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“You know,” Janeway says, “somehow, I really thought you weren’t going to go through with it.”
Chakotay twitches an eyebrow up. “Believe me now?”
Behind him, the Protostar looms as proud as every one of her ancestors, newborn hull gleaming in the sunlight. She’s a small enough vessel that she didn’t require offworld construction, and upon completion now sits shiny and waiting for her captain. Taking off and landing will be a hell of a lot easier than any ship Janeway has ever commanded, but given the circumstances, she can’t bring herself to be envious.
“I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” Janeway says, coming to a halt far enough away that their voices won’t carry to the rest of the crew bustling about the open-roofed hangar.
“Didn’t you teach me that we always have a choice?” Chakotay slows as well, following her gaze for a moment before turning to face her. “You taught me more than any of my command prep classes ever did.”
“Don’t flatter me now,” Janeway says, alarmed. “Get any more sentimental and you’ll make this feel like a real goodbye.”
Chakotay just smiles and ducks his head. “Apologies. No more sentiment from me, Captain.”
Janeway barely has time to draw in a breath before Chakotay is wincing and backtracking. “Ah, sorry, sorry—Vice Admiral.”
“Oh, who cares?” Janeway huffs goodnaturedly. “What difference does a shiny new pin and a bigger chair make?”
“You get a bigger chair? Now I’m jealous.”
“I get a bigger everything.” She grins and gestures to the Protostar. “But yours is… cute.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Chakotay says, mock offended, and they both laugh. “I’ll get used to Vice Admiral soon enough, I’m sure. But after everything—” He pauses now, a new somberness entering his dark gaze. “I think deep down, you’ll always be my captain.”
Heart clenching, Janeway can no longer procrastinate looking at Chakotay. She’d looked at him already, of course, but not like this—not with the eyes of somebody committing details to memory, mapping out a model in her head as she prepares for the absence of the real thing. She has not let herself practice a farewell. But now, Chakotay fixes her with that small smile, and she knows the time for circumventive banter is withering away, quips fading from her tongue as the lighthearted atmosphere ebbs. She takes a deep breath and allows herself to gaze.
In the years since their first meeting, Janeway has nearly forgotten the Chakotah of the Maquis: steely-eyed, bitter, jaw set with a constant stubbornness. So quickly, she thinks, did he change, shedding the rough rebel role to step up to her side. Some edges have yet to dull—the calluses on his palms, his unwavering resolution—but there is a welcome softness now alongside the sharp. His gaze is warm and all too often mournful, his words unceasingly steady, his temples silvering. There are permanent lines all over his face, the sharpest between his brows and beneath his eyes. The effect of loss, of hardship, or maybe just one too many years stuck on board with Tom Paris. The proof of his years gives him an air of nobility to most, but when Janeway looks at him with all her familiarity, the only sense he conjures within her is a quiet yet unbridled fondness.
“And deep down,” she says, “you’ll always be my…”
And there are a hundred ways she could finish the sentence. My first mate. My right hand. My best friend. My partner. But somehow, none of them quite suffice in the moment. Chakotay tilts his head, understanding rather than expectant.
“...Chakotay,” Janeway manages at last. “You’ll always be my Chakotay.”
Several beats pass. Janeway looks at her hands, but immediately irritates herself with the shy gesture and raises her gaze back to his face. He watches her, expression unreadable.
“After everything,” she whispers, echoing his words. She doesn’t need to go on.
“I’ll be alright,” Chakotay says softly, and to her surprise, takes her hands in his own. “The Protostar can do things we could only dream of on Voyager. If you need me, I’ll come right back.”
That’s not how this works and he knows it, but Janeway attempts a smile to show she appreciates the reassurance anyway.
“And besides,” Chakotay goes on, eyes twinkling, “I’ll have you right at my side this whole time.”
“You’ll have me,” Janeway says quietly, “but I won’t have you.”
Chakotay says, a small and sad thing, and then he pulls her closer and opens his arms. Janeway would never be so undignified as to fall into them (no matter how badly she may want to), but she does shuffle closer until Chakotay can wrap her into an embrace. Janeway allows herself a fleeting reprieve from their melancholy set and closes her eyes. In the darkness, she focuses only on the arms around her, the warm chest to her forehead, on Chakotay and herself and all the ways they are and are not together.
“Didn't think you of all people would get so sappy,” Chakotay teases lightly. He doesn’t loosen his hold, so the attempt to return to a more cheerful tone falls rather short.
Janeway hums. “After all we’ve been through, I think I’ve earned my right to be maudlin.”
Chakotay chuckles and gradually, he pulls back. Janeway opens her eyes and straightens as she lets him go.
“You know this isn’t a goodbye, right?” Chakotay asks.
“No? What is it, then?”
“Just a see you soon. An until next time. ”
“And here I was thinking about shedding a tear for you.”
“Kathryn.” Chakotay sobers once more, and Janeway’s throat tightens when he cups her jaw with one brief hand. “I mean it. I’ll be back.”
Janeway nods mutely, too frightened that her words will come out damp and strangled if she speaks.
“Before you know it,” he says.
She clears her throat. “You better be.”
“I will.”
Janeway manages one last smile. “See you soon, then.”
Chakotay returns the grin. “Until next time.”
Janeway watches him go.