Disclaimer: Paramount rules. I’m just playing with their dolls.

WARNING: THIS STORY IS NOT TOLD IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER! PAY ATTENTION TO THE CHAPTER DATES/LOCATIONS!

Note: This is not my usual Janeway/Chakotay story. In this universe, Our Favorite Couple is a little more confused and much more human than they appeared in the Delta Quadrant. Maybe it’s something in the water. LOL

Undeniable

By Mizvoy

Chapter 3

May 17, 2379 (one year anniversary of Voyager’s return)

Monterey Starfleet Compound–0230 hours

Chakotay felt guilty as the transporter beam wrapped Seven of Nine in its familiar blue sparkle, beaming her back to San Francisco to regenerate in the alcove that had been installed in her apartment. She looked miserable as she dematerialized, and Chakotay told himself that he should step onto the platform and follow her home, that he should give in to her original plans rather than deciding to remain behind on his own to attend the crew’s impromptu family picnic later that day.

He was still staring at the empty transport pad when he heard the transporter technician stifle a yawn and then clear his throat. “Would you like for me to arrange transport back to your quarters, sir?” he asked. “They’re predicting a hell of a storm. You might get drenched if you walk.”

Chakotay shook his head, already losing the pleasant buzz from the margaritas at Chell’s “after” party. “No thanks. I need the walk and the fresh air. And a cold shower wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“Suit yourself, sir,” the young man said as he disappeared into the lounge area at the back of the station. “Have a pleasant evening.”

As he made his way out of the building, Chakotay thought about his argument with Seven earlier that evening regarding his sudden change in plans. They’d only just arrived in Monterey when they learned about the family picnic scheduled for the next afternoon, and she had been unwilling to consider staying for it.

“We decided weeks ago that we would return to San Francisco following the formal reunion,” she’d reminded him. “While the ‘after’ party, as you call it, is easily accommodated into our schedule, I cannot change my job interview at this late hour. If I’d anticipated this, I wouldn’t have scheduled it for late tomorrow morning.”

The fact that she’d done that without consulting him was another argument he’d lost the previous month. He’d suspected that something like this might happen, but Seven had claimed that her prospective employers were insisting on an interview that day. However, it wouldn’t help anything to bring that up again, and so he’d moved on.

“We didn’t realize then that so many of the crew would be extending their stay over the weekend or making plans for informal parties and get- togethers,” he’d countered, irritated at her predictable objection to a more spontaneous or less structured approach to their plans and activities. There were times when he could almost hear her reluctantly erasing and rearranging her mental calendar because of unexpected “disruptions.” “You can understand why I want to attend the family picnic being held at the beachfront park tomorrow, can’t you? It’s been eight months since we’ve seen most of these people.”

Exasperated, she’d rolled her eyes. “The likelihood is that this picnic will be a disorganized free-for-all with very little appetizing food and miserable surroundings.”

“That’s the nature of picnics, Seven. Spreading a blanket on the ground. Eating food prepared at home or cooked over a fire. Being invaded by ants. Slapping mosquitoes.”

She wasn’t amused by his joke. “I don’t understand your fascination with primitive conditions. The chances for food poisoning, sunburn, and injury are a few items I’d think you’d want to avoid.”

Finally, he’d simply put his foot down. “I don’t care if the picnic is a flop. The children will be there, and, if nothing else, I’ll enjoy seeing them. I’m staying, Seven, and that’s all there is to it.”

She’d tried not to pout, but her voice sounded petulant nonetheless, “Should I attempt to reschedule my meeting and attend the picnic with you tomorrow? You seem conflicted about my need to leave.”

“I’m not conflicted about it, Seven. I really do understand. I wish you could stay, that’s all. I’m going to miss you.” He took a deep breath. “I thought you’d want to see more of the crew, too.”

“I will spend the entire evening with them. That will be enough.” Her flat statement reminded him of how she’d been on Voyager, how she’d spent most of her time alone in astrometrics or in her alcove, only gradually increasing her social interaction to include time with members of the senior staff in the mess hall, playing velocity with the captain, or supervising Naomi and the Borg children. It was unfair of him to think that she missed these people as much as he did when she’d spent so little time interacting with them. She forged ahead, “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the importance of this interview?”

“No, Seven, I understand that you need to go back. And you need to regenerate before the interview tomorrow afternoon. Besides, a picnic on the beach is not your kind of party. The wind and sand would irritate your implants. I’ll beam back tomorrow night and give you a call. Maybe we can go to Rigetto’s for dinner? You can tell me then all about your interview.”

She’d nodded and, to his relief, the momentary confrontation had passed. He’d made arrangements for lodging at the base housing center just before the reunion was scheduled to begin. Hours later, when the time had come for her to leave, they had walked hand-in-hand to the transporter station without another cross word. He’d thought she’d resigned herself to the situation until he’d seen the unhappiness on her face as she’d transported.

As he left the building, Chakotay stopped to observe the beautiful evening, glad to have some time to think as he made his way back to his room. The weather was breathtaking. Although there were stars directly overhead, the western sky was boiling with thunderclouds that the moonlight turned into beautiful sculptures occasionally lit from within by flashes of lightening. He strolled down the deserted street and past the darkened office buildings, noticing that the lights were still on in the ballroom, the whirr of cleaning equipment combining with the blaring music being played on the sound system.

Sitting down on a bench just outside the conference center, he decided to listen to the music for awhile, a series of jazzy upbeat numbers probably selected to keep the workers awake and moving in spite of the late hour. He thought back to the reunion and the nostalgia that had nearly suffocated him. He’d been aware of missing Voyager’s crew, but he didn’t realize just how much he missed them until he’d seen so many together again. Just as he’d thought he was over his homesickness, it had hit him harder than ever.

If the first moments of the reunion had been a shock to him, the captain’s late arrival had doubled his misery. He’d been embarrassed at the way his throat had closed and his eyes had filled with tears when he saw her standing just inside the door, smiling and waving at the crew, looking just the same as she always had. The captain’s presence had only served to increase the carnival atmosphere of the gathering and to deepen his gloom. Uncomfortable and out of sorts, he’d remained rooted to his seat, content to sit with Seven and greet those members of the crew that sought him out. He doubted that anyone noticed his silent retreat anyway. Except, maybe, the captain.

Soon after Kathryn’s departure on Wingate’s arm, he and Seven had joined the informal party being held at a meeting room in a nearby hotel, a typical lower-decks blowout hosted by Chell and a few other former Maquis. Tom and Harry had helped them prepare for the gathering, creating a twentieth century cocktail party complete with period music, nachos, tiny quiches, chocolate fondue, and something called buffalo wings, although, as Seven pointed out with an arched eyebrow, they were obviously taken from chickens, not buffalo.

Feeling much more at home than he had at the formal party, Chakotay relaxed and enjoyed himself for the first time that day. He indulged in too many margaritas and spent too much time on the dance floor learning something called “disco” from the Delaney sisters. It wasn’t until later that he remembered, with a great deal of disappointment, that Seven would not be staying the night with him in Monterey. Her departure left him at loose ends, restless and a little resentful at being alone after the wild release of the party. It reminded him too much of his lonely exile on Voyager, his many nights alone in his quarters longing for the company of a woman.

Perhaps it was the alcohol or just the emotional roller-coaster of the evening that had made him feel suddenly sad and melancholy, but he’d quietly left the party, made his way past the patio and into the night. He crossed a meticulously manicured fringe of grass and arrived at the deck surrounding the pool where he collapsed onto a lounge chair and felt sorry for himself.

He and Seven had argued a lot recently. He resisted her desire to plan out his days to the minute, sometimes deliberately arriving late or arbitrarily changing his plans just because of the way she was using the schedule to control him. She was impatient with his “inefficient use of time,” constantly pointing out how little he’d accomplished because of his meditation time or his hours in “recreational activities” or “pointless social interaction.” He thought she was a workaholic; she thought he was an unfocused, undisciplined gadfly.

On Voyager, he realized, none of this would have been a problem between them. Everyone worked too hard on the ship, routinely pulling double shifts or split shifts for two- or three-week stretches at a time. Time off had been measured in minutes and hours, not days or weeks. There was so much work to be done that there was little time left for parties or picnics or any other “frivolous activities.” And their roles had been clearly defined; their work was efficiently designed with little or no duplication of effort. He groaned in frustration as he stretched out and closed his eyes.

He didn’t think anyone had noticed his departure until he heard the footsteps of someone approaching the pool. He opened one eye slightly and saw B’Elanna sit down on the lounge chair next to him. “Make yourself at home,” he said, a small grin on his face.

“You were quiet at the reunion, Chakotay, and now you’re over here moping all by yourself. Is something bothering you?”

He wanted to complain to her about Seven’s inflexibility, but bit his tongue. B’Elanna and Seven had a grudging friendship, and she’d never approved of his involvement with the former drone. “I guess I was just a little unnerved to see so many of the crew in one place again. I thought it would be fun, but instead it was strange and awkward. I realized how much I missed being on Voyager, and being who I was there, too.”

“I know what you mean. The people I thought I knew so well a year ago seem completely different here. Why is that?”

“I don’t know.” He thought about Seven, how they’d seemed so compatible on the ship, yet were so uncomfortable together now. Could they be experiencing the same “growth pains” the rest of the crew was? “Maybe we were too used to seeing each other in certain limited roles. Maybe we worked too hard and too long to have time to think about whether we really liked each other.”

“Maybe so.” She grew quiet, and Chakotay felt more certain that it was this problem he was facing in his relationship with Seven. In the limited Voyager universe and in their carefully defined roles, they probably would have been happier together, less conflicted.

But that didn’t doom them to failure, he told himself. Diagnosing the problem was the first step to the cure. “We’ll just have to get to know each other all over again, B’Elanna.”

She laughed. “I thought we’d all just slip back into our old comfortable relationships, but it didn’t happen. I had trouble talking to some of the people I thought I knew best.” She sighed and looked back into the tightly packed party room. “Feels better here, somehow.”

“Better than the reunion? I agree. Except not everybody’s here.”

She nodded, giving him a speculative look. “You mean the captain.”

He hoped the poor lighting kept her from seeing how he was blushing. “Among others.”

“Like who? Tuvok?” She didn’t press the point, letting him get away with the little white lie, but he could see the knowing smile on her face. “She never hung around for these wilder parties anyway, so nobody expected her to be here. But, you were closer to her than the rest of us, Chakotay, so it’s only natural that you miss her more than we do.”

“I guess so.” He felt embarrassed by the way she had figured out his feelings and worried that he might once again be wearing his heart on his sleeve. “I should’ve just gone up to her and talked.”

“When would you have done that?” she chuckled. “That woman was surrounded by admirers from the moment she entered the ballroom. Everyone wanted time with her, and she was too polite to say no. First the press, then the admirals, then the crew. Then Wingate.” She smiled indulgently at her oldest friend. “But I could tell she wanted to talk to you, too.”

“Right. She confided in you about her innermost thoughts. ‘Sure wish I could talk to Chakotay,’ she said.”

“Nothing that obvious, you goof. I could tell how she felt by the way she looked at you. Especially after she joined us at the table. She obviously misses you. You were her best friend, too.”

“On Voyager, but not here. It was a good working relationship, B’Elanna, that’s all.” He tried not to panic, telling himself that B’Elanna couldn’t have sensed the truth about his relationship with the captain.

“Too bad for you,” she teased, giving him a playful punch and a wink. “And too bad she has to leave and can’t come to the picnic tomorrow. It’s just her kind of party-a little more relaxed, but not too wild. She really wanted to see the kids.” She glanced into the party room as a loud cheer reached them. “I’d better find Tom before he and Harry decide to do something stupid. See you later.”

He’d watched her return to the party and realized that his decision to stay in Monterey longer, to reconnect with these people, was at least partly a desire to step back a year in time, to restore some of the family feeling he missed. He looked forward to playing some volleyball, sitting around a campfire, throwing a Frisbee, and just talking and laughing with his friends on the beach. Like the captain, he, too, missed the children, especially Miral and Naomi, and looked forward to pushing them on swings, frolicking with them in the water, carrying them on his shoulders. He was sorry that his decision to stay disappointed Seven of Nine, but this was something that he wanted to do. Needed to do.

The reality was that no matter whether he was in Monterey or San Francisco, he would be spending the rest of the night alone. Seven’s need for regeneration alcove had not lessened, and she seldom slept at all. While she occasionally indulged him with an overnight stay at his apartment, she generally held him until he fell asleep and then returned to her work in the study where he’d find her the next morning, as crisp and efficient as ever. He’d known that she was Borg and could hardly complain about her unique needs now, even though their lives seemed to revolve around her alcove’s proximity or the power-greedy remote device they usually lugged along with them.

And yet, their sleeping arrangements signified so much of what was wrong between them. She was not and never would be a tactile person. She never reached for his hand or gave him a spontaneous hug. She tolerated sex, but disliked the “loss of control” it required, nor did she understand his need for affectionate gestures like holding hands or taking long, meandering walks or cuddling on a sofa, labeling them a childish waste of time. He suspected that she’d become as human as she could ever be, and unless he became partially Borg, which he’d categorically refused to consider, they’d never grow any more intimate than they were now. He shook his head in sorrow and disappointment, wondering for the thousandth time how he’d gotten himself into this complicated and demanding relationship.

His reverie was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that brought with it a dramatic drop in temperature. The music inside the building stopped and the lights went out as the clean-up crew finished their work and headed for home. He shivered, hugged himself against the chill, and regretted forgetting his jacket at the hotel. A glance toward the bay revealed that the menacing bank of clouds had sped up and would arrive before he could get to shelter or his quarters. No matter what he did, he was probably going to get wet. Very wet.

He thought through the most convenient route to his room and realized there was no real shortcut available. The sidewalk that curved along the edge of the water would leave him unprotected from the gale as it blasted onto shore. The road that curved in the opposite direction might be less open to the weather, but it was also twice as far. Unless he wanted to be soaked, he’d have to cut through the alley behind the distinguished visitor’s cottages and then angle through the golf course to the visiting officer’s quarters some ten blocks away. With a shrug and a final glance at the clouds, he started toward the alley at a trot, drops of cold rain falling with loud splats all around him.

The violence of the squall reminded him of the plasma storms on New Earth with their fierce wind, icy rain, and flashes of blinding blue-white lightening. He remembered the first storm they’d endured there, the one that had caught Kathryn in the forest checking on her insect traps. He’d panicked about her safety, racing through the trees in search of her until he’d found her struggling to get home as the wind tried to rip her awkward equipment from her hands. They’d helped each other return to the shelter and crawled under a table to keep from being pelted by hail or hit by falling debris.

The despair she’d felt at the loss of her equipment had brought tears to her eyes, and he’d held her as she sobbed in frustration and hopelessness, throwing her arms around his neck and hanging on for dear life. He’d long suspected that she was hiding fear and vulnerability beneath her controlled Starfleet demeanor, but he’d been unprepared for the affect that seeing those feelings would have on him. She’d always seemed so confident, so optimistic, so tenacious in her determination to get home that he’d let himself believe she was impervious to doubt and despair, that she was, in fact, the consummate Starfleet captain.

For the first time in the nearly two years they’d worked together, he truly understood the pressure she felt, the panic she repressed in order to calmly lead the troops, in order to assuage their fears and keep them focused on their jobs instead of their predicament. He began to perceive how much the strain had cost her personally, in both emotional and psychological terms.

And he’d never admired anyone more. That night as he’d comforted her, he’d begun to spin the angry warrior legend in his mind. He would help her in any way he could. He would put her needs first because she so often put them last. She would find in him a reliable right arm, a steady and constant touchstone, a true and trustworthy ally. That moment had been the beginning of one of the most remarkable friendships in his life, one that he still treasured and always would.

He’d almost reached the end of the alley when he was stopped in his tracks by the distinctive aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The gusting wind forced him to find shelter behind the trunk of a tree as he scanned the cabins’ back porches, trying to determine which cabin was the source of the smell. He realized it was the one next to the golf course, the one with the windows that glowed with the warmth of candlelight, and Chakotay imagined that he could hear the strains of classical music over the clash of thunder and pouring rain. All the other cabins were dark and silent, but not this one. Who else would be awake in the middle of the night? Who else would make coffee at this hour of the morning?

Kathryn Janeway was in that cabin. He was as sure of it as he was his own name. He imagined her and Randy Wingate snuggling on the sofa of the cozy candle-lit room, sipping coffee, talking as they relaxed to the soothing music, happy to be safe and warm as the storm beat against the cottage’s windows. The thought conjured memories of long nights he’d spent with her in her quarters on Voyager, oblivious to the strange stars streaming past them, blissfully unaware of the dangers that might threaten their lives with each passing moment.

He missed her. He missed her voice, her sense of humor, her quirky smile, her kindness, her friendship. He decided that it was her presence at the reunion that had upset him, forced him to retreat to his table and watch the festivities from the sidelines like a neglected child. Memories of their time together in San Francisco came unbidden to his mind, and he stepped out of the shadows toward the house in an unconscious desire to be closer to her. If only he could walk up to the cabin and see her and hear her voice, he would be happy. More than happy. He could talk to her about Seven. She is the only person who would understand the complexities and challenges he faced while living with the former Borg.

Then he realized that with Seven gone, he could talk to Kathryn. There was no one waiting for him in his room, nowhere else he had to be. He could walk up to her cabin, knock on her door, and spend a few precious moments talking to her. She was obviously awake; he wouldn’t be disturbing her sleep. He imagined himself in the cabin, sitting with her on the sofa, drinking tea, laughing at her wry comments about how he’d scheduled everyone’s time on Voyager. Perhaps Wingate would retire to bed and leave them alone, realizing that the former command team might need some privacy, some time to talk things over the way they had for seven long years. She would make him feel better, more like his real self.

He wondered how many times in the last eight months he’d lain in bed thinking about Kathryn. Except for her postings on the Voyager message board, a few cryptic personal messages, and information gleaned from anyone who’d seen her in person, he’d had no idea how she felt about her life or what she was doing in her career. She traveled off-world so much that she didn’t even have quarters on earth, and he was sure she’d be even busier once she was promoted to admiral, always a moving target. It was hard to believe that their close friendship on Voyager had faded into a memory in one short year. Not that they weren’t still friends, of course. More than friends.

He pushed the thought away. She was apparently with Wingate now. And he was with Seven. He reached up and buried his face in his hands, brushing the mixture of rain and tears from his eyes as the gale buffeted him. He felt as if some great power had taken his life from him, taken away his ability to choose his fate. From the moment the Cardassians had killed his family, his life had spun out of control. His life had been pushed and pulled by circumstances, first into the Maquis, then into the Delta Quadrant, then back into Starfleet and finally into Federation space. Even his relationship with Seven seemed to have just happened to him without a conscious choice.

He leaned against the fence enclosing the tiny back yard as he stared at the cottage, forcing himself to see what was there-Kathryn with another man. She’d moved on. He’d moved on. He wasn’t sure how or why it had happened, but he had to accept it. With a shiver, he brushed his wet hair from his eyes and pushed away from the fence, stumbling slightly as a violent gust of icy wind blew in from the ocean and caught him off-balance. He was about to turn away and start across the golf course when he heard a familiar voice shouting over the wind.

“Are you going to stand out there all night, Chakotay?”

His head snapped up at the sound, and he noticed, for the first time, the shadow of a small figure on the porch. “Kathryn?”

To be continued . . .