"What do you want for lunch?"
I'm tired. Five hours in Sickbay with the Doctor's sardonic subroutines and exercises aimed at getting my strength back not to mention hours of lovemaking this morning, "I'm not hungry. I want to take a nap".
I amble over to the couch and let myself fall into it. I close my eyes – just resting them.
"Fine," his weight settles next to be, "but don't fight me when dinner comes." He's tired too. More than he'll admit, the past week has been a drain. He hasn't slept, hasn't eaten. He's been through every single emotion: worry, terror, agony, elation, and passion.
"Do you want to go to your bed?"
"Mmm" I grunt. Yes. Bed. It's a lovely notion, but I'm too tired to get there by myself. So, he carries me. People always complain about them, but I've grown to love these stiff Starfleet issue mattresses. I feel his presence leave, "stay" I mumble. So he stays. He lies against my back. One arm supports my head while the other drapes possessively around my waist, his hand splayed protectively over my abdomen reminding me of her. Unconsciously I smile and capitulate to sleep.
His thumb strums over my belly and moves up to my ribs, the underside of my breast, and brings me back to consciousness. I'm warm. Blissful. His lips kiss my neck and I roll over to look at him. I've seen him every day for the past five years. I think of the first day that I saw him. He materialized on the bridge, ready to pounce on me like a cat. But, he didn't. I had been sent to capture him – bring him to 'justice', but the Universe had other plans. Yes. The Universe knows how to manipulate Kathryn Janeway. Our whole journey – both in the Delta Quadrant and more intimately here in the bedroom has been scripted from the very beginning. Hit by this sudden revelation, I smile.
"What?"
"You and I," I whisper.
"What about us?" he kisses my hair.
"We were always meant to be together, weren't we?"
He lifts his face from my hair and his eyes meet my own and he smiles. For a moment, he says nothing, unsure if my question was rhetorical or demanded a response. But, in the end, he feels the need to respond, "Always".
The exercises on my hands and arms have been having an effect and I am able to bring my right hand to his face. Emotion swells within me as I slowly caress his brow. He closes his eyes and bows his head, relishing my touch and accepting it as a benediction. I trace the black pattern above his eye, memorizing it with my flesh.
"Thank you" the words seem so inadequate for the gratitude that I feel towards him.
"Why are you thanking me?"
"Because you're patient with me"
"I'm patient with you because I love you"
"You've never pushed me, why?"
"Because I knew you'd come to me in your own time"
"How long would you have waited, Chakotay? We're supposed to be out here for 60 years. Were you going to wait all that time?"
"Yes."
"Why? You want a family. A wife. If this hadn't happened to me – if I hadn't let her slip – you would never have known."
"Have you already forgotten your epiphany a few moments ago?"
"What?"
"We were always meant to be together. She was always meant to be. If it hadn't been like this, there would have been another opportunity". Chakotay's spiritual beliefs and his trust in an unknown hand – a cosmic director- have become comforting to be in the years since he began to speak with me about it. I had been raised without religion or spirituality. Before I met Chakotay, everything was random. Humans and all other life forms were a cosmic mistake. Yes I know this belief isn't particularly rational given the complexity and diversity of our universe, but it's what I'd always been taught and I never questioned it. But, Chakotay has shown me that there are things that my textbooks and microscopes can't explain. We are one of those things.
"I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
"For hurting you, Chakotay. I've hurt you over and over these past few years."
"No. You needed time".
"No one has ever loved me like you do. I'm scared of you, sometimes".
"Why are you scared, Kathryn?"
"What if I lose you?"
"You won't."
"You can't promise that."
"What if I lose you?" he turns the question back on me.
"I don't know."