Archive of Our Own

"Maybe someone on your crew couldn't put the past behind them."

In retrospect, that one carelessly uttered remark hurts me more than any of the rest of it. More than being ushered powerless into the brig. More than hearing them call him Captain. More than the easy way he seemed to slip into the role of betrayer and mutineer. More than having him force Tuvok to level a phaser at my head as a test of loyalty. I know that wasn't him – it was Teero. It may take me a little while to truly forgive and forget it, but ultimately, I will.

But that particular remark was made before the mind control began, and that's what hurts. "YOUR crew," he said. And the bitter tone of voice he used floored me. MY crew? Where the hell did that come from?

And now I remember what he said when we received our first data stream from Starfleet, all those months ago. "You may have forgotten that we're Maquis, but we haven't."

I guess not.

I honestly believed that we were one crew, that I'd done the impossible and united these people, here, on this ship. The thought of that one unmistakable accomplishment has comforted me over the years, when everything else has been falling down around me. How could I have been so naïve?

I don't know how I feel about all this. Stupid, I guess. Disillusioned. And angry. I'm angry. He knows it, too. He's been avoiding me – won't look me in the eye. And he deliberately did not sit next to me tonight at Paris' 'double feature.' Not that I even wanted him to. It was such a relief to have Tuvok by my side. I wanted – no, needed – to be with him tonight – the only one of the 'mutineers' that I was able to reach. My oldest friend on the ship, and perhaps, when all is said and done, my only one.

Tuvok wanted to go after the first movie, and I left with him. I didn't feel like sitting there alone. I think I would have felt exposed, somehow, with so many of them behind me. It's ludicrous, I know – very melodramatic - but I can't shake the feeling of betrayal just yet.

So now I'm sitting on my couch, feeling frazzled and depressed. I know I'll never be able to sleep. And predictably, right on cue, my door chime sounds.

I consider, briefly, begging off. I'm not sure I feel like dealing with him – with this conversation – tonight. But I know I have to. I authorize entry and he walks in, still holding a half-empty red and white striped popcorn bag. He walks over and sits on a chair across from me, then, with a sheepish smile, reaches over and offers me some popcorn.

I can't help but return the smile as I shake my head 'no' – he always manages to disarm me. Having him here in front of me, my doubts begin to fade. In his eyes I see the warmth and friendship that I'm used to, not the cold, robotic look that was there when he manhandled me into the brig.

"I thought we should talk," he says.

"It's all right, Chakotay," I tell him, with a sigh. "I know it wasn't your fault. I just wish it didn't look like you were enjoying it so damned much."

"I don't want your ship, Kathryn," he says, sincerely. "I never have."

"I know," I say. "It was just...disconcerting to see you like that. I'll get over it."

He snorts. "If you think you're disconcerted, imagine how Paris feels. B'Elanna didn't even blink when I shot him."

I roll my eyes, but can't bring myself to laugh about it. Needing to move, I stand up and begin pacing back and forth in front of my couch. He stands as well, but remains still, some distance away.

"Everything is going to change in a hurry when we get back, isn't it." I say quietly. "I try not to focus on it too much. I have enough to worry about as it is. But God only knows what's going to happen – with the former Maquis - YOUR crew…" I add pointedly. I see a flicker of a reaction in his eyes – acknowledgment, a flash of guilt. "And Tom, and Seven, and Neelix, and the Equinox crew...Hell, when we get back, the battles will just be starting. I get exhausted just thinking about it."

"Don't bother," he says. "It doesn't do any good to worry about it now."

He doesn’t say that in his supportive XO tone, but rather in way that suggests he's speaking from personal experience. It occurs to me that while this may be the first time I've allowed myself to think about it, he surely has been thinking about it for years.

"What will you do?" I ask him. "I mean, assuming that Starfleet exonerates the former Maquis..." Silently, I promise myself that Starfleet WILL exonerate them, no matter what I have to do.

He doesn't speak for a good twenty seconds, then he shrugs. "I really don't know," he says. "Maybe it depends on the political situation. On what has happened with the Cardassians, and the other Maquis. It's just all so complicated." He continues speaking, slowly walking towards me. He isn't looking at me, though - his gaze is far away, like he's thinking aloud. "All else being equal, though," he continues, "I might like to stay in Starfleet. Or maybe teach..." He chuckles at his own indecisiveness. "I just don't have any idea. I suppose I haven't thought that far ahead yet either. It's probably not going to happen for years, you know."

I do know that, yet with our monthly data stream from Starfleet, these issues seem more relevant than before.

He's standing close enough to me now that if I just reached out, I could touch him. His physical presence is comforting after the events of the last day or so, but I'm all too aware of my recent epiphany. What we've built on this ship over the years is just an illusion – an illusion that could well be irrevocably shattered if and when we cross into Federation space.

"Maybe it would have been easier," I say, softly, "if we all hadn't let ourselves get so close. We have this intense little community – a family, really – and it's going to hurt when we're separated, however we're separated."

I speak of the crew – all of us – but there's an underlying personal meaning as well, and he knows it. I once told him that I couldn't imagine a day without him, and I meant it.

"Maybe it would have been easier, but I wouldn't change it even if I could. This...you...I can't imagine my life without it," he says, unwittingly voicing my thoughts.

His voice goes hoarse on the last sentence, and he looks as uncertain and vulnerable as I feel. I'm not sure what possesses me, and now, of all times, but I lean into him, and he meets me halfway. Our eyes close and our lips brush together, gently. Then our eyes open, but we don't move. We stand there, looking at each other, our lips nearly touching. Waiting.

I know its my call, and I know what I'm supposed to do, but I almost feel like we need this - need to connect with the one true thing between us to restore our relationship, our trust. Our political alliance may not stand the test of time, but our feelings for each other – and they are there, although we've never once acknowledged them – are undeniably real.

I step closer to him and kiss him again, wrapping my arm around his neck. To his credit, he doesn't even flinch, although this has got to be somewhat of a surprise to him. He doesn't question my motives, doesn't insist on talking about it. In fact, as his fingers wind into my hair, he murmurs, "Just once, Kathryn. One night. I want to show you how I feel, just once."

My other hand goes to his chest, and I begin to undo his uniform tunic. "God, I hope this isn't a big mistake," I say, but at this point I don't really care anymore.

"It isn't," he assures me, "I know it isn't."

We don't hurry. With the full length of his body, he nudges me towards the bedroom. We remove each other's clothing slowly and just touch for a long, languid time. His hands are dark and warm, so warm, against my skin. Chakotay has a strong sexual presence even when he's in uniform and all business, but this...now...it's all that I ever imagined it would be. His eyes are completely black in the half-light of the room, but it feels like they're boring right through me. His mouth is incredible – soft, hot, demanding – and his tongue, his touch..."I want you, Kathryn," he says into my ear, his voice thick with arousal. My body responds to him in a way that I wasn't sure it was capable of doing anymore. I'm more than happy to let him take the lead. I can barely stand.

He lowers me onto my bed, positions himself above me, and penetrates me, slowly, but without hesitation. I climax convulsively on his second or third thrust. It's not just the sharp physical pleasure, although that is considerable, it's also the overwhelming feeling of connectedness. It's something that, naturally, I did not feel with my holographic Michael – the sense of shared history, the bone-deep certainty that I am making love to a man that genuinely loves me – all of me. As my breathing slows, he whispers my name, and as my eyes meet his, I know that he feels it, too. He begins to move inside me again and I feel it in every inch of my body. I close my eyes and just concentrate on the moment, the pleasure, the love. I'm not sure I'll climax again, but he builds me up to it gradually – skillfully – and I do, powerfully, just after he does.

We're both crying, a little, afterwards, but we don't talk much. We shift positions and he just holds me while I absently stroke his chest. As I drift off to sleep, all I'm sure of is that I am not sorry. Not sorry.

~*~

I awaken what must be several hours later. He's still sleeping soundly, and for a while I just enjoy being beside him, in his arms. I listen to the rhythm of his breathing and revel in the warmth of him and wish fervently that this could continue – but I know it can't. I think even he knows it can't. And since it can't...

My hands move over him – I'm studying the contours of his body, the texture of his skin. He's still half-asleep when I turn down the covers and take him in my mouth. He groans and winds his fingers through my hair, and for an instant I consider how satisfying it would be to bring him to climax this way, but in the end, I'm just too selfish. My sexual opportunities are rare – I have to take advantage of this.

I lower myself slowly onto his erection, enjoying the sensation of opening around him. I'd seen him nude before, but he's larger erect than I had imagined. It's...nice. Damned nice, in fact. I'm controlling the pace this time, and he seems to know exactly what I want. His hands move over me firmly, possessively, and as my tempo quickens, he squeezes my breasts almost – but not quite – to the point of pain. "God, Chakotay!" I gasp, and my climax begins. He takes over then, pounding into me, prolonging the pleasure, until he shouts my name, penetrates me fully, and stiffens. I can feel him pulsing warmth inside me.

I collapse onto his chest, and he frames my head with his hands. "Damn," I say.

"We are good at this," he says, in agreement.

He strokes my hair for a while, and I listen as his heartbeat gradually slows. We both doze off again until my computer chime awakens us.

~*~

We linger in bed as long as possible, but I will need a shower before alpha shift, so as much as I don't want this night to end, it must.

I prop myself up on my elbows to look at him. "I have to go," I say, tracing a vein in his neck with my fingertip.

"I know," he answers, smiling, and pushing an errant strand of hair behind my ear. "I'll just head back to my own quarters. I need a shower, too. I don't want to get in your way."

I return his smile with mixed emotions. I am sorry that it was just one night, but I'm also deeply grateful that he understands and is not pushing for more. I open my mouth to speak, but he touches his fingers to my lips and pulls me gently back down against his chest – a last embrace. After a moment, he speaks, quietly.

"Any regrets?" he asks me.

"No. Not one," I tell him.

"Me neither," he says. "Maybe, when we do get back, this will give us some incentive to work through all of the problems that I'm sure we'll be facing."

"Maybe," I agree. "I'd like that."

I watch him dress, kiss him goodbye, and then hurry in to take my shower. I lean up against the wall and close my eyes as the sonic vibrations wash away the encounter. At the very least, last night did heal the rift that's been between us since the Teero incident. I'll be able to sit beside him on the bridge and joke with him in the messhall without a knot in my stomach.

But it was, of course, much more than that. I know the road ahead is full of uncertainty, and there's no telling what the future will hold for our political alliance, but last night was just something we needed to do. Something that, perhaps, we should have done a long time ago. Now, no matter what happens, we've at least acknowledged the feelings between us in a meaningful way. No one can take this away from us. Ever.

The End.

~~<~~@