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 4 (Chronologically)

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

Mark Hopkins Intergalactic Hotel 2300 hours

Chakotay was not surprised when the code worked and the door to suite 818 opened.

Before he had time to consider the consequences of his actions, he stepped into the near-total darkness of the suite, the door swishing shut behind him. He waited patiently for his eyes to adjust to the sudden decrease in light, soon realizing that low level safety lights along the floor allowed him to see large objects and fixtures, but little else. Listening intently for sounds that might indicate Kathryn’s location, he heard nothing and feared that she might not be there at all.

He stood in a short hallway. To his right was a miniature galley with a replicator, a stasis unit, and a tiny dinette table. He smiled to himself, trying to imagine why they would bother with a table so small that it could hold nothing more than two mugs of coffee. To his left was a wall that was two mirrored sliding closet doors, probably hiding the clothes ‘fresher and a coat closet. In front of him, at the end of the hall, was the living area with huge windows along the far wall that took in the view of San Francisco. That is, there would be a view, he thought, except that the fog had obliterated it.

He walked to the end of the hall and stopped. In front of him was a loveseat with loose pillows that faced the windows and on either end of the sofa were overstuffed chairs that enclosed a square coffee table on three sides. Between the table and the windows was a white wool throw rug. He glanced into the room and saw a few items strewn on the table, but little else. A glance over his left shoulder revealed that the comm system had not been activated.

“Kathryn?” Silence.

He circled the chair on his left, stopping at the table to pick up the half empty bottle of bourbon, a little surprised to think that she would drink anything stronger than wine. She’d complained when Neelix’s fruit compotes were a little two fermented and had never chanced the punch at a party for fear that Tom Paris had spiked it. But half a bottle of bourbon? Unless she had brought a bourbon drinker with her, he couldn’t help but feel more concerned about her condition.

Then he noticed the unlabeled hypospray. He put down the bottle and hefted the hypospray in his hand, wondering what kind of drug it contained. Was it an analgesic for her frequent headaches? Or perhaps the “morning after” drug, interpropaline, that was used to offset the alcohol? Or was it a sleeping medicine?

The thought of it made his blood run cold. Would she do that? Mix alcohol and drugs? He didn’t want to believe she would, didn’t want to think that she was capable of deliberately taking her own life, yet he vividly remembered the depression she’d experienced in the Delta Quadrant, the despair and guilt that had nearly suffocated her. He remembered her detachment and remoteness at their lunch a few weeks earlier. And he recalled the irresistible, restless worry he’d felt about her all day, his decision to travel across half the world in the middle of the night because he sensed she needed him.

“Kathryn?” he said again, circling the chair at the other end of the sofa as he headed toward the bedroom. “Kathryn! Are you in there?”

Because the curtain on the bedroom window was pulled, this room was much darker than the living room, lit only by a faint glow from the half-open bathroom door located at the far side of the room. As Chakotay stepped through the door, he heard a sigh and spied movement on the bed.

“Computer, lights!”

The lights were blinding in intensity, and Kathryn covered her eyes and then buried her face in the pillows with a groan.

Chakotay reacted quickly. “Lower lights to ten percent.”

In the reduced glare, Kathryn rolled over to face him, her voice slurred by drink. “Chakotay? Is that you?”

He found himself kneeling beside her, brushing her tangled hair from her face. “It’s me,” he admitted, shuddering as the unmistakable aroma of bourbon overwhelmed him. “Kathryn, are you drunk?”

She nodded, and then put her hands to her temples as her head pounded. “I feel so ridiculous. I’m trying not to get sick, but the room keeps spinning.”

“What’s in this?” he asked, holding up the hypospray.

“If that’s what was on the coffee table, it’s interpropaline,” she muttered, wishing she had the energy to snatch it out of his hands and use it at once. “Give me a dose before I throw up all over your shoes. Please?”

Grinning, he quickly verified the dosage and pressed the hypo into her neck. She relaxed into the pillows with a satisfied sigh, her nausea disappearing and the room no longer spinning. The drug wouldn’t eliminate the intoxication completely, but it took care of the worst of the physical symptoms and greatly reduced the impact of the alcohol still in her system. “Feel better?”

“Much better. Thank you.” She smiled up at him, her eyes clearer and her voice strong. “Although I feel as silly as a first year cadet.”

“After all you’ve been through, I’m surprised you haven’t done this before.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Alcohol is the drug of choice for many people who are the victims of relentless stress.”

“You’re surprised I’m not an alcoholic? Thanks a lot,” she quipped, glaring at him with a smile on her face. “What in the world are you doing here? I thought you were in Sweden.”

“Tom and B’Elanna heard the rumors that the hearing was being scheduled for next week. Once they called to warn us, I just couldn’t stop thinking that I should be here with you in case you found out the decisions early. I didn’t want you to face that alone. So, here I am.”

“In the middle of the night.”

He smiled and shrugged. “It was the middle of the night when I left Sweden and it’s still the middle of the night here. Such is the fun of travel when you’re a lowly civilian.”

Suddenly aware of her state of undress, Kathryn made sure the robe was secure before she pulled herself into a more vertical position, plumping a pillow behind her. “That’s how you got to San Francisco. What I want to know is how you found me?”

“Ah, because you’re in hiding. It wasn’t that difficult. You told me that you and Mark used to stay right here in San Francisco using fake names, remember? I saw the Mark Hopkins sticking up through the fog as the shuttle landed and decided to start looking for you here. Lucky break.”

“And, of course,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “you figured out my door code.”

He smiled, and the sight of his dimples made her pulse jump. “Too easy, really. Using your last codes from Voyager was a predictable choice on your part, in light of the situation.”

She chuckled, closing her eyes. She was feeling better physically, but the emotional swings would be the last to disappear; the last thing she needed was another crying jag like the one she’d had earlier. “Well, the rumors were right about the hearing. And I did receive an advance draft of the decision.”

He inhaled quickly. “And?”

“It’s pretty much everything we’d hoped for. The Maquis are pardoned. The Equinox survivors receive a general discharge. Tom’s sentence is commuted. Seven’s Federation citizenship is restored. Everyone’s free. The crew can all go on with their lives without fear.”

She couldn’t remember seeing him with a happier grin on his face, but then his eyes clouded. “And the captain?”

“They’re going to continue to review some of my decisions, but I’m not worried about it. I’m sure I’ll escape without a court martial.”

His eyes flared with anger. “Kathryn, if they try to court martial you for anything, I swear I’ll . . . .”

“Oh, no, don’t say it,” she warned him, sitting up and putting her fingers over his mouth to stop the torrent of words. “You aren’t my angry warrior any more.”

When she saw his eyes widen with surprise, she wished she could take back her words. Here they were, sitting on a king sized bed, she was wearing nothing but a terrycloth robe, no one in the quadrant was aware of their location, and she mentioned the one moment in their relationship that had been the most intimate and provocative. All the feelings she’d felt from earlier in the day, from that moment of realization that it was Chakotay she dreamed of, came pouring over her again and tears formed in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Chakotay,” she choked, snatching her hand away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m still in your corner,” he insisted, reaching for her hand and holding it in both of his. “That will never change, Kathryn. I promised I’d always help you, always lighten your burden, and I will, no matter what.”

“I know you will, and you have. You’ve been the best.” She gave his hand a squeeze and turned the conversation toward the crew. They spent an hour or more talking about each Maquis and Equinox member, considering the best options open to them now that their futures had been decided. They both felt relieved to talk things out with each other, to be able to look beyond Voyager and into the future. They even speculated on the Starfleet crew, where their careers would take them, which would go on to greatness and which would simply disappear into the ranks.

They tried not to dwell on the fact that this would be their last collaboration, that they would never have reason to work together so closely again.

At long last, she pulled away, suddenly feeling exhausted and fighting a strange feeling of despair. Her head dropped back and her eyes closed. “Oh, Chakotay, I’m so tired.”

He picked her up and turned down the bed, settling her into the mattress, pulling the covers over her, and smoothing her hair away from her face. She looked so small in the huge bed that he felt the familiar irresistible urge to protect her. The interpropaline took time to work, and then sometimes required a second dose to completely reverse the affects of the alcohol. If she’d really drunk all that bourbon, he might need to stay with her just in case she needed more medicine.

He glanced around the room, trying to decide whether he should curl up on the other side of the bed or find another, more private spot for sleep. The sofa was much too short for him, but he could curl up on the flokati rug in front of the coffee table. There had to be an extra blanket in one of the closets, and the bed had at least two pillows he could borrow.

He looked down and noticed that her eyes were open, a small smile on her face as she realized his dilemma. “It’s a big bed, Chakotay. You can sleep on the other side and I won’t even know you’re there.”

He smirked. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Who’ll ever know? I’m too tired and intoxicated to do anything anyway. Sleep on top of the covers, if you don’t trust me! You’ll be lucky to find a room anywhere nearby at this hour of the night, and you must be dead on your feet from the time change, not to mention the travel itself.”

“I am tired,” he admitted, hesitating only briefly. The image of Seven appeared in his mind, but he was sure she would understand his need to stay with the captain and monitor her condition. She’d always accepted and even shared in his special closeness to Kathryn Janeway. “You have a point. Go on to sleep.”

Chakotay stepped into the bathroom where he found the tub still full of water, now ice cold, and a glass on the floor that was half filled with melted ice and smelled faintly of bourbon. He pulled the drain on the tub and put the glass on the counter before he placed a hand on either side of the sink and studied his face in the mirror. He tried to calculate how long it had been since he’d last slept, shuddering when he realized that it must have been nearly forty-eight hours. No wonder he was punchy. Now that he knew Kathryn was fine and that the crew was free, he simply wanted to curl up and go to sleep for about ten hours.

He checked the bathroom’s linen closet, pulled out the hotel’s complimentary pajamas, and then hurried through his pre-sleep routine. He’d never seen his former captain as vulnerable, as feminine, as human as she’d been tonight. The sight of her curled up in the bed, her face swollen from tears, had broken his heart. Why hadn’t she called him? Why did she always try to do everything all alone, no matter how difficult or emotionally challenging the task was?

He’d just stretched out on the quilted spread and was shaking out an extra blanket over his legs when Kathryn slipped out of bed, clutching the robe around her. “My turn,” she said as she disappeared unsteadily into the bathroom.

Chakotay closed his eyes and listened to her move around in the next room, comforted by the familiar sounds and smells of a woman preparing for bed, remembering their days together on New Earth. He realized how much he missed this everyday intimacy with Seven. Her physiology required no such “maintenance,” as she called it, and because they lived separately, there was no toothbrush by the sink, no flowery smell of perfume or bath soaps, no hairspray or gels, no damp panties drying on the shower rod.

Most nights Seven returned to her apartment or to her university office instead of staying with him. In fact, she found the human need for extended periods of sleep a waste of precious time, sometimes accusing him of laziness when he slept for more than six hours at a stretch. She needed, on average, only three hours of regeneration for every twenty-four-hour period, usually choosing to stay in her alcove for a six-hour stint every forty-eight hours. The cycle of their days never really meshed, and Chakotay missed the intimate everyday moments of sharing his life with a woman

Kathryn emerged from the bath in a white cotton gown and slid between the sheets. “Tomorrow morning,” she said into the darkness, “we’ll read the decision together and decide if it’s really the good news I think it is. Then we’ll work out what to do next, okay?”

“Just don’t make it too early in the morning.”

“No chance of that. Good night, Chakotay.”

“Goodnight.” She was instantly asleep, judging from her deep, steady breathing, and he was comforted to have her so close to him. It was at times like these that he remembered how very human Kathryn Janeway was, how very much a woman.

To him, sleeping together was a symbolic act of trust, a physical emblem of the intimate connection between two individuals, as treasured as the act of love itself. Kathryn sighed and snuggled deeper into her pillows, turning slightly to face him. He reached over and pulled the blanket over her shoulders, studying her face in the dim light. She was still as beautiful to him as she had ever been, both physically and spiritually, a woman whose sincerity and nobility called out to his soul. He repressed an urge to pull her close and cuddle her, afraid that the closeness would turn into something irrepressible.

She’s the captain, he reminded himself as he rolled away from her and closed his eyes, and nothing is going to happen. In spite of his exhaustion, he found he couldn’t sleep with Kathryn just inches away, found himself turning again to watch her sleep, to listen to her breathe. After about an hour, he got up and made a nest of the furniture cushions in the living room, finally dozing off well after midnight.

What happened during the night hours seemed more like a dream than reality when he thought about it later. In fact, when he awakened in the bed the next day, with rain pattering against the window and Kathryn’s side of the bed empty, he was momentarily embarrassed to think that he might have dreamt of making love to her while she was fast asleep just inches away. There were tell-tale signs, though, that he hadn’t been dreaming, unmistakable physical evidence of intimate relations as he crawled out of bed and headed for the shower.

He could hear her voice as she talked on the comm link in the next room and could smell the inevitable aroma of fresh coffee; she hadn’t disappeared completely. And then, when he’d emerged from the bedroom fully dressed, Kathryn had refused to look him in the eye for the first time in years. He knew then that the lovemaking had been no dream.

“Good morning,” he said. He wandered through the kitchenette, pouring himself a mug of the coffee, and then took the PADD that she held out toward him as she kept her eyes glued to the comm link. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said, in her usual noncommittal, don’t-mess-with-me tone of voice. He realized that she was in full denial, and he stood two feet away waiting for her to look up at him and at least acknowledge his presence. She finally glanced at him briefly out of the corner of her eye. “What?” she demanded.

“Nothing.” This was not the time to force the issue, he decided. He activated the PADD and sat down on the sofa, noticing that the furniture had been put back together and his “bed” disassembled. The blanket he’d used was neatly folded on the floor by the window, and the two bed pillows were stacked on top. She’d been up for awhile, he realized, no doubt trying to explain away what had happened between them, trying to make herself believe it was a meaningless accident.

The draft decision was quick reading and exactly what Kathryn had summarized the night before, including the veiled threat of further recourse against her if and when the admiralty decided to do so. However, she’d also been correct about the unlikelihood of such an outcome based on the vague language they’d used. The Voyager experience was truly coming to an end.

“This is all good news,” he said, setting the device on the table and picking up his coffee. “You probably need something to eat.”

“No, thanks, but help yourself,” she replied, still not looking up from her work.

Chakotay wasn’t happy with her response. “You’ve already eaten breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t let her get away with this withdrawal. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“I beg your pardon?” Now she was looking at him. With annoyance.

He’d lived through worse. “Saying you’re not hungry doesn’t answer the question of whether you’ve eaten breakfast or not.”

“I disagree.”

“Fine. Disagreement noted. Now, answer the question.”

She turned slightly in the desk chair. “It’s only logical that the reason I’m not hungry is because I’ve already eaten, Chakotay.”

“Logical, yes, unless you’re Kathryn Janeway, who can go days without eating and still deny being hungry.”

The expression on her face moved quickly from annoyance to anger. “What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

“I checked. The only thing replicated in this suite in the last twenty-four hours is this coffee.” He held up his mug as he turned to look at her. “And you don’t cook.”

Her eyes flashed. “Whether I’ve eaten or not, Chakotay, is none of your business. I’m not hungry. Period. End of story.”

“You need to get something in your stomach besides bourbon and coffee or you’ll end up with an ulcer.” He stood up and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll fix you some scrambled eggs and toast. Or maybe oatmeal.”

“Damn it!” She stood up, trembling with indignation, and pushed the desk chair away with such violence that it crashed against the wall and fell over. “I don’t appreciate being called and liar, and I don’t need you to mother me, Chakotay.”

He walked to her, saw the tears in her eyes, and gripped her by the shoulders. This temper wasn’t about eating, of course, but about the intimacy of the night before. “Yes, you do need me to mother you. You need someone to help you, Kathryn, whether you want to admit it or not.”

She stared at him, her mouth open, and then wilted into his arms, her head on his shoulder, her body suddenly limp with nervous exhaustion and a hangover that had come back full force in spite of the interpropaline he’d given her the night before. “I’m sorry, Chakotay. I can’t do anything right lately.”

Chakotay led her across the room and propped her gently on the sofa. He made a quick trip back to the bedroom for the hypospray and then went to the kitchen where he replicated a bowl of cinnamon apple oatmeal. Perching on the coffee table, he gave her a second dose of the interpropaline and then watched her hungrily devour every bite of the cereal, in spite of her previous protestations.

“Thanks,” she said, giving him a weak smile. “I guess I was hungry after all.”

“You’re welcome.” He carried their dishes into the kitchen where he took an inordinate amount of time cleaning up, deliberately giving Kathryn some time alone to let the medicine work and to get over her anger with herself. There was a big storm on the horizon, he knew, but not until they were both ready for it. By the time he left the kitchen, she’d fallen fast asleep, so he covered her with the blanket and collapsed into the chair to watch her and to think.

So, it hadn’t been a dream. Giving up on sleeping in the bed, he’d crept from the bedroom and made a “nest” on the flokati, a pile of cushions that reminded him of his childhood when his large family descended on relatives and the kids made pallets on the floor. The bed was quite comfortable when he’d stretched out on it, eyeing the comm link on the corner desk. He’d considered calling Seven to tell her where he was, but he was too tired to move. He’d call her later in the day, after he’d caught up on some much needed sleep, and tell her that he’d found the captain and that everything was going to be all right.

They’d both been right about Kathryn, he’d realized. As Seven had predicted, she had decided to retreat and read the decision privately, to steel herself for whatever the future demanded. But she’d also reacted emotionally to the situation at long last, and Chakotay was glad to see her do so. She was a forty-two year old senior captain in Starfleet, not a kid experimenting with booze, yet he was relieved to see her indulge her feelings after so many years of repressing them. And he was fairly sure that this was just the beginning. Once she gave up that iron-clad control of her emotions, she might very well be overwhelmed by them for awhile. He’d encourage her to open up to her counselors, to let them help her work through her feelings.

Because he was tired beyond exhaustion, he had drifted into a fitful sleep full of disturbing, fragmented images from his years on Voyager. He tossed and turned on the floor, groaning as moments of disaster and loss flitted through his mind. Through it all, he could hear the captain’s voice. So many times, the sound of her voice over the comm link had signaled the end of the crisis, the arrival of the cavalry, the calm sanity of command in the midst of chaos. How many times had her voice brought with it a feeling of relief, of safety, and of home?

He’d opened his eyes, thinking he’d actually heard her voice calling his name, but unsure whether it was simply part of his dreams. The room had seemed surreal because of the dim lighting and from his odd angle on the floor, and he’d struggled for a few moments to remember where he was. Then he heard her voice again, muffled and indistinct, and he heard the unmistakable sound of heartbreaking, despondent sobs coming from the open door of the bedroom.

He’d stood up, incoherent with sleep, and stumbled to the door where he found Kathryn sprawled across the bed, her face buried in the pillows as she cried her heart out.

“Kathryn?” He’d stepped into the room and crawled across the bed to stretch out beside her, gently placing a hand on her back. “Kathryn, what’s happened? Did you have a bad dream?”

She’d rolled over, her face streaked with tears. “You weren’t here,” she’d said, reaching out a trembling hand and touching his face. “I had a nightmare, and when I woke up, you were gone.”

“I was just in the next room,” he’d said, pulling her into his arms. “I haven’t left you. And it was only a dream. Nothing bad has happened.”

“I thought I’d walked out of my quarters on Voyager only to discover that I was completely alone. The entire crew had found a way home, but had forgotten to take me with them.”

He’d smiled at her tenderly, brushing her hair from her eyes. “I would never have let that happen, Kathryn. I would never leave you behind.”

She’d returned the smile, tears brimming in her eyes. “Oh, Chakotay, do you know how much I need you? Can I ever thank you for everything you’ve done for me?”

He’d shaken his head. “I’m the one who owes you the debt of gratitude. You’re the one who got us home. You’re the one who believed in me.”

“I couldn’t have done any of it without you,” she’d admitted, burying her face in his neck. “Chakotay, I’m losing everything that matters to me—the ship, the crew, my purpose for living. What am I going to do now?”

“You’ll have important work to do,” he’d promised, although he felt a similar panic about the future. “And you won’t be alone. You’ll have a new crew to take care of.”

“It won’t be the same,” she’d disagreed. “They’ll never be a family like we were on Voyager. I’ll never love them the way I do you.” She’d looked up at him in gratitude and their eyes had locked, their faces so close that their breaths mingled, and he’d experienced a surge of desire that he could no longer resist. He’d pulled her body against his, and when she’d brushed her lips against his, the inevitable had happened. There had been no time for reflection, no thought of anyone or anything else as their passion found its natural outlet and their joining seared their souls. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, exhausted and sated and intimately tangled in the sheets. But he’d awakened alone.

The memory clear in his mind, he opened his eyes to find Kathryn watching him from the sofa, her eyes dark with pain and sorrow and hopelessness. She made a face and looked away, eaten up with guilt. They had to talk this out, he realized, or their friendship would never survive.

“It really happened,” he said softly. “It wasn’t a dream.”

“No, it wasn’t a dream.” She rose from the sofa and knelt in front of him, obviously tormented with remorse for what had happened. “But, we have to forget about it, Chakotay. It was a moment of weakness, that’s all. Two close friends who went too far in comforting each other. Nothing more.”

He wanted to disagree, to tell her that he’d dreamt of holding her, fantasized about making love to her for seven long years. Last night, for him, had not been a dream, but a dream come true. “It was more than nothing to me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What about Seven? Are you going to tell her about this?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’re not going to hurt her!” She stood up and put her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing with determination. “I refuse to let that happen.”

“You can’t order me to stop loving you, Kathryn.”

“Can’t I?” She began to pace. “That wasn’t ‘love’ last night, Chakotay, as much as a simple physical release of tension.”

He felt helpless to sway her, yet he refused to let her limit the parameters of his feelings any longer. “It was love to me.”

“It would never have happened,” she said, her voice soft with barely restrained anger, “if I hadn’t gotten drunk.”

He looked up at her and shook his head in disbelief. “And so you want to pretend that it had no meaning.”

“I’m telling you, Chakotay, that as far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”

He wanted to accuse her of lying, but knew better than to accuse her of that and risk her fury. They had to get through the next week together, and they would never last if they were at each other’s throats. He sighed. “If you say so.”

“I do say so, Chakotay.” She softened slightly and for a moment he thought she might admit the truth. Instead, she smiled wistfully and resumed her pacing, jabbing the air with her hand as she talked, moving them away from the uncomfortable disagreement and toward their plans for the next week. As had happened so many times on Voyager, she’d turned into his commanding officer again, and he listened to her orders intently, in some ways grateful to have this practiced, comfortable, carefully controlled relationship to escape into.

He listened as she brought him up to speed on what she’d accomplished that morning, how she had put into action the final days of their teamwork, how she had once again repressed her tumultuous feelings in favor of action. In spite of her determination to forget about their night together, Chakotay sensed that their relationship had been permanently changed, that the repercussions of their passion would not be as easily put aside as Kathryn thought.

He worried about what would happen next, that their friendship would not survive this latest dishonesty. He worried about how Kathryn would handle her continued refusal to acknowledge her feelings. He worried that Seven of Nine would sense a change in his feelings and blame herself as being inadequate, unlovable, or unacceptable.

“Admiral Hayes has agreed to send the summonses out as soon as possible and has moved the hearing up to Tuesday afternoon, so we need to get organized right away. I’ll take care of the reception, including the catering, and you take care of providing transport and getting everyone appropriate quarters.” She looked at him expectantly, resorting to rank for the first time in weeks. “Commander, are you listening?”

“Aye, Captain,” he murmured, feeling as if his heart would break in two.