Choices
by Melissa B.

Dedication: For Michelle, for reasons she'll understand in a second...though this is more of a "cursing her name" than a dedication, for inadvertently forcing me to do this to one of my very favourite songs. This originally was an answer to the 1001 Story Group song challenge, but it went unfinished until 1 February 1999.

Lyrics to "Move On" from Sunday In the Park With George by Stephen Sondheim.

~*~

Stop worrying where you're going--
Move on.
If you can know where you're going,
You've gone.
Just keep moving on.
*

I watch you now through different eyes. Before, when you would move in the seat next to me, your arm brushing mine or your knee shifting position; when you would sit across from me in the mess hall or ride the turbolift to the bridge with me in the morning, I would see you very clearly: my first officer. The man I had trusted to help me bridge two crews together. The man I would trust with my ship if anything were to happen to me out here. The man who chose to share this journey with me.

What would I have done if you hadn't beamed over at the Array? Where might we have ended up?

I don't ponder those questions very often. There is no point in it. You are here. The choice was made, and living in "what might have been" is pointless. We are here. Stranded, but not really lost. Not anymore. We continue towards Earth, but I suppose in a way most of us have found "home". As much home as most people get in a lifetime. Living is the most important part of the journey. I'm not sure I would ever have arrived at that conclusion if it wasn't for you.

*
I chose and my world was shaken--
So what?
The choice may have been mistaken,
The choosing was not.
You have to move on.
*

It took me a very long to time to come to peace with the decision I made. The one that brought us together. Sometimes I still doubt that I'm over it...maybe I never really will be, until the day I bring my crew home and get full pardons for the Maquis and find Neelix a decent job and...

The list is a very long one.

I made a choice. It may not have been the right one. It may not have been the most fair. In the end, though, we only have two options: choose, or not. As a captain, I don't usually have much of an option. A choice must be made, and in nearly every circumstance, it ultimately comes down to me. I must choose. I won't always be happy with the choice I make. We've pre-established that you won't always be, sometimes the hard way. I can't allow that to sway me, though, no matter how many times I have wanted to. In the end, the choice must be wholly mine.

It was a long time before I felt the freedom to choose anything for myself. You were afraid I never would.

*
Look at what you want,
Not at where you are,
Not at what you'll be.
Look at all the things you've done for me:
Opened up my eyes,
Taught me how to see...
Notice every tree...
Understand the light...
Concentrate on now...
Move on
Move on
*

I was unbearable for a long time--for you. I know that now. I was so caught up in following the rules that I never noticed it was finally okay to bend them a little. Starfleet did not plan on the Delta Quadrant. The same rules did not--could not--apply. You tried to tell me this several times before I would listen. Sometimes I still don't listen, but that you knew from the beginning.

We wouldn't have made it this far if we weren't together. Not just you and I, but our people. Somehow your creativity and faith wound their way around my rules and regulations until they were a coherent, thriving whole. You have given of yourself to this crew in ways I never could have expected from a first officer. For a long time, I thought you did it for me. When I allowed myself to see clearly, I realized you would have done it anyway. That is the man you are. Over the years, your vision has rubbed off on me. I don't always see through your eyes, but I always understand what you are seeing.

Some things took me a little longer to see. I wondered, late at night, if it was too late. There were long periods of time when I was sure it was. I watched you with them, the other women; I even kissed someone else myself. At three o'clock in the morning I would hear you moving around in your cabin and wonder what thoughts kept you up at night. I surreptitiously watched you for signs that your attempts to move on were just that. Attempts. And when I had enough of them, I made my choice.

You offered it to me once, but I couldn't accept it then. I wasn't ready. Now, I was ready. And I don't know exactly why, but I knew it wasn't too late.

*
Stop worrying if your vision is new
Let others make that decision--
They usually do.
You keep moving on.
*

I wondered--worried--agonized over what the crew would think. It never occurred to me that we would keep it a secret. Of course I couldn't discuss it with you as I hadn't told you yet. That's typical Janeway fashion, I suppose: make the decision, and then tell you what we're going to do. In the past, that's caused us moments of ugliness. This would not be an ugly moment, though; it would be a moment of pure joy and I was looking forward to every second of it.

But what would the crew think? What would they say, how would they react?

When I called B'Elanna into my office and very matter-of-factly asked her...she laughed at me.

"Captain," she said, smiling, hands on her hips in a gesture she'd gotten from me, "apparently you are the last person to figure it out."

I stared at her for a long moment before my lips lifted at the corners. "Captains don't know everything, Lieutenant," I said wryly.

"People will just think you're relaxing the codes of conduct a little more. You'll get a little griping, but that will pass. Actually, the last pool--" she broke off abruptly.

"Yes? The last pool says what?" I said, one eyebrow raised, enjoying myself.

She shifted uncomfortably. "The last pool says it's a done deal, Captain."

I made her pull up the records of the pool using Tom's password. Ten minutes later I'd entered a sizable bet into the database. "Close your mouth, B'Elanna," I smiled as I exited the ready room to change. We'd been invited to a reception on the planet we were currently trading with, and I had a few ideas to think over.

*
Look at what you've done,
Then at what you want,
Not at where you are,
What you'll be.
Look at all the things
You gave to me.
Let me give to you
Something in return.
I would be so pleased
*

I remember that night as if it were yesterday, and I know I will remember it this clearly every day for the rest of my life. I remember the nervousness and apprehension when you asked me to dance at that reception. You were afraid I would think it meant something more than the overzealous ambassador pushing you towards me. I was afraid that you wouldn't. I let my hand slide a little farther down your back than propriety allows Starship Captains to do. You did a very good job of not noticing. I shifted my arm across your back and brushed your neck with my thumb. Except for your almost imperceptible inhale, I would have thought you didn't feel it.

Later you walked me back to my assigned room. There was a moon, I recall noting wryly. The night couldn't have been any more perfect if I'd programmed it on the holodeck. You walked next to me, very carefully leaving several inches between us, very carefully keeping your hands folded behind your back, very carefully steering the conversation to crew member after crew member. You turned to go after very carefully depositing me at my door. I reached out and touched first your arm and then your face as you turned back to me. You froze and remained that way when I leaned forward and brushed my mouth against yours. I felt your lips turn up in an almost-smile before you pulled back sharply and gestured me inside.

There was anger, first. Disbelief. Accusations of indecision and game playing and "letting the evening get to me". I let you talk until you finally sat in a chair, silent. Then I crouched down beside the chair and took your hands in mine and told you how sorry I was for letting you think those things for so long. And then I told you that I would like to start over, if we could. And then I told you I loved you.

You looked at me like I had just handed you the most incredible treasure. Then you told me it had been worth the wait to hear me say it.

Later I showed you a few other things that had been worth the wait.

The next morning I bought you breakfast from my replicator with the rations Tom had transferred to my account in the middle of the night. Perhaps it wasn't the classiest way of telling the crew, or the most subtle, but I think it allowed them to feel better about the decision. It made me seem more human for a little while. I wanted the relationship--but I could not allow it to undermine my dealings with the crew. I would take what steps I had to in order to ensure that would not happen. But I wasn't worried. B'Elanna is a force to be reckoned with.

Not that I need to be defended. I am, after all, still the captain. As long as no one forgets that, we'll all be just fine.

*
We've always belonged together
We will always belong together
Anything you do,
Let it come from you
Then it will be new...
Give us more to see
*

I suppose we could have been together from nearly the beginning. There was always that spark between us, that life leaping to the forefront. If I'd allowed myself to reach out for it, I'm certain you would have handed it to me. If I'd ever allowed you to do more than recite thinly veiled ancient legends to me, you would have given me the quadrant on a platter. It's sweeter, though, for having made the decision alone. That sounds odd, like I didn't allow you a choice as well. But you made your choice a long time ago. It flowed from you, freely and without shame. I would not have been able to do that four years ago. I would have turned you away. The choice had to be mine, wrestled from the depths of my insecurity and determination and too-well ingrained habits. Only then could I become what I have today.

It had to come from me. If I had taken it from you, it really never would have been mine. Now I can reach out with both hands--one for you, and one for our people. They are both promised for separate reasons that are irrevocably intertwined--as we shall be, no matter where the rest of the journey takes us.

FINIS

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