Interlude, Season Two
by  ragpants © August 2004
 

Ensigns are the universal bane of officers, Chakotay decides as he steams through his sitting room into his bedroom. He unseals his jacket, ready to fling it into his bedside chair. He halts the motion as he realizes that something--someone-- already occupies the chair. Kathryn Janeway slumps sideways, the small of her back presses against the padded arm, her knees are drawn up onto the seat,  and her hands curl loosely, palms upward, in her lap. Despite the uncomfortable position, she is asleep. Her face looks almost relaxed. Chakotay hates to wake her, but it's the middle of the night and he's tired.

He touches her shoulder lightly. "Kathryn."

 She wakes with a small start, quickly suppressed, as is the stretch and yawn he knows now is typical of her waking. Her quick eyes assess her surroundings, notes that she is not her own quarters, that he is dressed and she is not.

"What time is it"?" she asks in a slightly reluctant voice, as if she is afraid she has slept away the night in her First Officer's quarters.

"0300," he tells her.

 Her brows pull together in confusion. "But you're.." She gestures at his mostly complete uniform.

He twists his lips ruefully.  "A green ensign on dog watch..."

Kathryn smiles in understanding. "... saw something anomalous, but was afraid to wake the Captain, so calls the First Officer instead, " she finishes the explanation for him

He nods and they share a small moment of perfect understanding and amusement. They both have lived  that moment.  On New Earth they had once traded stories about their first solitary watch. Chakotay had  called  the First Officer; Kathryn had awakened the Captain and later got dressed own by the First Officer.

The solidarity is as fleeting as a snowflake in a plasma injector.

 Her voice turns serious, professional. "I trust the situation has been resolved."

Chakotay answers carefully. "I would have called you otherwise." He feels challenged and set on the defensive by her question. They have been at odds and evens for so much of this last year--the Kazon, the Trabe, the Maquis, the chain of command, ship's discipline, 'inappropriate risk-taking,'. Seska.

He tosses his folded jacket onto the foot of his bed and sits down heavily next to it. He folds his hands over the center of his face, closes his eyes and exhales through his nose.

He wants her to go. This middle-of-the-night meeting reminds him too strongly of other midnight meetings, of promises made and broken.

"You should go back to your room, Kathryn. It's late, but you can still get a few hours rest before day watch rolls around."

She stands, starts to leave and stops. Her bare feet fidget beneath the hem of her ivory robe.

"I was hoping we could talk...."

He grunts an sardonic noise. Talk. Both of them have done nothing but talk lately. The problem is not that they don't talk. The problem is that neither of them has proven much good at listening. He's in no mood to try and change that now. He'd rather try to get some rest himself.

"It's too late."

Kathryn's mouth falls open in a little 'O' and she emits a sound that his boxing opponents used to make when he roundhoused them under the ribs. Hurt glitters in her eyes.

He's confused by her reaction so he replays the conversation in his head.  'I was hoping we could talk... about us.' He hears the end of her sentence this time and now understands her emotion.  For a moment he is exultant. He's hurt her, even though he didn't mean to, and he's glad. She has wounded him too, deeply and recently. On New Earth, he'd courted her, gently, patiently, persistently, demonstrating over and over he was a fit partner for her, even if he was the only man on the planet.  Finally she had accepted him--only to cast him aside like leftovers from one of Neelix's unpalatable meals the moment that Tuvok's voice hissed scratchily over the subspace.

She tightens her hold on her robe and her dignity and retreats, moving out through his bedroom door.
He follows her, regretting his momentary small-hearted spitefulness. He grabs her arm. "Wait. I didn't mean...."

She folds into his arms and they stand there, holding fiercely onto one another. He tucks her head under his chin." I didn't mean it that way, Kathryn. Only that it's late and I'm tired. I'm not giving up."

They cleave together for a long time, holding on as tightly as if the universe will dissolve if they let go.

 At long last, Chakotay breaks the silence. "You ought to go get some rest. You've been under a lot of stress lately."

Kathryn rolls her head so she looks up at him with one eye. "And you haven't?"

He concedes her point with a sigh. "Yes, but you don't have to be up at 0500 to make a surprise inspection of Engineering."

She purses her lips and looks at him until he explains.

"Hiemmler was taken to Sickbay earlier tonight with severe nausea and vomiting. The Doctor said the  illegal hooch he'd been drinking had a toxic contaminant. B'Elanna swears he didn't get it from the Engine Room still and furthermore that all *her* engineers know how to run a clean system...." He loosens one hand long enough to tug at his ear. "...I don't know."

He feels Kathryn smile against his chest.

"Try starting your inspection in Life Sciences," she suggests slyly. "Lt. Walecki has sent some awful odd equipment requisitions through lately."

Chakotay finds himself grinning. Things are going to be all right.