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The lift doors open and the quiet bridge is beginning another alpha shift. The first thing I see is the first thing I always see, her. She is already positioned in her chair, eyes straight ahead. Of course they are. I walk around the back of our seating area and pull at the sleeves of my uniform. She will be elusive and I will wait her out. I come around to my command chair beside her and receive a crisp “Good morning”. I think I answer her back but quickly turn inward because I can’t help wondering what Q said to her, what he did. I also can never seem to stop myself from wondering a lot of things.
If we get back to the Alpha Quadrant in any reasonable amount of time, what will they think of us? What will the questions be? We never talk about it on this ship among ourselves too much, I would imagine it’s because we are busy surviving, but everyone has to be wondering. I almost laugh to myself and wonder if I were the star in one of Tom’s old television shows, what would people think of me? A transparent schmuck is who I would be seen as. An accomplished one, turned my life around, offered my crew another chance, outlaw turned upstanding Starfleet officer. But, still a schmuck for one reason and one reason only…
“Commander I’ll be in my ready room" she spouts. I feel psychic somehow at that declaration. And here I sit.
One hour passes and I’m up off of my feet with a PADD in hand. So much for waiting her out. I never win. I wonder if the audience would even root for me. Shaking my head, I buzz the chime.
She’s sipping her coffee and after I present her with the report/excuse for my visit, she has no qualms about dismissing me. I don’t leave though. For once I ask her straight. I want to know what he wanted.
As she calmly and professionally explains to me about his desire to “mate with her” I hear myself talking and I see the faces that I am making almost as if it’s an out of body experience. I think this may be it, I can’t hold it in. I hear myself…
An exasperated sigh.
A suspicious “maybe”.
Then all the cards on the table. “I know I have no right to feel this way but this bothers the hell out of me."
Her face changes instantly. Is that pity? Friendship? Oh no!
She is moving out of her chair and places her hand rather affectionately on my arm. “Chakotay…”
We lock eyes but all I hear in my head is “Oh Chakotay” like you would address a sad child who lost their puppy. Another dismissal, even if she doesn’t mean it that way. I am full of vigor in that moment and very ready to take this further. After all, I am a Maquis rebel. A virile man in the prime of his life. A loyal and trusted best friend to her. Our pull towards each other is tangible and undeniable. For an instant I again feel flooded with a humorous thought. If this were a show, how would I shake out? Would I get the girl? Tom had schooled us all one night on the holodeck about all kinds of ancient Earth television. This would fit into the category of what he called a “telenovela”. It was a Latin American soap opera. We are always so charged with emotions, Kathryn and I, and this situation is undoubtedly dramatic and a bit contrived. But then again maybe it wouldn’t really fit the bill. I can’t imagine Kathryn in a soap opera and I am certainly not a Latino man, being Native American and all. My next move, I decide, should be calculated but far from prosaic. I take a breath….
Then he is there. Stating the obvious and enjoying my torture for his own amusement. Kathryn throws him some saucy retort before heading to the bridge. As I give him a long look I resolutely decide something. Next time I hear her say “Oh Chakotay” the context will be VERY different…end of story.