This is actually a third season story, though the setting is first season, sometime
between "State of Flux" and "The 37s." I wanted to recapture what falling in love
with Janeway was like--for Chakotay, and for me. I wrote this for Diane, Meri,
and Deborah, my unholy trinity of Graces.

CLOUDY

by Your Cruise Director

I'm in trouble.

I'm supposed to be on the bridge, but I'm hiding in engineering, pretending to
need an update on our dilithium refinery project.

Ten minutes ago, Tom Paris stopped me in the corridor and asked, "Did you just
beat B'Elanna at hoverball or something?" When I raised an eyebrow, he told me I
was grinning like a fool. And this morning, at breakfast, Kes told me I seemed
very...energetic. I think Kes can read us a lot more than she lets on.

But I can't talk to her. I can't talk to B'Elanna right now, sure as hell can't
talk to Tuvok, and I'm the closest thing this ship has to a counselor. I guess I
have to talk to myself. I haven't tried to keep a personal log in a long time,
but if I don't talk to someone, it'll kill me.

She'll kill me.

Kathryn.

I can't go to the bridge because every time I think her name, I feel my face
getting hot, and that stupid smile comes back. If we were hailed by hostile
aliens, I'd probably start grinning like a fool as soon as she said, "This is
Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship Voyager," in that voice of hers. She'd
get up from her chair and stride toward the viewer, stick her chin out, put her
hands on her hips...and I'd forget to concentrate on the enemy, because I'd be
watching her.

Sometimes, on duty, I have to stand up because I feel like I'm going to float out
of my seat, no matter how well the artificial gravity's working.

I've been trying to make it go away by focusing on reality. I serve under her,
and she has a lover she's trying to get home to. The last thing she needs is for
me to start mooning over her. Somehow it doesn't make a difference. I feel myself
sprinting down the hall, bouncing on the balls of my feet in the turbolift--
nothing can bring me down.

I was smitten practically from the moment I met her. She's so strong, and so
beautiful--I kept studying her when I should have been worrying about the Kazon
and the Caretaker. Then standing on her bridge, listening to her give the order
to destroy the Array...I felt exhilarated. Everyone else was panicked or
anguished about being stranded in the Delta Quadrant, but not me. I didn't know
then what was going to happen--whether she would throw me in the brig or make me
scrub the deuterium exhaust conduits for the next several decades. I didn't
really expect her to put me on her crew. I never even considered that she might
ask me to be her first officer, not until the moment she made her intentions
clear.

Even so, I knew meeting her was the first good thing to happen to me in I can't
remember how long.

Of course I thought about her that night. Impossible not to. I lay in Commander
Cavit's quarters, too exhausted to rest, my ship gone, my crew furious with me
for getting us stuck on a Starfleet vessel--Seska cursing my name, B'Elanna
avoiding me, Ayala sobbing for his kids, Tom Paris coolly sizing me up. From this
distance, I could finally start to admit that the Maquis was probably doomed, the
DMZ a lost cause. My father was dead, my people already starting to scatter. What
else was I going to think about if I wanted to soothe myself to sleep? I had
nothing to anchor me anymore...nothing except her.

That first contact on her bridge. Kathryn Janeway, in my face. I'd seen her on
the viewscreen earlier, but hadn't really looked; she'd been a uniform, not an
individual. When she told her crew to lower their weapons, she was still a
Starfleet captain. Then she marched up to me after I started to threaten Paris,
gave me a body block. Her shoulder touching my chest, her breasts brushing
against me. Jaw set, eyes narrowed, hair taut as metal. Tough, assertive, lovely
woman.

We met as equals for that one second, before I stepped back. The first time of
many. Always willingly. I will never forget that she treated me as a partner
while I was a criminal.

It surprised me that she invited me to accompany her to see the Caretaker. Later
I learned it was because she'd done her homework, she'd read my file very
thoroughly--she thought she knew what kind of a man I was, and went with her
instinct to trust me. I wonder if she knew I'd back her decision to destroy the
Array? She never asked me to. I'd been composing my list of reasons why she
shouldn't throw my crew in the brig, assuming that I only had the freedom of her
ship because I'd kept Tuvok safe on mine. She gave me this job over Tuvok's
objections.

It's been a long time since anyone made me feel this good about myself. I
couldn't help fantasizing about her, dealing with the emotional high in terms of
physical pleasure, but I didn't think it meant much at first. I wanted to be
close to her, and I wanted to make her happy--even so, I realized I didn't know
anything about her. I had no idea what she was like off-duty, I couldn't tell if
she found me attractive...I didn't know then whether she had a lover back home or
even on the ship. I had only her face and her voice, and the shape of her body in
uniform. The way she carries herself. How easily she touches people--I could
readily project that in terms of what she'd be like with someone romantically.
And I can imagine how her hair would look out of that bun, and how it would feel
spilling into my hands or across my chest. I've gotten off with that vision in my
head--Kathryn Janeway leaning over me with her hair cascading onto my skin--

Ahem. Or maybe I mean Amen.

I'm trying to feel ashamed for thinking about her like this, but I'm just getting
excited again. I can't even muster the appropriate guilt when I catch myself
stealing glances at her hair, or her ass. Because it's not lust--her physical
appeal is the most irrelevant aspect of what draws me to her. It's not her
position either, although I gravitate towards powerful women. I've had crushes on
captains before. I thought this one would fade in a few days, though, when we
started fighting about integrating the crew, and she turned Starfleet on me. I
didn't expect her to take my suggestions for Maquis officers seriously, so she
really shocked me when she gave Torres the job of chief engineer. Not just the
fact that she did it--I figured she might decide to make some concessions for me
to keep the Maquis in line. But she really went out of her way with B'Elanna, and
with Tom too. She didn't just win them over--she converted them.

She's nothing like I expected, like no other Starfleet captain I've ever met.
Even arguing with her is a revelation--she always listens, rarely loses her
temper, and she concedes so gracefully that it's easy to do the same. A couple of
times I've wanted to hug her after a dispute, because of the way she defuses
potential conflicts--I'm left with lots of energy and positive feeling, sometimes
I want to direct it back to her.

We haven't argued that much because I've questioned very few of her decisions. It
seemed important when we were trying to integrate the crews not just for it to
look like I supported her, but for her to feel that I really did; I knew it would
show if she trusted me, and the crew would respond accordingly with confidence in
me and the rest of the Maquis. I was impressed as hell with her those first few
days, when everything was in chaos, so I tried to give her some relief when we
had a few seconds away from the mess--joked around with her, flirted a little. I
could tell she liked my smile, she went out of her way to crack me up. I clung to
that in private, though it was probably because I was the only person she could
get a real grin out of, in the circumstances.

Now I can't stop, which should worry me. But I feel great. Every time I think
about her, that grin comes back, and I feel like I can do anything at all--fly
the ship, fix the replicators. Teach Neelix to cook. The adrenaline's pumping, it
makes the work easy. This has never happened to me before, at least not since I
was a teenager, and then it was kid stuff. I catch myself touching the bulkheads
sometimes just because it's her ship. If Paris knew that, I'd be a dead man.

She surprised me most when she asked about finding her animal guide. I'd brought
up the subject impulsively, to feel her out about unconventional methods of
counseling--I can't even remember what was troubling her that morning. I expected
her to nod and tell me to set up some kind of support group for the crew. When
she said she wanted to know more, I was ready for her to pull a Torres on me and
leave the room shouting about my crazy rituals, or to react like Seska and scorn
the entire tradition. I figured at best she was humoring me, so she could come up
with her own condescending scientific explanation for the experience. Still, I
couldn't help bounding into her office with my medicine bundle, and grabbing her
hand as we sat on her floor, like a kid on a date. Date. I'm never going to
forget that she used that word, even if she didn't mean it. That made me
invincible for hours.

I remember how I felt watching her face while she entered the trance. As soon as
I saw her go under--the first time I really saw Kathryn, without any of the
trappings of her rank or role--I was lost. Or maybe I mean found. Looking at her,
seeing that peacefulness come over her features, I felt at peace myself for the
first time in years. She's not afraid of change, or losing herself, even
disconnected from her home and her people--she welcomes new experiences, with joy
and wonder. I wanted to sit and watch her all day. How could I help but feel like
I was hers? It scared the hell out of me.

If only I could shake the feeling that she's my destiny. Like a bad holovid. Lost
in the Delta Quadrant to find each other...why does that seem right, as if this
is the way things were always supposed to be? With my whole crew here, B'Elanna
running the engines and Tuvok back at tactical, I have a sense of closure. It
feels complete, like a family, almost, with Kathryn Janeway at the head, and me
beside her...I'm turning into a romantic idiot.

Still, like that evening on the holodeck. I'd gone to shoot some pool and hang
out--I guess I wanted to be around other people to stop thinking about her too
much. I couldn't believe it when she waltzed in with Harry, as if hanging out in
bars with crewmembers was a casual occurrence for her. She played along so
naturally, though I couldn't tear my eyes from her when that gigolo said he
wanted to make love to her. She was playing a game of her own, though, with
Paris, and with me--Commander Chakotay, your stick. Uh-huh.

I dreamed about her that night. Not flirting. Straightforward, the way she
usually is. No games. We were in her ready room, she smiled at me, then she put
her hand on my arm, as is becoming her habit when she wants my undivided
attention. And kept smiling when I put my arms around her, and kissed her. No
talk of duty or consequence. The uniforms melted away. I gave myself to her,
everything in me, not like with Seska where I was always trying to remind myself
that it was just screwing. When I woke up, with a headache and a mess all over
the sheets, I had to rush to get to the bridge on time--and guess who I ran into
on the way? She invited me to breakfast, she seemed unconcerned about the
schedule when I used duty as an excuse for turning her down. Alone in her private
dining room would have been impossible then...I almost grabbed her right in the
corridor, listening to her describe all the lush, sensual foods she was dreaming
about. I had to concentrate on vacuum-packed oatmeal and take off for work, I
didn't trust myself not to blurt out everything, otherwise.

It had to have been obvious on my face every time I looked at her. I thought
everybody would figure me out right away, but I don't think they realized what
they were seeing. Not even Seska, who accused me of slavish devotion, but didn't
seem to realize where it stemmed from until her last moments on Voyager. Now that
she's gone, I can admit what a relief it is to have her off the ship and out of
my life. She would have made things hell for both of us. I don't want any past
reminders of the reasons I don't deserve Kathryn Janeway. I just want to deserve
her from now on.

My fantasies about her are getting more elaborate, and more ridiculous. I imagine
that Neelix will concoct some drink that will give her a hormonal overload, or
we'll catch some alien sex disease like the one that afflicted Picard's
Enterprise, and she'll turn to me as the safest person around. I suppose we could
get stuck in a warp bubble together, or get switched with our counterparts in an
alternate universe like that nasty one Federation crewmembers have visited
before. Maybe Kathryn's evil twin would enjoy having me, well, serve under her.
Maybe I could sneak into one of her holonovels disguised as a character. One or
both of us could always get taken over by an alien consciousness, that happens
more often than you'd think, but I wouldn't want it that way--I want this to be
real. I can wait until she realizes that letting me love her to pieces would be
better for her and for the ship than mooning over her dogsitter forever.

I'm hiding in engineering because of what happened this morning. Such a little
thing, and so silly--I'm sure she's forgotten all about it. Just an accident. We
were in the turbolift, something went wrong with the power grid, and we jerked to
a halt and fell against the side of the lift. I caught her sort of on top of me,
with both her elbows in my hands. She was smashed up against me with her breasts
pressing into my chest, and while we were shaking to a stop, she was balanced on
my groin. After the lift stilled, for a minute, I couldn't let go--I couldn't
even look away from her. I was trying to come up with a joke, but the only words
which stuck in my mind were the ones I knew I couldn't say.

So I didn't say anything, just kept staring at her face inches away from mine,
and it suddenly occurred to me that she might be having the same problem right
then--she might not trust herself with me, just for a few seconds. She's human,
and aware that I'm attracted to her, at least on the most superficial level--not
that she dwells on it. But every once in awhile I'll get a flash from her, a
split second where I see her really looking at me, before she shuts down again.
This was like that, only we both knew that the other noticed, this time. It got
difficult to breathe. I was positive that the moment she came to her senses, she
would be furious with herself and me, and shut down--she does that when she gets
defensive, sometimes she even lashes out. She knew, I knew, the situation was no
longer tenable.

You know what she did? She smiled at me.

OK. She probably smiled because it didn't mean anything much to her. Just trying
to cover her embarrassment and get us back to light, shallow banter. It's too
soon, she hasn't resolved anything yet about her relationship to the crew, even
to me, it probably hasn't really sunk in yet that she's never going to see her
lover again--she must be used to being away from him for long periods. She's
probably flattered that I occasionally react to her as a woman. She thinks this
morning was a momentary aberration on my part. Nothing really inappropriate since
it doesn't mean a damn thing.

And here I am, hiding belowdecks, because I'm delirious. Beguiled by the scent of
her hair, terrified lest I reveal my feelings in some dramatic physical way. I
can't decide whether I want to follow her around with excuses that have to do
with work, or avoid her, so I can think about her, undistracted by the
possibility that she'll catch me daydreaming. I know it's hopeless, I don't even
have serious designs on her. Still, much better to have her in love with a man
who's 70,000 light years away than to worry about anyone else on the ship, or
even actually to have to take action myself. Not now, not yet. She'd make me
think about all of the problems, while I'm so bowled over by her that my emotions
take precedence over the facts. Starfleet protocol, Mark, Seska, Voyager's unique
circumstances, considerations of command be damned. I'm not ready to try to come
to terms with my feelings. I'm too happy.

I don't have any reasonable expectation that I can have anything more with her
than what we've already got together, not unless things on the ship change
radically, or we get stranded on a planet somewhere. Sooner or later, if this is
real, we'll have to deal with all the conflicts, the reasons it won't work, and
I'll come crashing down from this high. It's inevitable, I guess.

But it's so hard to believe right now, as I head back toward the bridge, where I
know she's waiting for me. Just to see her, sit beside her while she works, even
watch the bridge for her in her absence--it's more than enough. Maybe it doesn't
get any better than this. Maybe I couldn't take it if it did.

I'm grinning again.

Read the pseudo-sequel, "Overcast".