I wake up lying on my back, Kathryn's arm draped over my chest. I listen to her breathing, feel the slight rise and fall of her shoulder. I've had no headaches for a week. I can tell that she rests more easily, more deeply now. And so do I. Without the bone crushing pain repeatedly punishing and exhausting my body, my fatigue is greatly improved. I'm returning to a normal sleep pattern. We keep the window shields set to eighty-five percent and the lighting low so that I don't have to wear the glasses in the apartment. I can see enough through the shield to tell the sun is rising.

I straighten my leg to stretch, and she stirs. I kiss her temple and answer her good morning. She turns over to her other side, pulling my arm with her. I curl my body behind hers. Lay my cheek against her head. I'm grateful again that Doc was able to work small miracles.

My vision is not perfect, but I can see. Objects still have perceptible halos around them. Moving lights at night can be confusing. Depth perception is still a problem, though much better. Distance blurs, but I can see across the apartment now. Doc assures me that my sight will continue to improve, though it probably will never be what it was.

I'm adjusting to the difficulties a little more each day. I can prepare meals, now. I can pick out my own clothes. I can read, and twice have read to Kathryn when she was tired, as she did for me in the shelter. Those moments with her, and the ones like now with my arms around her, my lips pressed to her hair, mean so much more to me than they ever have with anyone else. In the absence of physical intimacy, my heart and soul have formed a deeply intimate connection unrestrained by her rank as it was on Voyager.

I want to share that physical connection with her, too. But I've held back. Fear of the headache returning, feeling unworthy of her affections when I'd have had to hold her arm to find the bed, my self-image of being less than a man despite her assurances and words of love – all have played a factor in my not approaching her with more than a kiss or a snuggle as we sit together.

Although things are much improved since the second surgery, I still hold back. I hug her to me and then slide off the bed. I'll make the coffee. Her sleepy voice murmurs a thank you. I take a last look at her before leaving the room, and have to smile. I like waking up to the smell of sunlight. To wake up to the sight of it is so much sweeter.

I get the coffee pot started, and then pull a chair out from the table and sit down. Close my eyes and rub my face. When I first wake up, it can take a little while for my sight to adjust. Darkness is no longer a place of despair, but a place of rest. I hear her soft footsteps, feel her hands on my shoulders. I'm okay, just waiting for my eyes to wake up. You don't have to come with me to see Doc this morning. I think I can go alone. No, of course I don't mind if you come. I just don't want you to feel like you have to.

She does something she's never done before. She sits in my lap, her arms around my neck. I feel gentle kisses on my eyelids, the silk of her nightgown under my hands wrapped around her hip. The weight of her on my legs makes me feel like more of a man. It's a gesture of trust, of putting herself in my care. I open my eyes long enough to see her lips. Slide my fingers up the silk to the nape of her neck and pull her into a kiss. I can feel a change in the way we touch, in the connection between us. It thrills me and scares me at the same time. I lean back from her and focus on her face. I love you, Kathryn. Her cheek rests against mine. Brandy whispers of love in my ear. She rises to pour our coffee, and I'm left wanting, fearing. Confused.

I walk to the window and stand looking out over the city. The man I was is out there somewhere. Traveling the stars. Back on Dorvan. Among the ghosts on Voyager. Fighting the Cardassians. Walking the Central American rainforest with my father. Maybe it's time I stop looking for him. Maybe it's time I find the man I am now. Not less, only different. I feel in my soul the last precipice of darkness beginning to crumble. I can't be the Chakotay I was before. Somehow, I need to stop trying to be the man I think she needs, and be the man she wants.

I take the cup she brings me and kiss her on the cheek. Yes, I'm okay. I'm just thinking. Her look says she understands. She squeezes my shoulder and returns to the bedroom to take her shower. The blurred bustle of the city through the window mirrors the battle within my head between who I was and who I am. Advancing, retreating, crossing and sometimes meeting. But has yet to come into focus.

I hear her emerge from the bathroom, and I recall the appointment with Doc. When I pass by her on my way to get ready, she's in her white robe looking in the closet. I brush my teeth and turn to the shower when I remember I didn't get my clothes.

I open the door, and Kathryn's back is to me. She's in a short slip and I see the band of a bra across her back, but nothing else. Oh, I'm sorry! I turn to the door to give her time to put on her dress. I hear soft footsteps and feel her hands on my arms. She tells me to turn around, to look at her. But she's not the one I have to face. It's myself. I let my head drop in the inner battle. Her hands let go of me and she's gone from the room. That's when I realize what I've done. In my private war, I've rejected her. Damn, how can I be so stupid!

I find her leaning on her hands, arms stiffened, against the kitchen counter. Her robe is belted around her. Kathryn, I don't know what to say. Her words make me see how deeply I've hurt her, have been hurting her. Of course I want you, Kathryn. You're the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I put my hands on the base of her neck and feel her stiffen. This has nothing to do with you. It's me, only me. Gods, woman, you fueled half my dreams across the Delta Quadrant. That man would have given up everything to be with you if you'd asked.

She turns and faces me, the pain of rejection clear on her face. She wants to know about the man standing in front of her. How does he feel? Then she tells me something else I've been too stupid to realize. She didn't go to Dorvan because I was her first officer and friend. She went to Dorvan because she loved me. Not my uniform and title. The man inside that she spent over seven years getting to know. My deep spirit that forced her to open to possibilities of things beyond science. My gentle heart that always chooses understanding and compassion over condemnation. My quiet courage unafraid to stand up to her and make her rethink decisions, to accept when she's wrong. My mind as curious as hers about the universe and its peoples. He is who she loves.

I see her blue eyes searching mine, and it reminds me of a twentieth-century song Tom listened to on Voyager: When you love a woman, you see your world inside her eyes. The me that I've been chasing has been there, in her eyes, all along. It doesn't matter who I think I can't be anymore. It only matters who she sees.

Kathryn, I never meant to drag you along with me through this struggle. I was so intent on trying to find me again, that I lost sight of both of us. I thought I knew what you deserved from me, and I couldn't give it to you. She pulls me to her, and I wrap her in my arms. I tell I love her as I caress her head against my shoulder. Soon, she kisses my cheek and tells me to go get ready. Says she doesn't want to listen to the Doctor's diatribe on time management if we're late for my check-up.

I remember my clothes this time. I take a quick shower, towel off and start to dress. I button my pants and turn to grab my shirt from the shelf. Suddenly, I'm on my hands and knees. Swirling. Can't focus. Kathryn. Kathryn! I hear the door open, and she's cradling my head as I fall over. No, no pain. Just dizzy. Almost like before. She folds a towel under my head, tells me to lie still. Her footsteps recede. She contacts Doc and is back at my side in seconds. Soon, I hear Doc's voice and feel her move away. He scans me and then removes the neural monitor from my head. Congratulations, he says. He tells me I don't need it anymore. The spinning slows down and I can open my eyes again.

What happened? He tells me my equilibrium is working perfectly. My body compensated faster than the device did. The monitor read it as a problem and attempted to counter-balance. Kathryn puts her arms around me to help me up. A faint dizzy feeling lingers, but it's tolerable. I make my way to the bed and sit down. Doc runs more scans and suggests I rest. He's found no problems. I can return to see him next week, and call if I experience any difficulties. When he leaves, I slide up to the pillows and lie on my side with my eyes closed. I feel her weight on the mattress in front of me. I open my arms and she curls into me, the silk robe over her back cool against my chest. Yes, I'm okay now. It's going away.

After a couple of minutes, she sits up against the headboard. I slide my head over to her thigh and drape my arm over her legs. She caresses my hair and reads poetry to me. Slowly, I open my eyes and look around the room. The spell is over. There's no trace of the spinning. No pain, no changes in my vision. I sit up and put my arm around her, listening to the last stanza she is reading. And the voice that leaves me craving.

When she puts the PADD on the table, I fold her into a kiss. Deeper, longer, more passionate than I've ever kissed her before. I feel the change in her as she grips my arm, opens her lips, and turns her body to me. My hand caresses her side until I feel the silky belt. I break the kiss and lean her back in my arm as I slowly pull the tie loose. Let me see you, Kathryn. I push the open wrap to her sides and clearly see the smooth skin of her stomach, the swell of her breasts cradled in her bra, the curve of her hips. I gaze into her blue eyes turned cobalt in the dim lighting. So beautiful! Gentle fingertips trail over my bare chest as I slip the robe off her shoulders.

I finally find that with the gift of her love, I am so much more than the man I was.