I am very angry with myself for writing this, but I had to get it out of my head.
So here it is, less than twenty-four hours post-"Coda," though it took me months
to write a "Resolutions" story (which probably means that I never really believed
in the episode, much as I wanted to). I just had to find some way to reconcile
Janeway's split personalities. There is some horrifying Real Woman shit in here
that I blame on the Voyager writing staff. "Unity" undoubtedly impacted on this
story, though there are no spoilers in here for anything but "Coda."

This is for Deborah Rush--who now owes me big-time--and for my original Sap
Sisters, Diane and Becky, plus the Lauras and Claire who have been there all
along. This is also for Sue Love, whose "Definitions" had a strong influence on
it, and for Barbie N. Spots, who probably saw it coming way back. And this is
also for Jeri Taylor, who is probably doing the best that she can.

Paramount owns the legal right not to take their creations seriously. Feedback to
emwycedee@writeme.com.

OUT OF TIME (REPEAT REFRAIN)

by YCD

I still don't know what he meant by the flower. Not red. Either the hydroponics
bays haven't managed to produce a red rose, or he was playing it safe--as he's
always done, where his feelings are concerned. I realize that now. To this day
I'm not positive whether that angry warrior story was a metaphor for his love or
just his loyalty.

He's put me in an impossible position, expecting me to make the first definitive
move if we're going to become something more than what we are. Better friends--
who am I kidding? Lovers. It's hard even to think the word, especially since he's
left the decision on my shoulders. If something goes wrong--if we end up hurting
each other, hurting the ship--the blame will be mine. Either way the
responsibility would be mine, but if he said something unequivocal, I could
respond. I'd almost have to respond, just to keep our friendship alive. Can't he
see that he has to be the one to make the big declaration, before we can take any
action?

I suspect that he's a coward. Not that I blame him. So am I, when it comes to
this.

I'll say one good thing for that alien pretending to be my father: he gave me a
look at my own life which I'm grateful for. Not at what my colleagues really
think of me, but what I assume they do. I guess it's important to me that
B'Elanna feel she's changed, she's grown--that she doesn't still resent me. That
Harry be comfortable with me, that Kes and Tuvok believe that I'd fight from
beyond the grave to come back to this crew. If that alien created all those
scenes from within my own mind, then my secret suspicions about Tom and B'Elanna
aren't really so secret, and I guess I have to own up to how maternal I feel
towards Kes--how possessive, even. As for Chakotay...

If those scenes were taken from inside my head, then I've been lying to myself
all these months, pretending not to know how to take that damned speech of his. I
know exactly how he feels about me. How I want him to feel about me. Even if I'm
afraid to feel it back. He couldn't have seen me, if I comforted him when he was
crying over my body. I could have said or done anything, once I realized that,
but I didn't; I was too busy observing. Chakotay might be proud of me for sending
that alien packing, but I remember being passive, holding back, waiting for Kes
and Tuvok to find me instead of shoving myself through them, thinking scientific
thoughts to B'Elanna. Mostly I remember letting Chakotay pull me into his arms
and sob, without trying to get his attention. To shake him. To shake myself. I
was a little embarrassed, even, at his outbursts, though I'm the one who created
them, somewhere in my own subconscious.

I still don't know what he meant by the flower.

I'm supposed to meet him on the holodeck in ten minutes to go sailing. I don't
know what I was thinking when I said "moonlight sail." Or, rather, I do know what
I was thinking, or trying not to think. And it's too late to worry about what he
was thinking. Ten minutes. I have that long to decide what to tell him. About us.

Us. Him and me, together. Linked, joined--sharing something. I had better use a
different word.

Of course I don't remember getting artificial respiration from him, but I
remember the shock of seeing his mouth on mine. His hands on my chest. He was far
too focused on saving my life to feel the intimacy. Odd that I was aware of it,
when it should have seemed so distant, being outside my body. When he pulled me
into his arms because he thought I was dead, I felt...very alive.

I don't want to go to bed tonight and have nightmares about my father, dead,
coming back as a spirit. Clinging to the life I cost him, becoming bitter and
angry as that alien seemed. Maybe I've finally conquered my fear and self-
loathing for not being able to save my father, but I'm a little shaky, and I'd
like to have a warm body to hold tonight. To do something life-affirming.

I can't think about what. I can't think about whom, either.

Nine minutes. Enough denial, it's time to get on with practical matters. My
options. There's always retreat. Probably what he's expecting--we'll go sailing,
drink synthehol, and talk. I doubt he'll try anything more unless I give him a
clear signal. Back to business as usual tomorrow, in every sense.

I still don't know what he meant by the flower. The bridge crew must have seen
him carry it in, since he had it behind his back. Which would seem to indicate
that it was meant as a friendly gift, not romantically; he would never court me
in front of the crew. He doesn't even flirt with me, when they're watching. I do-
-I touch him, I make cracks about mating behavior. But today was the first time
he's said my name when anyone was listening other than me.

So business as usual might be easier for him than I'm assuming. He doesn't
remember me dying several times, he didn't really live with losing me. In the
months since we've been back from New Earth, he hasn't given a single indication
that he's interested in giving me a backrub. Well, he did flirt a little on Old
Earth, but that might have been just the sunshine making him giddy, and the
relief of not having the crew anywhere around. Considering that the fate of the
solar system was at stake, that whole incident felt almost like a vacation--
strolling on the boardwalk, eating barbequed vegetables on skewers. Eight
minutes. With his arm around me.

And that business with Q. I think Q believed me when I told him there wasn't
another man. And didn't press the jealousy issue with Chakotay. But Q was
defensive enough to pull that stunt with the tattoo. Was that just to needle us,
or did he sense something--from Chakotay, or from me? I wouldn't want him back so
I could ask him, but I do wonder.

I still don't know what he meant by the flower. Before New Earth, that time when
I was going to self-destruct Voyager to stop B'Elanna's Cardassian missile from
hitting a planet, when I wanted to go down with the ship, he tried to stop me. I
thought he would block me physically, the way B'Elanna tried to prevent me from
firing on the Array, all that time ago. Then, his arm was all that stopped her.
"She's the captain," he said, and I heard it all the way across the bridge,
though his voice was soft, as usual. It was one of the swaying factors in my
decision to make him first officer. I knew even then that I could trust him. That
I--seven minutes--that I liked him.

I have to figure out what to wear. The uniform's the safest thing, but I'm not
sure I want to mix it with champagne and moonlight--too confusing. I've already
pulled out a blue dress that I wore on New Earth, but that might be too
dangerous. It might give him a misleading sense of my intentions. I'm his boss,
and anything too overt borders on harrassment. Which is why he has to make any
moves to be made. On the other hand, if I don't give him a clear message of my
interest, he'll never make any sort of move, because I'm his boss. Nasty paradox.
I don't want him to think I'm teasing him, nor that I'm blind.

I suppose wearing the dress might be a subtle enough statement to throw the issue
back to him, after the rose. His turn. Ball in his court. I wonder if he plays
tennis? I know he plays hoverball, but that would be dangerous too, the two of us
sweating in cramped quarters together. I can picture his skin glistening,
moisture slicking his shoulders, his big hands, the muscles defined in his arms
as he swings, his legs spreading in the air as he jumps...

Six minutes, and I'm going to work myself into a state if I keep up this train of
thought. But better that I deal with it now than sitting next to him on a boat,
with a bottle of champagne between us. Deep breath, and picture him again. Yes, I
noticed he was attractive very early on. That I was attracted to him...there's a
difference, and I'm not sure when I noticed, or when I admitted it. I'm not
someone who's swayed much by physical attraction, not since I got old enough to
know that love and lust don't always go together. So his proximity never bothered
me, not even on New Earth, until I realized that my presence was having an effect
on him. There's something very sexy about being found sexy, when there's warmth
and affection in the attraction, when it isn't frightening. I thought his
interest had a lot to do with my being the only woman around for the rest of his
life. Well, that's not entirely true--I knew he liked being with me, and liked
the way I looked in a towel, and that he respected and admired me as a person,
different as we are.

But real committment? I didn't even think about it. Didn't want to think about
it. Didn't want to think about him asking pointedly whether I intended to "pair
off," didn't want to hear his voice telling me that no matter what happened, even
if the crew abandoned ship, we'd make it. I'm not sure whether he meant all of
us, or him and me. Us.

I still don't know what he meant by the flower, either, which I realize I left in
my ready room. When we exited--when I practically skipped out after him--I was
thinking about him, not his gift. Less than five minutes, not enough time to
retrieve it now. I guess I won't be wearing it in my hair. I guess I won't be
taking my hair down either, though I know he would like me to--if I let him, he
would brush it for me, run his hands through and rub his face in it. When he
asked me to cut it on Hanan Four, I half-suspected he'd try to hide a lock of it
in his boot. I almost laughed when he made the suggestion--ancient Indian method
of starting a fire, my ass. It worked, though. One of the few things that went
right that time. Oh, I shouldn't say that--we were very, very lucky. Lucky that
Tom got to the Talaxians, lucky that so many of us survived exile. Lucky that the
Kazon didn't kill us outright. Maybe Seska intended to come back for him.

Seska. I don't have time to think about her, but I have to, now, before I get on
that boat with him, Seska's ex-lover. A lesson in the hazards of becoming overly
involved with someone under one's command. When he told me he wanted to go after
his child, as I had somehow known he would, we were both still hurting from
leaving New Earth--my own defenses were too high for me to share what he was
going through, so I gave him the only other thing I could. I took the ship into
enemy space, I risked the entire crew. I'd like to say I did it for a child, or
for a principle. But I did it for him.

I worried at first about how lonely he must be, first officer on my ship,
distanced from the Maquis by his Starfleet title and my own officers by his rank.
Learning that one of his colleagues had been a traitor, then wounded so deeply by
the Cardassian woman--bitch, that's what I want to call her, even if I'm sorry
for how she died--that I didn't think I could comfort him if I tried. I did not
know then that my mere presence was comfort to him. We never discussed Seska when
we were alone all those weeks, it seemed very much the past. I never told him
about Mark. We never even talked about our families, beyond some superficial
details about childhood and education. We left so many things for another day,
when time stretched limitless before us and we assumed there would always be
another chance.

Less than four minutes before we take the boat ride we never got around to on New
Earth.

I remember thinking once that I superficially resembled Seska, the same long
reddish-brown hair and high forehead, deceptively thin arms. I didn't want to
consider the possibility that he might have loved her. That he might have
considered having children with her, once, back before any of this, before he
knew who and what she was--at first she must have been someone who shared his
interests, if not his traditions. Someone who hated the Federation as much as he
did.

I wonder how badly he wants children. The day he told me he wanted to go after
the baby was the only time I ever saw him cry, before today. Chakotay would
probably be a fine father, and there are women on this ship who would gladly
raise a family with a man like him. Maybe Samantha Wildman, maybe even B'Elanna.
I don't like that this all reminds me of Q again, reminding me that I might never
have a child, myself. Probably he does want children, to pass on his traditions,
to create a home here on Voyager as he tried so hard to do with me on New Earth.
If he wanted B'Elanna, he probably could have had her already. He's waiting. He's
probably willing to sacrifice having children, to have the woman he wants.

Stop it, Kathryn. You can't work all this out in...two minutes.

I still don't know what he meant by the flower.

Repeat refrain.

If I were being totally honest with him, I'd have to tell him that I just don't
know what I want. Even if I could have anything I wanted, which I can't. I am
Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Starship Voyager. I can't even think about
children now, I'm not sure I can think about a relationship. Any relationship,
let alone one with my first officer. My friend. I'm not ready for him to be
anything else. If I wasn't ready on New Earth, it could be a long time. Maybe
never.

I think I have to tell him that, flat out. I won't say it's impossible, but I
can't promise someday, either. He knows he can't remake me into what he wants--
that I'm never going to give up on getting home, that that will always come
first. Right now he thinks that having me at all will make him happy, but one day
the work will come between us, and I have a feeling that could tear us apart. And
we can't risk it. Today proves that.

I saw his face when he thought I was dead. I'm not sure he could give the order
which would put me in that state, even if he had to, for the sake of the ship or
the crew. His love--oh, I have to be able to call it that, yet not be swayed--his
love is too dangerous. For all of us.

And my feelings--what was I thinking, sending him and me together on an away
mission to an unknown planet? We could both have been lost. New Earth redux. I
could have had Tom piloting my shuttle, or I could have sent Tuvok with him to do
the analyses. But we went together. Us again. I was in the mood to be off the
ship. So was he. Easy, talking about talent night. First names, with no one
around to listen.

It's hard enough for us to be friends, with all the work that gets in the way.
The responsibilities, the hierarchy, the necessity of maintaining professional
distance during crises. Are we strong enough to be anything more than friends?
His committments--to Starfleet, to the Maquis, to his people--have all been so
strained, so conflicted. But his dedication to this crew has been unswerving.
Even when he's gone against my wishes, I've never doubted his loyalty, never
feared that some other cause might get in his way.

Am I a cause that might interfere with his devotion to this ship? Can either of
us reconcile our personal obligations with our professional ones? I don't know.
Given his track record, I doubt if he can, and I'm not ready to find out whether
I can.

He'll be angry when I tell him that. Even if he hides it. That's all right; I
know he'll remain my friend. Stand by me. Rationalize it as a Starfleet decision,
as my not being able to let go of being the captain, it's so much a part of me.
Control freak.

Do I want Captain Janeway to be all I ever am? A monument rather than a person?
Is there ever going to be a way to balance the two?

I can't figure that out now, either.

So if he can't sacrifice the present for a future that may never be, he's free to
find someone else in the meantime, for now or forever. Maybe he'll do it quickly,
and spare us both a lot of second-guessing.

I wish that idea didn't hurt so much.

One more minute. And then we'll have tonight. The sailboat, the champagne.
Several hours uninterrupted by duty. Just him and me, out of uniform. Out of
time. Maybe for the last time.

Anything could happen.

I still don't know what he meant by the flower. I think I'll ask him.

* * * *