© October 31, 2000
Disclaimer: Voyager belongs to Paramount Pictures. No infringement intended. And, by the way, if you're worried someone might die in this story -- email me and I'll tell you a 'yes' or a 'no' if you need to know before diving in to this fic. I just don't want to say it here and ruin it for others who enjoy being guided through the story to find out in due time.
Castar na daoine ar a cheile ach ni castar na sleibhte ar a cheile . . . Is poll dubh doite e an t-uaigness, ach ma dhunann tu suas e, dunfaidh tu amach go leor eile ata go h-alainn chomb maith.
"Chakotay," she had said, "tell me a story. Tell me a story so that I may forget it all."
"What do you want to forget, Kathryn?" I had asked as I held her hand. It was all I could do. I couldn't feel her skin through the environmental suit that sheathed itself entirely over my body. It was yet another testament to the inevitable. No doubt it shouted to her that it too would deny her a search for warmth, for heated contact, for life.
I asked again, when she did not answer, "What do you want to forget?"
Another wave of snow drifted into the carcass of the Delta Flyer. I watched as the snow, though small, seemingly innocent by the flakes, threw itself down on her eyelashes, weighing her eyelids shut and stalked her consciousness to end.
"Everything," she had finally answered. And then, she was dead.
My heart wept.
"Do you want me to tell you why I find this whole thing so fascinating, Commander?" Kathryn's voice was light, her step, energetic, encouraged me to keep moving along, with her.
"I've already guessed," I smiled. How could I not. She was an open book to me, an individual line I thrived to read time and time again -- searching for understanding to the greater meaning for as long as I may live.
"The opportunity to witness the recent developmental impact of an ice-age is something no Starfleet-brat should intentionally miss," she shook her finger as if ignorance were in our company.
"Dear Santa," I was going to make her smile. "Please deliver to my Starship, Voyager, one planet in an early stage ice age so that I may take yet another detour for curiosity's sake."
Kathryn rolled her eyes at me as we entered a lift.
"Does that sound right?" I asked.
She did it -- that smile that pushed one corner of her mouth up farther than the other; it made me celebrate that I was a man -- a man susceptible to her sex, to her: Kathryn Janeway.
The doors opened and she took a moment to point something out.
"You forgot the --"
"--Coffee," I finished with her. "Yes I know. Are you sure you want Paris?" Someone had to bring it up.
"Do you have another suggestion, Chakotay?" she asked as we stopped at my door, my quarters, my home.
"No, not really. I see you've made up your mind already. Wish this could wait until after Christmas though. Anyhow, I was just recalling, though, that he's been four days out of the brig and, not to mention, down a pip. Thanks to you." It was my duty, to her, to point things out, to bring up the touchy subjects and to make sure she had done her time with the condition known as evaluation.
"That atmosphere is going to be a little more than reckless," Kathryn stated and moved in toward me, "he's the best I've got."
The tension between us, between our bodies, parted as quickly as it had come. And so we said goodnight.
When you look back on things that were said, or weren't said, that were done, or weren't done, you wonder how you missed countless opportunities and how it all turned upside-down.
And when you break those bigger, insignificant moments down into smaller pieces you realize you never could've worked with them all to begin with; there were just too many to try and fit into the story of time.
Voyager had more than enough time to make up for -- being lost in the Delta Quadrant and such -- but along the way, Kathryn wasn't going to disregard her details.
She was an explorer and space? Space was her high seas. Oh yes, she fought the sharks for the treasure, she saved the ship from the violent winds, but it was always her, *her* against the odds; her body the wall between the will of life and death.
So, then, why hadn't I been able to step between the two, to pull her to where it was safe -- and anchor her along side me in my haven?