Chapter Text
The visions stop immediately. The emotional toll this past week has taken, however, is not so easily left behind.
Kathryn manages to get the doctor to release her from sickbay after a day, despite his urging for her to stay longer. The explanation for her passing out as the rift opened is attributed to the strength of her emotional tie to the other timeline. She’s fortunate, the EMH tells her, that they managed to return Tananka when they did. Any longer and she might have suffered neurological damage when they opened the rift.
Chakotay has fared better, fortunately. The two of them have been the most significantly impacted by the temporal link, and the lingering headache and emotional upheaval are reminders of just how close they came to destruction.
Again.
She hasn’t seen much of Chakotay. He’s been busy, and not just because he assumed her duties when she was in sickbay. The crew is reeling and he is, just as he always has been, a rock for many who are questioning if they want to chase the future they saw, or give up on a life they were never meant to have.
It's a choice she needs to make too.
Or, maybe, she’s already made it.
Kathryn’s not sure exactly when, or exactly how, but she’s decided to try. To reach. To be as brave as a dark haired girl who watched her with eyes the same color as her own.
Those last few moments before the rift closed had been a gift, one she doesn’t intend to waste.
Not that she isn’t still frightened. Of course she is. There’s no guarantee she and Chakotay will work, that they’ll even have a child, and that they’ll all survive this treacherous life without the agony of losing one another.
But, isn’t that always the risk?
And if a 9 year old girl can see the beauty of an imperfect life, why can’t she?
Now she just needs to find a way to talk to Chakotay about it. After days of shutting him out and running away every time he tried to speak to her about anything except work, she’s afraid he’ll turn on his heel and simply walk away. It would be within his rights to be sure. So now she’s sitting here in her quarters, nursing a headache, and wondering what on earth she’s going to say to him.
She doesn't have to wait long.
She’s still sitting on her sofa when Chakotay comes to her quarters a few hours later, looking as ragged as she feels. He’s likely been listening to overwhelmed crew members for his entire shift, while simultaneously trying to make sure there are no more run-ins with the Hierarchy.
The Delta Quadrant doesn’t give a reprieve even after a near-death and emotionally gut-wrenching experience.
But he still has a steaming cup of coffee for her, one that she decides she quite needs despite the doctor’s orders to rest, and she takes it gratefully. It's as if nothing has changed, somehow.
Even though everything has.
At first he gives a quick report on repairs, the list of any crew in sickbay, and information on the nearby M class planet where they can stop to refuel and rest in a few days. The crew needs a distraction, and some time to regroup. His steadiness in the midst of madness is one of the things she admires most about him.
Maybe one of the things she loves.
“How are you feeling?” he finally asks her, his voice changing to the one he only uses when they’re alone, warm and deep. He’s not asking as her first officer. He’s just Chakotay right now.
And that’s all she needs.
She fights the initial urge to lie and tell him she’s fine, and it occurs to her that she so rarely answers this question honestly. That’s just one of the many things she’ll need to change if she’s going to make this work.
“I’m not sure, actually,” she confesses, “Relieved of course, that Tananka is home but…”
“But we can’t forget she was ever here.”
“No, we can’t.” She shakes her head slowly, feeling his grief as surely as her own.
He pauses, and she sees him rock back on his heels, thinking. Debating if he wants to say the next words. “I don’t want to forget her, Kathryn. And I can’t pretend she wasn’t here. I can’t pretend everything is the same.”
It’s the openness on his face and in his heart that’s her undoing. Despite all the risk they face out here, all the uncertainty that life is fraught with, he still gives of himself more freely than anyone she’s ever known. Without expectation, without doubt.
Chakotay has seen and lived more horrors than most people can imagine. He’s watched his people, his home, ruthlessly destroyed by a race that has no sense of goodness or humanity.
Yet he still believes in the strength of love.
“You know, when the rift was open, I saw us - you and me. And I finally -” she touches the nagging ache in her head, remembering, “I think I saw what you always have. The wondrous things. The hope.”
He’s so still she wonders if he’s having a vision, then remembers those are gone.
“How do you do it? How do you not let the doubt and the worry eclipse everything else? Through it all, you still manage to hope.” she asks him, because she needs to know.
He gives her a small smile and shakes his head, “Because it’s all we have, Kathryn, the hope. That’s why I joined the Maquis, because I still hold onto that belief. On Dorvan there were days where it was the only thing that kept people going. After raids and death and senseless violence, people were still living and loving each other. Life doesn’t have to be perfect-”
“-to be wonderful,” she murmurs, “Tananka told me that.”
“She was very wise.”
“She was. Like you.” Kathryn smiles, feeling a little of the tightness ease in her chest. It makes enough room for the confession to rush out, fumbling and imperfect.
“I want to believe that we can find the beauty in the darkness out here. I’ve been so afraid, Chakotay, for so long. Afraid that I’ll lose the crew, the ship…afraid I’ll lose you. Then we had Tananka, and I was afraid I’d lose her. I’ve let that fear guide me without realizing it, by saying I was protecting all of you. Especially you.” She takes a deep breath, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, and that’s difficult for me. I always wished I had a crystal ball to tell me the future. I like control. Order. Nothing about this is orderly.”
She can see a guarded hope on his face as he listens, all his attention focused on her, and the effort it’s taking him to not speak. There are things he needs to say too, she expects, and she’ll make sure he has time for that.
“But maybe that’s what I need. A little bit of disorder and uncertainty. What I am certain of is that I don’t want to spend the next decade wishing I’d been as brave as another version of myself.”
He talks a half step toward her, “Kathryn, what are you-?”
“I’m not saying let’s go and have a baby…not yet anyway-” she half-laughs at that and sees him pull in a deep breath, his hand fisting at his sides with emotion, “But let's try this. You and me. And if, someday, we decide that means more than just you and me…I think we could talk about that too.”
She hopes she said it clearly, that she’s said enough. The words feel like dandelions floating on a swirl of summer wind around her. She’s chasing, grabbing at them in uncoordinated lunges as they dip and spin away. In the end, she’s not sure she found them all, or if they’ve slipped through her fingers forever.
“You and me,” he says slowly, his voice rough, “as in together? No parameters? I want to be sure, Kathryn, because I’m not sure how much longer I can stand here and not hold you.”
She laughs and something inside her breaks free and stretches its wings. “Come here.”
Seconds later she’s caught up in the arms of a man she’s dreamed about for years, and he’s kissing her senseless on the sofa in her quarters. It feels then that her path has shifted in a single heartbeat, and her future might finally be one she desperately wants to see.
******************
A few months later it’s clear that this timeline is very different from the one Tananka lived. An Admiral from an entirely different future arrives, and they’re home long before there’s any real talk of additional small footsteps on the corridors of Voyager.
Instead, there’s a wedding in Indiana. A house in San Francisco.
And he brings her coffee every morning, because Tanaka was right: it always makes her smile.
There’s no fear when she realizes she’s been tired and sick in the mornings and there’s only one possible cause. There’s only joyful disbelief and utter delight.
Sekaya Gretchen Janeway is born nearly a full year before her sister from another life, with a dusting of red hair instead of dark, and eyes the color of the soil after a rainstorm. She’s not a child of Voyager, she’s a child of the earth.
But she’s loved just as much.
And so is the brother who comes two years later.
Because now, there’s no doubt that the love they’re building this life on is enough for more than one child. They take each challenge, each pitfall, as one they’re strong enough to overcome. It's not a life without danger and heartbreak, but it's one they cherish.
As the children play together in the yard, Chakotay leans in and kisses her temple, “I can’t imagine us without those two hooligans. They’re perfect. Thank you for them.”
“They are,” she agrees, reaching back to pat his cheek. “But you can have some of the credit too.”
But there’s still a holoimage tucked away of a 9 year old girl standing beside Chakotay in the mess hall. One that Tom snapped when neither of them were looking. They're both smiling, dimples mirrored in their cheeks, just like the ones on the laughing face of the dark haired little boy in the yard. Kathryn keeps it to remind her that, even if life doesn’t go the way they planned, it’s still worth being brave, still worth the fight.
It's still wonderful.