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

Summary: A series of chance meetings reminds Janeway and Chakotay of the inevitability of their relationship. J/C Post-Endgame

Undeniable

By Mizvoy

Chapter 2 (Chronologically)

September 16, 2378 (four months after Voyager’s return)

Mark Hopkins Intergalactic Hotel Suite 818—2000 hours

Kathryn Janeway couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this intoxicated, but she was fairly sure that she’d still been a young cadet. In some ways she was embarrassed by her juvenile behavior, by her attempt to drown her troubles in alcohol like an inexperienced ensign, but in other ways she felt strangely liberated by her self-indulgence. It had been a long time since she’d reacted emotionally to a situation. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d let herself react naturally to any experience, good or bad. If she felt like getting drunk, well, who had the right to tell her not to?

The problem with drinking was that she hated to throw up, and she almost always got sick when she drank too much. She thought about the hypospray of interpropaline, the alcohol neutralizer, she’d long ago talked the doctor into providing her. She’d used it a couple of times in the Delta Quadrant when alien negotiators had tried to get her drunk and take advantage of her, and she’d brought it with her this weekend just in case. But now she felt that “curing” her condition would be cheating. And Kathryn Janeway never cheated.

“The best lessons,” she could hear her mother lecturing her, “are taught by suffering through the consequences of our actions.”

“The consequences of my actions,” she said aloud to the empty room, “are the reason I’m drinking, Mother.”

Her face was numb, her stomach heaving, and she was fairly certain that she couldn’t walk more than a few steps without keeling over, so she snuggled into the bed’s pillows, pulled the hotel’s oversized robe around her, and tried to relax. She realized, too late, that she should’ve eaten something along with the bourbon, but now the thought of food made her even more nauseous.

The last several hours were a blur. She remembered crying when she’d realized the depth of her personal deception, when she’d finally admitted to herself that she’d been in love with Chakotay, and then realized that she’d lost him forever. She had stretched out on the soft flokati rug beneath the huge plate glass window and sobbed like a child for that loss and so many others, oblivious to the fog that had rolled in and taken away the beautiful view, oblivious to the passage of time, oblivious to everything but the pain in her heart. After a while, she’d gotten up and collapsed on the sofa, where she finally picked up the PADD and scanned the highlights of the decision.

Her ordeal was truly over. She was relieved to read that the Equinox Five were to be given a general discharge from Starfleet. They could never resume their careers, but they could work in a reputable private firm. Tom Paris’ sentence was commuted and his Starfleet rank restored. The Maquis were pardoned and many would be offered commissions. Seven’s Federation citizenship had been restored, and the EMH’s program was considered “untouchable for the foreseeable future.” Kathryn’s own actions, “while requiring further review,” were deemed “generally appropriate under the unique circumstances of Voyager’s exile.” There’d be a hearing, no doubt, but no permanent damage to her career.

The news made her feel a little better. At least her sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. Her crew was free, truly home, and her duty to them complete. She’d stayed the course. She’d kept her promise. She’d faced down insurmountable odds and overpowering enemies. She’d become so focused, so intent, so dedicated that she’d put everything and everyone else aside. She’d become nearly as obsessed with her mission as her counterpart from the future. She’d gone too far, given up too much, but she’d been successful. That’s what really mattered.

Tears threatened again, and she decided to stop thinking about herself as some sort of martyr before she dissolved in self-pity. The counselors had warned her that she would become emotional when the nightmare of the last seven years finally ended, but she’d been skeptical. She thought she’d be blissfully happy, relieved, and ready to party.

“I’ve been to hell and back without so much as a tear in my eye,” she’d told them. “I’ve lost a third of my Starfleet crew, lost possession of my ship to pirates and mutineers, watched friends betray me, other friends die in front of me. I didn’t let any of it stop me.”

“You didn’t have the luxury of mourning,” they’d argued back. “The emotions are still there, waiting to grab you by the throat. And you’ll need help when they do.”

“Well, I’ll just throttle the emotions first,” she’d countered, her head held high. “I can do anything I set my mind to do.”

However, Kathryn had to admit that she’d already cracked a little, already succumbed somewhat to those cursed emotions. Instead of feeling upset by it, she’d refilled the glass to the top with a celebratory drink. There was no time for regret, no patience for self-pity when she knew quite well that she’d brought this disaster upon herself.

What she wanted was a tub of hot, sudsy water, a few hours luxuriating in the bubbles, and soft classical music to soothe her soul. She’d needed that cry, she told herself, as a release of the incredible pressure and tension she’d endured. But now it was over. She’d gone through the worst of it, experienced the emotional catharsis the counselors had predicted, and she was feeling better now that it was over. Tomorrow, she’d pick up the flag and carry on, like the good Starfleet captain she was.

But today? This weekend? She’d indulge her emotions a little bit. So what if she shed a few tears? The counselors had said she should, and she was, after all, only human. But only so many tears, she told herself, and no more. She should celebrate like a Starfleet captain, not sob like a baby.

Her mind made up, she’d risen from the sofa and made her way into the luxurious bathroom where she filled the tub with hot water and a rose-scented bubble bath. Placing her drink on the side of the tub and ordering a favorite series of adagios from the computer, Kathryn had slid into the hot water with a groan of contentment, imagining the events of the following week.

The summonses would go out first thing Monday morning, and the crew would join her in San Francisco for a formal hearing and celebration later in the week, probably Wednesday. She imagined the crew gathering at one of the many small reception rooms in the headquarters complex, milling around in excitement as they digested the news. With Chakotay beside her, as always, she’d read a short speech about her pride in the crew, her love and appreciation for all they’d done for her, and then she’d watch them react with a joy and exhilaration and that would be all the payback she would ever need.

She grew misty eyed thinking about it. Tom and B’Elanna would embrace and kiss each other passionately, Miral held between them like a family sandwich. The Equinox Five would be swarmed by the Starfleet crew, with Harry Kim leading the way. The Maquis would be slapping each other on the backs and making plans for the future; she hoped some of them, especially B’Elanna, might decide to continue their Starfleet careers. The doctor would very likely break out into song.

And then, there would be Seven and Chakotay. She caught her breath in surprise as she realized that they, too, would turn to each other in elation. They would wrap their arms around each other, kiss deeply, and stare happily into each other’s eyes. They would walk through the room holding hands, openly displaying their new relationship. But they would also be kind and compassionate to Kathryn. They would invite her to their wedding, perhaps even ask her to perform the ceremony. She’d be an important player in their first child’s naming dedication. She’d be invited frequently to their cozy, warm home for special dinners and private celebrations. They would always remember to include the captain in their plans. Poor lonely Captain Janeway.

She brushed away a new set of tears, irritated that she was still so emotional at the thought of her two friends as a couple. And then she thought of the crowd of people who’d been lost on their journey, Carey and Tuvix and Kes and Cavit and Stadi and so many others. More tears came. She realized she must be having a crying jag, and felt even more embarrassed by her condition.

She looked at her half empty glass, drained it, and set it with a thud on the floor beside the tub, promising herself that she’d drink nothing more. Not tonight, not ever. Then she slid into the water until her chin touched the surface, closed her eyes, and remembered bathing outdoors in a handmade tub.

New Earth. Her mind wandered to a planet in the Delta Quadrant so far away that its star was invisible from earth. She spent a few moments trying to imagine how powerful a telescope would need to be to see it, and finally gave up in frustration. It didn’t matter. New Earth’s star was too far away; New Earth was forever out of reach. She blinked back tears at the irony of the thought.

She wondered whether there were any signs of their brief stay remaining on the planet. They’d brought everything they could back with them, leaving only the scars they’d made in the soil—the half-planted garden, the worn path between the cabin and the river, the scarred earth where the cabin had stood. Had it all grown over, returned to its pristine condition, or did a scar remain beneath the grass and the trees, hidden from sight, the way a scar remained hidden on her heart? Someday, a thousand years from now, would some archeologist find evidence of their brief stay and wonder what it meant? Who had lived here?

The one man-made item they’d left behind was the bathtub, carefully built for her by Chakotay as a special gift, an indulgence, on a planet that was otherwise primitive and harsh. She remembered vividly the day she’d come home from checking her insect traps, depressed at her lack of progress and sweltering in the late afternoon heat, only to find Chakotay stripped to the waist, digging in the dirt, his muscular body shining with sweat. She’d been momentarily dazzled by his physique, and had been embarrassed when he’d looked up and caught her staring at him.

“Catch anything?” Chakotay had asked, grinning at her look of frank appreciation. He’d turned over the soil in a large rectangle and was now attempting to break the large clods of dirt into smaller ones, a tiresome job but one he seemed to enjoy. She wondered at his limitless capacity for hard work. He was truly a colonist, she thought.

“Nothing significant,” she’d said, sighing as she stored her equipment. “I’m beginning to think that maybe the insects that infected us were in a larval stage when we arrived.”

“Maybe they were. Or maybe they’ve gone into a cocoon, like a butterfly.” He’d stood up tall, stretching his back with a moan and squinting into the setting sun. “It’s hot.”

“As the hinges of hell.”

“Wouldn’t a bath be nice?” his eyes sparkled with mischief.

Kathryn groaned. “Don’t suggest that I go bathe in the river, Chakotay. You know how cold the water is. I like a hot bath, thank you very much. Or a warm one at the very least.”

“The water isn’t that cold,” he’d teased. “Not for a hardy bath-taker like you.”

“You must be kidding. I bet the river is fresh off of a snow melt up in those mountains,” she’d complained, feeling whiny and tired. “I don’t see you going for a swim.”

“Why don’t we go down there and test the water temperature? The days are getting hotter. Maybe the sun has warmed the river in the last few days.” He’d walked up the work table in front of the shelter and pulled on a loose cotton shirt, and then walked toward her, carrying something in his hand. “Come with me.”

“The sun doesn’t warm river water that way.” She’d eyed him warily, sensing his excitement in his grin. “You aren’t going to throw me in the river, are you?”

“And risk having you angry with me? I have to live with you for the rest of my life, Kathryn. I know better than to make you mad.”

His words had stung her, reminding her of her failure to find a cure, of their seemingly endless exile on the planet. “You don’t think I can find a cure. You think we’ll be stuck here forever.”

He’d laughed. As he walked up to her, she realized he was carrying a clean handkerchief in his hands. “Actually, you’re wrong. I do think you’ll get us home someday, all the way to Earth. I don’t know why I believe in you, but I do.” He’d held up the folded handkerchief. “Now, let me put this over your eyes so I can show you the surprise I’ve hidden between here and the river.”

“It’s finished?” Her spirits had lifted instantly. She’d always loved surprises and had counted the days until her birthday each year when she was a little girl. He’d told her a few days earlier that he was working on something special, but had refused to tell her anything more. “What is it? A canoe?”

“Not a canoe. Although, that’s a good idea. Come on. No cheating.” He’d put the blind fold on her and led her away from the garden and a short distance into the forest. She could hear him picking up some large things, perhaps tree limbs that had covered his work, and throwing them into the forest. “Okay, it’s ready. Take off the blind fold.”

She’d opened her eyes to find the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen—a solid wood bathtub. She’d walked up to it reverently, running her hand along the smooth, oiled surface. “It’s as smooth as glass.”

“Can’t have you getting splinters, can I?”

“Oh, Chakotay! It’s perfect. Just what I needed.” She’d turned to him, tears in her eyes, and then she’d given him an impulsive hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His face had glowed with happiness. “I’ll carry some water up from the river so you can have a nice soak tonight, what do you say?”

She’d begun to realize then what he’d confirmed later with his angry warrior “legend.” He thought of her needs first, before his own, because he knew she needed his support and thoughtfulness. And he’d continued to be there for her through their seven-year partnership, challenging her when she’d needed it, reassuring her when she’d felt her determination flagging, laughing with her, listening to her, talking with her, standing beside her time and again as the ship threatened to fly apart around them. He’d known what she was sacrificing and he’d been sympathetic and understanding. And she’d taken him for granted. She’d never once thanked him for his loyalty, not really. She owed him so much.

Chakotay. She’d glanced around the dimly-lit bathroom, remembering where she was and what she was doing. She should have contacted Chakotay as soon as Hayes had informed her that the decision was ready for her review. He should have been with her as she read the PADD, and they should have celebrated their success and made their plans to tell the crew together. They’d been the perfect team for seven years; he’d been the ideal first officer. They’d faced every other triumph and disaster side by side, yet she hadn’t thought of calling him. She should call him now and share their mutual success, she realized. She should call him right away.

She hadn’t even bothered to dry off as she’d made her way dripping from the tub toward the comm unit in the living room, pausing long enough to wrap an oversized robe around her. Her intentions had been good, but the combination of the alcohol, the hot water, and her sudden activity overwhelmed her, making her so dizzy that she couldn’t stay vertical. She’d collapsed on the king sized bed, struggling to keep the room from spinning, trying to keep from throwing up on the carpeting. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might’ve passed out for a short while. Her humiliation deepened at the thought.

Now, sometime later, she was still sprawled on the bed, suffering like a green ensign from an alcoholic binge. She was too drunk to contact Chakotay, couldn’t bear to let him see her like this. She’d have to call him in the morning, once she was over this juvenile intoxication. Or she could use the hypospray. She lifted her head and gazed into the other room, remembering that she’d left the device on the coffee table. It might as well be a light year away, she realized, sinking back into the pillows. She’d have to tough it out right where she was until she was sober enough to crawl in there and get it.

She told herself that it was a bad time of day to call Sweden anyway, probably the early morning hours there. She struggled for a few minutes as she tried to remember how many hours ahead of San Francisco his location would be, only to give up in despair. She couldn’t think clearly. Whatever the time difference was, Chakotay was probably asleep right now, curled around Seven of Nine in a nice soft bed as he snored his head off. In a couple of hours, the couple would be having breakfast and she would be sober enough to retrieve the hypospray and treat her hangover. Once she was feeling better, once she could think and speak clearly, she’d invite them both to come to San Francisco as soon as possible.

She snuggled into the pillows, suddenly exhausted. She hadn’t slept well in so many years. A good night’s sleep would help her get over her intoxication. She’d feel so much better when she woke up. She promised herself she’d never drink again as her eyes closed and drifted into unconsciousness.