Wedding of the year

by

vanhunks

RATING: PG-13 [for Kathryn's vile temper].

DISCLAIMERS: Paramount owns Janeway and Chakotay and the rest of the Voyager crew and Voyager. Jim Wright, our own inimitable "ReviewBoy", I believe, coined the name "Betsy" for Janeway's compressor phaser rifle.

SUMMARY: There's a wedding on the good ship Voyager and Chakotay is it.

NOTE: Part one of this story lay forgotten on my hard drive until a reader wrote feedback recently and asked about the rest of it. Now, it's completed with part one revised. I've also decided to link this story as the flagship story in my "Twin Torment" series, an idea that came only after I began on the continuation of it.

ACKKNOWLEDGEMENT: Joanna, for inspiring me to finish this story. Voyager Talent Nights "wedding" contest, which inspired the idea in the first place. Because I couldn't finish it at the time, it was never entered.

WEDDING OF THE YEAR

There was a hush in the observation lounge. It was occasionally punctuated by a cough, a sound like someone snickering. Once, Tuvok looked imperiously in the direction of the snicker and it stopped instantly. Then he turned to face the couple in front of him.

" - Commander Chakotay, do you take this woman - "

"Captain Janeway - "

" - Captain Janeway as your lawfully wedded wife?"

Chakotay pursed his lips as he looked at Tuvok. He was convinced Tuvok was an incarnation of the Laughing Cavalier without the laugh. The area around Tuvok's lips twitched, and if he weren't showing it to the rest of the smirking crew, Chakotay was certain that Tuvok was laughing at him. He didn't want to look at Kathryn; he didn't want to look at anyone. What was he? A lamb led to the slaughter? That must be it. Barely an hour ago, at 0600 he was accosted in his quarters at gunpoint, ordered to dress up in dress uniform and marched out of his quarters by...

"I asked you a question, Commander - "

"Wha - ? Ouch!"

Chakotay doubled over; when he straightened up he  saw Kathryn through pain-filled eyes. The little spitfire - why was he suddenly reminded of a World War II plane? - had just rammed the barrel of Betsy, her compressor phaser rifle, into his side.

"You're going to answer the magistrate, Commander?" she asked bitingly.

Magistrate?

Chakotay winced as the rifle crushed his ribs again. Kathryn looked...beautiful. Her lips were rosy and her eyes smouldered. He wanted to think it was her passion, but she was mad. Mad as hell. Still, he wanted to kiss her to death even though he was marched to the altar under duress. His aching ribs reminded him that he had to say something.

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. He heard the snickering of the crew. Wasn't Tuvok going to rebuke them again with just a look? They were enjoying themselves at his expense. Kathryn was having the time of her life, the little witch. How did he get here, in the observation lounge which only two days ago was the venue for a memorial service for the fallen of Voyager the past seven years? He hadn't been present at the service. How could he? Kathryn wouldn't let him out of the brig.

"The lady is waiting, Commander..."

Another bruising jab to his ribs. He doubled over.

"Well?"

Oh, hell.

Chakotay's thoughts slipped hazily to the day the events were set in motion...

**** 

"We're not in a command structure here, Chakotay. Call me Kathryn."

How could he? She had been his commanding officer for two years and for two years he used her rank. It was always good to call her Captain; no, it was better for his peace of mind and his equilibrium to call her Captain. That way he could put the distance between them required so he didn't make a fool of himself falling over himself and at her feet kissing her dainty boots and all. Then he'd be like every man on board who wanted to kiss the Captain's feet, and that included Tom Paris. He could kill Paris just for looking at the Captain.

No, it was too early, too New Earth early.

"Let me take a rain check. Okay...Captain?"

He saw how she pursed her lips, how her eyes flashed and he imagined that she stomped those dainty feet in the ground.

He never did check the rain. They got along and became great friends but he kept calling her 'Captain' and she kept giving him dirty looks whenever he did so. If he looked a trifle longer, the dirty look would become a hurt look, but he had closed himself off from all that. That's what he thought. Who was he kidding? He slept in his alcove dreaming night after night of making love with her. What was holding him back?

He was Maquis, that's what. Dirty, low-down renegade traitor who was not worthy of kissing the Captain's feet. Even so, he'd kill Tom Paris if that cocky pilot dared to kiss any part of the Captain. The Captain was too good for the likes of a coarse, dirty low-down renegade traitor, that's what. Queen that she was... Spitfire Queen... World War II Spitfire.

Some nights he lay awake the entire night and listened - he could actually hear her breathing - to her sleeping, even though he could swear by the spirits that Kathryn Janeway was the quietest sleeper anywhere. He had had his fare share of bedding beautiful creatures, but they were not queens and they were noisy in sleep. They were noisy during sex too, but that was another story.

Then one day he called her Kathryn. It was the day after the storm. It was rain check day. She stood outside the shelter and the after-rain-sunshine dropped kisses in her hair. She was beautiful. He had trouble breathing again. Kathryn also looked lost. She looked lonely. She looked like she needed him. Her eyes had that doe-like appearance that made her not-Captain, but Kathryn. Suddenly, she was not Queen Spitfire anymore, but just a tired woman who fought too hard to get them off New Earth. She said something - how could he remember clearly what she ssaid or how she said it? - about having to make her home on New Earth. It was in the way her shoulders drooped that made his heart burn with love for her and he wanted to hold her close in his arms and soothe away her troubles and assure her he'd always be by her side.  

What could he do? Where did his courage come from?

He pulled Queen Kathryn to him - very gently, he remembered - and gave her a hug. He said, "Kathryn, do not worry. I am here for you..."  Then he wanted to kick himself for sounding pedantic and calling her by her name. That destroyed his resolve to keep her at a distance. The rank was gone. Now she was Kathryn, queen of his heart. No more barriers, no more Captain.

His resolve, carefully manicured over more than two years to cure himself from falling all over her and making a fool of himself, cracked at last. He was renegade no more. He was a man with a mission to give solace to the woman he loved. Kathryn's eyes had begun to fill with tears and he had never seen her cry before. Hell, he had seen her angry and he preferred seeing her angry. But that day Kathryn turned his heart to mush. She knew she had him, the little witch. He was certain there was a gloating smile - if there ever could be such a thing as a gloating smile - on her lips that in the moment as she looked up at him. She begged dangerously to be kissed, not on her tear stained cheeks, but those rosy blossoms that incited him beyond damnation's edge.

Yes, she knew she had him.

Kathryn, do not worry. I am here for you...

Witch.

The next morning he was still there for her, in her alcove and in her bed. The only thing he remembered when he woke up was the feeling of being ravaged by the same storm that almost destroyed their shelter. When did Kathryn turn into such a cat that clawed and scratched long furrows all over his back? Slowly images came back and he remembered the night. There was softness and moistness and warmth and loving. He lost himself, called her name over and over the whole night. And Kathryn kept asking him why he waited so long.

Waited so long? It was a good thing he never told her about being afraid to come near her or he'd lose it altogether and smother her with love. It was a good thing he never told her she was too good for him. It was a good thing he didn't tell her he wanted to keep some parameters in place just so he could breathe again like a normal man was supposed to when near the woman who turned his world upside down and inside out. She did so by just looking at him with those eyes and pout with those rosy kissers and raising that eyebrow that made him insane with pent-up need for her.

So when he woke up the morning, surprised to find himself in her bed and quietly astonished at what he had done during the night, he rose from the warm depths of Kathryn's arms, careful not to wake her.

She found him later that morning at the river.

Like he was thinking, he always did prefer seeing Kathryn angry.

"I don't think we should continue this, Captain," he said in a pithy attempt at explaining. He was back to calling her 'Captain'. "It was an - an aberration..."

Kathryn almost, almost hit him with the panga she was carrying. Was the thought of what she'd do to him something that was on her mind during the two hour trip to the river? Did she just grab the lethal weapon as she walked past the woodpile of the shelter? He could never quite figure it out.

"You call what happened last night an aberration, Chakotay?" He wanted to curl up somewhere and die. Kathryn had walked up to him, and rose to press warm lips against his. Her breath was hot and altogether too intoxicating, yet he was too much aware of the panga in her hand. When he could breathe again, Kathryn's eyes shot white hot sparks. "An aberration?"

He had a royal fear of being done in by her panga, especially as he imagined his private parts halting the trajectory of the weapon. He had a royal fear of nights without passion after she introduced him to a new heaven.

So he joined her in her bed every night until the day Voyager returned for them. On that day he said, "Captain, we cannot continue with this when we're back on the ship."

Kathryn's body stiffened. He wanted to eat her up. He wanted to hug her. He kept thinking how he wasn't good enough for her. Why was he such a big beluga of a jerk? He hurt her. The hurt look was back in her eyes as soon as the anger was gone. He had become used to seeing her in a blue dress, in sandals, in sheer nighties, in nothing. Now she stood before him, coldly beautiful in her uniform. The four shiny rank pips seemed to grow from her neck and they pointed accusing fingers at him, reminding him of his place in the captain's life, on Voyager. They reminded him of her place on the ship... That wrapped it up for him.

They were back to being Captain and First Officer.

"You want to negate everything that happened here?" she asked, incredulous at his resolve.

They were going to be back on Voyager; they were already back in uniform and she'd be back to being the Queen whom he couldn't touch. He was a renegade again, true-blue traitor to the Federation with no hope that Kathryn could ever make things permanent between them. Maybe he should have asked, jackass fool that he was.

"We're a command team, Captain. I can't let...things get in the way..." he replied, knowing how each word sounded like a death-knell.

And just before they beamed up to Voyager, Kathryn turned to face him. Her eyes were no longer angry. If he thought about it enough in those moments she looked at him, it was as if she had just made a covenant with the devil.

"You mark my words, Chakotay. The day will come that you're going to say yes to me, even if I have to hold a gun to your head..."

Kathryn's words - when she could collect herself to speak after he dropped his bombshell - rang in his ears long after she ordered Tom Paris to plot a course for home.

***

END PART ONE

PART TWO

And so they resumed their journey home to Earth. The real Earth, where Starfleet Headquarters was and where he could jump off the ledge of the Grand Canyon if he wanted to. The first few weeks he endured stony silences and icy looks from Kathryn that made him want to hide forever in Jefferies tube 32 where he had heard according to Tom, there were rats.

He was a rat. Not that Tom Paris wasn't one too. The pilot just rubbed him up his down bristles that he wanted to scream. Fortunately for Paris, he, Chakotay, was good at controlling himself. Except where Kathryn was concerned, of course. He thought his entire life, along with all his wishes past and present and all his weaknesses and every feeling of inadequacy lay open for her to see. Why not? He always thought his heart was in his eyes, a dangerous thing where Kathryn was concerned and that was why he was so godawful scared of being eaten whole.

He couldn't with the best will in the Delta Quadrant renege on his feelings for the Captain. He tried. He escorted Susan Nicoletti to a recital by Harry in a holodeck creation of the Juilliard Concert Hall, much to the ire of the Captain who gave him the skunk-eye. He had no idea what  allegro ma non troppo meant, and only listened to Harry's mournful sonatina with half an ear because of Kathryn, who had  stepped out on Tom Paris's arm..

Much to his own ire.

That decided things for him. He was going to cut Kathryn - the Captain - out of his life. He was going to bed every female on board who was willing to bed him, just so he could forget about doe-like eyes with a single tear running down an alabaster cheek. Yes, he was going to do that. She could go to any recital accompanied by Paris; she could play pool and Velocity with Paris; hell, she could do what she wanted. It was her life, wasn't it? He could forget her and think of Seska  - he had bedded Seska and that bitch stole his DNA when when he wanted to steal back what belonged to Voyager. He could think of Riley who wasn't too bad a replacement. Some nights he did actually dream he was making love to Riley, only to wake up in a sweat when it seemed Riley's face turned slowly into Kathryn's.

So why the hell did it hurt so much to see Kathryn enjoying herself without him?

Some hidden voice said: Because you're a jackass Class A fool for being so jackass scared of being totalled by Kate.

But mostly, because he couldn't help himself.

One day they talked about it. They  had been going over reports. By tacit agreement, they shifted the battlefield from her quarters from which he stormed often enough in full view of a passing crewmember, to her ready room. Once, it had always been Kathryn's holy place. Once, they had actually been civil to one another. But that was before New Earth. New Earth spoiled everything. After the argument an air of uneasy peace hung about the room.

"Chakotay."

"What." His surly response had made her cheeks flame.

"We can't go on like this. Too much has happened. I'll be frank and tell you it's okay for a Captain and first officer to  - "

"I saw you with Paris."

"Forget Paris."

"He looked like he wanted to undress you in the mess hall."

"And that should bother Chakotay, who saw me undressed at any time, anywhere, on New Earth."

"Dammit yes!"

"I can't think why. You're leaving your turf to any old hose that wants to sprinkle it!"

Her analogy was crude. It was unbecoming the Captain of a starship. It didn't strike him then that he drove her to madness. Kathryn was hopping mad. But Tom Paris bedding Kathryn? He closed his eyes as white-hot sparks lit up behind his eyelids. He pulled Kathryn to her feet; he was certain she was hovering a few centimetres off the floor.

"You're too good for anybody to turf around," he bit out, ignoring her inference that she was his turf.

That was when she struck him. Clean across the cheek with a dainty palm.

"Then do something, you idiot!"

He should have kissed her, never mind the trouble he had breathing.

He dropped her. Somehow, her nearness had caused him to hyperventilate again. He had been careful in the last weeks being too close to her, but that day when he held her too close for his  comfort, sanity and decorum, he  knew he was about to expire.

He lost it. All the fight left him. But it didn't leave in its place the nice, safe little confession about not being good enough for her, or telling her how he couldn't breathe without her or how he was afraid of being assimilated totally. Instead, he blurted as he left the ready room, "I can have anyone I want! And that excludes the Captain of this ship."

The doors opened. The bridge crew looked dead-pan serious until he heard a snicker from Snitcher, who stood in for Harry.

Chakotay thought as the doors were about to close that he heard a very bad swear word issuing from Kathryn's mouth.

He had blown it again.

Jackass Class A Fool.

*** 

Then two weeks ago something else happened to make his jealousy - for now he was ready to admit he was jealous as hell and couldn't let any man near Kathryn - flare to unhealthy limits. What was it about humans that nobody could play in your garden even if you didn't want to play in it yourself? He had thought idly how Kathryn's original turf-analogy had stuck so he couldn't stop thinking of her as a beautiful rose garden. And by what decree was Kathryn his?

Tom Paris.

Flyboy, Helm, philanderer, altogether too good-looking and suave for his own good. Paris, son of an admiral, Starfleet brat, Starfleet nobility, cashiered out of Starfleet, but what the heck. Reverse snobbery did have its perks.

His quarters had closed in on him that night, two weeks ago. He had been thinking of fine eyes, golden hair, rose-red lips and soft moans, then jumped up from the bed. He had a vision, a sudden, blinding vision of his life spent in total darkness for the next twenty years. That darkness was almost worse than his cowardice. There would be no direction, no purpose to his life, no eyes that lit up for him, no soft quirky smiles just for him. He saw himself groping about helplessly in the dark depths.  He saw the Nothingness gain on him, stretching long tentacles to capture him and pull him down into Chaos. He needed light. He had to go to Kathryn and tell him he was no longer afraid. Only she could light his life. She was the light of his life. He was free. Free! Now, finally, he was going to storm her castle and demand that she take him back after he had rejected her a million times through uneasy glances and badly phrased responses and cowardly deeds.

He was Maquis no more. No more Mr Rebel who didn't want to be the jailbird husband of a Starfleet Captain because he couldn't bear the shame of it. He had thrown off the shackles of his complexes and with one last glance in the mirror, he exited his quarters and marched determinedly to the nearest turbolift. He was going to accost Kathryn right there in the mess hall, during dinner time. He was going to tell the entire ship that Kathryn Janeway belonged to him and nobody dared touch her. He was not going to go on his knees, beg her forgiveness and then plead that she marry him. He was going haul her right off her feet, stride out of the mess hall and take her in the turbolift. Since he knew he was never going to make it all the way to her quarters, the very first secluded place - that being the turbolift - would be the perfect place to show her he meant it this time. Afterwards he'd have the pleasure of demanding that she marry him. 

Yes, that was what he was going to do.

The turbolift opened. He saw two officers in red, in a  major clinch. Red uniforms. Kathryn Janeway red. Tom Paris red. Chakotay went blind with rage. He could smell Kathryn's hair, her perfume, taste her rose-red lips, feel her softness and her warmth. Only thing, it wasn't him standing there kissing the woman into a blush; it wasn't his fingers  running through golden hair. 

Tom Paris. No-good Flyboy.

How fast did it happen? Could he actually have seen properly through the veil of blindness that assailed him the instant he saw Kathryn in another man's arms? He didn't think. He didn't want to think. He had a fist and a mouth and two feet, didn't he? In a flurry of movement fist and feet worked and connected with its target.

Tom Paris lay bleeding from his mouth right there on the floor in the corridor. He tried to get up, but Chakotay, still overpowered by his rage, pulled Paris to his feet and let go a right hand upper cut. He heard a crack, a voice above the  crack, a scream...

Next thing he knew, he was nursing his knuckles in the brig.

***

Kathryn stood on the other side of the forcefield and glared him to death.

"Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself, Commander?"

Commander...

"You expect me to apologise?" he muttered.

”That would be a good place to start."

"And what then? Tom Paris is a no-good poster brat boy -"

"So are you. No good, I mean."

"I intend staying that way."

What the hell was the matter with him? Kathryn looked like she wanted to cry. She looked back at Magnus Rollins and nodded. Rollins released the forcefield and the next moment Kathryn was sitting next to him on the bench. He noticed that she kept a little distance between them. It was just as well. He didn't want to touch her. He couldn't breathe. He was losing it again. Kathryn was a siren, a witch, a queen spider luring him into her web. He knew she'd eat him alive. There was something about being a man that wanted a little bit just for himself. With Kathryn, he was drawn into a maelstrom of love that he knew - hadn't he been fighting the damned attraction for too long? - he'd drown forever and there'd be nothing left of him. It was a vision he had of his ultimate fate with Kathryn. That was the power of Kathryn's power. No matter that she was so generous and sensitive and good with him on New Earth. That didn't count anymore. There Kathryn had let him do anything; she was pleasant and precious and pliant... Now he was so afraid. He was dead and he was alive. He smelled her. Smelled warm red petals and wine and...everything. He wheezed a little and turned abruptly away from her.

"Look at me."

He couldn't. There was a spot on the floor. He glued his eyes to the spot. He liked safe places. He was in one, if only Kathryn would leave...

"You've already got me in the brig. What more do you want."

"You, maybe?" Her voice sounded suddenly wistful, but he wasn't fooled by her. He sighed, felt another wheeze coming. Kathryn spoke again. "You used to call my name all the time...on New Earth. We shared a bed... Doesn't that count? You have fears I understand. I've had them myself in the beginning. I made a decision... In the end it was an easy one... You - "

"No."

He heard her sigh. The spot on the floor became grew into a giant pond in which he could see Kathryn's reflection. Kathryn rose from the bench, nodded to Rollins. In second she vanished from his sight.

Then he received another visitor. He was about to go blind as Paris stood right in front of him.

"Get out, Paris, before I break your jaw again."

"Not this time, you insensitive jerk. You've hurt the Captain. I should beat the snot out of you."

Chakotay ignored Paris's promise.

"You were kissing her. Anything else you were doing?" Paris didn't even blush.

"You know, for a man who isn't interested in Kathryn Janeway, you show a cool brand of jealousy - "

Chakotay rose from the bench, his fists balling. He felt the anger rise.

"I love her - " he blurted. Tom Paris burst out laughing. He couldn't seem to stop. Chakotay rose from the bench. Tom backed away only slightly.

"I never would have guessed! Your treatment of her was shabby."

"And you kissed her." Why wasn't he listening?

Tom's eyes widened, then he laughed again.

"Hell, Chakotay, were you so blind you couldn't see the Captain just needed a shoulder to cry on?"

He was quiet for a few moments. He didn't trust Paris. He didn't trust the pilot within a centimetre of Kathryn. He loved Kathryn. He wanted to tell her that. He wanted to sweep her off her feet. But then came Paris and did the sweeping first. Just thinking about it... He pushed Paris away from him. Funny, the pilot didn't move. He just stood there grinning, ready to beat him to a pulp. Rollins at Security looked ready to help Paris beat him to a pulp. Someone out in the corridor was on hand to help Rollins help Paris beat him up. And the way Paris looked, it seemed he didn't need any help at all.

Chakotay sighed. This time, the fight really left him and he sagged back on the bench.

"Leave me alone," he muttered, head in his hands. "Leave me alone..."

**** 

END PART TWO

PART THREE

He spent two weeks in the brig. Kathryn didn't come again. In a way it was a good thing. He didn't want to look at her and feel he was going to drown sometime soon. He didn't want to smell her hair or her perfume or even let her get too close to him and know that she cast an evil spell on him that kept him imprisoned in her petty web. There was the maelstrom that kept drawing him to its centre.  Like a giant eye in the shape of a burning rose, it called him and he felt its pull so strong that he knew if he went through that portal, he'd never recover because he'd never want to come back. He needed to recover, if only temporarily before the rose-eye caught him again.

That was why it was a good thing she didn't come. B'Elanna came to visit.

"You big lummox of a fool. I should eat you for breakfast, but I already had some. I ate Paris for breakfast. The Captain loves you to distraction. But that's okay. Chakotay is a coward who doesn't deserve her if he can't tell her of his love."

Paris came again.

"You're a perpetually blind prize idiot."

Samantha Wildman, in love with Joe Carey, came.

"Commander, you should have the courage to take a leap of faith. I have taken that leap."

Neelix came.

"Commander Chakotay, there is none so blind as those who will not see. So you...don't see. The Captain is languishing brilliantly on the bridge in need of being sustained by you..."

It meant Kathryn wanted him for food to keep her alive.

Vorik came.

"Why do you not ask your good father for guidance? Or your animal guide?"

He didn't want to. He wasn't going to make any decision just because his father said so or his animal guide got that doe-like accusing but gentle look and told him it's okay to take Kathryn. Mariah and Susan Nicoletti came.

"Commander," said one, "the Captain is making our lives a misery."

"It's worse now. We need you by her side," said the other.

Only Kathryn didn't come. He was glad and he was sad. The pain of the sadness sat in the pit of his stomach and grew from there into a giant toadstool that filled his whole head. He sat thinking about his life; about parameters and directions and about being the prize idiot Tom Paris called him and about not taken that leap of faith like Sam Wildman said and about Susan and Maria's pleas that he come deliver them from an evil spider queen who was busy killing off all the spiders. He thought about that a lot. He thought long and hard. He knew that somehow he had to figure a way to be the saviour of the crew before the Captain decimated the entire population of Voyager.

Yes, he thought about that. He thought until the toadstool in his head grew a little smaller.

Only last night he was released from the brig. He didn't bother to shave although he did bother to shower. He got into bed and tried not to think about Kathryn. He studied the ceiling above his bed a very long time, seeing little tapestries of him and Kathryn together, running through the forest glade on New Earth; Kathryn smiling as the sun behind her lit up her hair as she held her precious tomatoes in her hand; Kathryn's soft voice when she read him aloud from Keats' Poetical Works; Kathryn with her hair down, giving him so much aching that he couldn't help touch it all the time. He saw - the spirits forgive him what he saw - Kathryn with two little girls. They had blue-grey eyes and dimples. One had black hair and the other had blonde hair, but both were utterly and confoundingly like their mother.

He must have fallen asleep with the image of two little angels with horns.

The next thing he knew, he jack-knifed off the bed, soaking wet from the splash of ice cold water.

"What the hell...?" he gasped.

Kathryn was standing there, holding Betsy, her trusty compressor phaser rifle. She and Betsy were flanked by Magnus Rollins who held a bucket now empty of its contents. Ayala of all people stood on the other side. He thought Ayala was his friend. Just went to show how your nearest and dearest could stab you in the back. Ayala was smirking, the fool. Chakotay heard a faint noise. Were there crew who waited outside his quarters?

"He's all yours, Captain," said Magnus Rollins.

"Way to go, Captain," said the traitor Ayala.

"What have I done?" asked he, who had only the previous night been released from captivity.

"Get dressed. Here, take this," Kathryn barked. How had he never seen young Gerron who stood behind Rollins and who peeped round the Security second-in-command proffering him his...dress uniform? Chakotay, shivering from the impromptu icy shower, looked at Gerron who smiled, and then at Kathryn. She was on a mission. He could see it in her eyes. Reluctantly he took his uniform.

"Why?" he still asked, sounding squeaky and incredulous.

"We're getting married. Congratulations."

"What!!? Ouch!"

He doubled with pain. Kathryn had rammed the rifle into his side. He came up again, stunned. The blow had winded him. Gerron came closer, handed him the uniform.

"Smile, Commander. This is your lucky day."

"My lucky day? F - " He choked on the curse when Kathryn threatened him with Betsy again. She nodded to the men and they moved out of the bedroom area. They didn't look like they wanted to leave. Kathryn waited until they were out of sight before she turned on him again.

"Now, let's see you dress down, then up."

"Kathryn - "

"It's good to know I'm Kathryn now that we're getting married."

He shook his head, hesitated some until Kathryn came closer again. He was smelling her - apples and brandy and something exotic in her hair, her perfume. Only now he noticed Kathryn was also in dress uniform. He was wide awake now, remembering that his last waking thought the previous night had been picturing two little angels with horns and cherub smiles with their mother the big spider turned angel standing behind them. He remembered feeling ridiculously overjoyed looking at twin girls who inherited their mother's nature. Now the sometime to be mother, if Betsy were to be trusted, looked at him with her flaming hair and angel smile and smelling of apples and roses. He reckoned there had to be a spice mixed in somewhere, but he hadn't figured that one out yet.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, secretly thrilled, but outwardly maintaining his waning fighting spirit. He was the man, wasn't he?

"Because you are a very dense man, Chakotay. How do you think I should wait out my life on Voyager when the man I love is too stupid to act? I figured I should give you some assistance there and not a moment too soon.." His heart had started pumping too fast; blood rushed to his brain and soon it would cause him to hyperventilate. The uniform was placed carefully on the dry section of the bed and the wet T-shirt was quickly divested. When he tugged his thumbs into the waist band of his boxers, he hesitated. He glanced quickly at the entrance to his lounge where the others were waiting, then turned to Kathryn again. He gave a cough; a warmth spread to his cheeks. He felt how Betsy's barrel hooked into his waistband, pulling it all the way down...

"Kathryn..." he groaned, thinking he should still put up a fight.

"Thought you'd need some help there," she hissed.

He stood completely naked in front of her. He smelled the spice. Was it cinnamon? Something more exotic like wild saffron? He walked to the bathroom, took the quickest two minute sonic shower in the quadrant and when he came out with a towel wrapped firmly round his waist, Kathryn had thrown the wet sheets off the bed and effected some order to his domain. She was already taking over his life. He rubbed his stubble, thought to shave, then decided Kathryn could marry him with stubble and all. He wasn't going to go without a fight. She hated stubble, and that was what she was going to get.

"Shave."

"No."

"Betsy has spoken."

"Betsy may kill me. I'm not taking this off," he muttered as he got dressed. By that time Kathryn's bodyguards had entered his bedroom and looked grim. Rollins and Ayala had their hands on their phasers, and Kathryn was nursing Betsy.

"Fine. Let's go, gentlemen. Chakotay, you may take my arm."

He sighed and complied. This was not the way things were supposed to happen. He had visions of Kathryn in a beautiful dress and flowers in her hair. He had visions of her holding a bouquet of frangipani blossoms. He had visions of going down on his knees and making his vow of everlasting love. He was a coward for not asking her to marry him. Now he will never hear the end of it. He would have to tell the two still-to-come little angels with horns that their mother dragged him to the altar kicking and screaming. Not only that, it was a shotgun wedding, in a manner of speaking. He would have to tell his still-to-come little angels with horns that their mother held a gun to his head because their father was too dumb to ask her to marry him.

He was already playing out the horror scenes of his children teasing him to hell, gone and back. He would never live it down. Never.

But suddenly, he didn't care anymore. Kathryn was going to be his. She  had decided that on the strength of hooks, crooks, several bodyguards, a dose of ice cold water and Betsy. She was all soft, that part of her he got to hold. They exited his quarters, with Kathryn's arm hooked through his, carrying Betsy like it was a bouquet of frangipani blossoms. Some crew lined the corridor and they looked askance at him. It must have been his unshaven look. Maybe he should have given himself a smooth shave, because they sure as hell must have thought Kathryn just hauled him out of bed. She did, but he wasn't going to broadcast that. They probably already knew. He was a lamb going to slaughter, or a man who would very soon enter the gates of bliss.

They reached the observation lounge. He heard music. Two instruments. They sounded like a clarinet and oboe. Harry and Susan. He couldn't see them. He was blinded by his love, intoxicated by Kathryn's nearness and pained because Betsy's hard barrel dug into his ribs.

It was 0600. Who in the Delta Quadrant got married at 0600?

Who, indeed?

*** 

Another sharp jab to his mid-section rocked Chakotay sharply to the present. The faces of Tuvok, B'Elanna, Tom Paris, the others...all came into focus. What was it Tuvok just asked?

"Do you take Captain Janeway as your lawfully wedded wife?" Tuvok repeated, his mouth lifting at the corner. Did the Vulcan smile?

Chakotay turned to face Kathryn. His chin itched and he badly wanted to scratch. Kathryn looked beautiful. She waited. Her lower lip trembled, only slightly. He felt the air whoosh out of his lungs.  Endure the itching and enjoy the view. She was doing it again. All she had to do was look at him. He was in her power. Now and forever. She loved him. He loved her. She would be his master and commander, reign over him like the queen she was. He would serve her all his life and beyond, if that were possible. But he also knew in a sudden and blinding, painful realisation, that she'd demand that he be her equal.

It was that thought that made him capitulate happily to the Queen.

The peace that finally suffused him was so overwhelming that he felt how his eyes filled with tears. She could tell their children that too. She could tell them her husband cried when he said 'I do'. It didn't matter anymore, because Kathryn would have stars in her eyes, a kind, gentle smile and a sometimes teasing lift to her mouth whenever she'd have their little princesses at her feet listening to how their mother created a new legend for the Delta Quadrant.

"I do."

His eyes closed a moment, and even as he heard Tuvok say 'You may kiss the bride', something fell to the floor. He opened his eyes. There lay Betsy like a useless toy. Slowly he shifted his gaze from Forgotten Betsy to Kathryn. His eyes widened in surprise. She was holding a bouquet of frangipani. In a daze, intoxicated by his Kathryn and the fragrance and everything that was cinnamon, or wild saffron or something equally exotic, he saw her mouth the words, "I love you, Chakotay..."

"I love you, Kathryn..."

Then, mindless of the whistles, the sighs of relief because Kathryn had given them so much grief all the time he was in the brig, all the applause, Chakotay lifted Kathryn high into his arms. He kissed her quickly, afraid that he might experience something embarrassing in front of the crew. The ripple of pleasure that spread through him was enough to undo him completely. He had to hurry...

"So, where are you taking me, Chakotay?" Kathryn asked, not looking in the least demurely, but utterly bewitching.

"To your quarters. But, sweet Kathryn, do not blame me if I can't make it past the first turbolift."

Kathryn's face lit up like the heavens opened for him.

"Then the turbolift it is, Chakotay. Our little girls will be pleased."

"Little girls?"

"Twins. I've ordered them to help me torment you."

Chakotay's mouth bore down on his wife the second the turbolift door closed behind them. He was ready. She was ready. There was no time to wait for satin sheets and a bed.

"Kathryn," he managed in between gasps and gropes, "thank goodness you came for me."

**** 

END

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