J/C
PG
Disclaimer: Paramounts owns the characters Janeway and Chakotay.
Summary: They're home. Kathryn has taken to standing on a bridge and wait.
It was madness. Madness to stand in the cold on the bridge, so familiar against the San Francisco skyline. She wore an ankle length dress and high heels; only the shawl that he had once given her offered a mild cocoon of warmth. She could see her breath, little billows on the icy night air. She pulled the shawl tighter around her. Soon the cold would be eating into her bones and she'd have to make her way home again. But for now…
A moonlight silhouette.
Waiting.
A loose, off-hand gesture to deliver on a promise made in the mists of the past, had prompted her nightly vigil on the bridge. Every night she promised herself that it was the last night. She wouldn't come the next time.
Then the cold night air, the solitary moon, the gleaming calm water reminded her that it was the next time.
Silently shuttles passed overhead, carrying its occupants to their destinations or bringing them home. Sometimes she wished that she be the occupant and they wait down here, a small figure on the steel suspension and its cables, swallowed by its vastness. Blowing her hands to ease away the cold, she smiled grimly. They wouldn't trade places with her, not in a million years, not even for the reason she was there, waiting for something…someone…
Another shuttle passed overhead, quietly cleaving the night. In the dimness it appeared like the one they had used on New Earth. From the mists appeared a scene, recollected only by the way the shuttle dipped as if it saluted. He had done that there, letting her know of his arrival whenever he had gone out alone to scout for new places to explore.
But disappointment - acute, deep, soul destroying disappointment had taught her to add yet another layer to the others she had used to protect her. She had even given them names – indifference, nonchalance, pretence, bitterness, annoyance, selflessness. They made certain that disappointment never existed in the first place.
It made standing night after night on the bridge easier, as if each time was the first time she had spent there in a solitary vigil.
She'd grow old just hoping. Of all feelings she'd ever had, hope alone kept her alive.
He was lost to her a long time ago, even when she thought she had him. A paradox of her destiny and the story of her life. To have something only to throw it away, trample it underfoot, let her own issues and ethics rule her life as master and commander of her ship and its crew.
It was on the second night that she finally acknowledged the question: Was it worth it?
On the third night, with the layer called bitterness lifting, she finally acknowledged that no golden plaque with her name engraved on it as the living legend of a mystical and almost mythical Voyager could take the place of losing one she loved so deeply.
It wasn't worth it.
On New Earth he had graced her with a smile so free of pretence, so open that she ached with just recalling it.
"Would you wait for me?" he had repeated her question. "It's always worth waiting for love, Kathryn. Always. Didn't you know? If you waited for me on the Golden Gate bridge, I'd make sure I was there."
"The bridge, huh. Meeting place of lovers through the ages. How about mountains? Or canyons? Or rivers? Or the porch of my Indiana home? The moon?" she had quipped.
"Nah. The bridge. It spans a divide and eradicates gaps."
"A thought worth remembering…"
Yet only now, home, she recalled that light-hearted conversation. Now when another claimed what she had once had.
Too late.
Too late?
Standing there on her nightly watch, dwarfed by the giant cables, she tried to reclaim at least in her mind and heart, the man she had lost. It offered her some pitiful satisfaction that he had once been a part of her, that waiting gave her a sense of belonging.
What did it matter that emotion outweighed reason? The only emotion, hope, was all she had left and she clung to that because that alone was hers to own. Nothing else.
Therefore, waiting had become her pursuit of happiness. Playing out tired scenarios had become her life-force. Here on the Golden Gate bridge, the place where all rationale, emotion, folly, possibilities, hope, despair, joy, love, especially love, joined forces, dictating the dialogue of her charade.
"I could tell you that I have loved you since the beginning of time when all life was contained in the most elementary constructs." Those would be her words to him.
"Then my love for you is as eternal as all life itself, from the beginning to the end, if there is as end."
"Endings are finite. Our love is infinite."
"If that is so, why did you create barriers? Endings? Should deep emotions such as infinite love, as eternal flame of the universe, not break through all barriers and be as if none existed?"
Those would be the words of Chakotay.
"I thought that once. My thinking was flawed. Now, all I have is a memory of you."
"What do you wish, beloved?"
"I have no more layers to hide the deep ache inside of me. I am undone. I wish that my love transcends all barriers, that this night be the last night of waiting, that a memory become real."
"There was a time, my sweet Kathryn, that everything was said when no words were spoken. We can transcend there again, to where no words or deeds are needed."
"A song without words. I fear it is folly."
"But it is your desire, is it not?"
The play has ended abruptly, while she remained on her solitary stage. Words spoken wordlessly between them, mere echoes after the curtain descended.
Too late.
Too late?
Never too late. Her being filled with hope, renewed.
"Yes…" Kathryn whispered to herself. "Yes, it is my desire…"
"Then you shall have it, my beloved," a voice rose up behind her.
The voice had come from the mists of the past, from New Earth, from every corner where her ship touched unknown strands, from death's door, from all that was blessed. A familiar, beloved voice that drifted on the icy air and filled her ears. No more did she see the gleam of the water in the moonlight. No more did she imagine every footstep to be his, every shuttle that dipped its imaginary wings letting her know of his arrival. No more imagine tired charades. Her eyes closed and her heart failed her almost.
Almost.
The voice was real.
She turned slowly, her movement guarded, the feeling absorbed in the sight of him, beloved.
He wore a long coat and woollen scarf. She reached forward to touch his face, her fingers caressing the tattoo briefly.
"Chakotay…"
"Once I told you to wait for me, Kathryn. I told you a bridge spans a divide and eradicates gaps…"
"I remembered your words. It's why I came here."
Chakotay took a step forward and held her in his embrace. His eyes were soft, melting into hers. She let him discover her face, quivering fingers that wandered but knew of destinations, a thumb cushion caressing her lips.
"I walked a road but briefly before I fully understood that I can only ever, ever be whole if you become my part, my beloved," he whispered the words with deep emotion.
"Then my waiting is over?"
He smiled, his face damp from his tears. She touched the dampness, awed at the depth of his emotion. Warmth spread through her as his hand covered hers, imprisoning it against his cheek. She knew Joy, pure, infinite Joy. When he spoke, his voice sounded firm, sure, familiar, loved.
"When you come here again, Kathryn, to this bridge, I will be beside you, forever."
**************
END