Chapter Text
Debriefings ended late the third night back on Earth. The sun was already setting, the winter air cool and biting when Kathryn walked out of Headquarters toward the Starfleet issue housing she had been awarded. There were still weeks before the holidays, and she knew debriefings would last until then. Fatigued and aching, her head muddled from the endless barrage of questions that had been fired at her, she felt drained in ways she never imagined.
But, despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her as she settled into her darkened apartment. She laid in her bed and replayed all the questions, all the unsaid accusations that likely existed only in her mind, and re-lived every moment of uncertainty over the past seven years.
Before long, she gave up and returned to her living room, deciding at the very least she could do some work.
It was close to midnight, and of course she was awake, a cup of coffee clutched in her hand as she reviewed notes for the next day’s agenda, when her comm unit beeped. The sound startled her, briefly sending a ripple of panic through her body as years of responding to red alerts flashed through her mind.
After a few calming breaths and reminders of where she was now, confusion replaced the fear. Curious, Kathryn rose and walked slowly over, her surprise only heightened when she saw who it was.
Nothing prepared her for the sight of Chakotay’s face on the screen.
“Commander?” she asked as she appraised him through the terminal. He looked exhausted, his face lined and haggard, dark circles smudged under his eyes. Concern ran through her. “Are you alright? Is Seven?”
She regretted the words as soon as they crossed her lips. They hadn’t yet discussed his relationship with Seven, though it was now common knowledge among the crew. Her avoidance was childish and petty, and she knew it, but admitting it made it real.
Painfully, gut-wrenchingly real.
And she wasn’t ready to face it. Not with the weight of the Delta Quadrant still so heavy on her mind.
As it was, she was being forced to revisit every loss she’d endured over the last seven years. She wasn’t quite ready to face losing him too.
“Seven’s fine. Regenerating in her quarters I expect,” he hesitated, making guilt crawl along Kathryn’s spine at the realization he was reluctant to tell her what was bothering him.
When did they get here? A place where he was afraid to be honest with her. They used to confide in each other, lean on each other. When did they stop being on each other’s side?
“I just couldn’t sleep. I can’t seem to be able to since coming home,” he said hoarsely, his voice roughened by fatigue, his eyes darting off to the side as if to look for an invisible foe.
“It's a big change. Have you asked medical for something to help?” she asked, falling back on formality, on responsibility, rather than friendship. He balked slightly, his eyes darkening at her suggestion. Of course, she knew he wouldn’t ask for a sleep aid any more than she would.
Another wave of remorse hit her, that she had spoken so quickly without consideration for what he was actually feeling. She's approached a personal problem with a practiced problem-solving suggestion, rather than compassion.
Stop, she chided herself. Stop treating him like a subordinate.
He wasn’t even her officer anymore. He was a….a friend? She didn’t honestly know.
“No. I think it's just… I don't know. If I don’t get out of this apartment I’m going to lose my mind. I thought I might take a walk.” She watched him run a hand over the back of his neck, ducking his head nervously, “Want to join me?”
There had been so many nights like this on Voyager. When one or the other of them couldn’t find sleep. When the day had been rife with impossible choices, and the looming threat of destruction ate away at any sense of calm. They would comm each other in the dead of night, when the ship was quiet around them, and meet in one of their quarter’s for coffee and tea.
It was nothing inappropriate, just the simple comfort of being with someone at a time when being alone felt impossible. A few stolen moments when they could lean on each other and find support and peace in the midst of utter chaos.
She still needed it, more than she wanted to admit.
A wave of longing swept through Kathryn as she watched the tentative hope in his eyes. He had always been the brave one, and this was no different. After everything that had happened this last year, the distance and the arguing and the fractures in their friendship, it took incalculable courage for him to come to her.
And she was so incredibly glad he had.
She missed him, of course she did. And at that moment she decided that she didn’t want to lose his friendship. He was worth too much to her, even more than her own foolish pride. Maybe now was a good time to begin to find their new equilibrium. As friends.
“I would like that, actually. Give me a quick minute to change and I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”
***********
Chakotay was waiting by the bench by the time she threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, bundling up in her winter jacket before heading out the door. The temperature had dropped a few degrees since Kathryn had left her debriefings, and she tugged on a pair of gloves as she walked, a nervous knot twisting in her stomach.
Stars dotted a clear winter’s sky, the cold stealing her breath as she walked out into the silent darkness. She remembered long winter walks in the woods during her teenage years, with snow crunching under her boots and fat white flakes falling on her cheeks.
It had been such a long time since it had been the two of them, just them, without the specters of fear and anger and doubt that ravaged the last year on Voyager. She wondered briefly if they could still do this. Still just be two people out for a simple walk on a winter night.
When she saw him, something in her chest fluttered for the first time in months.
Chakotay’s hair was ruffled and mussed, clearly from his own attempts at sleep, and he was wearing his uniform pants and an overcoat buttoned to the neck. The smile he gave her when she reached him was tired, but genuine.
It was awkward for a moment, the two of them standing there, unsure of how to greet each other and what to say. Kathryn pulled nervously at her gloves, wondering why she had agreed to come, hoping he hadn’t invited her out of a sense of duty to her well-being. The last thing she wanted was his pity.
Finally Chakotay nodded, “Ready to go?”
They were silent for several blocks, passing through pools of light on the streets as they left the campus of Headquarters. The wind swept through her hair, the cold stinging her eyes and making them water, but it felt good. It felt real and tangible, something more solid than the impalpable questions that had battered her all day.
And walking with him beside her again felt like coming home.
Chakotays’s hands were shoved in his pockets, his gait easy as he walked. They fell into step together effortlessly, a comfort gleaned from miles walked in the corridors of Voyager.
“Am I crazy to say I miss it?” he spoke first, quietly, his breath puffing smoke in the frigid air.
Kathryn huffed out a laugh, shaking her head, relieved that one of them had finally spoken, “No. No you’re not. There are things I miss too.”
Because she did. Truly. She was just never free to admit it to herself until this moment, with fresh air in her lungs and a man who had known her at her best and worst by her side to listen and understand.
She missed the familiar comfort of her bed in her quarters at the end of a long day. The easy ability to walk out on the bridge and see so many of the people she held dear, all present and accounted for. The camaraderie and the friendship, the rush of working toward a common goal with a truly exceptional group of people.
“You know I made replicated coffee this morning…even though I didn't have to. I found I’m fond of the taste of it now,” she said as a smile tugged at her lips. It felt good to joke again with him, there had been far too little of it in recent months.
Chakotay chuckled, bumping her playfully with his shoulder, “It was your primary food source for seven years, I’m sure you formed an attachment…or an addiction,” He made a face as he continued, “Though I can't say I feel that way about leola root.”
They both laughed fully at that, slipping back into a teasing banter that fit like a familiar sweater. Oh, god she had missed this. There had been moments, of course, in that last year, but they had been too few and far between. And she hadn’t even realized the void that the loss of their close friendship had left in her life until she realized he may never be there again to fill it.
She grasped on to the bittersweet hope that, if nothing else, they could still have this friendship, if they worked to rebuild it.
“You know what else I miss?” Chakotay asked, his smile flowing through the tone of his voice.
“Hmmmm…?” she answered, marveling at how much lighter her steps felt already, bolstered by the warmth of the man beside her.
“My sonic shower,” he said solemnly, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, “Took me two damn years to get that thing calibrated just the way I wanted. I nearly drowned this morning when I forgot about real water and turned on the one in my apartment.”
They both laughed deeply, freely, their voices echoing, shoulders touching as they shifted closer together, and settled into a comfortable stroll in the dark.
***********
By the time Kathryn got back to her quarters it had been nearly two hours. Her feet were half frozen and her cheeks raw from the wind, but she felt more free than she had in ages. Stripping off her coat, she settled down on the couch and drifted off almost immediately, wrapped in a blanket she had kept in her quarters in Voyager. For the first time in months, she slept without nightmares and panicked awakenings, with no red alerts to disturb her, and awoke four hours later feeling rested and relaxed, as if if one of the pieces of herself she thought she had lost in the Delta Quadrant had finally slipped back into place.
Debriefings were more of the same the following day, long and tedious, questions that just brushed on insinuation without crossing the line into outright insulting. Why did she do this, why didn’t she anticipate that. Every minute detail of the journey was scrutinized and recorded.
She didn’t see Chakotay, but she knew his day was likely the same, and by the time she dragged herself into her quarters, she was exhausted.
But as the darkness crept through her quarters and the restlessness settled deep into her bones, Kathryn found herself waiting. Hoping. And at around midnight, her comm beeped again.
This time she couldn’t keep the smile that spread easily over her face as he looked sheepishly into the screen, “A walk?” he asked simply, and she nodded an immediate yes. This time when she met him at the bench, he held out a travel mug of coffee for her, grinning broadly and clutching his own mug of tea.
It became their ritual. Their routine. Kathryn would pour over her PADDs, stealing glances at the clock as it snuck toward midnight, waiting for the beep that would bring the image of his handsome face and the offer of a late night walk through the grounds of Headquarters and the surrounding neighborhoods. They would sip steaming drinks and begin to unpack seven years of memories.
At first the conversation was simple, tentative. They joked about the lighter times on Voyager, spoke about all they had forgotten about Earth. Chakotay kept burning his mouth on tea because he wasn’t used to it being not temperature controlled from the replicator. She herself couldn’t adjust to the quiet that seemed to permeate her quarters, needing to constantly turn on music to break the silence.
They were slowly rebuilding the bond that had been torn down over the last year of the journey, and every step they walked brought them closer to something they had once both held dear. Kathryn found herself overwhelmingly grateful for him. His laugher, his steadiness, his presence at her side that made the confusion whirlwind of being home a little less disorentienting.
After a week of walks, Kathryn sat at her desk as the night stretched longer than usual, waiting for the comm. For the first time since they started meeting, no friendly beep sounded from her terminal.
Around 3 AM she decided it would be best to give up. Perhaps he had actually been able to get some rest tonight, and she shouldn’t bother him with her neediness.
But as she rose and took a heavy step toward her bedroom, dreading the thought of facing hours tossing and turning, something stopped her. She had always known, on Voyager, when he needed company. There was a sixth sense that had developed between the two of them during the most difficult times out there.
And whatever it was told her that he needed her now.
Gathering up all her courage, she pressed the button herself, arguing that if Chakotay were actually asleep he wouldn’t answer.
It took long moments for him to answer, her unease growing each second. What if he didn’t want to talk to her? What if he was with Seven….
Thankfully, his answer didn’t allow her to finish that thought.
“Yes?” he said quietly, the room he was in so dark she could hardly see the shape of his face on the screen. His voice had a ragged, broken edge she hadn’t heard before, and it sent a jolt of alarm through her.
“I…I just wanted to check on you. See if you wanted to take a walk.” Kathryn fumbled through the words, embarrassed at her own need to see him, but fueled by a foreboding sense that something was very wrong.
“Kathryn. I’m not really in a great place tonight. I should probably be alone.” He sighed, his gaze fixed on a point to the left of the screen, not meeting her eyes.
No.
She knew him. Knew him like the back of her own hand, like familiar curves of her chair on Voyager. He was hurting, badly. And the last thing he needed was to be alone.
“Do you want me to call Seven?” she asked gently. Maybe he didn’t need her, and as much as that stung, she was more focused on helping him than protecting her pride.
The laugh he barked out was sharp, hollow. “God, no. This is nowhere near her comfort zone.”
“Then I’ll just stay here on the line if you won’t meet me, but there is no way I’m leaving you like this,” she said firmly, gathering her resolve.
She’d failed him enough times over the years by not being there when he needed her. She wasn’t about to do that now, not when their friendship was still so tenuous.
A long silence stretched out between them, and she felt the change even through the screen. Hope. Trust. A connection that emerged from the ashes of the worst parts of their journey, still there and still beating in time to her nervous heart.
“I’ll see you at the bench.” he said quietly, and cut the comm.
Chakotay was sitting by the time she got there, his head in his hands, broad shoulders hunched as he leaned over. He looked so alone, the lights from the surrounding buildings casting shadows across his coat, a light mist falling and adding an iridescent shimmer to his hair.
If there was anything she understood, it was the deep, gnawing pain of loneliness, even when your days were filled with people.
The need to comfort him rocked her, pulling at something more powerful than she could control. Taking a deep breath, Kathryn laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, her fingertips brushing the warm skin of his neck.
“What did they ask you about?” she asked simply.
He didn’t answer her, didn’t move at all. She understood what it was like, to have already re-lived some of the difficult days on the journey, and to just want to tuck them away again in a place that wouldn’t hurt anymore. Out there they had to compartmentalize in order to survive. Here, all their failures were thrust into the open and held to the light, turned and examined until there were no secrets left to keep.
So she didn’t push him.
“It's alright. Let’s just walk.”
He stood a little unsteadily, and she caught a glance at the shadows under his red-rimmed eyes. She hadn’t seen him undone like this in so long. Since they had been home he had been so steady, asking so little from her as they both healed the wounds that had been rendered between them.
And she knew, inexplicably, that he needed her now.
She wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling this body flush to her side, and kept him there as they started out. Slow, careful steps, like two people forging a path they weren’t quite certain of, on a journey where the end wasn’t clear. Eventually, the warm, solid weight of his arm came around her shoulder, and she felt the brief, grateful press of his lips to her hair.
Kathryn had to close her eyes against the wave of longing his closeness sent through her. The wool of his overcoat scratched her cheek, his familiar scent washing over her for the first time since Voyager.
Slowly, she felt some of the tension ease from Chakotay’s body, felt his steps become more sure, more fluid. When she looked up at him, the hard set of his jaw had eased, and his eyes were gentle again.
They made their way back to the bench and she turned, facing him, relieved at the change in his demeanor. The sun was beginning to lighten the sky already, and she knew she would need to go back to shower and change, then get ready for her own day.
“Well, thank you for the walk. See you tonight?” she smiled, her hand reaching out to give Chakotay’s fingers a quick squeeze. She didn’t press him for information, wanting to give him his privacy. Even though she was now facing a long day with no rest, it was more than worth it.
Unexpectedly, she felt herself suddenly pressed against the front of his coat, strong arms pulling her close in a fierce embrace. Tears stung her eyes at the intensity of his hold, the tenderness and gratitude she felt in the way in clasped her tightly in his arms.
“Thank you.” he said gruffly, the words buried in her hair. He held her another minute, and it was as if she could feel him gathering up the courage to tell her, “It was the shuttle crash…the day you died.”
The tears did spill over then, and she buried them in the rough wool of his jacket, forcing her own shoulders steady against the urge to shake. She had already had to discuss it, days ago, but she imagined it must have been so much worse for him. To revisit those moments, when he breathed air into her lungs and cried and screamed as he knelt on the ground beside her lifeless body.
Because she mattered to him.
Hope sparked, bright and unexpected in her chest. Just as quickly, she tamped it down.
He was with Seven. They were friends, good friends, and she should be grateful for that. And she was. Overwhelming, heart stoppingly grateful. And she was determined that it would be enough.
As they stood there, in the first embrace they had ever shared, Kathryn told herself that it would be enough.