Five

A/N: Just wanted to say thank you if you're reading this, and thanks even more if you've left a review! They are hugely appreciated. This chapter is totally self-indulgent and an utter cliché, but I just wanted to write it, so there. Hope someone enjoys it. Happy Sunday!


She had kissed him, once.

He thinks she doesn't remember it, mainly because that's what she let him think: what she would prefer that he believe.

The third year of their journey. So much had happened and they were still so far from home. Kathryn had not given up – there were many things she had lost during the course of those years, but her determination to get Voyager home was not one of them. Yet something else had seeped into her, too: a deep loneliness, a longing that no amount of extra-curricular mental or physical activity could sate. She had tried not to allow this want a shape, had denied to herself that it had a form at all, and if ever a face slid into mind to contradict her claims, she'd pushed it away, telling herself that of course her loneliness would take her there: of course he would be the one to surface in her thoughts. It was transference, that was all. He was the nearest thing she had to a peer, he was her friend and they had been through several circles of hell together. Besides which, a woman would have to be dead not to notice just how attractive Chakotay was. So naturally this nebulous longing occasionally coalesced in his form. But it's not him, she told herself, resolutely. It's just the situation. It's just that you're lonely, which is inevitable, and he's the closest thing you will ever have to full companionship on this cast-adrift ship.

It was a reasonable argument and one she clung to. If she'd been more sensible, she would have pushed him away sooner and with more force, especially given their isolated sojourn on the planetoid they nicknamed 'New Earth'. Yet at that point, in those early years, she couldn't bring herself to sever it, the invisible connection she could feel between them. Strike her down for a fool, but she hadn't wanted to snuff out the electricity that she sometimes thought she saw in his eyes when their gazes met. It was the only thing that made her heart skip for a reason other than anxiety, and she couldn't – would not - let it go completely. It was selfish, she had known it even at the time, and now, through the prism of hindsight, Janeway cursed herself for not being stricter. She'd excused that one weakness with the reasoning that he wasn't as restricted in his choices as she was – Kathryn knew for a fact that he'd only have to profess himself open to offers to have plenty of the crew throwing themselves at him. Chakotay could likely have whatever women on the ship he wanted, and perhaps he was indeed having them, behind closed doors. She wasn't under any illusion that she had any sort of hold over him, certainly not one that had been exerted by a few smouldering looks and a chaste touch or two.

It was only later that she had seen that perhaps, that assumption had been her biggest mistake of all.

But back then, in the third year of their journey, the frisson between them frequently provided more fun than it did pain. That night had been a case in point. Voyager had paused to trade at a peaceful colony of the Hashete, and Neelix was intent on filling the ship's cargo bays with as much produce as they could take. Voyager's visit had happened to coincide with some sort of planet-wide thanksgiving celebration to which the whole ship had been invited. The Captain and her First Officer had agreed that it was the perfect opportunity for the crew to enjoy themselves a little – those who were fortunate enough not to be needed for the skeleton crew who stayed aboard, of course.

Janeway herself had been a little reticent about attending, if truth be told, not that there was any question of her being able to shirk her responsibilities and stay in her quarters for the duration. The loneliness had been at a particularly high ebb that week, though she'd done her level best to keep it to herself. She hadn't succeeded, of course, or at least not entirely, something she'd only realised when Chakotay had encouraged her to don civvies for the event instead of her uniform.

"I know you're not keen," he'd said, as they'd sat on the sofa in the ready room, looking out of the window at the pearl of a planet they orbited. "But I think this will do you good, Captain. You need a good shin-dig as much as the rest of us."

She'd eyed him over the rim of her mug. "'Shin-dig'?"

Chakotay's smile had been warm and self-deprecating. "It's what Tom Paris is calling it. I warned him not to start a square dance without our hosts' express permission."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "There's quite a buzz about it, isn't there? This party of the Hashetes."

"There is. That… doesn't extend to you, though, does it? You don't really want to go, I can tell."

Kathryn had smiled again. "I can't hide anything from you, can I? Don't worry, I'll make sure I pull the wool over our host's eyes. I wouldn't want to dash Neelix's hopes of filling the hold."

He'd smiled again, but there was concern in his eyes. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm fine, Chakotay. Really, don't worry about me. It's just… I find that it's more and more of an effort to socialise, these days. I'm tired, I suppose."

The concern she saw in him multiplied. "It's not surprising. You've been on duty for three years straight."

She'd reached for her mug to hide behind, shaking her head. "So have you. So have the rest of the crew. I've got nothing special to complain about."

"Kathryn," he'd said, softly, reaching out to touch her elbow. "Yes, we're all tired, but you're the Captain. And-"

"And it's my fault," she interrupted him. "I'm the one that put us here."

"That's not what I was going to say."

"I know it wasn't. I'm just stating a truth, Chakotay, one that shows precisely why I have no right to complain."

"I was going to say, 'And the Captain bears so much more than he rest of the crew,'" he'd said, his voice still soft. "If we're tired, then I know you are exhausted. That worries me, and I wish I could do more to help you - but it worries me more when you start to withdraw. You need companionship as much as the rest of us. You need fun. The times you begin to draw away from that are exactly the times you should make the effort, as hard as it might be. You shouldn't be alone when you feel that way."

She'd looked at him then, and a spark had shivered through her heart at the sight of his dark eyes, fastened so completely on her. She'd smiled, aware that the expression was a sad one. "You don't need to worry about me."

At that moment, the look his eyes could have kept her warm through a decade of Indiana winters. "I will always worry about you."

She still hadn't been enthusiastic about going, but as always, he somehow managed to make her feel as if whatever obstacle was ahead was surmountable. Janeway had chosen a loose, pale green silk shirt and a pair of linen pants for the occasion, and beamed down at his side with what was almost a genuine smile on her face.

It was only halfway through the meal that Kathryn had realised that the drink the Hashete had been liberally supplying all evening was of a type far more intoxicating to humans than wine. In truth, she'd been aware that the first glass had gone straight to her head, but she'd been in need of something to help her get into the party spirit, and the drink had done the trick. She was on her way to actually enjoying herself. Their hosts were an affable, friendly species, she and the crew were in a safe place, and it was good to look around the tables in the Hashetes' great hall and see all her people having fun. Chakotay was on her right, their host's Minister for Alien Affairs on her left.

It was only when she dropped one of her pieces of cutlery on the floor and bent to retrieve it that she realised just how drunk she was. She straightened up and the room was spinning. She'd gripped the edge of the table, trying to focus, but the effect, once it had started, seemed only to get worse.

"Captain?" Chakotay's voice had reached her through the fug. "Are you all right?"

She'd kept her eyes shut but shaken her head, trying to clear it, which turned out to be a mistake.

"Chakotay-"

"Captain," Chakotay said again, his clear voice anxious now. He put one hand on her upper arm. "Are you unwell?"

She looked down at his hand, then up at him. His face swam in front of her. She tried to clear her throat. "I'm all right. But I… need to leave."

He'd glanced over her head to the Hashete's minister for inter-species affairs, who was looking at them both anxiously.

"Captain Janeway?" the alien asked. "Has something at our table disagreed with you?"

Kathryn had turned to him with difficulty. She had to concentrate not to slur her next sentence. She pointed at the glass beside her plate. "I think… it would perhaps be a good idea not to serve our people any more of this drink, Minister. It's… quite a bit… stronger than we are used to."

The minister immediately turned to one of the servers, issuing a quick order. Every jug of the drink was removed almost instantaneously, replaced by a different – hopefully far less potent – substance. Then he turned back to her.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"I don't wish to disturb your celebrations," she managed, "or my crew's enjoyment of the evening. But I think… it may be as well if I return to Voyager. If I can do so without offending anyone."

"Of course, Captain. I'm so sorry. If we had known…"

"Please," she had managed, alarmed at the slur she could hear edging into her voice. She couldn't appear as a falling-down drunk in front of her crew. She just couldn't. "There is no need for apologies. I should have known better. I was… enjoying myself too much."

She stood, desperate not to sway in front of the huge table at which they had been sat. Chakotay stood, too, one hand on her lower back.

"I'll come with you, Captain."

"No – Chakotay," it was becoming more and more difficult to form words, but she fought to anyway, "I need to you check on the rest of the crew. Make sure they're all safe. Make sure none have been as effected as I have, and if they have-"

"Captain," Chakotay had said, his voice low. "Let me see you back to the ship first."

She'd been about to argue, but then the ground had tilted and she'd held herself up only by slipping one arm through his and leaning on it, heavily.

To his credit, the Hashete minister had helped facilitate her escape.

"Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay," he'd said, perhaps a little louder than was necessary, "perhaps a mid-prandial stroll would be in order? Allow me to show you the beautiful courtyard gardens here."

"Thank you," she'd whispered, as the two men walked her out of the hall.

"No need for thanks, Captain," the minister told her. "I am mortified that we have caused such an esteemed guest so much difficulty."

She'd clung to Chakotay's arm, desperate to keep herself upright just long enough to make it back to the ship. Her grip was so hard that he'd have bruises in the morning. "Please, minister," she'd said, in little more than a whisper. "Would you check on the rest of Voyager's personnel?"

The minister had bowed and retreated. Chakotay immediately went to tap his combadge, but she grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Not to sickbay," she'd said, hoarsely. "To my quarters."

"No, Captain. You need the Doctor to check on you."

"I've been drunk before in my life, Chakotay," she said, beginning to fear that her legs were about to give way. "I don't need a lecture about the evils of alcohol from the EMH, I just need some water and to lie down."

He'd only hesitated for a split second more. Then he'd called for a site to site. She sagged against him as Voyager's transporter gripped them, her legs no longer obeying her commands.

She rematerialised with his arms wrapped around her. Kathryn held on to him, her head spinning as he'd helped her to her couch. He'd set her down, gently, then disappeared as she'd sunk back into the cushions. A moment later she heard him give her replicator an order followed by the silvery sound of it answering his command. Then he was back, kneeling on the floor beside her, one hand on her arm.

"Here's water," he'd said. "Can you sit up to drink it?"

She'd levered herself up with his help and sipped gratefully at the water. At some point she realised he was stroking her hair back from her face.

"How are you feeling now?"

"I'll be all right."

"Are you sure? I'd still be happier if the Doctor checked you over. If there's something more in this drink, something that disagrees badly with human physiology…"

"No," she'd whispered. "Please. Please don't."

He'd fallen silent. She'd shut her eyes and lost herself in the feeling of his fingers still stroking her hair. His other hand had rescued the water glass and put it down. Then something had occurred to her and she'd opened her eyes again.

"Why aren't you in the same state as me?"

"I didn't drink anything but water."

She'd leaned into his touch, almost without realising. She remembered the last time a man had touched her with such care. It had been him then, too, probing the sore muscles of her shoulders. She'd leaned into him then, too, because… because.

"Why not?"

"I thought that at some point during the evening you would decide that you needed to curb your enjoyment, and I didn't want you to have to. I wanted you to be able to do exactly what you wanted to, without worrying about keeping an eye on the rest of the crew. I thought if I didn't drink anything at all, I'd be able to tell you to leave it all with me."

She studied his eyes, his tattoo, drowning in something other than wine, a feeling that washed over her sore heart and made it beat a different rhythm.

"Why," she'd whispered, "are you so good to me?"

His fingers had paused then, something flickering through his eyes. And Kathryn had leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

For a second, the universe stopped. Chakotay's fingers trembled in her hair, then stroked down her cheek to her jaw. She'd parted her lips, wanting to map the warm, soft fullness of his, pulling his lower one between them: and here, this, was so absolutely the answer to what she had needed-

He'd pulled away, putting both hands on her shoulders and pushing her back, holding her there.

"No," he'd said, his eyes shut. "I can't."

It was only three words, but they cut deep. She sat back and he let her go, standing up and turning away, putting his hands on his hips and dropping his head. Her mortification was complete and devastating.

"Commander," she slurred, hating that she couldn't even control her speech, hating herself for far more. "Commander, please forgive me. I…"

"Kathryn," he'd said, with soft deliberation, "there is nothing to forgive. Please believe that. I just… I need to check on the crew. You need to sleep. Everything… will seem different in the morning."

He didn't turn back to look at her and as he walked away she felt the wave that had enveloped her heart wash up into her throat and eyes and then recede just as quickly, leaving only the dry shore of aching loneliness in its wake. She'd dropped her head in her hands and bent forward, her body wracked deep, curled in against herself, against the universe at large and her useless part in it.

Kathryn had thought he'd gone. So when she heard his footsteps again, and his voice coming back towards her, she'd thought it was just the awful delirium of her inebriation. But then he was kneeling beside her, his strong hands pulling hers away from her face and then running warmly down her sides and back up again, over her shoulders to cup her face and tangle in her hair.

"Kathryn," he'd whispered, "Kathryn…" and then he'd kissed her, full on the mouth, so deeply and with such abiding passion that she felt a new kind of wave gathering at the edges of her shore. His lips were soft but determined to tell her something with their touch, the kind of conversation all the more fervent for its silence. His arms had shifted, pulling her against him until that warmth she had seen in his eyes surrounded her completely. Her head spun anew: no, not just her head, the whole of her, her whole being. This time, when he pulled away, it was a gentle parting, just far enough that he could rest his forehead against hers, running one hand up from where it was spread against her back to cup her face again, his other arm still holding her tightly to his body.

"'I can't'," he had whispered then, "is not the same as 'I don't want to'."

He'd left soon after. She'd stayed on the couch, staring up at the planet they orbited until sleep had claimed her completely.

And the next morning, she had pretended she had no recollection of the night before at all. He hadn't called her on it, hadn't ever alluded to what had happened between them: what she had done, what he had done to follow it. It was as if it had never happened, and so she could tell herself that it did not matter. Over the intervening years she had convinced herself that it had been yet another example of extraordinary kindness on his part: just one more selfless way her first officer had kept her going through just one more difficult night.

Yet still, those words had echoed in her mind, through all these years. Even now, as she sat listening to him explain the great feast of the Ellenial that he and the team would be present for.

"Apparently this celebration only happens once every 50 years," he told her, his face clearly animated even through the flattening nature of her screen. She hadn't seen a light like this in Chakotay's eyes for a while. "We're extremely lucky that our visit coincides with it. I have to admit, I'm looking forward to researching its cultural significance. You should see this place at the moment – the Ellenial are always cheerful people, but at the moment their excitement would be enough to re-power a dead warp core."

Kathryn smiled and rested her chin on her palm. "I almost wish I could see it myself."

"Well, why can't you?" he asked. "Get on a shuttle, Captain. Come join us. You've got time to make it before the feast. Besides, B'Elanna would welcome the help with the Ellennial systems. Tuvok can keep the ship on course and we'd still be able to rendezvous with Voyager at the other end of the vortex, as planned."

"I can't," she said, almost laughing. "But I will look forward to hearing your report of the celebration. It does sound fascinating."

"I'll be sure to take good notes."

"Do," she smiled. "And… just be sure to go easy on any local moonshine, won't you? That stuff can be lethal."

Something flickered across his face for a moment, before he glanced away with a warm smile. "I'll be sure to remember that."

There was something in his expression that made her heart shiver in her chest, just for a split second. It was a sensation she'd almost forgotten the truth of, and it let the words that were in her head out of her mouth before she had the good sense to rein them in.

"Chakotay," she said, softly. "'I can't…' is not the same as 'I don't want to'."

His eyes flashed back to hers. In them she saw deep astonishment, but alongside that was something else. It reached out to her, a flash of electricity so palpable that she could feel it even across the distance between them, so palpable that she had to take a breath around the skipped beat of her heart.

[TBC]