Chapter Text
Kathryn Janeway awoke in her bed. Sun streamed through her open curtains and across her covers, neatly tucked over her as if she had slept peacefully all night. She wore her favorite pajamas, and her usual glass of water sat on her bedside table.
Had it all been a dream?
“Computer, what is today’s Earth date and time?”
“Today is December twenty third and it is oh-seven-hundred hours.”
Friday. Q had appeared in her office Thursday night. Climbing out of bed, she slipped on her robe and sat down at her computer, searching through her messages for the invitation. With a decisive click, she confirmed her attendance, then did a quick scan through her contacts. If only she had an opening today...
It was noon by the time she had a moment to think about her plans again, between meetings she had reshuffled, she logged into her work console only one minute late.
“So good to see you again, Admiral, though I’ll admit your message this morning was a bit unexpected.”
“I really appreciate your fitting me in, Counselor.”
“Please, call me Deanna.”
*%*%*%*
Chee’lash punch, with leola root fizz.
It was green, it sparkled, and the chee’lash seeds underwent a chemical reaction when mixed with leola root extract that negated the latter’s unappetizing taste in exchange for the sparkle.
Neelix would have been proud—possibly jealous—that all of Voyager’s former crew and their families were lined up to sample Chell’s creation.
Kathryn glanced for the hundredth time toward the banquet room door as she chatted with the Doctor and Seven of Nine near a large ice sculpture of Voyager. The former Borg had taken to critiquing the design specifications, drawing her attention to the dripping rear end of the craft.
“The artist has placed the warp nacelles at an obtuse angle, rather than the acute—“
“Commander! Or should I say Professor? Welcome!”
Kathryn turned back to the door in time to see Chakotay usher his strikingly beautiful companion inside with a hand on her back and a smile on his face. Creating a matching one for her own lips proved a challenge, but she called on all her diplomatic training and made it so.
“Doctor, Seven, Admiral, I would like you all to meet Sekaya, my sister.”
When a warm hand gripped Kathryn’s frigid one, and a pair of chestnut eyes met hers, something deep in Kathryn’s chest shifted. The feeling, whatever it was, rattled and bumped against her ribs, stealing her breath as if she were back in Q’s whalebone corset and satin gown.
“Admiral, I’m so happy to finally meet you. My brother has told me so much about you.” Her voice had a familiar mellow tone and measured cadence. Everything inside her settled with the sound.
When she opened her mouth to reply, her answering smile required no diplomatic fabrication.
“It’s lovely to meet you, as well.”
*%*%*%*
Tom and B’Elanna had long ago departed with Miral asleep on her father’s shoulder, and Naomi was leaning heavily into her father’s side when Kathryn raised her eyes to the old-fashioned clock on the wall of the banquet room. She had made the rounds, sung alto on all the carols, even had a glass of the lip-puckering sparkly green punch. And she had been hugged more times in one evening than she had been in the entirety of the past year. Naomi had been the one to set that precedent, dropping her Captain’s Assistant decorum at her first sight of her former mentor to run into a crushing grip around Kathryn’s rib cage.
Through all their years in the Delta Quadrant, Kathryn had never shied away from making physical contact—a pat on the back, a grip of the shoulder—but her gestures had conveyed reassurance, camaraderie, nearly always stopping short of true intimacy. That had not been the case tonight.
Maybe it had been Kathryn’s unselfconscious burst of laughter when she returned Naomi’s mammoth squeeze that had set the tone, but from that point on, something had shifted in her former crew’s dynamic with her. There were a lot fewer mentions of rank when she was introduced to family members, a lot more embraces hello and goodbye. Spines straightened less when she approached. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It felt like home.
Scanning the ever-thinning crowd, she found Chakotay alone, near the wall of windows overlooking the bridge, and she wove her way through to stand beside him.
“We’ve only been back a year, but I already find myself taking this for granted.” He didn’t look at her, but his tone was that of ready room chats or late dinners by candlelight in her quarters. His fingers splayed around a wide globe of stemware, holding a splash of honey-colored liquid.
“I can see it from my office, but most of the time my attention is on a screen of one sort or another. It’s a shame.” Her gaze paralleled his out the window.
“How about on the next sunny day, we take a walk through the park and give San Francisco the attention it deserves?” His dimples made a sudden, unexpected appearance as he glanced in her direction, sending her heart tripping over itself inside her chest.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Kathryn took a sip from her glass of champagne, which she swore had been poured from a bottle of synthehol, but somehow tasted as crisp and delightful as one from Sandrine’s cellar.
“Then it’s a date.” Chakotay widened his stance, planting one foot inches away from the sculpted toe of her high-heeled shoe. Shifting her weight, she leaned into the hip closest to him, and just like that they stood shoulder to shoulder. Even without an enemy to face or a battle to fight, his presence made her feel stronger, calmer, more at peace.
“Your sister is lovely. I’m so glad I got to meet her.”
“She said the same about you. She left a few minutes ago—getting to be past her girls’ bedtime.”
“She mentioned one of your nieces was attending an art school this year.”
“The whole family moved this fall so she could enroll in a program for sculpture.” He turned his head to catch her eye. “You know, Sekaya has been trying to meet you for months. You’re not an easy person to find these days.”
Kathryn took a breath, unable to look him in the eye.
“I do know. And I’m sorry. I’ve let work get in the way.” Her eyes were fixed on the cables and towers stretching across the Golden Gate, but as the practiced excuse fell from her lips, she felt a chill run up her spine. This was her wall, and it was her choice to shore up its weak spots or use them as footholds to tear the whole thing down.
Turning to face him, she did meet his eyes again.
“That’s not entirely true, Chakotay. Work does take up most of my time. But, as I think you of all people would know, I use it as a crutch.” A sad smile pulled at his lips, and he blinked long and slow. “For most of the last year I did my best not to be found. I haven’t felt much like the person this crew used to know. And frankly, I wasn’t sure I could still be their Captain.”
Her stomach flipped with the admission, though not as violently as it had that afternoon when she had ground out those same words to Deanna Troi.
“I suppose it wouldn’t help to tell you that all the crew really wanted once you got them home was to be your friend?” His words held none of bitterness her disappearing act might have inspired.
“I’ve spent some time thinking hard about that, among other things, in the last twenty four hours.” She resisted the urge to bring up her little holiday tour with Q. In the end, it didn’t really matter who or what had helped her arrive at the realization that she didn’t have to be alone anymore. “I didn’t really believe it until tonight, though.”
“We were each other’s family for seven years.” Dark eyes held her gaze, daring her to look away, challenging her to assume he meant their whole crew rather than the two of them. “That kind of devotion doesn’t just disappear because we aren’t on the same ship every day.”
The EMH tapped a glass with a spoon, drawing the attention of the handful of people still clustered in quiet conversation around the large room.
“Excuse me all, we are so glad you have enjoyed the evening, but the facility will be closing shortly, so please gather your belongings and make your way toward the exits. And remember to sign up for next month’s potluck on your way out.”
Members of the wait staff walked through collecting empty glasses and plates and Kathryn handed off her champagne as Chakotay drained the final sip from his drink.
“Well, it seems we’ve shut the party down,” she took full advantage of the Doctor’s announcement to change the subject.
“Wouldn’t be the first time we were the last ones to leave. I seem to recall we outlasted even Neelix on a few occasions.”
They crossed the room in silence, Kathryn trying desperately not to talk herself out of asking him the question she had been planning all evening. Collecting her jacket from the coat check, she turned to find Chakotay close behind, holding out a hand for the coat. There had been few occasions over the years for such a quaint, old-fashioned gesture, almost intimate in its formality. A little bubble of optimism rose inside her chest as she slid one arm and then the other into the sleeves and felt his broad palms smooth down her arms, straightening imaginary creases.
Turning back to face him, she untucked her scarf, rearranging it where it had become trapped under the collar and lapels. When she looked up, she found his eyes fixed on a spot just below the junction of her collarbones.
Realization dawned, and heat bloomed up her neck, flooding her cheeks and face all the way to the tips of her ears. Her fingertips traced the delicate chain until they encountered the intricate wooden star that had remained safely hidden under her scarf all evening.
Chakotay’s eyes were as wide and dark as she had ever seen them, still focused on the necklace.
“Kathryn?” It came out as a whisper, something forced from his throat with barely any breath behind it, maybe because all the air seemed to have left the room. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, all her own hope and fear reflected back at her in that instant.
“I thought it was time to put it on,” her words echoed his uncertain tone as her grip faltered on the little charm. To keep them from shaking, she pressed her fingers flat against the carving he had made for her so long ago, warm and smooth against her skin, unchanged even by so much time.
Chell squeezed past them, reaching for his coat with a warm “Goodnight,” before returning to the small group of stragglers filing out the doors. That was enough to break the spell, but Chakotay offered his arm.
“Can I walk you home?” His voice was back to it’s usual register, and one dimple had appeared. Though her instinct pushed hard for her to decline, a little voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like Q reminded her that it was her choice to be alone.
“I’d like that.” Threading her arm through his felt practiced—familiar, but when he covered her hand with his own, the touch of his skin to hers sent sparks of awareness through nerve endings she had long ago forgotten.
Ten minutes of seemingly comfortable silence later, they were only blocks from her building. All those formerly silent nerves were singing, sending adrenaline and so many other hormones coursing through Kathryn’s veins. If she hadn’t still been holding tightly to his arm, she was sure she would have been trembling, but she couldn’t hold off any longer. Taking a breath, she did her best to steady her voice.
“Chakotay, I was wondering, and I know this is last-minute, so I understand if the answer is ‘no,’— she chanced a quick sideways look at his face and found that indulgent smile she had become accustomed to seeing over their years on the ship.
“Maybe you should ask the question before you answer it for me…” his hand gave her fingers a squeeze.
No more hedging. The worst he could say was “no.”
“Are you and your family free tomorrow?” Her words sounded remarkably assured to her own ears for all her mental insecurity.
“On Christmas Eve?” His eyebrows raised but his smile remained.
“See, I knew it was a silly question—“
“Unfortunately Sekaya and Seth and the girls will be spending tomorrow and Sunday with his family.”
Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. But Chakotay was still smiling.
“Not to be presumptuous, but I don’t have any plans tomorrow.” His dimples came out in full force, happiness bleeding across the distance between them until her own cheeks burned with an answering grin.
Straightening her spine, she found a new spring in her step as she led them up her block.
“Well, you do now. How does a bonfire, carol singing, and as many cookies as you can eat sound?” Even she recognized the familiar ring to her voice.
Confidence.
“The infamous Janeway Christmas party. I’m honored to be invited. What should I bring?”
“Warm clothes. Mom says they’re due for snow tomorrow.” They had arrived at her building, and she tapped her security code and thumbprint into the pad by the door, releasing the lock. He let go of her arm, and she immediately missed his warmth.
“What time should I be there?” That thousand-watt smile beamed almost bright enough to make up for the loss of his touch. When she swung open the door, a tinkle of bells sounded above their heads and they both looked up.
What the— Q.
She chanced a look past Chakotay, up and down her street, but there was no sign of her former tour guide.
“Looks like someone decorated for the holiday.” Chakotay tapped the leafy green cluster of white berries strung with tiny brass jingle bells dangling from the overhang above the door.
“It does, doesn’t it. Thing is, that wasn’t there when I left a few hours ago. Mistletoe.” She spat out the word as she tipped her eyes skyward, half expecting Q to be sitting on the awning over their heads.
Chakotay mimicked her pose, leaning back and scanning the tops of the surrounding buildings.
“What are we looking for, exactly?”
Streetlights shone down, beams catching on the silver strands of hair peppered along his temples, carving his cheekbones from the shadows. He was beautiful, and he was here with her, under the mistletoe. In that moment, exacting revenge on a mischievous alien being didn’t seem so important.
“It’s a long story.” Grinning up at him, she blinked—no one would dare accuse her of batting—her eyelashes. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come up and hear it? I have coffee.”
“Does the coffee come with cinnamon?”
A blush flooded her face. How many more little details had he tucked away over eight years?
“You’ll have to wait for my mother’s coffee tomorrow night for that, but my coffee comes with a tale of Q, time travel, and me in a corset.”
“With that teaser, how could I possibly resist?”
“There’s just one catch.”
“Oh? Let me guess, I have to answer three unsolvable riddles from Q?” He narrowed his eyes. “No, wait, I know. He’s going to whisk us to Sherwood Forest and I have to rescue you from the Sheriff of Nottingham.”
“As much as I would enjoy seeing you in tights, this is much simpler.” Her heart was pounding so hard, surely he must be able to hear it thump behind her words. “You see, in the Janeway household, at Christmas time mistletoe has magical properties—anyone caught underneath it is stuck until someone comes to their rescue.” Butterflies erupted in a riot of fluttering in her stomach.
“And what, exactly, does this rescue involve?”
Her gaze dropped for a split second to his lips.
“A kiss.”
“I see.” He looked pointedly up at the offending plant, poised directly above her head. “And you’re sure I’m the one you want doing the rescuing?”
Her eyes went soft at the waver of uncertainty in his voice.
“Only if you want to be.”
Without hesitation he reached for her, fingers threading into her hair just behind her ear and thumb brushing the arc of her cheekbone. Lips aiming for the same spot, he leaned in, and she felt his breath warm the apple of her cheek.
But just before he made contact, she ducked her head, turning so his lips landed squarely on her own. She felt more than heard his little moan of surprise as their mouths made contact. The kiss was soft, and gentle, and warm, a greeting and a welcome without the slightest hint of a demand, and she could have lived happily within it forever.
When he pulled back enough to look into her eyes, his had turned to saucers, black and deep, and his thumb traveled to brush along the path his lips had just traced. Kathryn found herself kissing the smooth curve of its pad with a smile she couldn’t contain.
“Still want to tell me that story?” His other hand found hers at her side, laced his fingers through hers and pressed their palms together, as he had so many years ago on another night, framing another story.
Her voice felt as though it had dropped an octave when she finally found it.
“It all started with Charles Dickens.”
*%*%*%*
“...I am here—the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will!”
--Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol , 1843.