Sunrise--part two
by Melissa B, Jennifer Ferris, and Laura W.
--For disclaimers and notes see part one
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"Tell me what's wrong, Kathryn."
Chakotay's voice, swimming through the memory that had clouded her mind. Damn it. How long had she been standing there, staring off into the trees, wrapped up in a vision she thought she'd left behind her? She blinked and her eyes refocused on her first officer, on his face, curious and maybe a little guarded.
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm...just a little distracted." Kathryn shrugged, offering both of them an easy way out.
"I noticed," he said easily. She looked guiltily at him out of the corner of her eye. Chakotay smiled, and let his eyes wander to the lush trees, the young plantlings underfoot, the misty impression of a small rise in the distance. The scene was familiar.
Too familiar. "I noticed," he said again, with little emotion, answering the thought she had not spoken.
She nodded without speaking, and picked up her tricorder. Chakotay moved softly beside her, stopping only to examine some tubers protruding from the soil, a lemon-grasslike shoot, some berries that she pointed out to him. Damn him, she thought. Here she was, thinking sentimentally of the planet they'd left behind so long ago, and here he was. Politely ignoring her distraction.
The role she usually played in their little drama. Or comedy, depending on how you looked at it.
She stopped on the path and turned to him.
"Now you're being kind," she said.
"Kathryn?"
"You're very generous," she said, repeating something she'd said long ago.
"No." he answered her. "I'm not."
And those were his words from long ago, too. Only his eyes betrayed how much he meant it.
. . .
Chakotay seemed to understand her reluctance. They hadn't discussed it, not really. Occasionally, reluctantly, she would tell him of the dreams that plagued her. He would murmur some small response, understanding, not expecting her to let go so soon. If at all.
The pull of the planet was strong. New Earth, they called it. New life. Their new life. But she hadn't come to it by choice. Neither of them could evade that knowledge. If she could have anything she wanted, it would not be here. Not this way.
They'd talked about it once, in a way. In frustration, she'd asked him how he could be so accepting.
He'd cocked his head at her, thoughtfully. Looked off into the distance, as if measuring what he should say. Then shrugged, and smiled a little, at his own reticence. "I've spent a lifetime learning to accept what is, you know. Dorvan taught me that. My frustration with Starfleet taught me that. The Maquis...most of all."
"I suppose so."
"And--in a way, this..." he looked around at their compound, the garden he was creating, the tomatoes she'd finally planted. The building he had begun. "In a way, this is what I've always wanted."
She found she was surprised. "I'm not sure how you mean that."
"Oh, this isn't how I'd have chosen to find it. Not in exile. But...a home. Good land. The possibility of peace, of growth. A...settling, that I've never really had. A woman to share it with." He met her gaze evenly.
Kathryn flushed. "'A woman'?"
He shook his head. "Don't ask me to say something you're not ready to hear. Or are you?"
She had to meet his honesty with her own. "I don't know, Chakotay. It would be so easy to..." She didn't finish the thought. "Can you understand? I feel like accepting this would be...giving in. Giving up."
He'd just watched her, giving nothing away. She shook her head in frustration. "If I...if we...don't you see, I don't want to wake up a year from now and find myself resenting you, resenting what you've made me forget. You deserve better than that. How can I--" she whirled away from him, almost in desperation. How to make him see that it wasn't him that was the problem. It was her.
A soft movement behind her. Chakotay touched her shoulders, not turning her. Standing there, close behind her, his hands warm and heavy. Stroking from her shoulder to her neck, his lips touching her hair. "Don't. Don't worry so. I don't want you to come to me out of necessity, or boredom, or because you feel you owe me. You don't owe me anything, Kathryn. Except to be yourself. That's all I ask."
She turned to him then, her eyes searching his. "You're very generous."
"No." He smiled down at her in the dim light. "I'm not."
"Funny. It looks that way to me."
He shook his head gently. "No. I'm very selfish. If you should decide to come to me...that's not an expectation you're supposed to fulfill. I'm not an obligation, Kathryn. Only if you decide that's what you want. Any other reason would be wrong."
She'd wrapped her arms around him then, just resting against him. "I feel so full of fog. So full of anger."
Murmuring into her hair, his embrace light, he whispered. "Shhh. It's all right. Let go of your fear, Kathryn. We don't have to hurry. We have all the time in the world."
. . .
She was speechless, staring at him. Chakotay bore her scrutiny well. His eyes gave...nothing back. No hint of the hope she had sometimes seen in him. No hint of the frustration she must have caused so many times. No hint of the determination that straightened his shoulders, that curved his mouth in the faintest of smiles.
It was funny, almost. She knew the crew thought of her as strong, and determined, and goal-oriented. If they only realized. His determination, unbroken, filled the air between them.
Still unspoken. After all this time.
There were words, words they both needed. Even after all this time, she had not let go of her fear. It warred, once again, with his determination. And she opened her mouth.
And then Goldschmidt and Cartwright came trotting through the underbrush, cheeks flushed and laughing slightly as they ran, youth and enthusiasm in their faces. Kathryn closed her eyes for an instant and sighed, before she turned to them.
"It's a good morning, then," she smiled professionally.
She watched Chakotay, out of the corner of her eye, as she turned to help them with the samples they'd found. He knelt in the grass, a small apple-like fruit held lightly in his hand. "Captain?" And he tossed the fruit to her.
As she caught it he straightened and stood, brushing off his hands. Watching her.
He had thrown her more than fruit, and they both knew it. Her hands curved around the skin for a moment, before she walked over and put it in her knapsack. Turning, she met his eyes evenly.
"Thank you, Commander. I'll save it for later."
The flash in his eyes came and went too quickly for her to judge its meaning. He nodded, silently.
They bent back to their work.
. . .
They'd gone about their tasks, then. Chakotay headed out to the clearing he'd made, to the work he wouldn't tell her about. 'It's a surprise,' he had said. Kathryn returned to her experiments. She labored determinedly. She had to know she'd exhausted every possibility, examined every avenue in her search for a cure. It was even possible, if she found an answer soon, that they'd still be able to return to the ship. Oh, she knew how unlikely that was. But it wasn't impossible. She couldn't let go of that thought.
And balanced against her search, her determination, was the balm of Chakotay's presence. They worked at their own jobs, separately, or together, in harmony. She was studying every night. Trying to learn everything they might need to know, if they stayed here, about botany, agriculture. Cataloging each new species she found. He'd laughed at her, a bit. "You don't have to file a report."
Defiantly, she threw that back at him. "I might. We don't know. Every bit of data I can gather might be our answer."
"And if you find it? Kathryn..."
"I can't let it go, Chakotay. Not until there's no hope."
He shoved away from the table. "I know." His face shuttered, he'd gone outside, letting the door slam behind him.
She waited for him to come back. After half an hour, when he didn't return, she went to find him. He was near the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree, his fists clenched. "Chakotay?"
He lifted his head, half turning to her. He didn't answer. She approached him quietly. "What?"
"It's nothing."
"No. Tell me."
Something in her tone, the captain's voice perhaps, reached him. He took a deep breath. "The death of your hope. That's what I'll be, to you."
"Oh, god. No, Chakotay. Don't ever think that." Shaken, she reached up to him, her hand caressing his cheek. "Sometimes...sometimes I dream. You know that. And it's frightening to wake up here, remembering." Her hand stilled, near his mouth. "Seeing you when I wake is the only thing that makes me feel better. The only thing that makes it okay."
Wordlessly, he took her hand, kissing her fingers. A small sigh escaped him and he pressed her hand against his chest. She could feel his heart beating, strong and reassuring. After a moment he looked up at the night sky, then back down at her. "It's late. We should turn in."
"Why?" She smiled at him. "We don't have to report for duty. Let's...I don't know. Let's go for a walk."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
"All right." He went back into the shelter and brought parkas for them both. They wandered slowly through the forest, barely speaking, watching the earth sleeping around them. Trying to be quiet, to not disturb the harmony too much. Chakotay held her hand in his, a warm connection in the night. They didn't hurry.
'We have all the time in the world', he'd said.
But of course they didn't.
. . .
She woke suddenly, opening her eyes to the familiar blackness of her bedroom. She lay nestled amongst the blankets for several minutes, eyes fixed on the ceiling, conscious of her own breathing but not much else. She turned her head and looked at the chronometer on the wall, and took a deep breath. It was time.
Pushing the covers aside, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, reaching both arms over her head in a leisurely stretch. She called for lights as she walked a little sleepily into the bathroom to brush her teeth. A quick glance in the mirror had her running her hands through her hair, untangling the messy bits, restoring some semblance of order to it. Quickly she dressed, warm pants and shirt with a jacket over top, sturdy shoes. She grabbed a blanket from her sofa on the way by it and the bag she had packed the night before, and exited her quarters.
"Computer, open door 24 beta, authorization Janeway omega three."
Silently, the door to Chakotay's quarters slid open.
She stepped inside, trying to move quietly, and set the bag and blanket down on the floor next to the door. She'd never been in his quarters in the dark, and gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light before walking carefully to the door of his bedroom. He was sleeping with his face shoved into the pillow, one hand outstretched and dangling over the side of the bed. She smiled, walking to the side of the bed and watching him. She reached out two fingers and tapped the back of his hand softly.
"Chakotay?"
Nothing. She tried again, a little louder, and then shook her head. She wondered how he could sleep so soundly. "Chakotay." She shook his shoulder gently, and then a little more forcefully. Eventually she was rewarded by a sleepy groan. "Chakotay? Are you awake?"
Several seconds passed before she heard, "Do I look awake, Kathryn?" Muffled. Sleepy. A tinge of annoyance mingled with a hint of laughter behind it. "Go away. I'm not on duty today."
"Well, Voyager's under attack and I'm going to surrender the ship; I just wanted to see if you minded."
He turned his head towards her, opened his eyes, and studied her for a second, one eyebrow quirking curiously. "You're in a good mood this morning," he observed, yawning.
"If I was grumpy, you wouldn't want to come watch the sunrise with me." Her light tone belied the serious expression in her eyes.
He blinked twice, and his eyes softened. "I always want to watch the sunrise with you." He reached out to shove the blankets aside. "Give me a minute and I'll get dressed."
She nodded, backing up and out of the room and pulling the door closed behind her.
.
Maybe it wasn't exactly like New Earth. The gravity was heavier here, the air a little colder. Kathryn was glad she'd brought her jacket. Chakotay had settled for a heavy sweater over his turtleneck. As he'd reminded her, he wasn't on duty today.
And neither was she. Not this morning. Later, perhaps. But not now.
She led the way, this time, taking them from yesterday's beam-down point to the little glen she'd seen off in the distance. The waking murmur of tiny creatures saturated the air, and this planet's dew was fresh and strong. The sun wasn't quite up yet. Chakotay touched her shoulder gently as he followed her path. "Where are we going?"
She smiled at him, wondering if he'd remember. "Not far," she said. "We have a little time."
His eyes crinkled, promising a smile. Yes. He remembered.
She spread a Starfleet-issue blanket over the damp grass. It was waterproof, not like the blankets from their shelter. You can't recapture that, she reminded herself. That's not why you're here.
They couldn't go back. That was the truth. There'd been too much between them, both good and bad. She settled herself on the ground, ignoring the trees around them. Not leaning back. Cross-legged, he sank down beside her. Kathryn pulled a carafe of coffee out of her pack.
Chakotay grinned. "You came prepared."
"Of course. I'm the captain," she said easily.
She pulled out two handleless cups. "I'll share with you," she offered.
He regarded her silently, and then said, "Yes. I can see that."
She filled the cup for him, watching him, so relaxed and comfortable while she...to hell with that. She stretched out, propping herself up on an elbow, her gaze somewhere between his face and the glimmer of dawn above the hill.
"It's been awhile," she finally said, her cup resting untouched beside her.
Chakotay said nothing, and she turned her face towards him fully. He was sitting, legs crossed, cup in his left hand. His face was turned slightly up to the sky, and she could see a muscle working at the base of his jaw. "Yes."
He was giving nothing. She could expect no more from him. Her mouth twisted, the words unable to fully form. They had to be the right ones. She could not find them. She turned her face away from him, eyes closing briefly, remembering his words from so long ago. Be, Kathryn.
Be Kathryn.
Therein lay the answer, if she could set aside the fear and the indecision.
"Kathryn," he whispered, breaking her reverie. She looked up at him, and then in the direction of his pointing finger. Several yards ahead of them stood three creatures, small and sturdy on four legs, dark hair covering them from tiny tail to slender, tapered necks. They were of three sizes, and the middle one stood protectively close to the smallest, the larger hovering over both. They regarded the humans unblinkingly.
"Do you still have that apple?" Chakotay murmured, his eyes never moving from the little family before them.
Kathryn reached behind her, picking up the knapsack and reaching carefully inside. She drew out the small fruit and held it in both hands for a long moment.
"Chakotay." Something in her voice had him turning back to her. She reached out and took his hand, opening his fingers and pressing the fruit into them.
His breath caught as he stared at her, the animals forgotten, and slowly he reached out for her other hand. The sun came up with a glorious flourish, flinging her light over the hills. A new day.
A new beginning.
FINIS
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