A/N: Had to take a pause there for a minute. Had to find my breath again. Suddenly, unbelievably, writing a modern-day story of love and fellowship crossing economic and racial divides seemed far more science fiction than any knock-down, drag-out space battle I've ever written. But on we go, eh? On we go. Big thanks to MissyHissy3 for her comments and suggestions.

Thirty Three

But baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor
You know, I used to live alone before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah – Leonard Cohen

"Mark?" Kathryn elbowed open the back door, her arms full of paper bags. There was no answer from her human companion, but Molly bounded towards her, as happy as ever. "Mark? Are you here?"

"I'm in the snug," came the answer.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she called, as she made it to the kitchen table and pushed her load onto it. "I've brought dinner home. Have you eaten?"

There was no reply. Frowning, Kathryn pulled her bag from her shoulder and shrugged off her jacket before making her way along the hallway. Mark was sitting on the old leather couch, but he wasn't watching the game, as she'd expected. The television was off. Instead he'd apparently been sitting there in silence. He was leaning forward, his forearms on his knees and his hands clasped together. There was an open bottle of red on the table with two glasses beside it, one already in use.

"Mark?" she said. He looked up at her with shadowed eyes and instantly a thousand terrible scenarios exploded in her mind: had something happened to her mother? To Phoebe? Kathryn pressed a hand over her heart as the most obvious answer occurred to her.

But he'd been awake. He'd been in recovery. Oh God. Oh, God-!

Mark must have seen at least part of her thought process as he stood up, hands raised. "It's all right. Everyone's all right."

Kathryn dropped her hand, heartbeat still erratic. "Well… what, then? What's happened? What are you doing, sitting here like this?"

He smiled slightly. "Come have a glass of wine."

She waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Don't you want to eat? It'll go cold."

Mark opened his mouth to say something and then seemed to change his mind. He shook his head and gave that same strange smile again. "Please, Kath. Just come sit down. All right?" He sat, patting the empty space on the sofa beside him.

Kathryn crossed to him slowly, wondering what the hell was going on. She guessed he had some sort of bad news for her, but couldn't imagine what would necessitate this sort of preparation. He'd already said that no one was dead or dying. Molly was clearly fine. Perhaps it was something to do with the wedding arrangements? Had the florist pulled out? The caterer? But surely Mark knew better than to imagine she'd be truly upset by something so ultimately trivial? Not upset enough to warrant this, anyway. She sat down as Mark poured her a glass of wine and then picked up his own, cradling it between both hands.

"Mark," she said. "Whatever it is, just tell me. What's wrong?"

He clenched and unclenched his jaw, then took a large mouthful of wine. Kathryn put a hand on his arm and he turned to look at her. She froze. There were tears in his eyes.

"I love you," he said.

"I know you do," she said. "I love you too. Mark-"

There was a pause, and then: "There's no easy way to say this, so I just have to… I can't marry you, Kathryn."

She stared at him blankly. "What?" A buzzing started up in her ears. "I don't- What?"

Mark reached out and touched her cheek, then dropped his hand to her shoulder, his thumb stroking across her clavicle through her blouse. "Kathryn," he whispered. "We can't do this. We just can't."

A numbness spread through her, affecting her limbs, affecting her thoughts. Her hand shook. She lost her grip on the glass and it fell. Kathryn gave a cry, trying to catch it. She failed. It smashed against the hand-woven kilim she knew he'd brought back from Afghanistan twenty years before, back before the world had turned insane. The wine spread across the weave, obliterating the pattern in a wash of dark claret. She went to leap up, wanting to go get something that would help her save it, but Mark put his glass down quickly and caught both her hands, holding her there.

"Leave it," he said, "Kath, leave it, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. Kath, look at me. Please. You can't run away from this. You can't postpone it or push it into the background. You have to listen to me now. Please."

"I don't understand what you're saying," she said, trying to free her hands, "What are you saying?"

"I know this must be a shock-"

"Where is this coming from? What happened? This morning everything was fine. So what's - Is it what happened with Chakotay? I thought we'd put that behind us, Mark, I thought that-"

"It's not about that, Kathryn, or at least not in the way you think. Listen to me. Listen to me. It's for the best."

Kathryn shook her head. "You don't mean that. You can't."

He shook his head. "I wish I didn't."

"You don't…" she shook her head, so perplexed that speaking was difficult. "You don't want to marry me?"

Mark made a sound in his throat, something sad and strangled. "I want to, Kathryn. I can't believe I'm doing this. But I have to. I have to because you can't."

"What are you talking about?" she said, "Why are you doing this? We've been together for ten years. Of course there'll be rocky patches along the way. Every couple has them. I know I hurt you, Mark, I know I made a mistake. But I love you. You love me. Don't you? That means we can get past it, doesn't it? Or are you so angry with me that you don't even want to try?"

Mark looked down at her hands, still clasped in his. "You've got it backwards," he said. "I need you to understand that this isn't a punishment. This isn't because I'm angry, Kathryn, or because I want to hurt you."

She shook her head. "Then what? We can't just throw this away, Mark. Is that really what you want to do? I swore to you I'd never hurt you again and I meant it. Don't you believe me?"

Mark pulled one hand away from hers and squeezed his fingers into his eyes, tears running down his cheeks. "Of course I do," he said. "I know that if we married, you would be as faithful as the day is long, because that's who you are." He shook his head. "Maybe you'd even be happy with me. But would you be as happy as you could be? Would you be as happy as I want you to be? I don't think so. I can't give you that and I know it. If we married there would always be a part of you that's unfulfilled and I don't want to do that to you. I can't love you and knowingly do that to you. I love you, Kathryn. That's why I'm doing this. "

"Where is this coming from?" she asked. "You can't mean this. You can't. I don't believe it. You can't say you love me in one breath and tell me it's over in the next, Mark, you just can't!"

He pulled away from her and stood, wiping both hands over his face. "Jesus, this is hard."

Relief gripped her, washing over her anguish in a flood. She stood, reaching for him. "Then don't do it. Don't. Let's just – let's just talk about this. All right? Whatever you're feeling, we can talk about it, we can make this work…"

Mark turned to her and then backed away, his face fixed in an expression of such unutterable sadness that she felt a black hole opening up at her feet. Her heart stumbled, then fell, sucked into nothing. He shook his head, opened his mouth to say something, couldn't, shook his head again.

They stared at each other over the ruined mess of something that had been pieced together so painstakingly that weaving it alone had taken years. The silence stretched into oblivion, a cord that held them together while it stretched wider, further, until the space between them was too great to cross and would never lessen again.

When it broke, they both knew it wasn't only the silence that had shattered.

Kathryn turned and paced away from him, her shoes crunching on glass. "Why now?" she said, anger beginning to filter into the fractures segmenting her heart. "You wait until two weeks before the wedding to do this? Really? What's that if it's not punishment?"

"It was hope," he said. "It was selfishness. It was wanting you to be mine, Kathryn, but you're not."

"Oh, for God's sake," she spat, throwing her hands up as her rage rose. She spun to face him. "I've shared your life for ten years, Mark, I've shared myself for ten years. I agreed to be your wife, I planned this wedding – what more do you need from me?"

He tilted his head, looking at her hard. "You really want to know what I need? All right. Fine. What I need, Kathryn Janeway, is not just for you to love me but for you to want me. I need you to want me so badly that you override every ounce of your better judgement, every good part of your good soul. I need you to want me so badly that you follow me into an apartment even though you have to tell yourself you don't know why you're doing it to make it OK. I need you to follow me even though you know it's a bad idea, because you, for once, want something so badly that you just can't help yourself."

Kathryn stared at him. "You said this wasn't about Chakotay. You said-"

"I said it wasn't about Chakotay in the way you think it is, Kathryn, and it isn't. But god damn it, I know you. I know you! There's not a thing in your life that you can't give a reason for. You know why you went into his apartment that night and you know why you kissed him. You wanted it enough that it outweighed your fear of ever wanting anything that much again. You wanted him, and I know that you haven't wanted anyone that badly in a long, long time. So if you think I can ignore that – if you think I can marry you and know that there's a possibility you could find that kind of happiness elsewhere, then you don't know me at all. You love me, Kathryn, but you've never wanted me like that. That's not your fault. It's not my fault. It's just the way it is and wishing it were otherwise won't make it so. Would you live up to your vows? Of course you would. Would you put everything into our marriage? Of course you would. But would you ever think that there might have been more? Would you ever wonder?" Mark shook his head. "Of course you would. And so you should. Because you know better than anyone that we get one life, Kathryn, just one, and once it's gone, it's gone."

Kathryn felt the tears coming, but blinked them back. "I don't-" she said, and then stopped.

Mark blew out a breath. "I will always love you. I'm not angry, I'm not punishing you. Am I heartbroken? Yes, probably more than even you could comprehend, but that's as much my fault as anyone's. I'll live with it."

They stood in silence for a few moments. Around them reality was shifting, fragmenting. This is how quickly the future changes. It is never more than one step away. Kathryn wondered how she would manage to navigate this, this unknown ocean that unexpectedly and endlessly stretched before her. She felt bereft, empty, adrift.

"I'm going to go now," Mark said, softly.

Kathryn looked up. "What? Go where?"

"I've booked a room at the Hilton downtown," he said.

"Mark, don't be ridiculous. This is your home."

"It's yours too," he pointed out.

"I'll go," Kathryn said, firmly. "It's only fair."

Mark look pained. "Don't say that. You haven't done anything wrong, Kathryn."

She shook her head, thinking, How can you say that?

Still neither of them moved. Once they did, it really would be over.

"I'll call you," Kathryn said, eventually.

Mark nodded. "Give it a day or two. Please?"

The tears won out at that point. She nodded, speechless.

She went out into the kitchen to where Molly was sitting patiently in her basket. Kathryn knelt on the floor and gathered the dog to her, crying into Molly's thick coat. Then she got up, wiped her face, picked up her jacket and bag.

And she left.

[TBC]