Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager and its characters belong to Paramount/CBS. No infringement intended.

Summary: I remember a challenge a few years back to write what happened during the next few minutes after the end of the series finale. I started this version at the time, but didn’t finish it until I found it the other day, languishing on the hard drive. Although most of what happens here is original, the first two spoken lines are taken from the last scene of “Endgame.”

No Matter What

by mizvoy

Chakotay stood rooted to the deck as Voyager’s view screen cleared to reveal dozens of Starfleet ships approaching them in combat formation. He was so surprised to find himself in the heart of the Federation that he couldn’t move, couldn’t quite make himself believe that Kathryn Janeway had finally found a way to get the ship home. Well, two Kathryn Janeways.

He stared at the familiar stars and ships, vaguely aware of a conversation between Janeway and Admiral Paris, and then Tom Paris stood up and left the bridge. Janeway turned to face him, her eyes gliding between him and Seven with a look of serene acknowledgment. As always, she remained focused on her duties.

“Mister Chakotay, the helm.”

Chakotay left the upper bridge without a word and slid into the pilot’s seat as Captain Janeway returned to her command chair behind him. The mood on the bridge remained calm, even though they were just an hour from an Earth orbit. As always, they would deal with the emotional fallout of their return later, once they were no longer on duty.

He settled in the seat and scanned the helm’s readouts, noticing that they still reflected their last location in the Delta quadrant. Even though it had been ten years since he had piloted a Starfleet vessel inside Federation space, he remembered without a second thought the steps to be taken.

Janeway gave the order he expected to hear. “Set a course . . . for home.”

He smiled, for she had given the same order many times on their seven-year journey across the Delta Quadrant. However, they both knew that it would be awhile before Voyager would be able to resume course. They had preliminary tasks to complete, and for the first time in years, they had to wait for orders from higher command.

“Resetting the helm for our current location,” he said, getting down to work. He stored the Delta Quadrant star charts, called up the archived maps of Sector 001, and loaded them into navigation. After a quick check against the nearest subspace beacon, the helm was ready. “Location and time verified.”

“Activating transponder,” Janeway answered as she brought online the program that sent an identification code to other Starfleet vessels, notifying them of Voyager’s registry, speed, and exact location. He could hear her fingers tapping the intricate command codes into her console, and then he saw a long-inactive section of the helm come alive with transponder codes from the dozens of other Starfleet ships that still occupied the space around them. His proximity screen showed several ships slowly moving back toward their previous locations now that the Borg threat had been neutralized.

“Mister Tuvok,” came the captain’s voice again, “stand down all weapons and lower shields.”

“Aye, Captain.” Tuvok’s voice sounded only slightly more controlled than the captain’s. “All weapons offline and shields are down.”

Chakotay resisted the urge to turn and study Janeway’s face to see if she was excited about their successful return. He detected little emotion, good or bad, in her voice, yet he didn’t know whether to blame her stoicism on shock or denial, or a combination of both. He laid a tentative course for Earth into the helm, leaving the speed unspecified.

“Course laid in, Captain. Warp engines are offline.”

“Very well, Commander. Stand by for further orders.”

Momentarily unoccupied, he glanced to his left at Harry Kim, who stood like a statue at his post, still in shock at their accomplishment. Chakotay suspected that Harry would soon be swamped with messages from headquarters and from nearby ships anxious to make contact with their long-lost compatriots. As if on cue, Harry glanced up and said, “Captain, we’re being hailed by at least fifteen different ships.”

Janeway sighed. “Send anything that looks official to me and archive everything else for later. Right now, we need to prepare for the last leg of our journey.”

“Aye, Captain.” As soon as Harry complied with her directions, a long list of standing orders and protocols arrived at the command station with a distinctive musical chime, a common enough sound on most Starfleet ships, but unheard on Voyager for seven years. Chakotay suspected that most of those orders would be routine instrument settings and current procedures, the usual boring checklists and standing guidelines for this busy and crowded region of Federation space. Janeway groaned at the sheer number of tasks on her screen.

“We’re starting from scratch here,” she muttered softly to herself. “Commander, you take the routine protocols, and I’ll take the standing orders. Mr. Tuvok, I’ll send you anything security related.”

“Aye, Captain,” he and Tuvok replied in unison.

Janeway forwarded their assignments, and the helm lit up–speed limits, restricted and off-limit regions, current approved lanes of approach to Earth, acceptable orbits and speeds, contact communication frequencies, and dozens of other limitations and preferences that the pilot would have to take into consideration in steering the ship. Chakotay began to work through them systematically and could hear Janeway going through her own chores behind him. He imagined that she was filing her flight plan, listing the members of her crew, and completing a dozen other routine reports—the first of a thousand reports awaiting their attention in the next weeks and months. The thought of the debriefing exhausted him, and, for the first time of many in the coming days, he longed for the familiar routine of life in the Delta Quadrant.

All around him, the bridge remained calm. He could hear an occasional shout or cheer from the lower decks, but here the work continued as if nothing spectacular had occurred, as if Voyager wouldn’t soon dock and her crew scatter, as if seven years of exile hadn’t abruptly ended. He took a deep breath at the thought of it, beginning to comprehend all that he was about to lose. He felt much different than he had expected, more concerned about what he was giving up than about what he was gaining. He would have to meditate on those feelings before he would understand them, and he thought it might be months before he felt at peace again.

Another distinctive chime notified them of the arrival of Voyager’s orders from Starfleet. He straightened slightly in his seat in anticipation as the captain accessed them. This could be it—the final moments.

Janeway laughed softly before she read them aloud, “Stand by for further orders.”

Chakotay looked back and gave her a quick smile before sending a private message to her console: “Great minds think alike.”

When Rollins exited the turbolift a few moments later, Janeway directed him to the helm, allowing Chakotay to return to his seat beside her at the command console. He glanced at the upper deck of the bridge as he turned, surprised to discover that Seven of Nine had left the bridge without a word to anyone. He wondered momentarily how she was handling their return, and then took his seat and leaned toward Janeway, putting Seven out of his thoughts.

He grinned. “They’re trying to decide what to do with us.”

“You’re probably right,” she answered, her voice low so that only he could hear. However, she had a smile on her face that was blinding in its intensity, the first real emotion he’d detected from her since the first moments after their arrival. “What do you think it will be? McKinley Station? Utopia Planetia?”

“Not McKinley. We have too many classified modifications for an Earth orbit. Same for Mars. Utopia Planetia has external dry docks, and any passing ship could take a look.”

“Jupiter Station, then,” she nodded, glancing back at the screen. “I wouldn’t bet against it.”

She swiveled the small panel on their shared console so he could read with her as she returned to her work. It was a natural moment, a relaxed continuation of shared duty and mutual respect that had taken years to perfect, and he basked in the familiarity of it. They had been ideal partners in command, but that was quickly coming to an end.

Unable to get his eyes to focus, Chakotay simply sat beside Janeway contemplating the ironic fact that he already missed her. He knew Kathryn better than he had known anyone else in his life. For seven long years, for over twenty-five hundred days, they had worked hand-in-glove through the most challenging and desperate conditions Voyager had faced. They had argued with each other over life-and-death decisions, toasted each other on their rare moments of good fortune, grieved at horrible losses, laughed at ridiculous results, teased each other mercilessly, and raged against the demons of bad fortune.

Why hadn’t he realized how much he’d treasured every moment? Was his recent restlessness a reaction to her unflagging determination to get home at the cost of the present? Had he given up on the possibility of seeing Earth again? Had he taken her for granted? He was shaken to think of going days and weeks without seeing her.

She fidgeted as she read, but that was the only outward sign of her barely repressed bubbling excitement. At last she glanced at him, realizing that he hadn’t read a word.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You seem preoccupied.”

“I’m not sure,” he answered, shaking his head. “I’m in shock.”

“Me, too.” She patted his arm with empathy and favored him with another brilliant smile. “I want to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“I could pinch you, if you’d like,” he teased, happy to see her eyes sparkling at his joke.

How strange to think that she would no longer be there day in and day out. They had stood back-to-back in the midst of dozens of battles, and he’d never felt the need to look over his shoulder to see if she was there. She was there. She had never failed him or the crew as long as she was able to draw a breath, and she had been a reliable facet of his existence for seven years.

But no more.

The words on their shared screen blurred with tears as he began to sense the depth of his loss. A hand touched his, and he looked up into the familiar blue eyes of his captain, eyes also shimmering with tears.

“I don’t want to our friendship to end, either,” she said softly, reading his mind. “It won’t happen if we don’t let it.”

Chakotay nodded, unable to speak, and she returned to her reading.

Another chime sounded softly on the command console–orders for Voyager to proceed to Jupiter Station for docking. He chuckled and gave his captain a wink.

She returned his smile. “Mr. Rollins, set a course for Jupiter Station. Half impulse.”

“Course laid in, Captain.”

“Engage.”

Chakotay found himself holding Janeway’s hand as she leaned toward him. In an hour, everything would change. He wanted to commit these last precious moments to memory.

“Whatever happens,” she whispered, her heart in her eyes, “we’ll always have each other. No matter what.”

“No matter what,” he replied, repeating her promise like a solemn vow. “We’ll always have each other.”