By ragpants

Ten years. Ten years.  Janeway hesitated over the stardate as she dictated her log.  She hadn't forgotten what this day was.  How could she?  She had destroyed the Caretaker's array ten years ago today. It's just that the date seemed to mock her. Ten years. Intellectually she had always understood that  her decision had stranded Voyager over seventy years from Federation space. But emotionally, she had never *really* believed that it would take Voyager seventy years to get home. That some sort of  miracle- a wormhole, a superior technology, something- would shorten their journey.  Now the reality of it slapped her in the face. Ten years gone already.

Her pause had not gone unnoticed. Chakotay, seated beside her, turned his head toward her, his face calm, betraying nothing, but his eyes asking if she were all right.

 She drew a breath and continued her dictation. She'd survived the worst the Delta Quadrant had thrown at her; she be damned before she let a date get the best of her.

Janeway managed to sit serenely on the Bridge, calmly issuing orders. This was a ordinary day, a day like any other and she'd get through it. She had to be an example for her crew. Still she was relieved when her watch ended and she was free to flee to the sanctuary of her Ready Room. There she sat under the windowy expanse of unfamiliar stars and allowed the mood that she had held at bay by will alone during her duty shift to overtake her. She brooded.

Her introspection was interrupted when the Ready Room door hissed open. Chakotay. The cheeky bastard hadn't even bothered to ask for admittance, just barged in uninvited.  Janeway felt a flutter of irritation. Who in the hell did he think he was?

He strode across the room to stop, standing in front of her, hands on hips and a small smile on his face.

"I knew you'd be in here brooding."

Some of her annoyance evaporated. He was her friend, that's who he was. Her XO. Someone who knew her nearly as well as she knew herself. He'd earned the right to barge into her Ready Room unannounced on occasion. Earned the right through years of loyalty and service. Janeway looked up at him.

"I knew you'd noticed. But I'm all right. Really.  And I'm not brooding; I just wanted some time alone."

He reached down and grabbed her by the wrist, hauling her to her feet. He shook his head.

"Not allowed, " he told her. "Neelix is throwing a party to commemorate this anniversary. And you need to be there. "

"But I don't want to go, " she protested as he began pulling  her across the room.

"Too bad. You're going anyway."

She had no choice then.  They had reached the door. The Captain could either be seen being dragged out of her Ready Room or she could maintain her dignity and walk out under her own power. She chose the latter.

"You win," she hissed and wrested her wrist from his grasp.

The party was held in the Mess Hall where most of the ship's parties were held. It was a practical choice: large enough that a good portion of the off-shift personnel could fit, convenient for Neelix to set up, easy to clean afterwards. The tables were laden with food of all kinds and congenial knots of people were gathered here and there. The atmosphere seemed relaxed, even happy, as if this date were a cause for celebration after all. The optimistic mood surprised Janeway.  She couldn't see much to celebrate in ten years of being lost and isolated.

Then the doors opened and a bevy of children swept in, noisy and excited to be allowed to join in this adult event. And Janeway realized that something good had come about from their stranding after all.  Naomi Wildman was the oldest at nine and stood nearly as tall as Janeway herself. There were a dozen more children besides Wildman's daughter and another three due before the end of the year. Would any of them have existed if Voyager had not been lost? Probably not, with the exception of Sam Wildman's daughter who had been conceived before Voyager's launch from Deep Space 9. The sight of the children eased Janeway's heart a little, but it pained her too. None of these bright, animated creatures belonged to her.  If she had been back in the Alpha Quadrant, then maybe she would have had a child. But here.....it was out of the question.  As were so many other things.

"You're brooding again. " Chakotay's voice warned.

"Captain's privilege," she had answered, hoping to left alone with her thoughts.

 No such luck.  Music played from hidden speakers and without asking, Chakotay tugged her out to the floor to dance. This was another thing that had changed in the last ten years. Ten years ago she never would have dared to be seen dancing with her  First Officer. It would have set too many tongues to wagging, given the gossip mill grist for weeks. Now that wasn't a problem. Everyone knew they were just friends.

 She thought back to when their relationship had changed.  It was about six years ago when an alien woman, the one whose name she could never remember,  had sought asylum aboard Voyager. Chakotay had come to her then, to talk, to ask her to define their relationship. And she had told him the simple truth. That so long as she was responsible for Voyager she would not act on her feelings for him. Then he asked her...permission...to become involved with this woman. And he had, though from the little she could recall it had ended badly. And Chakotay had come back to her.

That incident seemed to have set a kind of pattern which had repeated itself  over and over. Chakotay served at her side, supporting her, helping her, and then one day he would come to her privately and ask her permission, blessing, approval-- she was never quite sure what he wanted-- to become involved with some woman, like she was his keeper or a jealous mistress. And she would watch him fall in love. And each time it tore her heart out. But it was the decision she had made and one she would live with, no matter how painful.

And each time, she had watched silently as the affair ended. Sometimes with angry words and threats. Sometimes with  bitter recriminations and  tears. But they always ended.

Janeway was grateful that Chakotay's women were always someone from outside Voyager. The harmony of the ship would never have withstood the strains of  those kinds of explosive breakups. She wondered if he intentionally chose strangers, or if he knew somehow on an instinctive level that a shipboard romance would be destructive. Or was he just following her example?

It had happened six times now. Six times she had watch him lose his heart and six times he had come back to her seeking forgiveness, understanding, comfort, acceptance, sympathy--she was never quite sure.  And each time she gave him what she could and they went on. Sometimes he told her about his lost love; sometimes he didn't. Janeway listened when he was moved to talk, but preferred it when he didn't because it hurt too much to listen. And always they moved on--together.

The last one had been different, though. She had nearly lost him. He had asked Zorah to join Voyager permanently. And she had refused. In return, she had asked Chakotay to stay with her on her planet. He had been tempted, she knew. She had heard him pacing long into the night in his bedroom that was on the other side of the wall from hers. If he had come to her and asked to leave the ship, she would have instantly granted his request, but he had never asked and she had never brought the topic up.

For a long time after that, he had been withdrawn and quiet. He barely spoke to anyone outside of his duties, even her.  Janeway thought that maybe her Chakotay was gone forever. That she had finally and irrevocably lost him. And then, one day, while they were going over the morning reports, she had made a joke. Some stupid remark about nothing important and he smiled. A tiny smile to be sure, weak and wavering, but a smile nonetheless and she knew he was going to be all right. That they were going to be all right.

And now she stood here within his arms, letting herself lean a little against his chest as they danced. It felt good here. Safe and comfortable. But it was too late. Years too late. They knew each other too well and had hurt each other too much. Janeway felt hot moisture well up in her eyes and she swallowed her tears down a throat gone suddenly tight.

Chakotay must have felt her throat working because he leaned back and looked down at her. "What?"

"Nothing." She said too quickly.  Then, because she was lying and he would know and because maybe there was still a chance,  "I was thinking how much things  have changed in ten years."

"And I was thinking how much they haven't."

Janeway stopped moving and looked up at him incredulous. "How can you say that?" She gestured toward a knot of people laughing together. "There's no more Maquis, no Starfleet.  Just people.  A family. And families." She pointed toward Tuvok where Tom Paris's four year old son peeked out from behind the stoic Vulcan's elegant robes and stuck his tongue out at Ayala's dark-haired daughter. "That's quite a change from ten years ago."

Chakotay's hand swept the room. "But look around you, " he insisted, "These people are still making the hard journey home, still exploring the Delta Quadrant as they go. And they're doing it with pride and dedication. You've given that to them, Kathryn. And you're still the Captain. I'm still your XO."

Janeway smiled and allowed her hand to slip into his, something she had been able to do for a long while now. One friend to another.

"Chakotay," she began seriously, "I meant to tell you... to tell that I'm sorry about Zorah."

At the mention of her name, his face went flat and mask-like, and Janeway knew she was on tenuous ground, but  she plunged ahead anyway. "I'm sorry she wouldn't come with us. I know you cared for her very much. " A pause. "You could haved stayed, Chakotay. I would have missed you. Very much. But Voyager and I would have managed somehow."

" I couldn't stay.  I gave my promise to you, Kathryn, long before I ever met her. "

"But things change, Chakotay," she reminded him gently. Even starship captains.

"And some things never do, Kathryn," he returned seriously.

And for the first time today, Kathryn felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe there was still time.
 
 

Who'll never know what they've got
until it's just about gone?
And whose arms will gather up what's left
to carry on?
And who'll stalk that little bit of love
that hasn't yet been killed?
Lovers will.
(Music and lyric by John Hiatt/ performed by Bonnie Raitt)