The BLTS Archive-Ohio
by monkee (wiecek@earthlink.net)

---

Archive: yes

Disclaimers: Paramount owns Star Trek Voyager and it's characters.

Summary: The obligatory 'they get home' story - this time, it's a
happy one! And the result of a challenge to myself to come up with a
fanfic set in Ohio, where I find myself living, albeit reluctantly...

---

I'm trying to be as quiet as possible as I root around in this barely
familiar kitchen, but I finally manage to locate what I need to make
myself a cup of tea. I had to tiptoe down the stairs for fear of
waking Mom and Phoebe. They'd be concerned if they knew that I was
still awake, but I don't feel like talking to anyone right now. I just
need some time to myself.

I head over to the couch and curl up to drink my tea and relax. After
a couple of sips, I set the tea aside. It tastes funny, although I
know there's nothing wrong with it. It's just not what I'm used to.
Back on Voyager, I could call up a half dozen more comforting
varieties of herbal tea -- all Chakotay's blends, but now...

Voyager has been back for almost two weeks now. In the end, our return
was somewhat anticlimactic. Sensors detected a wormhole. We sent in a
probe, and for once had no problems receiving telemetry from it.
Within minutes we knew.  The wormhole originated in the alpha
quadrant. It appeared to be stable for the moment, so in we went! We
were unceremoniously dumped back into Federation space within hours.
It was all so...abrupt.

The first week back was sheer chaos. Endless debriefings with
Starfleet, hurried conversations with my staff and crew, countless
interviews. Things that I had expected to be a problem, simply weren't
issues at all. My former Maquis crewmembers were exonerated with no
strings attached. In light of the recent war with Cardassia, it seems
that no one was interested in bringing the Maquis to 'justice' anymore
- after all, they had been right about the Cardassians all along...I
was genuinely surprised, and in a way, almost disappointed. Here I'd
girded myself for righteous battle, but it just didn' t even really
come up.

Then there were other things that I simply hadn't given much thought
to, things that that turned out to be priorities. Starfleet is
concerned about the psychological well being of my crew -- now that
we've returned home after our extraordinary odyssey. The entire crew
was split up into small groups for a couple of impromptu 'transitional
therapy' sessions.

We were advised to contact the families and loved ones that we left
behind,and to avoid our Voyager colleagues for a week or two, to
give ourselves a chance to adjust. We were cautioned against making
any major life decisions for a while.  At the time, it seemed like
sensible advice. I called together my crew and senior staff and
informed them that we had all been granted three months of leave. I
arranged for everyone to meet in two weeks at my family home in
Indiana for a Voyager reunion, but encouraged them to go their
separate ways until then.

And, for a few days, it was wonderful. Just being with Mom again, in
the place where I grew up, was very soothing to my soul. Phoebe came
up from Kentucky, and it was just like old times. I looked up some of
my old friends, and went back to all of my favorite haunts. I spent an
entire afternoon up in my willow tree!

But now, a week into our self-imposed exile, I'm starting to feel a
little restless and ill at ease.  I miss the rhythm of life on Voyager
-- the different shifts, the predictable personalities, the joking
around, the laughter, and the shared goal of exploring space and
getting home. Here, now, I feel like my life is in a holding pattern.
I have no idea what's going to happen next. I've requested that I
continue to command Voyager, with as many of my former crew as
possible, but I haven't received an answer yet. I'm sure that
Starfleet is as confused as I am. I don't think that they 're even
sure if Voyager herself will remain in active service. I hope so --
she's a fine ship.

I know that there's some speculation in Starfleet about promoting me,
and I honestly don't know how I feel about that. I'm honored,
certainly, but I'm not sure that I'm ready to be an Admiral. It seems
to me that I'm better suited to the duties of a Captain...It's very
disconcerting to have no idea where I'll find myself in three months,
six months, a year...

Abandoning my tea, I get up and move over to the window, pulling the
lace curtains aside to look out at the night. There's a full moon, and
the pale light reflects off of the fields and the trees near the
house. I glance up at the sky and can't help but smile at the familiar
constellations. For at least the hundredth time during the past week,
I wonder how Chakotay is doing. I don't even know where he is,
although I assume that he returned to Dorvan, which is now back in
Federation territory.

I miss everyone from Voyager, of course, but when I think of Chakotay,
I feel a loss that seems almost physical, as though a crucial part of
myself is just...gone. I miss his soft voice, his gentle smile, his
unwavering support, his company -- his presence.  We became so close
on Voyager -- I honestly consider him the best friend that I've ever
had. I once told him that I couldn't imagine a day without him, and
here I've just been forced to live through seven of them...

I always told myself that if we got back to the Alpha quadrant before
we were old and gray, and if neither of us were committed to someone
else, maybe Chakotay and I would be free to explore some of our deeper
feelings for each other. Now, I'm not so sure. I pushed him away so
many times -- I think it may be too late. That saddens me, although I
know that it couldn't be any other way.  I don't know what the future
holds for us...

I actually went to see Mark a couple of days ago. I met his wife, and
she seemed like a lovely woman. It was still a little awkward, though.
I wanted to retrieve Molly, but she barely seemed to recognize me, and
in the end, I just told Mark to keep her. I couldn't very well take
her from the only home that she's known for seven years. I certainly
know how THAT feels.

Suddenly, I recognize what I'm feeling. I'm homesick! I've finally
gotten home, and now I'm homesick! If it weren't so pathetic, it would
be funny...

The communication console on the desk beeps softly, and I go over to
investigate. It's probably a reporter -- they call at all hours, day
and night, and it's gotten so annoying that we don't even bother
responding to incoming calls unless we know who is sending them. But
this is a name that I recognize, and I sit down on the chair eagerly,
unable to suppress a small laugh, and I activate the viewscreen.

---

I'm not sure what response I'm expecting when she appears on the
screen, but she surprises me. She smiles instantly - a warm, real
smile, not the command smile that was frozen on her face the week we
got back. She places her fingers gently on the screen, as if she is
trying to reach through it to touch me. In her eyes I see genuine
affection, and something else that I don 't recognize at first.
Uncertainty, perhaps?

"Hey," she says, softly, "I've missed you!"

I've obviously caught her with her guard down. Her open expression of
happiness evokes a surge of optimism within me, and before I even
realize what I'm doing, my fingers are touching the image of hers on
the screen.

I can't speak at first, and I'm struggling to suppress the hope. It's
too dangerous. She and I have unwittingly hurt each other with that
hope too many times over the years.

Finally, I manage to say something. I try to keep my voice steady, and
I think that I manage a normal enough smile. "I miss you, too, and
somehow I KNEW that you would be awake at this hour."

Her smile turns a little sheepish, and she shrugs. "Couldn't sleep.
Where are you?"

"I'm visiting my cousin in Ohio -- except he got called away a few
days ago, so he's not here anymore."

"Ohio," she muses, almost to herself, "practically right next door..."
She refocuses on my eyes and says, questioningly, "I figured that
you'd be on Dorvan."

I can't hold back a sigh. I'm reluctant to burden her with my
feelings; after all, she surely is having her own difficulties
adjusting. But I have no one else to talk to about this -- whatever
else she may be to me; she is, above all, my closest friend.

I swallow and begin. "I may visit Dorvan sometime, I'd like to -- but
right now, well..."

She's looking at me intently, her eyes full of compassion and
understanding. She is always willing to listen -- it's what made our
command relationship work so well, and our friendship. She is waiting
for me to continue, so I do.

"There really isn't anyone there that I want to see. I don't know, I
can't seem to find my place here," I admit. "I was fine at first, even
after my cousin had to leave, but now I'm kind of at loose ends. Even
my spirit guide seems restless."

"I feel the same way," she confesses, with a rueful smile. "Ironic,
isn't it? We're home, but we still feel lost."

"I want to see you," I blurt out.

She draws in a sharp breath, and I think that I see tears in her eyes.
'You're pushing, Chakotay,' I think, but before I can regret the rash
statement, she responds.

 "I'd like that." It is almost a whisper, like she can't believe that
she's saying it. I know that I can't.

"We aren't supposed to," I remind her.

She leans towards the screen and says, conspiratorially, "I can't
begin to tell you how sick I am of doing what I'm supposed to!"

I laugh, and my attention is drawn to something that I see behind her.
I nod towards it, "Is that a transporter console?"

She glances back and replies, "It is. My father..."

"That's right. Your father was an Admiral." I knew that, of course.
"There's a transport station just two kilometers from my cousin's
cabin. Why don't you beam over? I'll meet you there."

"NOW?" she asks, incredulous. It is, after all, the middle of the
night. I'm about to suggest, instead, that we meet for breakfast, just
like old times, but she surprises me again.

"All right!" Her eyes are twinkling, and she is enthusiastic and
animated, like this is the best idea she's heard all day. "Transmit
the coordinates and I'll meet you there in, what, twenty minutes?"

I laugh -- she never does ANYTHING halfway. "Give me twenty-five, so I
don't actually have to run!" I transmit the coordinates and she
verifies them.

"Twenty-five minutes, then..." she says, again touching the screen,
her smile fading. I return the gesture with a full heart, not even
able to smile, because this feels...serious. I'm starting to have
trouble reining in my unbridled optimism. I remember to breathe
again, and respond softly, "See you soon."

---

Twenty-five minutes! Have I lost my mind? I shouldn't be doing this.
It's insane!

But is it really? Sometimes, back on Voyager, when neither of us could
sleep, we'd meet in the middle of the night like this. Have some tea
and talk, or stroll around the decks. This is no different.

He's my best friend! Why should I force myself to say away from him
for some specific allotment of time?  It's just a bunch of Starfleet
psychobabble. We need each other right now. He needs someone to talk
to.  I've been so absorbed in my own homecoming; I hadn't considered
how unsettling it must be for him, without anyone to come home too,
not really. Especially with the Maquis gone.

I look around the room, trying to decide what I need to do first. It
suddenly seems...small. Comforting, but small, and too...safe. I
deposit my teacup in the sink and head upstairs.

I am twice as careful to be quiet now. If Phoebe wakes up, she'll ask
me too many questions that I don't have answers for. I dress quietly,
pulling on my favorite casual dress and some lightweight walking
shoes. The dress is blue and I've always known that he likes it, too.

I creep silently back down the stairs. I freeze when one of them
creaks -- but no one stirs, so I let out a breath and continue. I
leave a note for Mom, feeling vaguely guilty, like a teenager sneaking
out of the house.

I program the transporter with the coordinates that Chakotay sent, and
set it for a ten-second time delay. I stand on the pad, and take a
deep breath just before the room gradually fades from view...

---

My eyes fill with tears as she materializes into solid reality before
me. She tries to speak, but opts instead to move into my arms and we
stand there for what seems like an eternity.  It's a peaceful embrace
and we're just standing together, close, breathing in unison. It feels
to me like everything is settled in this first moment together, but I
don't want to be presumptuous, and I don't want to scare her by moving
too fast. I can't resist stroking her hair a few times, though. She's
wearing the blue dress that I love on her -- I wonder if she knows...

We pull apart reluctantly -- both of us suddenly remembering that we
aren't alone here. She smiles and nods an acknowledgement and thank
you to the transporter technician. I reach out -- she takes my hand
and we step from the building into the night.

We haven't seen each other for a full seven days, so at first we have
a lot to catch up on. We talk easily about our conflicting feelings
about being 'home', and the uncertainty of the future of our ship and
crew. We share a few anecdotes about family -- she updates me on her
mother and sister's lives, and I tell her a little bit about my
cousin.

On the main road, the full moon is enough to light our way, but when
we turn onto the trail that leads to my cousin's cabin, I switch on
the palm beacon. The trail is narrow, and not maintained, so we walk
cautiously, avoiding roots and fallen logs. We are forced to walk
single file, but we are careful not to break contact -- I have not let
go of her hand since we left the transport station.

In these woods, I am leading her, for a change -- but we slip into our
new roles easily. Some of the fallen trees blocking our way are quite
large, and I turn to help her over them. Sometimes my hand lingers on
her waist a fraction longer than is necessary, and she gives me a
bemused half smile, but I notice that she is a little slow to
relinquish her hold on my arm.

We are quiet for the most part now, needing to concentrate on our
footing. It feels a little surreal to be walking hand-in-hand through
these dark woods with her, especially since only an hour ago I was
agonizing over whether or not to try to contact her.  I have the sense
that we are embarking on a wondrous new journey together. I wonder if
she feels it too. I hope that she does.

After a particularly steep climb, we both stop to catch our breath.
There are many breaks in the canopy of leaves overhead, and the moon
is shining through one of them. I shut the beacon off and we both
survey the area in silence. It is not an orderly looking forest. There
are small, scraggly trees interspersed with unusually large ones, and
there are many vines dangling around us. There is a great deal of
underbrush. Still, there is a stark and primitive beauty to the place.
We are standing next to a towering oak tree with a trunk over a meter
and a half in diameter.

"I've been here before," she says suddenly, the unexpected sound of
her voice startling me. "Isn't this Dysart Woods?"

"It is," I reply, genuinely surprised. Not many people have even heard
of it. "I can't believe that you know the place!"

"I came here in high school, for a field trip," she tells me, "Even in
the dark, I recognized it. It's hard to believe that it's been
preserved for so long in its virgin state."

She touches the base of the oak tree reverently and looks up in awe at
the first branches, way over our heads. "Imagine, Chakotay," she says,
"This tree could be six HUNDRED years old!" She lets go of my hand and
walks around the tree, running her fingers gently over the bark.
Watching her, I am reminded of one of the countless reasons that I
fell in love with her -- her boundless curiosity and enthusiasm for
everything around her. I am not the least bit surprised that she
remembers a high school field trip from thirty years ago. Her
expression of keen interest combined with enchantment takes ten years
away from her face. God, she is beautiful.

She is still talking -- saying something else about the forest -- but
I haven' t heard a word of it. I'm too caught up in the moment. She
looks over at me and her voice trails off. I realize that, as usual, I
am staring at her in completely undisguised adoration. But this time,
there is no need for me to bury the feelings and school my features.
This time, I can let her see the way I feel. I want her to see the way
I feel.

She takes a deep breath, then watches silently as I walk up to her. We
stand facing each other -- the air between us heavy now with
anticipation and possibilities. It is time to alter the parameters of
out relationship forever, and we are both a little uncertain as to how
to go about it.

I end the deadlock by reaching up and touching her cheek. She inhales
sharply, then closes her eyes briefly when I brush my thumb over her
lips. She captures my hand and kisses my palm, looking straight into
my eyes and exhaling slowly. It's the only sign that I need.

"Kathryn," I say, softly, "Will you let me in now?"

A tear trickles down her cheek and I brush it gently away. "I want
to," she whispers, "I just didn't want to assume..."

"God, Kathryn," I whisper back, pulling her to me, "I think that it's
safe to assume..."

Our first kiss is soft and slow. We waited a long time for this moment
and we are both determined to hold onto it. She caresses my face, and
I slowly wind my fingers into her hair.  I move one of my hands down
to stroke the skin on her neck and gently trace her collarbone,
reveling in her small gasps of pleasure. It is such a joy to be able
to touch her, openly, without reservation. She is running her hands
boldly all over my chest and arms. It occurs to me that it must be an
enormous relief to her as well, to finally be able to touch me like
that. She's such a tactile person. When she used to touch me on the
ship -- and she was always touching me on the ship -- I always
sensed that she was reluctant to pull away. Now, she doesn't have to.

Our kisses are getting more serious. I moan when she opens my lips
with her tongue and backs me up against the old oak tree, pressing
firmly against me. It's a little too cool in these woods, a little too
damp -- the ground beneath us is a little too rough -- but as things
heat up between us, the imperfections of the setting are seeming less
and less important. My breath catches as she begins to unbutton my
shirt.

Mistaking my reaction for reluctance, she stops and looks at me in
concern. An alarmed expression crosses her face, and she asks,
"Chakotay, Is this land sacred in some way?"

"Oh, God," I say, my voice hoarse, "Yes."

She starts to step back, but I hold her to me. "It's sacred to me," I
tell her quietly, almost right into her mouth, "because it's where you
and I are going to make love for the first time."

We're both crying as our lips meet again. I guide her away from the
tree and lower her onto a bed of oak leaves. At this moment, I am
convinced that everything has unfolded between us the way that it was
meant to. Nothing has ever felt so right to me.

---

I sob his name loudly when he presses into me. In the split second
before I am overwhelmed by the sensations, I look up at his face. God,
he is so beautiful. He is beginning to move over me and, behind him, I
catch a glimpse of the night sky: the full moon, the ancient trees,
and the familiar constellations. In that moment, I realize that I am
really home. We are  home. And we will face the future, together.

---

The End