The BLTS Archive - The Horn of the Bull
by Mizvoy (mizvoy@yahoo.com)

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Published: 09-11-05

Updated: 09-11-05

This story was inspired by the "shadow" picture in the Koffee Klub's
2005 Picnic Prose Contest.

Disclaimer: All things Star Trek Voyager belong to Paramount. No
infringement intended.

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"So, Commander Chakotay, how does it feel to be out of the Captain's
shadow at last?"

I remember being stunned the first time someone asked me that
question, because I hadn't been conscious of the fact that "standing
in Kathryn Janeway's shadow" was any different from serving in the
shadow of any other Starfleet captain. The captain is, by necessity,
the "star of the show" on any vessel, and both the accolades and the
blame land squarely on his or her shoulders. People who think that the
power and responsibility of running a ship is a great job are fooling
themselves—it's the hardest job in the galaxy, bar none.

Maybe if I had only been asked the question once, I would have
dismissed the whole issue, but the press seemed dissatisfied with my
answer and continued to ask it again and again until I really had to
stop and think about it. How did I feel about Kathryn Janeway now that
I was no longer her first officer?

For starters, I was glad to be out of her shadow. Seven years is a
long time to play second banana to anyone, and I was anxious to move
on to the next stage of my career and explore the blossoming
possibilities of my personal life. I thought I had my life in order
when we arrived in the Alpha Quadrant. I'd successfully served in
Starfleet again, and I'd finally found a person I thought I could be
happy with in Seven of Nine.

I thought that my friendship with Kathryn would continue as always.
That, I soon discovered, was a big miscalculation. I was used to our
lives being circumscribed by the ship, our interests being focused on
the limited number of people who made up our crew, and I wasn't
prepared for the dramatic change of focus we experienced on Earth. I
wanted to believe that our relationship was deeper than just captain
and first officer. I was sure that we'd continue to turn to each other
as friends even after Voyager was left behind.

While I didn't mind leaving the Captain behind, I wasn't prepared to
lose Kathryn Janeway in the process.

Nor was I prepared for the jealousy I'd feel once we were home and
Kathryn was no longer the captain 24/7. After seven years of
self-imposed celibacy, Kathryn leaped back into a full life with
gusto, becoming the darling of the Federation in general and of
Starfleet in particular. Every man within fifteen years of her age
imagined himself as her lover, and my special spot beside her
literally evaporated into thin air.

The fact was that I had expected her to be jealous of me and my
relationship with Seven, and I think she might have been if we had
stayed on Voyager and had rubbed her nose in our togetherness every
day. But, she was busy elsewhere, and we were pretty easy to ignore,
especially when she was receiving countless offers to travel, with the
escort of her choice, to the most exclusive resorts for a brief
appearance and a holiday.

Seven was just as popular as Kathryn, although in a much different and
more troublesome way. She was a living, breathing oddity that Kathryn
had captured on her Delta Quadrant adventure, and she was completely
out of her element in the suddenly limitless population of the
Federation. While Kathryn thrived on the public relations aspect of
her return, Seven was clingy and insecure with it, and she turned to
me for the support and balance that Kathryn had given her on Voyager.

There are men who relish that kind of dependency and even look for it
in the women they love. I just don't happen to be one of them. In
spite of her beauty, her impressive physical endowments, and her
quirky (Kathryn-like) sense of humor, I soon felt constricted and
unhappy. I'm afraid I pushed her to be more independent, which only
encouraged her to notice other men who were easier to please than I
seemed to be. We parted friends, and she discovered that the EMH was a
much better and more patient match. Chapter closed.

Once Seven was gone, I looked hard at my options. There were dozens of
candidates willing to fill the void by my side, from prepubescent to
geriatric, but I was happy to be on my own for the first time in
years, even decades. I did some traveling, wrote some papers, made a
few appearances of my own on resort planets.

It was only later that I realized that Kathryn hadn't rushed to my
side as I'd dreamed she would when she heard that Seven and I were no
longer a couple. It occurred to me that perhaps she hadn't turned me
down on Voyager because protocol forbade it. Maybe she never cared for
me at all.

I didn't want to believe that. I was sure that at first she had
flirted with me shamelessly, and yet . . . she was an irrepressible
flirt, I'd discovered. I watched her give interviews in which the
reporter hung on her every word and, by the end of the session, seemed
ready to ask her out on a date, and I was always upset by the sight.
In fact, I stopped watching her interviews for awhile for that reason
alone. The real Kathryn Janeway, the one who emerged from her cocoon
on our return, could charm a bee away from a flower, a dog away from a
bone, a Ferengi away from a foreclosure sale. Every eye turned to her
when she entered a room. She was a force of nature.

I wondered if this sudden change in my view of her might be part of
the "shadow" problem. I knew from my years in Starfleet that you
should never judge a fellow officer by their on-duty deportment alone.
"Meet the parents," the old-timers told us; "Meet the friends and find
out the hobbies." But that was impossible to do from 70,000 light
years away, and so we'd settled into a relationship that was heavily
influenced by our work. The little glimpses I had of Kathryn the
"flirt" or of her irreverent sense of humor or of her ability to charm
strangers were tiny hints of the real woman beneath, the woman whom I
could see clearly now that I was out of her shadow.

And, God, but I found that real woman attractive.

Suddenly, I wanted Kathryn to notice me again. Not that she ignored
me. We saw each other now and then, usually at some unofficial Voyager
celebration or get-together, and she always politely asked me about my
life. She kept up with what all of us were doing, though, not just me,
and she treated me with the same warm concern as the she did the rest
of the crew. I felt invisible. I felt like I was wearing my uniform
every time we talked.

I wanted her to look at me again, anew, now that I was out of her
shadow. I wanted her to see me as a man, not as her former first
officer—reliable, patient, comfortable old Commander Chakotay. I
wanted her to see me the way I saw her, as a desirable candidate for
something much more than friendship. All of the attentions of the rest
of the Federation's female population paled in comparison.

How could I turn her head? My imagination went into overtime.

I could get into some sort of trouble that would call for her to
rescue me. I liked to believe that she would rush to help me the way
she had so many times on Voyager, but I couldn't be sure she would. It
would have to be serious trouble, and she might just send someone else
to assist me. Or she might not even notice. Besides, the last thing I
needed was trouble.

I could spiral into depression and hide myself away in the dusty hills
of Idaho or Mexico like a hermit. I envisioned myself in a rustic
cabin, unshaven, dressed in rags, reduced to eating bark and bugs,
wandering the hills like a lone wolf. She might actually think I was
happy that way, I realized, and leave me out there to commune with
nature. I didn't think that would work.

Brilliant success might do the trick. I'd been fiddling with some
longer writings about the Delta Quadrant and had even been approached
by a couple of publishers about my memoirs, something more personal
and daring than the factual reports that were circulating like
wildfire in the news media. I could skirt dangerously close to events
still highly classified or intensely personal, forcing her to out into
the open. But, I couldn't do that to her. She was amazingly honest and
candid about herself with the public, and she trusted me to protect
her privacy and live up to the security strictures that applied to our
experiences.

I realized that I couldn't lower myself to anything so deliberate to
catch her eye and resigned myself to my bad fortune. Part of being an
adult is accepting things and moving on. It simply wasn't meant to be,
and I might as well accept my fate and enjoy life. After all, I was a
celebrity, too—the only surviving Maquis cell leader from before the
Dominion War and Voyager's first officer, to boot. So, I settled for a
teaching job in Arizona and gave up on ever really pursuing Kathryn
Janeway. I had enjoyed my own time in the sun, even if that period of
celebrity was fading fast.

Life in the Alpha Quadrant was dull, I realized, and there wasn't much
I could do to make it better. Life was just too easy, and people were
too complacent about how good they had it. Try as I might to move on,
I just didn't feel alive. I needed . . . what? Danger? Risk? Peril? I
thought, if nothing else, I'd like to forget that my years on Voyager
and my partnership with Kathryn had ever happened. I tried to forget.

The problem was that there was no escaping the coverage of Kathryn's
life as reported in the media. If I was a celebrity, an assumption
becoming less obvious every day, then I was probably on the "C-list"
while Kathryn was "A-list" all the way. It was as if she'd been the
first person to circumnavigate the galaxy, or walk on the surface of
the sun, or find the answer to the meaning of life. And she made the
most of every event and interview that came her way.

I was beginning to understand how Marco Polo's traveling companions
must have felt. They'd seen and experienced the same intoxicating
events and sights that he had, but they were never as celebrated or as
admired as Marco Polo was. His name had gone down in history, while
all the others were long forgotten, and Kathryn Janeway was getting
the same kind of credit. You'd think that the rest of Voyager's crew
had just stood around watching while Kathryn carried us home on her
back. I know I'm whining. I don't mean to whine, but, after all, it
was a team effort.

But I digress.

If Kathryn had gone through a series of men one after the other, I
probably would have just smiled and told myself that she was searching
for someone who is as well suited to her as I am. I know what you're
thinking—what an ego. But the fact was that I had gone through a
series of women looking for someone to replace her to no avail; is it
so wrong to want her to experience the same aggravation and
disappointment I had?

She did date around a little at first. She was often shown on the
newsvids attending various functions, and I saw her with a number of
well-known men. But Kathryn isn't a casual person when it comes to
relationships. She likes stability and familiarity, someone who knows
and understands the pressures she's under in her busy career. Soon
enough, she settled on one particular fellow who must have met her
requirements. And what a choice.

Kevin Reardon was, perhaps, the most successful and revered Federation
ambassador since the Vulcan Sarek. He was a diplomat and a statesman
of the first water who was routinely consulted on political and
cultural issues because of his vast experience, incredible wisdom, and
entertaining wit. He was equally adept at handling potential fire kegs
as he was routine problems, and his opinion on issues was always
sought by politicians and military leaders throughout the Federation.
His books were considered to be the final word on whatever topic he
addressed, and when the press wanted a good "sound bite" on some topic
in the news, Reardon was more than able to deliver.

If that wasn't enough, Reardon was what the Delaney twins called a
"hunk." He was the total package. Although he was about ten years
older than Kathryn, he was in excellent physical condition thanks to a
life-long addiction to swimming, tennis, weight-lifting, and a healthy
diet. He had a deep tan, silver hair, and bright blue eyes that seemed
to smile from every news video's opening screen. He and Kathryn made a
stunning and extremely photogenic couple. They always looked to be
very happy together.

I told myself that the best revenge is to live a happy life.

I immersed myself in my teaching and began to look in earnest for a
full-time companion of my own. My students, while youthful and
alluring like Seven of Nine, were just too inexperienced and naïve to
keep my attention for long. Most of my female colleagues were married,
in long-term affairs, or burdened with failed relationships and
troubled children. In other words, I wasn't very lucky in love. While
I was enthralled with my work, I drifted in my personal life and spent
much of my free time alone.

I had imagined that the Voyager crew would somehow stick together,
that there would be frequent informal reunions and an annual
celebration attended by one and all. Not so. While it's remarkable
that Voyager covered 70,000 light years in such a short period of
time, it isn't all that strange for a crew to be gone seven years,
even if it isn't the norm in modern times. Many of the crew decided to
put their long exile behind them and tried to erase the memories like
a bad dream. Many simply didn't look back.

The result was that the crew scattered. Only the senior staff stayed
in relatively close contact, and even then it was largely through
subspace communication, not face-to-face meetings. I was closest to
B'Elanna Torres, Miguel Ayala, Chell, and most of the Maquis, but the
Starfleet crew was immediately reabsorbed into their careers. It was
only through B'Elanna's connection to the Paris family that I got any
real "inside" news about Kathryn, and that was infrequent, at best.

One day, a year or so after our return, I was asked to write a paper
on the blending of diverse crews as a part of a research project for
an upper-level Academy course being developed for students in the
command track. I was flattered by the invitation and accepted without
a moment's hesitation. The course director was interested in my
insight as a Maquis captain as much as in my experience as Voyager's
first officer, and I was gratified to think that this was a field I
was more than qualified to discuss. I threw myself into the assignment
with enthusiasm. I knew I had a great deal to offer, and I had a
unique perspective on blending crews.

I was even more thrilled when I my paper resulted in a short-term
contract to assist the instructors with the finalization of the
course's structure and content. I arrived at Starfleet Academy with a
PADD full of ideas and was ushered to a small but comfortable office
with a narrow window that overlooked the back of the building and
provided a spectacular view of the loading dock and the parking garage
next door. A civilian contractor shouldn't expect a corner office, I
told myself, and besides, I could see the sun and sky—if I got down on
my knees and pressed myself against the wall to the right of the
window.

By noon, I met the department chair, Admiral Hronsby, downloaded all
my preliminary work into the computer, and got to know the rest of the
team—a Vulcan, a Bolian, a Bajoran, and a Klingon. I realized, then,
that I was the token human on the team, but I didn't mind.

In the next month, we outlined the semester-long course, suggested a
series of readings from relevant sources, designed a research paper
assignment, wrote four exams, and programmed a series of holographic
experiences designed to expose the cadets to a variety of challenging
situations. I was feeling pretty cocky about the quality of the course
and envisioned myself joining the faculty full time with an office
that had a real view. I thought such a dramatic rise in my Starfleet
fortunes would be sure to get Kathryn's attention at last.

I left for a weekend camping trip to Montana feeling pretty sure of
myself. We were more than ready for the preliminary review of the
course that was scheduled for Monday afternoon, and I needed a break
from the long hours we'd put in during the last few weeks. I felt sure
that some time outdoors hiking and fishing would be the perfect way to
prepare for the questions the department chair would have for our
planned course.

Much to my chagrin, a glitch in the transporter net stranded me in
Montana until late Monday morning. I wasn't even able to call in and
let them know what had happened. Although I was late for work, I
wasn't too worried about it. I would be there in time for the meeting
at 1300, and I knew we were more than ready to make a good impression
on Admiral Hronsby.

I arrived at the department about noon to find the entire suite of
offices empty. It took me nearly thirty minutes to track down the
team's administrative assistant in the cafeteria.

"Where is everybody?" I asked him. "Don't we have that big briefing at
1300?"

"It was moved to 0830, sir."

"It was? Damn."

"And it ended at 0900."

I couldn't believe my ears. The briefing was designed to last at least
three hours and include a trip to the Academy's holodeck, yet it had
ended in only thirty minutes? After a moment of adjustment, I asked
him what had happened to make the briefing end so prematurely.

The yeoman shrugged. "The other admiral, the one that moved up the
time of the briefing, didn't like it."

"What's not to like?"

"They had several pages of notes, sir. They all went back to holodeck
programming to work on it."

I thanked him for the information and headed back to the office. I
wanted to see if they'd left the notes for my review before I joined
them, and I wanted to pick up a few things on the way—like maybe a
resignation form. I imagined some cocky young admiral interrupting the
briefing with a series of idealistic, naïve, impossible-to-answer
questions, and the rest of the team, all dutiful Starfleet officers,
being too shocked and tongue-tied to mount a decent defense. Well, I
wasn't about to be intimidated by anybody.

I found a note on my computer from Res Notan, the team's Bajoran
member, with a few choice comments about being back at square one on
the holodeck exercises. She attached a list of comments from the
admiral, most of which were aimed directly at portions I had
personally designed, and the news infuriated me so much that I
seriously considered quitting right then and there and going back to
Arizona.

Instead, I threw my few belongings into a bag and was on my way to the
holodeck facility when I noticed some activity in the department
chair's office. I decided to stop by and give Admiral Hronsby a piece
of my mind about this outsider who dared to criticize our hard work. I
also wanted to know what had been so important to keep him from
reviewing our course himself, as we had planned. When I saw that his
aide was gone, probably at lunch, too, I brazenly entered his office
unannounced.

"Admiral Hronsby," I said, hearing him moving about in the private
portion of his office, "who the hell is this know-it-all admiral you
let come in and tear our course apart?"

The aide, who must have been coming down the hallway as I walked into
the admiral's office, came rushing up behind me. "Sir, you should know
that . . . "

"That'll be all, Yeoman," I interrupted him in no uncertain terms.

"But, sir," he started again.

"Dismissed," I said, pointing at the door and watching him wilt in
resignation. "This is between the admiral and me."

Once the aide retreated, I turned back to the desk and the invisible
Admiral Hronsby, who was, I assumed, getting something to eat from his
replicator, since I could smell the unmistakable aroma of coffee
drifting from his "personal office."

"Does this admiral know how many hours we've spent on this course in
the last month? Way too many to simply throw it out the airlock, sir!
Those scenarios are detailed illustrations of exactly the points we've
covered in the readings. And, besides, has this admiral had any
experience at all with blended crews? Has he ever been faced with the
complexity of such a challenge?" I paused, still angry, and collapsed
into an overstuffed chair. "Sir, I'd appreciate the chance to hear
directly from the admiral exactly what it was he found wrong with
those scenarios."

"She found them too simplistic."

When I heard Kathryn's voice coming from the back of the office, I
realized that the aide had been trying to warn me that I wasn't
talking to Hronsby, at all. I looked up to find Kathryn gazing at me
over the edge of a large mug of coffee, her eyes narrowed. I'm afraid
I stared at her with my mouth hanging open in surprise.

"Y . . . y . . . you?" I finally stuttered, knowing I sounded like an
idiot. I started to get to my feet. "You were the admiral who took
Hronsby's place?"

She smiled slightly and waved me back into the chair. "Ray Hronsby
stepped down as department chair over the weekend because his wife has
been diagnosed with Rigellin fever and is going to need a lot of
attention if she hopes to recover completely. He asked me to look into
the finalization of this course until a new department chair could be
named."

I sat in the chair and stared at her. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope
she gets better soon."

"We all do." She sat down and put aside the coffee mug, clasping her
hands in front of her as she returned to the matter at hand. "I never
said the scenarios were bad, Chakotay. I just said they needed greater
complexity and less of a black and white solution. You can do better,
I think."

"Complexity?" I echoed, struggling to process her comments. "Less of a
black and white solution?"

She leaned forward, studying me carefully. "Chakotay, are you all
right?"

As if on cue, my stomach growled, and I realized that I hadn't had
anything to eat since early morning. "I'm sorry," I said, feeling a
blush crawl up my neck. "I've been fighting transporter control all
morning trying to get here from Montana. I haven't had lunch."

"I haven't eaten lunch, either. " She laughed, pushing her chair back.
"Why don't we go get something to eat and talk?"

"Okay." I followed her from the office and endured a death glare from
the yeoman.

"We'll be at the officer's mess," Kathryn said as she led me from the
room. We walked in silence for a few minutes, and then she said,
"Chakotay, you aren't acting like yourself."

"I'm just surprised to see you, that's all. I thought you were all
caught up in the Romulan situation."

"I am. Ray needed someone to review this course, and he thought of me.
That's all."

Just my luck, I thought to myself. Well, at least I have her undivided
attention, for once. We walked through the cafeteria line picking up
our food and found a secluded table where we could talk. I wondered
whether to continue our conversation on an official level or resort to
something more personal.

As usual, Kathryn took charge. "You disagree with my assessment of
your scenarios, I'm assuming."

"Really, Kathryn, there is no way you could have reviewed them in any
detail in less than thirty minutes."

"You're right. I went through all four of them yesterday afternoon."

I sat back, stunned, realizing that I should have anticipated that
she'd continued her workaholic ways. "I don't believe it, Kathryn.
Don't you have something better to do on your weekends?"

She laughed heartily and then gave me a wicked look. "Don't be
impertinent, mister," she warned, pointing at me with her salad fork.
"I assure you that I have a personal life, if that's what you're
implying."

"Oh, don't I know," I answered, embarrassed that I'd made such a
sarcastic and potentially hurtful comment, but then even more shocked
when I plunged on and made the matter worse. "You and your boyfriend,
Kevin Reardon, are the dynamic duo of the airwaves. I'd have to be
deaf and blind not to know about your illustrious love life."

Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth and then slowly returned to the
plate. I didn't have the courage to look her in the eye. "Chakotay,"
she said softly, "have I done something to upset you? Do these
holodeck programs mean so much to you that constructive criticism is a
personal affront?"

I was blushing worse than ever. "Of course not," I said, finally
looking at her and seeing the concern in her eyes. "What if we start
at the beginning? Forget the last five minutes ever happened and
return to square one?"

"All right." The ball was obviously in my court, but I didn't have a
clue what to say. She waited a full minute, and when she realized that
I was floundering, she smiled and put her hand on mine. "You know, I'm
glad to see you, Chakotay. I've missed you."

"You have?" I was surprised at the obvious emotion in my voice.
"Really?"

"Really. I jumped at the chance to work with you on this class. I was
so excited about it that I came in yesterday to get caught up on what
I'd missed so far."

"I . . . I've missed you, too," I admitted.

"I never hear from you. I have to rely on Tom and B'Elanna to find out
what you're doing."

"You never contact me either. They tell me what you're doing, too." I
couldn't help but grin. "So does the Federation news."

She laughed. "I'm so tired of all that. The notoriety is a burden I'd
gladly give away, not to mention the scrutiny of my private life." She
took a bite of salad and chewed thoughtfully. "I don't know what's
worse, Chakotay. I had no real personal life on Voyager, but I did
have a modicum of privacy. Now . . . ."

"Now you have a personal life and no privacy."

"I guess that would seem to be the opposite, but the truth is that you
can't have a personal life unless you have privacy." She shook her
head sadly. "The truth is that now I have neither one."

"What about Reardon?"

She gave me a long look and rolled her eyes. "Have you ever met
Kevin?"

I shook my head in reply. "I don't travel in the same circles you do,
Kathryn."

"Well, that isn't such a bad thing, really. If I never go to another
diplomatic reception it will be too soon." She leaned forward and
lowered her voice. "Kevin is, of course, the perfect man when viewed
from afar. But he's a very successful man, and you know the true price
of great success in one's career, don't you?"

I wondered what she meant for a minute, and then my eyes widened in
surprise. We'd discussed this very thing on Voyager many times. She
was talking about herself in a roundabout way. "Great sacrifices," I
breathed.

"Great personal sacrifices," she repeated, leaning her head on her
hand. "He has no family, you know, nor does he want one. To Kevin, I'm
a useful celebrity who provides a good, safe topic of conversation
during receptions, the best possible companion for a diplomat. Oh, he
cares for me, I'm sure, as much as he's ever cared for anything other
than his work. And he's remarkably undemanding of my time. It's
'convenient' for both of us."

I was so surprised by her comments that I simply stared at her.
Finally, I said, "And you, Kathryn? You're willing to settle for a
relationship like this?"

"I thought that I would be ready to connect with someone once we got
home. I wasn't prepared for the way I was surrounded by people all the
time." She smiled and looked away. "Especially the men. Chakotay,
there were times that I thought I might be torn to bits by my 'adoring
fans.' Even as public as our 'relationship' is, Kevin shields me from
most of that."

I was stunned. "So, what are you saying, Kathryn? That your
relationship with him isn't real?"

"Pitiful, isn't it?" She smirked and pushed her dishes away in favor
of a large mug of coffee. "Home again, and instead of getting on with
my life, I find a new safety net."

My mind took me back five years to our first contact with the Alpha
Quadrant. The memory reminded me of so much painful loss--almost all
of the Maquis, the cause that had given my life meaning, murdered and
gone forever. And Kathryn's quiet, private hopes of returning to Mark,
just as ruined. We'd been caught off-balance, and the easy rhythm of
our flirtation was never the same again, because now, more than ever
before, "we" could be together.

"I had no idea it was like that," I told her. "I thought you were
happy."

She ignored my comment in favor of something much more relevant. "My
life is a lot like those scenarios you wrote. Superficial. Simplistic.
They lack the 'horn of the bull.'"

"As in bull fighting." I nodded. "You mean there is no sense of real
peril in the situations?"

She rubbed her forehead with her hand. "Exactly. But, I'm not sure
it's possible to simulate the real danger of deep space on the
holodeck. I know that nothing I experienced before I met the Caretaker
really prepared me for the Delta Quadrant."

"I do understand," I told her. "But the cadets will always know the
scenario isn't real. I think you're asking the impossible."

"Yes, I am, Chakotay," she answered, her eyes miserable, "because
that's what space will demand from them--the impossible. Their very
breath. Their life's blood. Their soul."

I felt a sudden rush of compassion for her, and for all of us, as we
struggled to come to terms with the dull routine of Federation life. I
was tired and exhausted at the memory of all we had endured. And yet,
strangely, I also missed it. I missed the "horn of the bull" that had
been the very fabric of our lives in the Delta Quadrant. She was
struggling with the same feelings I was, I realized, and she was
silently asking for help.

"Kathryn, tell me what's wrong."

"Not here." She stood up, and I saw tears glistening in her eyes.
"Let's walk."

We left the officer's mess and found a bench in a quiet area of the
gardens that surround the Academy. She sat down and stared into the
distance for a long time and I sat beside her, listening to the muted
sounds of the life around us.

"I'm numb, Chakotay. I feel flat and bored and restless." She turned
toward me and brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.
"Am I the only one still trying to get my balance?"

I shook my head. "I feel the same way. I'm sure many of us do."

She slid closer to me, put her elbow on the back of the bench, and
absently rubbed her temple as I'd seen her do a thousand times in the
ready room. "What can we do about it?"

I was thrilled to be talking to her this way, overjoyed to experience
the old familiar intimate friendship we'd shared for so many years.
For the first time in months, I felt alive. "The counselors haven't
helped you?"

"Did they help you?" she demanded, smiling when I rolled my eyes.

"They don't really understand."

"No, they don't. No one can, Chakotay. What we lived through . . .
what we shared was both unique and profoundly personal. There are
times when they just brush it aside as a deep-space interlude, and
when I explain that it was life and death . . . ," she drew a
shuddering breath, " . . . life and death, Chakotay, every single day!
They just nod and agree. But they don't know. They don't get it."

"There were times when the only thing that kept me sane was the sound
of your voice."

"For me, it was your eyes."

She looked up at me and, I swear, I felt the earth shift beneath us.
Our eyes locked, and I held my hand out to her, a silent plea, an
unspoken cry for help. She took my hand and then was sitting in my lap
with her arms around me as she sobbed into my neck and I buried my
face in her hair.

For the first time in all the years we'd been together, I said the
things I'd always hidden in my heart--how beautiful she was, how noble
and brave, how her simple presence in a room brought me peace, how
deeply, how completely I loved her, how I couldn't live another day
without her.

And she begged me to forgive her for hiding her feelings behind her
rank and promised that she would make it up to me for the rest of her
life. She said, again and again, that she loved me and needed me
beside her, until she laughed about being caught in a feedback loop.
But I'll never tire of hearing her say she loves me. Never.

I don't remember many details from the rest of that fateful Monday
afternoon. Kathryn sent a modified list of corrections to the team,
and we worked hard that week to finish the course to her satisfaction.
Once my work obligation ended, she took two weeks' leave and returned
to Montana with me for a much-needed vacation. Neither of us had the
strength or the inclination to fight the unavoidable bond between us
any longer. We discovered that the road to peace and happiness was in
each other's arms, and the only counselor we needed to help us find
the missing balance in our lives was each other.

I didn't choose who would be my partner in life. I don't deny that
there was a lightning flash of recognition when I first met Kathryn
Janeway on Voyager's bridge or a continuing ache for her over the next
few years, but that feeling was muted, ignored, and repressed to the
point that I no longer recognized it as love.

But it was love, all right, the best kind of love.

It was a miracle.

---

The End