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 5

September 15, 2378 (four months after Voyager’s return)

San Francisco-2000 hours

Fog had shrouded San Francisco Bay by the time Chakotay’s shuttle arrived from New York City. He stepped out of the transport station into a cloud of suspended moisture that reduced visibility to zero and muffled the usual sounds of the city. He’d loved this weather as a cadet, so different from the relentless sun and dry heat of Dorvan V, and he welcomed the mist now like a long lost friend.

He wasn’t sure what had compelled him to travel here through what had been the middle of the night in Sweden’s part of the world. He’d been trying to contact Kathryn Janeway for hours, ever since they’d heard the rumor that the official decision on Voyager’s crew was supposed to be issued the next week, and he supposed that her sudden inaccessibility had disturbed him. He remembered the distant look on her face when they’d met for lunch a few weeks earlier, the way she’d suddenly disconnect from him and stare into the distance, deep in thought. Although he’d reassured Gretchen Janeway that there was nothing to worry about in Kathryn’s melancholy mood, he had worried about her ever since. She seemed more fragile and vulnerable than he’d ever seen her, and he wondered how she would react when the final decisions on the crew’s future were issued.

As soon as he’d heard the rumors of the upcoming hearing from Tom Paris, he’d called Kathryn’s office, but the aide for her analysis group informed him that she was in a meeting and would be unavailable until later in the afternoon. He’d considered leaving her a message to contact him at Seven’s apartment, but the aide had held out little hope for a return message before the following week. When Chakotay continued to press for details, the man had finally admitted that he didn’t expect her to return to the office for the rest of the day and that she had apparently taken time off for a long weekend. Would Kathryn leave work early when the decision was about to be issued? A tiny alarm went off in his head.

Gretchen Janeway, the next person he’d contacted, had been even less informative. Kathryn had called and left a message that she’d not be home for the weekend, but she hadn’t volunteered any specific information on her plans nor had she hinted at an upcoming hearing. “I was hoping she’d taken a trip with friends, the way she used to,” Gretchen had said. “She could be anywhere. Should I be worried about her?” He’d reassured her that there it was nothing of any concern, of course, but had simultaneously begun to wonder if Kathryn had managed to get an advanced copy of the draft decision and simply disappear to read it in private. It sounded like something she would do.

Seven had been dispassionate about the situation and had assured him that the captain was probably fine, perhaps even commemorating the end of her long ordeal by taking a small celebratory vacation. “She’s been awaiting this decision for many weeks, Chakotay. She’s probably commemorating its arrival in her own private way. She always kept her distance from the crew, you know. Why should this be any different?”

Chakotay had shaken his head in disbelief. Of course, Seven would think of Kathryn as private and reclusive because she thought of her only as the captain. Kathryn had been a virtual outsider on Voyager, a prisoner to work, duty, and responsibility, but that wasn’t her normal personality. She had dozens of friends and acquaintances from her many years in Starfleet, and she was a natural extrovert.

Why would she, as Seven speculated, celebrate in her own private way? He wasn’t sure that Kathryn would react well to any decision, good or bad, but he had only his intuition to tell him that something was wrong about her sudden disappearance. He made a few more calls to mutual friends, but learned nothing helpful about her recent frame of mind. He finally gave up and prepared for bed, crawling between the sheets at his usual hour and going through his normal relaxation routine.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Attempts at meditation were equally futile, so after a few hours of restlessness, he put on his clothes and decided to take a walk, his thoughts focused on his former captain and her preference for “private” retreats. Seven, who wouldn’t need to regenerate for several more hours, simply nodded as he left, reminding him to take a jacket. He wandered through the neighborhood barely noticing his surroundings.

He carefully reviewed everything he could remember about their lunch together. Beneath the surface, carefully hidden behind her friendly smile and gentle teasing, was an uncharacteristic stillness, a dangerous withdrawal that signaled trouble. During their meal, he’d seen moments of uncertainty in her eyes, a remoteness that had chilled him to the bone. When he remembered the look on her face, he could still see an emotion in her eyes, a combination of hopelessness and despair that haunted him. He felt that she was a powder keg waiting to explode.

If she’d managed to get advance notification of the decision, how would she react to it? What would she do when she received it? Where would she go? What actions would she take if the decision contained bad news? Would she try to warn him if the Maquis faced trial and possible incarceration? He didn’t think she should read such critical information alone and wished they’d talked in advance about how they’d handle the situation. He should be with her now as he’d been with her throughout the Delta Quadrant ordeal.

With a tiny wince of guilt, he realized that she would hesitate to call him because of his relationship with Seven of Nine. As soon as Kathryn had learned of his liaison with the former Borg, she’d withdrawn from him, asserted an independence and remoteness he hadn’t experienced with her in years. He had waited too long to tell her about it, and she’d heard about it, instead, from her future self. He thought of the older more cynical Kathryn with an angry huff. The admiral had used his relationship with Seven to hurt Kathryn in a way she didn’t deserve, and Kathryn had believed they were destined to marry, as they had in the admiral’s lifetime, even though the future had been irrevocably changed. In spite of his assurances that they’d had only a few dates, she’d turned away from him with a finality that still hurt and angered him when he thought about it. He wished he could have five minutes with that older Kathryn just to give her a piece of his mind.

He had walked for nearly an hour when he decided to look for her, returning to Seven’s apartment at a trot to tell her where he’d be and why he had to go. Packing just a few necessities, he’d soon discovered that travel as a civilian was much more time-consuming and circuitous than as a Starfleet officer. Instead of beaming directly to San Francisco, he’d had to make arrangements for shuttle flights. It had taken him hours to get to London and catch the New York City shuttle, hours more to find space in a flight to San Francisco. In spite of the time difference and his persistent effort to find the earliest possible flights, he’d arrived after normal office hours on Friday afternoon, long after everyone at Starfleet command had gone home for the weekend, leaving no one behind who had seen or spoken to Kathryn that day. And he still had no clue as to where he would find her.

He’d tried to sleep through the flight from New York but had experienced fragmented dreams of Kathryn. He’d dreamt of her on New Earth, recalling the time that he had massaged her neck and shoulders, the long rope of her hair smooth as silk in his hands, her skin warm and creamy white. Then he’d dreamt of her battered and torn body when she’d allowed herself to be partially assimilated by the Borg, the horrible holes in her skin where tubes and machinery had violated her body. He’d seen her lifeless in his arms after their shuttle crash, her skin cold and clammy as he tried to resuscitate her. Every effort to sleep left him tossing and turning in his seat until he finally gave up on sleeping at all.

And so he’d sat up and quieted his mind, staring out of the window as the ship approached California, taking in the familiar sights of the geography of the western part of North America. As the shuttle approached the west coast, he saw the familiar fog rolling in, filling the city from the bottom up, leaving the taller structures to poke through the clouds like stalagmites, one of the tallest of which being the recently restored Mark Hopkins InterGalactic Hotel.

The Mark Hopkins Hotel reminded him of Kathryn. His mind went back to a night in the captain’s quarters when she’d spoken of that particular hotel. They’d finished their meal and had moved to the sofa to talk about home. This particular night they talked about living in San Francisco and enduring the suffocating workload at Starfleet Command, especially the difficulty in finding time to get away and relax when assigned to headquarters.

She’d laughed and said, “Mark and I used to sneak away for weekends right there in the city, practically in the shadow of my office building. There are some wonderful hotels that give Starfleet officers a special weekend rate on their luxury suites. We’d rent one of those and pay cash to preclude being tracked by our use of credit records. Staying there maximized our time off because it eliminated the need to travel, and no one ever thought to look for me right under their noses.”

As the shuttle had landed, he realized where he needed to go. Now, as he stood in the cool damp of the evening, he smiled, glancing around at the fog-filled street. He knew the Mark Hopkins still offered those special weekend rates on suites. And, it was right up the street from his location, a nice walk after his hours of sitting.

“We have no one here by the name of Janeway, sir.” The desk clerk’s manners were flawless, yet Chakotay could barely stifle his frustration. He knew Kathryn was there and wished he could just swivel the man’s computer around and look at the register himself.

Instead, he tried another tactic. “Perhaps you remember her? She’s about this tall, dark red hair, blue eyes, quite petite?”

“You’re talking about Captain Kathryn Janeway? From Voyager? Of course, I’ve seen her on the newsvids since Voyager’s return.” The clerk shrugged. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t recall seeing her, but I came on duty just a few hours ago, and the previous clerk is long gone.”

“Thanks anyway,” Chakotay replied, struggling to keep from taking his aggravation out on the innocent worker. “Thanks for your time.”

He moved to a hallway leading to the back entrance of the hotel, pretending to access one of the comm links that lined the wall as he studied a PADD he pulled from the small bag he’d slung over his shoulder. When he was sure the clerk was busy elsewhere, he used the PADD to unlock a hallway door and slipped into the darkened back office where he quickly logged onto a computer.

It was easy to hack into the hotel’s files and pull up the guest register, looking for a name that would catch his eye, someone who had checked in today for the weekend and paid in cash. There were only a few, one of which was a person by the name of Joanna Archer. He stopped to think. Kathryn had mentioned that she and Mark had loved to use an alias when they checked in. “You know, something close to a famous name, but not quite the same,” she’d said. “Jane Kirk. Ray Garrett. Lynn McCoy.”

All famous Starfleet officers-almost. Joanna Archer? Hadn’t Jonathan Archer been the captain of the first Enterprise? Suite 818. He smiled with satisfaction. That had to be Kathryn.

Chakotay logged off of the computer, let himself out of the office, and paced along the back hallway considering his options. He could simply pick up a comm and call her, but she could ignore the call or prescreen it to avoid talking to him. Even so, the easy direct route was always worth a try. He stepped to the wall unit and tapped in the number for suite 818, only to be told that the occupant was not taking calls. So much for taking the simple solution.

He imagined himself riding the elevator to the eighth floor, studying the posted floor plan for the location of Suite 818, walking up to the doorway, and having a complete stranger named Joanna Archer open the door. If that happened, he was could escape without too much embarrassment, saying something like, “Oh, this isn’t 618? So sorry to disturb you.”

But, he knew in his heart Joanna Archer wouldn’t be there, that Kathryn Janeway would answer the door. If she answered the door at all. He walked to the bank of elevators and waited for a car. If the hotel was as up-to-date as it professed to be, each room probably had an individualized security system, where the patrons would enter their own privacy code as they arrived. If Kathryn was there, as he suspected, her door would open once he entered her code into the mechanism. If it failed to open, it would not be Kathryn. All he had to do was figure out the code she would most likely have used.

An easy enough task. On Voyager, they had carried on a friendly contest over her door code starting soon after he’d become her first officer. He didn’t really know why he’d decided to figure out the code to her quarters in the first place. He was bored, unable to sleep, and snooping around in the ship’s computer, supposedly learning all he could about Voyager. It hadn’t been easy for him to give up command and accept a subordinate position, especially when the captain had so far routinely left him out of the loop on many of her decisions. Maybe he just wanted to prove to himself that he could gain access to any part of the ship whenever he wanted, even Kathryn’s inner sanctum. Probably it had more to do with the odd attraction he’d felt toward her from the first time they’d met.

Whatever the reason, he was actually cocky about having figured out her door code so quickly and easily. He was also sure he had done so without leaving a trail, but then he found himself standing in front of the ready room desk looking into the blazing blue eyes of a very angry captain.

“What’s the meaning of this, Commander?” she’d demanded, pushing a PADD toward him. “Are you planning to take up cat burglary? Or maybe just stage a mutiny?”

He’d decided against feigning innocence as he scanned the readout, seeing quite clearly the path he’d taken to discover her door code documented step by step. Better to turn the tables on her by telling the truth than to try to lie.

“A simple test,” he’d answered, placing the PADD softly on her desk. “If I’d intended to use the code to gain access to your quarters, Captain, I would have done so already.”

She’d blinked, obviously surprised by his brazen answer. “A test of what?”

“To see how easily I could do it. The Maquis pride themselves for their skill at breaking codes like this, Captain, and I guess I was concerned about your personal privacy. If I can gain access to your quarters so quickly, so can my people.”

“Why would someone want my door codes?”

He’d smiled at her. Did she have any idea what the Maquis were capable of under the worst of circumstances? Didn’t she realize that garnering the favor of the captain or having special insight into the captain’s likes and dislikes would come in handy on a Maquis ship? Someday he’d have to tell her how often he found mushroom soup waiting for him in his quarters, compliments of one member of the crew or another and followed soon enough by a request for a special favor or indulgence. Seska had been the worst about it, but there were others that were just as crafty.

“Door codes. Personal log codes. My crew doesn’t trust you yet, Captain, although with time they will. In the meantime, they might think it valuable to read your personal logs or snoop around in your quarters while you’re busy on the bridge.” He gave her a small smile. “They might try to gain special privileges by doing favors for you. Like sending you coffee, once they realize that’s all you ever use your replicator rations for.”

She’d let the teasing comment pass, unwilling, as yet, to joke with him on personal matters, but the wheels were turning in her head as she considered his words, and he’d realized that she did understand exactly what he was talking about. He’d made a mental note not to underestimate her again. “You don’t trust your own crew?” she’d asked at last, relaxing slightly.

“Let’s just say that the recruitment standards for the Maquis are much different than for Starfleet. There are members of my crew I don’t trust. But I know who they are, and I can handle them.”

She’d shaken her head. “Tuvok thinks you may be plotting something.”

“Against you?” He’d chuckled. “Tuvok is wrong. I already have a level nine clearance, Captain. I don’t need your personal door code to stage a mutiny.” She’d paled slightly as she realized the truth of his statement. “Besides, you can always access my personal logs if you doubt my reliability. No one really has any privacy from the ship’s captain.” He’d stood there a moment, letting his comment sink in. As captain, she could override his own privacy codes or anyone else’s any time she deemed it necessary for the ship’s safety. Turn about was fair play, as the old saying went. He continued, “I can help you devise a more secure door code, if you’d like.”

She’d narrowed her eyes, her competitive juices flowing. He was discovering that he loved the challenge of talking to her. “I’m quite capable of protecting my own privacy, Commander.”

His eyes had sparkled with delight. “Want to make a bet?”

“Wha-at?” In their first few weeks as a command team, he’d been careful to follow protocol to the letter. But, it was going to be a long time before they were home, and he thought they needed to establish a better rapport, maybe even, at times, a relaxed friendship. Eventually.

He’d grinned at her, counting on the usual female response to his dimples to soften her mood. “I promise never to walk in on you uninvited, of course. But, I assure you, I can break any door code you care to devise.”

For the first time, he’d seen the left corner of her mouth twitch in amusement, and the sight had delighted him. He had hoped she would have a sense of humor, a need for fun. “I seriously doubt that.”

He’d grinned again, genuinely pleased. “Once in awhile then, when you least expect it, I’ll open your door for you.”

She’d studied his face, and he knew she was reminding herself that she had no choice but to trust him, had to accept with complete confidence that he wouldn’t abuse the power and authority she’d already given him. Like it or not, they were a team. If they were to work together smoothly, she had to believe in his loyalty and reliability.

“You’re on.” She’d laughed then, relaxing for the first time in days, a look of playfulness in her eyes that he came to treasure over the years. “I’ve already changed the code, of course. Let’s see if you break it in the next thirty days.”

He’d winked. “It won’t take that long.”

A week or so later they’d left the bridge following a particularly grueling day, a day when they had both begun to comprehend the daunting challenge that faced them. They’d exited the lift on deck three, talking very little as they’d trudged down the passageway, stopping together briefly in front of her quarters to say goodnight.

This was the time, he’d realized.

“Allow me,” he’d said, tapping a code into the wall panel. The doors had slid smoothly open and he’d continued down the hall to his own door. Once there, he’d turned to find her eying him with surprise and admiration. “Captain?”

“I’m impressed, Commander. I just changed that code two days ago.” She broke into a grin so bright that it had warmed his heart. “Perhaps I’ve underestimated you.”

From then on, when she’d least expected it or when she’d needed a laugh, he’d open her door for her with a wicked grin. He didn’t always have the code ready, of course, and found her an increasingly challenging opponent, but it had been a game that had delighted them both.

The elevator deposited him on the eighth floor and he quickly made his way down the hallway to Suite 818, pausing outside the door to listen for sounds from inside. It was possible, of course, that she wasn’t alone, that one of the many men the newsvids had shown her with in the last four months would be with her, but he doubted it. If Joanna Archer was Kathryn, she was there alone.

He tapped the door chime, only to be informed that the occupant did not wish to be disturbed. He studied the security pad, thinking of the probable codes she would use, deciding she would settle on the last code she’d used Voyager. He hesitated only a second before he tapped the code into the security device.

To be continued . . .