

Damn her.

She had no right to accuse him of faulty decision making, not as his former CO, not as the Fleet Admiral, and certainly not as his lover. He was the Captain of the ship now, not her. His decision would stand, regardless of its foundation – rational or emotional, or both.

Rational, he told himself. All rational.

It just wasn't safe. Why couldn't she see that? There was still a Universe of good to do in the Delta Quadrant, and even though they knew many of the threats they would face, there was no way to anticipate them all. Fleet or no fleet, the Delta Quadrant was no place to raise children. It hadn't been the first time, and even though Naomi had turned out just fine – as had Icheb, and as Miral would have, had they stayed in the quadrant longer – now that they had the choice between an uncertain and itinerant shipboard existence and a normal life on a planet somewhere, it would have been irresponsible not to send them back.

Chakotay stood and stared at the puddled of spilled coffee on his floor and the battered mug lying against the wall, panting in the silence Kathryn had left behind.

As much as he would miss them, it was time to send Tom and B'Elanna and Miral and the little one back to the Alpha Quadrant.

With a tired sigh, he wandered over to his desk in search of Harry's Security report.

Safety was the issue, not space. Kathryn's quarters were vast. Space wasn't the problem and never had been.

He found the PADD he was looking for under a pile of Kathryn's work PADDs and stalked back over to the sofa, scrolling through the report as he went. Because he wasn't watching his footing, he stepped in the puddle of spilled coffee and cursed his own carelessness.

He dropped onto the sofa and peeled off his wet socks.

She practically lived in his quarters anyway.

Half the PADDs on the desk were hers, not his. She had her own desk in her own rooms, but she preferred to work in his quarters. She kept a spare uniform in his closet. There was a bottle of lavender-scented shampoo in his shower, too. Her favorite nightgown was tucked under his pillow, and she'd even taken to replicating fresh flowers for his table.

She'd all but moved in, without even asking him.

Chakotay ground his teeth and tried to read Harry's report, but the words swam in front of his eyes.

Tom and B'Elanna would be foolish not to go back to Earth. They had a chance to lead a stable life, a normal life filled with children and laughter and love. They'd get a dog, probably. Paris had always had a dog growing up. He'd want that for Miral and the baby-to-be.

Chakotay flopped onto his back. Why couldn't Kathryn see it's what they deserved, what they needed?

The scent of coffee filled his nose.

He turned his head and regarded the puddle of cooling coffee staining his carpet, and beyond it, the battered coffee mug.

She'd been thrilled when he'd presented it to her. He'd sheepishly explained that he'd wanted something of her with him on his Voyager, and the most representative thing he could think of was the silver coffee mug. He'd never used it, just gave it a place of honor in his quarters where he could retrieve it when he felt sad or lonely. He'd cradled it in his hands and cried a few times when missing her had become such a fierce ache he needed the cleansing that only tears could bring.

She'd cried, too, when he told her the story, and thanked him for saving it for her. "It's all I have here," she'd said, holding it against her cheek.

He'd remembered what it was like on their first voyage through the Delta Quadrant, when he and his crew had found themselves on Voyager without any of their familiar things around them. They'd all felt off-balance and untethered, until Gerron, sweet, innocent Gerron, had walked among them with an armful of objects he'd managed to retrieve when they'd fled the Valjean. A holo of Mike Ayala's sons. A sweater from Hogan's quarters. A scarf belonging to one of the Delaneys. Other things, mostly mundane, now saturated with an undeniable sacredness.

And for Chakotay, his medicine bundle.

Gerron had handed it over almost reverently, and Chakotay remembered the tears that had threatened to spill from his own eyes. So far from everything and everyone he knew, he and the others had something familiar to cling to.

He'd thanked Gerron on behalf of them all. "This is a start," he'd said. "Now we can start making this our home."

It's all he wanted for Tom and B'Elanna and their children. Something to cling to, someplace to call home.

He stared at the battered coffee mug, the familiar thing that Kathryn had clung to upon her return from "suspension."

He closed his eyes and pictured the petite Admiral's uniform in his closet.

The PADDs on his desk.

The flowers on his table.

The nightgown under his pillow.

She'd hadn't "all but" moved in. She had moved in.

With a cry of realization and anguish, Chakotay levered himself up off the couch, lurched across the room and knelt beside the coffee mug.

She was trying to make a home for herself…with him.

He couldn't deny her that comfort just because it hadn't been his idea. Hell, if she'd have floated the idea eight years ago, he'd have been ecstatic. Now that their positions were reversed, now that he was the one in charge within the walls of this ship even though she outranked him, he'd let his stubborn pride – and a handful of old hurts that shouldn't matter anymore – get in the way of their happiness.

And Tom and B'Elanna's.

Spirits.

He picked up the coffee mug and pressed it to his forehead, feeling the tears spill down his cheeks.

Kathryn had been right. He'd let his emotions affect his decision making. But it wasn't just pride driving his choice. It was jealousy.

Tom and B'Elanna had a chance to go back to Earth and build for themselves what he himself had wanted for so long: A home. A real home, filled with laughter and love and children and a wife and maybe even a damn dog, if she wanted one.

He'd made his case to her for staying in the Delta Quadrant, and deep in his soul he knew it was the right thing to do, even if it meant that idealized home life was out of his reach. But if he couldn't have it…he'd send Tom and B'Elanna away to have it for him.

He didn't have the right to make that choice for them. There was no regulation against raising a family on a deep-space assignment. The Galaxy-class ships were even equipped for it. They'd made concessions on this very ship for children on their initial voyage through the Delta Quadrant, and they could do so again. If Tom and B'Elanna wanted to stay, it was their choice, not his. His only responsibility was to make sure they had what they needed – space for the children chief among those needs – and were as safe as possible.

And he could have a home with Kathryn. He already did. It couldn't be everything he wanted; life in the Delta Quadrant was too uncertain and their positions in Starfleet too much at the whim of others to ask Kathryn for the kind of commitment he craved. But it would be enough.

He would have to make it be enough.

With the mug cradled in his hands, he turned around and sat with his back against the wall, oblivious to the cold coffee seeping into his trousers.

He wondered if he could ever make this night up to Kathryn.

-END Part 4-