Disclaimer: Paramount own the characters and no disrespect to them is intended, but the story belongs to me.

PG13 rating for the brief mention of sex.

After the Delta Quadrant

I don't know what I'm doing here, I can't even begin to explain the impulse which has led me to a place I've hardly thought about over the last eight years. I'd say my feet carried me here - but people don't walk anywhere these days and I'm a long way from San Francisco now. Not as far as I have been of course, it's funny how distance becomes a different concept after you've been to the Delta Quadrant and back.

After the Delta Quadrant ... words I never thought I'd hear and yet for the last few weeks they have been buzzing around my head like angry wasps. It's what I was asked about at the press conferences I went to, it's all Starfleet command have talked about - they listen to the stories, nodding their heads sagely, taking notes as they examine the technology we acquired along the way and then they ask me about my plans. They seem disappointed when I can't give them an answer, I understand their reasoning; we are at War, I'm a Captain with unique experience, they need all the help they can get.

But, the consequence of all this time I've spent being the Captain is that I've

forgotten how to be anyone else. Kathryn doesn't seem to exist anymore - or, if she does her mind is full of rotas, rations and repairs. Maybe that's what drew me here, the memory of this place stirring at the back of my mind as I stood on the transporter platform. The last time I was here I was Kathryn, the Captain was at rest, unaware as yet of the challenge which would face her. Then the freedom was something I took for granted, now it feels like something foreign, like someone else's clothing.

I am glad now that I changed out of my uniform - it would have seemed terribly out of place here, made me feel even more distanced than I do already. The Counsellor had suggested that I go somewhere relaxing, after another fruitless hour he seemed relieved to have said something I was actually prepared to listen to. It isn't his fault that I don't want to talk to him, that I'm not ready to rationalise the last eight years of my life until I have a little more time to reflect upon them. In many ways the response by Starfleet to some of my actions in the Delta Quadrant has been anti-climatic, they don't seem to have a problem with what I did, their concern seems to be helping me to reconcile myself with what transpired - so that I can move on.

I felt strangely at a loss when I left the Counsellor's office, I'm not used to my days concluding so early, at not having a huge pile of reports to wade through before I go to sleep. I could have gone home of course, my mother hasn't got over having me back yet, she's still cooking me huge meals and sitting up until the early hours of the morning listening to me talk. But, by the time I reached the transporter room I'd realised I wasn't ready to go home, the future still seemed a huge and daunting subject - perhaps because I haven't reconciled myself with the past yet.

So, I came here to be maudlin, to remember the person I had been when I lived here. My house had been sold long ago, I walked past and scarcely recognised it. There was an extension to the first floor and a set of children's hover scooters piled outside the front door. I could hear cheerful voices calling out to one another and I felt like a ghost, so I kept walking.

The streets were painfully familiar and I was no longer surprised that I had forced myself not to think about this place. I could remember the feel of Mark's arm around my shoulder as we took Bear for her walk, hear his cheerful complaints about the task, especially when it was cold or raining. I passed places where we had kissed or embraced and my heart caught in my throat.

Our relationship seems distant now, something I half recall, something I even catch myself wondering if I've imagined, something I miss with every fibre of my being. It's not about still wanting him, I'm a long way past that, it would be a far greater tragedy if all this time had passed and Mark and I still felt the same way about each other. It's more about the recollection of loving and being loved. It's a faded memory, a little battered by time and events. Like a favourite shirt which you wear until it becomes threadbare, frayed at the seams, but which you can't bear to part with because it still fills you with a sense of peace and security every time you put it on.

So, perhaps that's what I am really doing here - chasing after an elusive memory, letting my pursuit carry me along these streets, past places Mark and I used to go to together. I recognise a restaurant, with tables outside on the pavement, we used to come here for coffee almost everyday when I was on Earth. We've talked for hours sitting at these tables, sometimes arguing fiercely and then returning home to make up. He had a way of almost mocking me when I was being too serious, or too arrogant which used to drive me almost mad with anger or desire. We laughed together, played - I miss that, I'm tired of being in command, of only being in command.

I stroll along a little further, remaining in the shadows, I know I have no reason to hide away, nothing to be ashamed of, but I can't seem to step into the light. My picture has been everywhere, people might recognise me from when I used to live here and I don't want to be confronted by anyone's pity - my own is weighty enough.

I hear music and smile, knowing what I'll find as I turn the corner - a small bar,

bustling with people, conversation, music. Mark and I used to come here to run away from work and duty, I love to dance, I always have, but he wasn't so sure - at least not at first. The first time I dragged him out onto the dance floor he complained the whole way, telling me that he was going to embarrass me, step on my feet or something worse. But, the music was slow and sensual and we were lovers already and so we weren't afraid of the feel of our bodies moving together. He had his face buried in my hair, his arms around my waist. It was the first time he told me that he loved me.

I watch the bar, the coming and going of the people - I can hardly believe it's still here, eight years on, but it is and it doesn't seem to have changed at all. For a little while I am lost in time, in memories - but then the crowds in the bar part and I see a couple sitting at one of the tables, their heads close together, laughing. Mark.

'Kathryn.' I start at the sound of my name, assuming first of all that somehow Mark must have seen me, but he is still right in front of me and as I wheel around I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt who is here, in the darkness with me.

Chakotay. Standing right there in front of me as though I have conjured him out of the night itself. Chakotay who's lips unfurl into a private smile that borders on arrogance, hints at sexuality and is, nevertheless the most welcome sight I have seen in days. Chakotay, who I haven't spoken to in over a week because Starfleet command have been debriefing us separately but who is standing right here in front of me. His smile fades a little as he looks at me - realises that my mood is sombre. I see the concern seep into his expression and it is suddenly humbling, the realisation of how much I have missed this man.

I step forward and pull him into a fierce hug before I can change my mind, then I spend the next few seconds rationalising these actions before I realise that I don't need to. We're home and our relationship can be whatever we decide it should be. This knowledge makes me a little giddy, or perhaps it is the fact that we haven't moved, that we're still holding each other tightly and his need for this contact seems as great as mine.

'I've missed you.' His voice sends shivers down my spine - a reaction that takes me entirely by surprise. 'I know Starfleet command said it would be better if we kept our distance but,'

'Is that what they said?' The first spurt of anger pushes me back from him, although his hands are still on my arms and he smiles again, a devil's smile which is so at odds with the gentleness and integrity that I see in his face; a combination which I've always viewed as inherently dangerous.

'I see they haven't used the same script with you, I don't think they know what to do about me. It's easier with the others, they weren't Commanders in the Maquis and they aren't former Starfleet officers. Pardoning me makes it seems as though they are condoning my actions and yet, I think they think they need me.'

'They'd be fools to let you go.' He smiles at my fervour.

'Thank you for the testimonial, I'll be sure to put your name on my resume should I ever need a character reference. It's so good to see you Kathryn, I tried to catch you at Starfleet - but you'd gone already. I had them beam me to your location - you don't mind do you? I'm not intruding?'

Suddenly I recall why I'm here, what I've been doing this evening, that Mark is in the bar across the street with his wife - at least I hope that's who she is. 'I'm revisiting my past,' I tell my companion, who manages to look as though he understands, even though for him to undertake a similar exercise would entail grave danger. Maybe what he understands is the impulse, the need for reconciliation, past with present. 'I used to live a few streets away,' I see the surprise dawn on his face, 'used to eat in these restaurants and bars; Mark and I spent a lot of time in this area. I don't know what I'm doing here.'

'Turning the final page perhaps?'

'Perhaps.'

We watch each other, there is still hardly any physical distance between us, but the emotional distance is huge. A chasm of sacrifices and feelings that have been denied beyond all tolerance for too many years. Our future is uncertain, there are still battles to fight, the games Starfleet will play with us and our own ghosts and demons to vanquish. But there is also that feeling, that pull which defies explanation and all attempts at reason; there is the warmth of his presence.

I have fought against this for too long now, for eight long, hard years I have carried on a war of attrition. I have wounded and been wounded, I have known pain, sorrow and jealousy and for all of this time I have never told him how I feel. My justifications for this course of action have been many and varied - cowardice, pragmatism, necessity and even now I can't honestly say that I was wrong. Since we're here, alive and mostly undamaged I have to believe that I was right. But I'm battle weary now and I could not mount a defence against this moment if my life depended on it.

For a moment I think that it won't happen, that something, or someone will interrupt us - Tuvok probably. But then Chakotay pulls me a little closer so that our foreheads rest together and I can feel his hands shaking where they are holding my arms. His voice is little more than a whisper - there is so much emotion just in the way he speaks my name.

'Kathryn. It's been years since the last time this raised it's lovely head and I understand that had to be, even if I wasn't always happy with that decision. But, I'm going to ask you now to consider the way things are between us and I want an honest answer, because I may never ask you this again.'

Oh my. You come out for a quiet stroll amongst your past and end up confronting this. I could tell him I'm not sure, ask for time. A half answer which does not destroy hope, but which does not give him the certainty he deserves either. But we've had time, we've had years, that we should have dealt with this before does not alter the fact that we have not. That it has to be addressed here and now.

'Chakotay.' Words have always been my forte, language served me well, in

commands, in academic exercise, I have always known what to say but the skill desserts me now, which is probably just as well, because this isn't a decision about words.

He tastes of cinnamon. Our first kiss is a leisurely one, soft and slow, lips opening under gentle pressure, low moans as we pull each other closer, sinking into the velvety darkness of our embrace. A tiny part of my brain dwells on the irony that we are here, like this, when just a few moments ago I was considering crossing the street and saying hello to Mark. That course of action is completely off the agenda now.

Instead we find a hotel, a quiet one, that Mark and I never stayed at. We make love until dawn, relishing the feel of each others body, luxuriating in the unrestrained passion and then we fall asleep wrapped around each other, whispering promises and commitments that normally would take me months to come to but which feel entirely right with him, to him.

Starfleet are not pleased the next morning to discover that we have disappeared, together; but by the time they catch up with us word of our, relationship has leaked out and the press is enchanted with the thought of such a romantic conclusion to Voyager's story. We'll apologise, of course, for our unprofessional behaviour - explain our actions to Starfleet, eventually. But our priorities have suddenly become extremely simple; first Chakotay's pardon, second a very long, very relaxing holiday. At some point we might talk about what we're going to do next, but we'll give ourselves a little time. We might even go back to the bar.

The End.