Disclaimer: All characters belong to Paramount, the order of the words belongs to me.
Rated R
For Splv, who donated so generously to the Japan Tsunami relief, and requested... Well, read on.
In the afterglow of lovemaking, anything is possible.
"Can we do this?" Janeway wonders aloud, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Chakotay's golden chest. "After all this time, can friends become lovers?"
He shifts so her head settles more comfortably against his arm. Her hair, longer now than it was in the Delta Quadrant, spills over his chest. He hopes that since she's relaxed enough to let her hair flow free, it means other things are now possible. Certainly, her presence here in his bed is sufficient for his Delta Quadrant dreams to solidify once more from the smoky unformed nebulas they had become. They've woven a knot from the twisted skeins of their lives, symbolized by their bodies, wrapped around each other in the sticky afterglow of love.
"We can do this," he says. "If we can bring Voyager back from the Delta Quadrant, we can do this too. How hard can it be?"
Her shoulders shake with amusement. "This time last year, I would have answered you differently. Then it was the hardest thing in the galaxy."
He caresses her because he can, because now her body is open for him to worship. "And now?"
She sighs, and her fingers draw star maps on his chest. "We try."
Throughout the long golden days of fall, trying is oh, so easy. They do the normal things that lovers do: walking hand in hand though misty San Francisco streets, and breakfast in hidden cafes away from the prying eyes of the Federation News Service who want to make them celebrities. They stay in a cozy Bed and Breakfast on the Oregon coast, and brave the lashing rain to run along the beach where the Pacific Ocean grinds the rocks to sand, a slow relentless eroding of something so solid and immutable. They make love in the dunes, covered by a Starfleet issue survival blanket, and laugh as the chill wind creeps in, licking an icy path over their skin. Their love warms them, even if they have yet to say the words.
Janeway takes Chakotay to visit her sister who lives on Betazed, and to see her mother in Indiana. Phoebe is direct and curious, Gretchen is charming and welcoming, and both give their blessings.
"I'm always here for you, Katie dear," whispers Gretchen as they take their leave. "If you need me."
Chakotay waits in the driveway, as patient and solid as the rocks on the Oregon shore.
"Thank you, Mom." There are tears in her eyes, even as she hopes she won't need to come running to her mom. Not this time.
Janeway takes the admiral's position and is chained to the desk she had always abhorred. She comes home to Chakotay and her talk is of the incompetency of her aide, the pig-headed stubbornness of the brass, and her frustration at how little she is able to achieve.
"In the Delta Quadrant," her sentences begin, and Chakotay bites his tongue and rubs her shoulders, soothing away the tension of the day.
Chakotay takes a leave of absence and retreats to a studio in the Arizona desert, where he works on his sand paintings and mediates, trying to find the path of his life. His sister visits him and they talk, although about nothing that matters. In the evenings he transports back to Janeway's San Francisco apartment - he cannot bring himself to call that bland space "home" even though he has no other, for his studio in the Sonoran Desert has no sleeping or cooking facilities.
Together they visit their former crew, and learn that while some are settling back into the lives they had known before, others are struggling. For the most part they are welcomed, although Sarah Carey turns away and slams the door, but not before they see the sheen of tears in her eyes. They hover uncertainly on the granite path in the west of Ireland as the mist settles on their hair, and when they return to their hired hovercar, they find one of Sarah's boys there. Although the graffitied words on the hovercar are in Gaelic, they understand their meaning from the look of hate in Hunter's eyes.
They become close with Tom and B'Elanna and the four of them often share dinner. Miral charms them and they are willing babysitters.
B'Elanna watches Chakotay's eyes following the little girl as she toddles off on her never-ending path of destruction.
"You two would make great parents," says B'Elanna.
Chakotay smiles and covers Janeway's hand. "It's something I think about."
Janeway says nothing, but her eyes withdraw to a distant place and her smile freezes on her face.
They make love often, for a drought of seven years is not easily assuaged. Their bodies follow the patterns of desire. Janeway loves him best like this; when his body is hard and golden above hers, when his mouth is on her breast, when his fingers slip through the slickness of her sex. When he slides inside her she feels complete and then she is truly happy.
"I love you," he says, one quiet day when she has made a rare visit to his studio in the desert. "You know that, don't you?"
"I know it now," she says and kisses him so she doesn't have to reply in words.
When they break apart, there's a crease of puzzlement on his brow, but she smoothes his lips with her fingers and then drops to her knees in front of him, unfastening his pants and taking him into her mouth. Any questions he may have had are lost in the white haze of pleasure and the heat of the sun.
The months move on, and if the predictability of her days makes her feel flat and gray, Janeway pushes it aside. After all this time, she's home and she's living her dreams: her dreams of Earth, her passion for Chakotay, an admiral's position. This is the peak she's been striving for.
Chakotay sees her restlessness and suggests a vacation. Somewhere tropical, a coral island where they can let the sun drive the lethargy from their souls and they can make love on the sand. It will be like Oregon, he says, but warmer. His fingers draw tiny circles on her breast.
She sighs, and iterates the reasons why she can't take leave right now. None of them seem important to Chakotay, and he says as much.
She stares at him. To her, his life is aimless and without purpose. He's still spending most days in his studio, and the sand paintings and carvings he brings her seem quaint. Shrugging away his hand, she rises from their bed to sit on the couch with a PADD.
Chakotay gathers in his breath and quietly goes to make her a coffee. She acknowledges it with a nod, and as he so often did on Voyager, he turns to leave unnoticed.
The next day, instead of working in his studio, he walks out into the desert. It's summer and the shine from the desert pavement hurts his eyes. His sweat stays on his skin, as the heat is the heavy, cloying one of the monsoon season. Clouds gather on the horizon, and Chakotay knows that in the afternoon, the rains will fall in torrents to cleanse the day. His eyes are unfocused, his thoughts turned inward as he meanders through the desert.
How has it come to this? he thinks, and possible pathways diverge in front of him. Love, children, partnership. Starfleet, nights alone and bitter regret. Janeway is in his head, her face with her twisted half smile is before his eyes. He loves her, he knows he does, but he's wondering, after all this time, if he can continue to live like this.
The monsoon washes over him, cleansing him of the sweat and dust and doubt, and he goes home to Janeway refreshed and ready.
Janeway is in front of her terminal as always. Her hair is once more in the tortured bun of their early Delta Quadrant days. She sees him enter, but instead of coming to kiss her forehead as he always does, he remains near the door. She flicks him a glance, irritated, before she returns to the screen and waits for him to bring her coffee, as he always does.
A minute passes and when the coffee does not arrive, she looks up again. He's still standing there at the door, and something in his demeanor makes her stomach clench in dread. He's so still, a sandstone figure in the blur of the room. His face is hollow, and she wonders when he lost so much weight.
She can't speak, because of the dread, bitter and cloying, in her throat. For long moments they look at each other. Twilight steals into the room, the time of day when best to hide the truth, or make true a lie. Janeway rises, her heart beating an uneven pulse, and she goes across to him. It's like pushing through a fog; despair makes her motions heavy and slow. But she beat the Borg. She will not lose this. She will not let him go. She slides her arms around his waist.
"I love you," she says. "After all this time, I love you."
His arms rise and encircle her, tense, questioning, and she raises her mouth and kisses him, tentatively at first, then gaining in confidence. For what is she without him, without her rock, without him who gives her sanity?
He holds her and the love he has pondered all day swells anew. He lets it engulf him, for he wants this, he knows he does, even as he sees the bleak future.
"Can we do this?" he asks. "After all this time?"
Her comm. terminal beeps, and she stiffens. Her eyes flicker to the terminal. Chakotay's arms tighten around her and consciously she relaxes back into his arms, raises her mouth again for his kiss, lets him take her hand and lead her to the bedroom.
Later he will be sleeping; she will check the message then.
(((FIN)))
Feedback? Please. Shayenne
© Shayenne, July 2011 Please email me to post/distribute elsewhere.