PART FIFTEEN: REPOS AILLEURS

 

The present, circa 2379.

 

When firs rose up to touch the silver cloud

and melodies from larks and lutes their way

to bruiséd hearts did find, proclaimed aloud

it was her face that led his heart astray...

                                   

                                                vanhunks

 

A blustery wind had sprung up and the ocean had begun its noisy offensive against the boulders just north of where Kathryn sat on a rug, reading. The dogs had run off after Ethan, quickly transferring their loyalty from their new mistress to him the moment he got up and decided to walk the length of the short stretch of beach. They bounded alongside him, panting, barking, their tails wagging, so full of energy that it was Ethan who had a hard time catching up.

 

The landscape never ceased to amaze her. It appeared to shift, to change with the mood of the ocean or the winds. Pristine white beaches formed like half moons, ending in  rocky promontories that paused occasionally with shallow rock pools before connecting, like a giant chain, with the unseen beach on the other side always surprised the viewer. Then there were the sandstone cliffs towering above the shore like avenging angels, plunging to depths of a hundred metres.

 

The day she arrived on Ethan's property, she had landed her shuttle on the cliff, quite close to the edge, according to him. It still gave her shivers that she could have died, plunged to her death, or later, even worse, died of exposure if he hadn't found her.

 

She dispelled those thoughts and tried to concentrate on her book. The morning glow had, unnoticed, slowly made way for the azure sky in which the sun had bathed it. Earlier, she had gazed at the deep red glow, completely awed as she breathed in the scene. The words of Omar Khayyam had sprung to mind:

 

"Awake! For Morning in the Bowl of Night

Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight…"

 

It never mattered to her whether the setting was the desert or an isolated shore… The same sense of wonder would be instilled in anyone who had the receptive soul to appreciate nature in its most magnificent, elemental form. She had gazed at the growing red sun, thinking illogically how the stars flee in the wake of the approaching force of day. But looking upon nature with such a heart suppressed for a moment only the scientist, and gave birth to the poet, the dreamer, the painter….

 

Kathryn put the book down on her lap, gazing in the distance where Ethan was running the dogs. She smiled. Conor and Keira were Irish Setters, little bigger than large pups, like active teenagers in dog terms, that Ethan had surprised her with in May.

 

She had been deeply asleep after a long day at the office. Too many late nights spent with Mike Ayala assisting, then taking work home to her apartment. Several diplomatic missions were planned with constant meetings which kept her desk-bound. She had left on the Friday and made the short trip to Beaver's Lodge in great haste only to find that Ethan wasn't home. He had left no note, nothing to indicate when he'd return. It was so like Ethan. He didn't mind her coming and going whenever it pleased her. He had told her succinctly, "Old recluses never die" and then promptly disappeared into his office and hammered out three thousand words of a short story. Ethan would return and he'd probably wake her up in the morning.

 

She had prepared herself a meal and sat on the deck to enjoy it. She had reread the final chapters of Warrior Mine, Ethan's last novel. So engrossed had she been that only when she couldn't see the text anymore, had she realised that it was dark. She had gone to bed, listening to the gentle strains of a Chopin nocturne.

 

She must have fallen asleep because she started gasping for air as she felt tongues lapping excitedly at her cheeks, her face, her closed eyes, her hair, her nose, her hands which tried to determine the origin of the tongues, for she sensed they were tongues. And they were wet and drooly! Her whole face was wet. When she opened her eyes, Ethan was sitting on the side of the bed, and the owners of the tongues were yelping excitedly as they vied for her attention. They dug into her bosom with their tiny paws, licking and panting. How could two such cuties like her instantly? And, she realised, stunned, it was already morning! Light was filtering through the window and the doggies kept up their burrowing against her.

 

"Ethan! Where? What…?" she sputtered as she caught the two pups, struggled to sit up in bed and held them close to her. "They're adorable!"

 

"Happy birthday, Kathryn," he had said drily as he took one pup from her.

 

"Happy - ? Oh!"

 

"May 20th. I thought women never forgot…"

 

And before she had time to mull over the absence of her mother, of Phoebe, of Chakotay and everyone else who had been such a part of her life before, Ethan had drawn her close and kissed her gently, lingeringly. For a moment she had been confused at the current that passed through her at the touch of his lips on hers. When she let out a little moan, he released her immediately. He had become instantly inscrutable, as if he  wasn't aware of the effect his touch had on her or that he had kissed her.

 

"Thank you, Ethan. For thinking of me. For these two utterly adorable cuties!"

 

"They're the offspring of Molly, Kathryn."

 

She had stared blankly at him for a second, feeling how the moistness in her eyes threatened to blur her vision. It did blur her vision, for Ethan's hair looked like a desert mirage and the pups with their long ears became the waving fronds of palms at the oasis. Her palm against her mouth had stifled the sob she had tried to contain. Then she had thrown herself in his arms and rested her head against his chest, only releasing him quickly when the puppies cried in their agitation of being squashed by them. Mark had kept Molly until she died, but her pups had been sold. She had missed Molly, had not allowed herself to be angry that Molly's pups had gone to new owners. Now Ethan had no doubt overturned the entire Federation to retrieve Molly's offspring. Probably her grandchildren by now.

 

"Thank you, Ethan. I - I…"

 

"It's my gift to you, Kathryn, for what you have done for me. So before we get mushy, we'd better feed our babies. Uh, what shall we name them?"

 

The 'we' didn't escape her and her heart rushed with pride and joy.

 

"Conor, for the boy," she said.

 

"Keira for the girl."

 

"Deal."

 

Ethan had taken the wriggling pups outside, leaving her to shower and dress. By the time she had joined them on the deck, the pups were in their baskets, fast asleep. Ethan had given her a sheepish grin, and she had wondered when she had ever seen him look so awkward.

 

"Thank you again. I missed Molly, like I missed everything that was home."

 

"I wanted to tear some flesh off Mark," he responded gruffly, "because I knew how much it must have meant to you, but…"

 

"But…?"

 

"Maybe I sensed that I would have reason to rescue Molly's offspring…for you… I knew of you when I met Wanda again after many years, just after Doctor Paris and her team rescued me from drone-hood. She said Mark loved you very much, and didn't want to intrude. Beside, he had just gotten engaged to you."

 

"The things we learn... I'm not sorry about Mark, you know. I knew that he had to move on. Many of the crew's families moved on..." She had been thoughtful a few seconds. Then, "Thank you, Ethan, for Conor and Keira. I love them already..."

 

"Happy birthday, Kathryn."

 

Again, she had given him a long, pensive look, unable to understand the changed tone in his voice, no longer so metallic, but a little softer. Perhaps she just imagined it, or perhaps it had more to do with his permanent transformation to being human again. She had walked to him where he sat in a deck chair and stroked his white mane. That was never going to change, Voyager's EMH had told him. Bending lower, she had kissed him, surprised when he held on to her, letting the touch linger.

 

Then she released him and sat back again.

 

"Thank you for remembering my birthday. I guess you asked Admiral Paris... Ethan, on Voyager the only - "

 

"You will ruin my day if you mention Chakotay."

 

She had stopped instantly, remembering the dusty boot print of a Borg drone on the photograph of Chakotay. Even in Ethan's altered state, he hated Chakotay. She could no more hate Chakotay than she could the two cute setters Ethan had presented her, so to dispel the mood, Kathryn had invited the light side of morning into her being. She felt suddenly more enervated, more excited, more imbued with a sense of purpose.

 

"Fine," she had told him. "We could take the pups with us up to the lake…"

 

"I have to do some work, Kathryn. You enjoy the morning with your new babies…"

 

And with that they had set a pattern in the followings weeks, with Ethan often rudely interrupted by the barking pups. His look of irritation quickly dissipated when they gave him their soulful looks and expected to be patted on their heads.

 

Ethan had grown stronger by the minute it seemed, after the procedure on Voyager, and they had grown closer since then.

 

There had been many confessions and Ethan's story had shocked her, though no more than the pain she had herself felt on Voyager when she had been assimilated, felt her life drained from her, her identity, everything that connected her to Kathryn Janeway, unique individual. Ethan had heard her story too and felt reassured that she could understand his pain and his trauma.

 

She wept inside for the loss of his wife and two boys, realising that the pictures she had seen in his bedroom were their pictures. She could understand how he could fall out of love with his wife, how the spark of love could die a slow death if it were not kept lit, kept alive. She felt for the poor, doomed Mélisande, felt for Rourke and Piers.

 

Mostly, she felt for Ethan, whose story had been told to her in parts, sometimes fluently, at others so pained and tortured that she could only hold him close to her and wait until he was ready to continue.

 

It was like a dam that had burst. Everything that Ethan had bottled for ten years - even longer - overflowed in halting speech as he told her his tale.

 

***** 

 

Brought back to the present, it was to see Ethan blocking her morning sun and the dogs at the water's edge, barking at some unknown foe. They'd have to leave soon. The tide was coming in.

 

When Ethan sat down next to her, it gave her a good view of him. Despite the chill in the air, they had braved the beach, coming down in Ethan's small runabout. With the dogs, they hadn't had much of an opportunity to abseil the cliffs, though one morning they did attempt it with the pups strapped to their bodies. It was as uncomfortable as it was dangerous. She had thought of leaving the pups with Mike's sons, but she hadn't been able to tear herself away from the setters and had insisted that the next time they went down the cliffs, they do so in his runabout. Ethan's eyes had narrowed, his voice caustic when he replied, "They're your pups, Janeway. They love you to pieces." She had wanted to retort that the pups didn't know their own minds and shifted their loyalty very quickly to him the minute he decided to take a break from playing or writing and wandering off into the woods. That way they could chase squirrels, attempt to catch beavers, or bark at the birds. She had bitten back her reply when Conor and Keira yelped excitedly and actually nipped her at her heels. Ethan had just lifted an eyebrow and then moved to the back, followed by the dogs which had, once again, not known their minds.

 

"They're growing out of their skins…" Ethan said reflectively as he watched Conor and Keira bounding about.

 

"Hmmm. Good ending for Warrior Mine…"

 

Ethan rolled his eyes. The dogs were forgotten for a moment.

 

"Sheese, you finished that two months ago."

 

"What's wrong with reading a good book again?"

 

"You're stalling."

 

"What?"

 

"Come on… You know what I'm talking about. Why are you at Beaver's Lodge today? It's Voyager's first anniversary and you're here, in your home away from home. You should be in Indiana, at your house, preparing for the ball."

 

"I wish I could just stay here on this beautiful little beach with the dogs, my book, you…"

 

"Kathryn…"

 

"Truly."

 

She really wanted to remain with him without fully comprehending such an action, knowing that she had to be at the Federation Memorial Hall that evening.

 

Ethan's eyes softened and he placed his arms round her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. Much of him had softened from the hard, jaded cynic he had been. Ten years of pain, of sorrow and guilt and remorse bottled up, the fear every spring that he would mutate into a Borg… He had been cured by a brilliant team of doctors, headed by the EMH, and helped enormously by the advanced Borg technology they now possessed since Voyager's return.

 

He had told her his story, in bursts of lucidity at times, at others in a haze of sorrow that ravaged his face, his bearing reduced to an old man looking at his life with great anger. She had him moved back to Beaver's Lodge and here, in his own familiar surroundings, he had begun telling her of Mel of the beautiful name, of his sons Rourke and Piers, his quest to be understood, Mel's inability to have faith in his work, to understand it, of his assimilation, everything which he had never told a soul. She was still the only person who knew what had happened.

 

One night, he had woken up in a sweat and called to her. She had gone to his room and found him lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. There were no traces of his Borg alcove anymore; Ayala and Icheb had been entrusted with recycling the material and getting rid of any traces of Ethan's Borg existence. He had gazed at her long, then clamped her hand tightly in his. She had never known Ethan to be vulnerable, not even when he had been a drone, for his old imperiousness had emanated even from that human fossilised into machine. Yet that night he seemed to need her, and it was a very unfamiliar feeling, not the way the crew had needed her on Voyager. It was different, as if a shaft with a diamond tip had speared into her soul and there the tip radiated, sending smaller shafts of light through her body. She had closed her eyes at the new feeling, wondering whether she had been searching for it.

 

Then Ethan's voice had broken through the mists of that strange new wonderment, so fledgling she had hardly wanted to give it any substance.

 

"Do you know what I long for most?" he had asked, without looking at her. Her eyes had flown open at the hollow sound of his voice.

 

"What, Ethan?"

 

"Peace. To be forgiven. It eludes me."

 

"Perhaps it is a process, one you're not ready to recognise…"

 

"Perhaps." Then he turned his face to her. Beads of perspiration on his upper lip, his forehead, the way he still gripped her hand so tightly…had he had a nightmare?

 

"You dreamed."

 

"Yes. Of her."

 

"Mélisande has forgiven you."

 

"She was very beautiful. But I stopped loving her. My children…were my life…"

 

"You saved them from something worse than death, Ethan. They would have dwelled forever in the twilight zone of namelessness, with no memories, no history, their uniqueness stolen from them…"

 

She knew her words had been hardly comforting, but perhaps it was her voice, her presence that seemed to calm him. Quietly she had lifted the cover and slid into the bed, her fingers still tingling from his strong grasp.

 

"You're in my bed," he had said sleepily.

 

"That's because you won't let my hand go."

 

"Stay."

 

"I'm not going anywhere."

 

Ethan had given a deep sigh as she rested her palm on his chest, snuggling close to him so that her face was against his neck. His breathing had become even again. It felt oddly reassuring lying next to him in his bed, his breathing a welcome monitor that he was alive. She had remembered with some melancholy how he must have listened to her breathing too, when she had been lying in a comatose state. Ethan had shifted to his side and she had nestled against him, her arm round his waist. In the morning she had quietly extricated herself from his grasp and headed for her own room. He never spoke with her about that night but the new light in his eyes had been evidence that he was busy conquering the raging storms in his life.

 

Or, that he had begun to like her…

 

He played the cello often these days, and most times she was content just to listen while she read a book, or was busy with one of her outlandish paintings, or penned a poem.  When she visited Beaver's Lodge, she left Starfleet matters at home.

 

But she always remembered how he spoke with her that night, how she felt for the first time that Ethan needed her.

 

Now, the anniversary ball beckoned and she felt an apprehension, of seeing Chakotay with his wife, of remembering. Sighing softly, she rested her head against Ethan's shoulder, relishing the richness of their friendship, her reluctance to leave Beaver's Lodge. She really didn't feel like facing Chakotay, she admitted, conceding that Ethan always hit the nail on the head where she was concerned. She had come to Beaver's Lodge to organise her warring emotions and she knew she was no nearer to being ready than she had been back in her apartment. Sometimes, Ethan infuriated her with his insight. A smile tugged at her mouth. She gave as good as she got, remembering how Ethan would just vanish into his music whenever she got too close to the truth with him.

 

He hated being vulnerable, and that time when he had called her name in the middle of the night, he hadn't wanted her to leave after she slid under the covers and comforted him. He had felt solid, and when he had turned on his side she had spooned herself behind him and felt at peace for the first time in years.

 

"Where are you dwelling this time, Kathryn?" Ethan asked softly, turning his attention away from the sea, the dogs.

 

"I thought of the night we spoke."

 

"Ah. That night. You left my bed like a thief in the night. You disappointed me."

 

"I did?"

 

"Hmmm, yes. Now that you know I cannot live a day without you, shall we take our leave of this incredibly beautiful moment and talk about tonight?"

 

"Oh. Tonight. Anniversary. I don't feel like going, Ethan."

 

"Oh, because you have to face your former first officer, his wife and their two month old baby, whom they have decided to call Kathryn?" he said mockingly. "Boy, you're really out of it where he's concerned. You’re prepared to hide away in a mountain cabin and not see your former crew who are dying to see you. Just because of one man."

 

There was a mocking twist to his mouth.

 

"Let's go," she bit out, scrambling to her feet, collecting her shoes, small spread, and her book; with the dogs scampering behind her, she trudged through the soft sand to the runabout. As she reached it, a hand grabbed her shoulder and swung her around.

 

Ethan's eyes flashed angrily.

 

"You coward," he hissed through clenched teeth.

 

She saw a nerve twitch in his jaw. His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders.

 

"I don't think you understand," she bit back, wincing at his vice-like grip, which he released only slightly when he saw her reaction.

 

"You can't leave him alone, can you, Janeway? They have a baby they named for you. You've seen the child. You've seen the couple. You told me they're happy. What do you want from him? That he throw you on your back and make love to you and tell you you are the only love of his life? How low can you get? You want him inside your body so bad you're willing to whore your principles - !"

 

She struck him. The next moment Ethan stood, stunned. She saw red creeping slowly into the cheek she'd just struck. Unable to rationalise her action, her eyes filled with tears, his face receding into the new mist that formed.

 

"I…am not going to apologise…" she said slowly, feeling her voice break, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tried to prevent the tears.

 

It hurt her, the damning realisation spreading like fire through her body. On those nights that she dreamed of Chakotay, she recalled those memories from New Earth when they had made love into the early hours of the morning, when they had no restraint, walked nude wherever they needed to be.

 

When she had seen Chakotay and Annika shortly after their return to Earth, with their baby barely a few weeks old, the feelings she had tried to obliterate and thought she'd succeeded, had all rushed to the fore again. Chakotay had given her a long, studied look, as if he were trying to find out whether she still loved him. As if he remembered their night on Dorvan, rekindling the old flame that lurked as dark, glowing embers inside them. As if he wanted her again. A hunger, a look in his eyes that mirrored the same look on Dorvan when he couldn't leave her alone. She tried to find the source of that hunger within her, tried to return in her mind and soul and heart to that moment on Dorvan when she thought, knew, that she would never be free of him.

 

She searched for that corner, found it, and found nothing in it.

 

Nothing except friendship. And pity. For Chakotay.

 

And then the realisation had hit her: it was over. Looking at Chakotay and Seven cooing over their baby, the joy she had for both of them… In her mind flashed another scene - of a man with white hair and eyes green like pines, who wouldn't let go of her hand one night when he needed her comfort. Everything was so new, so uncharted, so unbelievably different from anything she had ever felt for Chakotay that she wondered….wondered… She shook her head, shuddering inwardly at the thought that she could feel different, new, free.

 

Ethan didn't understand.

 

"You still love him…" Ethan said, his words echoing her roaring thoughts.

 

You don't understand…

 

"Ethan, I - it's not what you - "

 

"Look, I know that your world contains only his face, his pain, his paintings. I shouldn't be so hard on you, but damn it, Kathryn! They have a child together!"

 

It was pointless arguing with Ethan while he remained convinced of her feelings for Chakotay. His only frame of reference had been the nights he sat with her, bled with her while she wept of things past, while she had allowed herself to sink into an abyss. An abyss in which Ethan had seen the very depths of her darkness, and most of her doom and sorrow had been tied with Chakotay. Why would he believe anything different now?

 

She wiped at the tear that slid down her cheek, collected herself and touched his arm gently.

 

"Will you accompany me tonight, Ethan?" she asked.

 

He moved closer to her, the hands that had gripped her shoulders earlier with so much force, suddenly reassuringly gentle as she felt them cup her cheeks.

 

"I'm a very patient man, Kathryn  Janeway. But let me tell you this: I'm not a Borg drone anymore…"

 

************

 

She stood in front of her mirror. A long evening gown clung to her, accentuating firm lines, the gentle swell of her breasts, her hips. She mentally thanked Pierre for suggesting the slinky velvety burgundy fabric. She wouldn't have thought she'd looked anything like Garbo or Hepburn in the audacious lines of the garment, but Pierre, who studied the dress of twentieth century movie stars, had managed to convince her.

 

"Miss Gabor - "

 

"Gabor?"

 

"Yes, Eva and Zsa-Zsa, Miss Harlow and other ladies like them..."

 

"Oh."

 

"Yes, they would not have looked better. Besides, those, uh...screen goddesses were given to plumpness. You, on the other hand, look...just right!"

 

She admitted it looked good on her, very good, complimenting her hair colour. Her hair was sleek, curling slightly inward at her neck. She had decided to adorn her neck with a single emerald pendant.

 

Ethan had not seen the dress; she just knew he would look mockingly at her and declare that he'd have to be extra vigilant in keeping the wolves away. She had wanted to leave from Indiana. After their spat this morning at Beaver's Lodge, the tension had grown between them and it unsettled her, leaving her on edge. He hadn't been very flattering when he lashed at her, his anger palpable for the first time since they had met under such dramatic circumstances. The dogs had accompanied them, with the Ayala boys taking care of them overnight.

 

She gave an inward sigh as she smoothed the fabric over her hips.

 

Ethan didn't understand. How could he understand what he didn't know? He was a master at sensing her mood, reading her so accurately at times that she had given up being concerned. She had been vulnerable to him in her most basic needs, why should she feel any humiliation now? Yet, a part of her balked at being so transparent to him.

 

She remembered Ethan's words earlier in the year, just before she had visited Chakotay on Dorvan.

 

If you want to purge yourself of Chakotay, I can't take you down that road...

 

He was right. It was a road that she had to walk alone. It hadn't been easy. In fact, it was intensely difficult trying to stop herself from thinking about Chakotay too often. She didn't half understand how two men could hold so much sway over her emotions. Sometimes she thought she couldn't breathe for just thinking of Chakotay. At other times, especially in Ethan's company, she could forget her woes and find Ethan's sharp wit and energy thrilling. She thrived then, wondering how she could forget Chakotay relatively easily when Ethan was playing an Elgar adagio or Haydn. These days, Ethan humoured himself by playing the Paganini theme variations, mirroring his new, lightened mood since he had become permanently human. 

 

Most nights though, Chakotay had intruded in her dreams...

 

It had stunned her when Mike Ayala informed her of Annika Hansen's pregnancy. After that, she had accepted that there was nothing she could do about it anymore, that a baby was a reality of the bond between Chakotay and his wife. Her own feelings were now irrelevant, however much she still loved Chakotay. She was still prepared to be his friend, and had succeeded in remaining that despite what had happened between them on Dorvan.

 

When the baby was born, they had called her on subspace communication to inform her and to ask her permission to name the baby for her. And then...

 

"We're leaving for Earth in two weeks, Kathryn."

 

She had been surprised, frowning as she looked at him.

 

"We haven't offered you any vessels yet, though I would have liked to give you command of Voyager."

 

"No, Voyager is safe in Tuvok's hands. I'm taking up a professorship at the Academy."

 

"You are?" she asked lamely, surprised that she hadn't seen that coming.

 

"Annika has accepted a position at the Science Institute."

 

Her heart thudded painfully for a few seconds. Chakotay would be in Federation space. Not only that, he would be on Earth, on her doorstep. Chakotay had smiled, the dimples forming, and a searing pain had taken hold of her. Annika was in his bed...Annika enjoyed his lovemaking…

 

"Then I'm happy for you."

 

"It's only for a year. After that we'll decide on settling permanently."

 

She had been apprehensive about their return to Earth. Their paths would cross most likely. While he was so far away on Dorvan, it had been easier. How was she going to react to his nearness?

 

And it had been difficult, the first few meetings after their return. The first had been to meet them with their new-born baby girl, Kathryn. Pretty, with Chakotay's colouring and Annika's blondness and eyes. She had bled for hours after that. Annika's eyes had shone with pride and Chakotay looked the proud, overjoyed parent, although she noticed that his gaze lingered on her when she had held their baby in her arms and touched the infant's rosy cheeks. If he read the tears in her eyes as a sign of her regret, then she didn't care anymore. But his look remained with her during their subsequent meetings.

 

He tried to mask it, tried to use casual conversation as a smokescreen, but he couldn't hide what she knew to be hunger in his eyes. It was a hungry look.

 

Then a few weeks ago - she had just returned from Beaver's Lodge after a fulfilling weekend in Ethan's company - Chakotay arrived at her office.

 

"I hear you've just returned from...Oregon," he said.

 

Chakotay had sounded curious. He had yet to meet Ethan, who still preferred his solitude, keeping away from the crowds. Chakotay hesitated at the threshold of her office before taking hurried steps to stand opposite her. She had that sinking feeling again which she had on Dorvan when he had visited her so late that evening.

 

"What brings you here, Chakotay?" she asked.

 

"Did you ever read Warrior Mine?"

 

It appeared he had also just finished the book.

 

"You took a few minutes off from classes just to ask me that?"

 

"Well?"

 

The first few days at Beaver's Lodge, Ethan had read to her, sometimes in the middle of the night;  even through the mists of her illness she could hear his clear voice, the characters in the novel brought to life by the very man who created them. Later, she had read the novel twice.

 

She had given an exaggerated sigh.

 

"I read it," she said. "I found it cerebral, innovative, challenging. Mostly, I found it inspirational."

 

"I thought you might. It must have been written with you in mind."

 

You don't know how much...

 

"But that's not why you're here," she stated.

 

"Kathryn, I - "

 

"Yes?"

 

He had looked suddenly disconsolate and she frowned. What was the matter with him?

 

He cleared his throat. "Uh…Annika doesn't want to accompany me to an archaeological exhibition in Mexico. It's on site. It's only for a few hours. I thought you might - "

 

"No, thank you. And Chakotay, there's no reason why you can't go on your own."

 

"You always liked archaeological finds. I'm in need of my friend's company..."

 

He had given that dimpled smile, the one that always won her over, the one that could coax her out of her depression, the one that always crumbled her resistance. She experienced a great flash, as if it literally blinded her. He had been banking on the fact that her feelings for him hadn't changed, was testing her reaction. He had wanted them to be alone again somewhere.

 

She had met with Annika once when Chakotay hadn't been present, and had sensed the former Borg was still too reticent in her company, as if she didn't trust the woman who had once been her husband's lover. Kathryn had been at great pains to make her feel comfortable, and assured her through genuine friendliness and joy at having a baby named for her, about her happiness for the married couple, and she had seen Annika Hansen give a sigh of relief.

 

Chakotay had been lying in wait for her, watching every nuance of her movement, her reaction. She could tell him she was otherwise engaged; she could tell him she was too busy with work. Her heart had hammered and her breathing had become a little painful.

 

"I shall invite you and Annika to have dinner with me one evening. I'd love to have you both on a visit to my Indiana home. But, my friend, I don't wish to attend an exhibition with you. Not today, or tomorrow or the day after. You know what I mean..."

 

Chakotay had the grace to flush dark red and she had known that she had hit the nail on the head. He moved quickly around the desk and pulled her to her feet.

 

"I tried, Kathryn. I tried very hard."

 

And then his mouth captured hers in a punishing kiss which was over as soon as it started for she had pushed him violently away. She had been angry.

 

"Then try harder. I did."

 

"You can't mean that..."

 

"Look at yourself, Chakotay! You're a husband and father trying to rekindle something that's over. Over, you understand? It's over!"

 

He had looked forlorn and her heart burned for him. He had left without answering, giving her one last lingering look before the door closed behind him. When he was gone, she had touched her lips, placed her hand against her heart, rejoicing in the way it beat normally, not racing as it always did when he threatened her with his nearness like that.

 

And then the total freedom she had felt when she realised that she had made the right decision. Her heart was finally finding peace.

 

I no longer love him... had been the thrilling thought that coursed through her.

 

She had stood at her office window and gazed over the lawns at the tall trees in the distance and allowed a few tears to roll down her cheeks, tears for something that was over at last.

 

"If you want to purge Chakotay from your heart and mind, I can't take you down that road"

 

Let this part of my life die a natural death

 

Goodbye, Chakotay...

 

*

 

"Are you coming, Kathryn?" Ethan's voice broke into her reverie.

 

She turned to see him standing just inside the door of her bedroom, smiling as he approached her. He stood next to her and together they stared at their reflections on the mirror.

 

"You are beautiful, Janeway. That dress is a sin."

 

"I'm glad you agreed to accompany me to the ball."

 

She saw how his reflection grimaced. Was he remembering their argument?

 

"Am I your protection tonight?"

 

"No."

 

"Good. Because I'm not your white knight, come on a white stallion to - "

 

"Stop that, Ethan. I know it's difficult for you too. My former crew are curious about you. It's the first time that most of them will have seen you. They'll probably think - "

 

"We're lovers?"

 

She turned to look at him, his face revealing nothing of his inner feelings. He looked inscrutable, his eyes narrowing in that familiar way.

 

"I make no apology for my friendship with you, Bellamy."

 

He gripped her shoulders.

 

"I'm sorry about my words this morning. I was out of line."

 

"Shall we go?"

 

He gave a sigh as he dropped his hands.

 

"Yes. Let's go."

 

***********************

 

He felt like an insect under a microscope. The only people he knew, other than Kathryn, were Mike Ayala, Icheb and Tom Paris. There had been a slight murmuring when Chakotay and his wife entered the hall but made no attempt to meet Kathryn at her table. The others all looked at him furtively, and while Kathryn had introduced the crew to him as they approached their table, he remained restless. He wanted to get away from here, but if he were to remain Kathryn's friend, he had to endure the unashamed curiosity of her crew. The Borg woman looked stunning for someone who had given birth barely two months earlier but he had not been much impressed. He had seen Chakotay taking great care to have her seated, and they were joined by Mike Ayala, Kathryn's aide, and his wife, Carmen, whom he had met once. Carmen was one of those genuinely gentle women who hid a surprisingly strong streak. The others just kept staring even after they had been introduced, and they had returned to their tables.

 

Maybe it was his hair and green eyes; maybe it was just his presence as Kathryn's partner. He sat nursing his drink, waiting for Kathryn to return from the floor. She was dancing with Tom Paris. When Kathryn threw her head back and laughed, his heart contracted. He thought how different she looked now, how collected, how together, in total contrast to the sick woman he'd nursed back to health.

 

Mark Johnson had been right without ever saying a single word. Ethan thought his heart was caught in a noose, and pulling it tighter and tighter, squeezing it 'til it bled, was Kathryn Janeway. Did Johnson sense that Kathryn would be the person who could lure a lonely recluse out of his self-styled captivity? Had his own heart been so hard and cold then? He had seen her lying helpless on the ground and had known that she would change his destiny forever even as he fought the idea that he could be held hostage by a woman again.

 

Was that why he had been fighting it for so long? Fighting and losing the longer Kathryn remained within his space? He had seen her through every emotion imaginable, and this morning when she had struck his cheek, he had seen the anger flash in her eyes, anger that had been replaced by mortification, by guilt at losing control and then, finally, the sheer will to control herself.

 

Everything he had ever demanded, pleaded, coaxed, fought for out of his fictional characters he had seen in Kathryn and his constant interaction with her. Kathryn had fought him, challenged him, inspired him more in the last year than he had been inspired by Melpomene, Euterpe and Terpsichore in all the years before that.

 

These days his sleep was dream-filled - images of Kathryn sitting on the beach down below the cliffs, images of Kathryn cuddling the dogs, images of her smiling, lifting her face to the sun, the way she would lift the corner of her mouth if she was amused by something he'd said.

 

The way she would leave him alone to breathe...

 

He once referred to Chakotay as a coward, an opportunist, a man who couldn't leave Kathryn alone.

 

Now he understood why men and women could do stupid things, why men and women broke the law, and disregarded their own moral codes and to let the call of the flesh give vent to their passions. He had once loved his wife but had gradually fallen out of love. Mélisande had turned into a clinging vine, had never understood his drive, had never challenged him, had never shown interest in his music or his writing, those two artistic expressions that made Ethan Bellamy the man he was. 

 

Kathryn fought her dependence, fought him every inch of the way even though she needed him. She would never cling; he yearned suddenly for her to lean on him and tell him that her love for a married man had died a natural death. He knew that if Kathryn belonged to him, that if Kathryn became an essential element of his mind and his heart, that if he couldn't breathe without her, that he would never be able to let her go.

 

However long it takes...

 

Now he knew that it was impossible.

 

Kathryn hadn't returned to his table after her dance with Tom Paris. Instead, she found herself in Chakotay's arms on the floor and they were dancing a waltz. They looked good together, he conceded, and once when they floated past him, he saw her smile up at Chakotay, even felt the extra squeeze Chakotay was giving her.

 

Kathryn was losing herself in her former first officer's arms. He thought she should have refused Chakotay, but berated himself for his puerile thoughts. It would have been ill-mannered had she refused to accept the man's invitation to dance.

 

"Commander Bellamy?"

 

He tore his gaze away from the couple on the floor and looked at the person standing in front of him.

 

"Icheb..."

 

"May I sit down?"

 

"Of course."

 

Icheb sat down.

 

"Commander, as you know, I am in my third semester at the Academy. There will be an open day in two week's time."

 

Icheb paused, and Ethan thought he looked flustered. Ethan had met the young man just after he had been cured by the EMH and his team of doctors. Icheb had been instrumental in his recovery, his nanoprobes used in the procedure the EMH had performed to make his transformation to human permanent. He liked Icheb. He had been introduced formally just after Kathryn had woken him from his deep slumber. The precious few minutes before that he had spent with Kathryn alone in the sick bay of Voyager - precious, precious moments which had, later, at Beaver's Lodge, resulted in a flood of poetry he hadn't yet shown her.

 

Kathryn had told him that the young man was without family in the Alpha Quadrant, and besides being a former Borg neonatal drone, Icheb was the only representative of his race in the Alpha Quadrant.

 

"I know about the open day, Icheb. Admiral Janeway told me. What is it that you require?"

 

"I wish that you would represent me, Commander."

 

"Icheb? I thought Admiral Janeway was representing you."

 

"That you both be there, for me."

 

Ethan closed his eyes briefly. There was a sound, a sound which he realised was the hammering of his heart against his ribcage -  tympani in an orchestra allowed briefly, for two or three bars, the honour of being the only instruments heard. Were his eyes deceiving him? He saw Rourke's face superimposed on Icheb's. Rourke would have been eighteen and if he had wanted to, been an Academy cadet, and he would have asked his parents to be there on open day. Icheb was still sitting quite still, waiting for his response. Ethan's throat felt thick as memories of his sons swamped him. Rourke playing the cello, Piers just being all boy, laughing and playing, always in motion. Rourke's face open and clear as he asked his father to tell him another of his fantastic tales. 

 

"Daddy, let's clean the floor!"

 

"Okay..."

 

Indulgently, he'd let the boys each grab an ankle and then he'd walk through his quarters on the smooth floor, pulling the boys along on their stomachs, their laughter pealing through the rooms.

 

He saw Rourke with his own baby cello in the holodeck with little fingers trying to achieve  a vibrato.

 

Their breathless expressions as they tore the wrapping off their Christmas gifts...

 

A warmth spread right through Ethan's body. How had it happened that they were now images of happy children, laughing and playing or reading books? Before he always, always, without fail saw their fear just before they were vaporised in his phaser fire...

 

"Commander, are you alright?"

 

Icheb's face came into focus again. The boy had no parents here. He had no parents. He was looking to Kathryn Janeway and Ethan Bellamy to fulfil that role. Ethan's insides burned, burned. When he spoke at last, he struggled to find composure, yet his voice rasped with emotion.

 

"I have never felt better, young Icheb. I am indeed very honoured to represent you. Thank you."

 

"It is I who should thank you, Commander."

 

*************** 

 

Kathryn gave a sigh of relief when the dance ended and she could rejoin Ethan at their table. Icheb had just left and Ethan had a pleased look on his face. A pleased, fatherly, proud look. A look that changed  when he saw Chakotay with her.

 

"Ethan, I'd like you to meet Captain Chakotay. Chakotay, my friend Ethan Bellamy."

 

Ethan rose to his feet and shook Chakotay's hand. The contact was very brief.

 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Bellamy."

 

Kathryn glanced sharply at Chakotay, then frowned when she saw his stern look, the way Chakotay's jaw tightened. And Ethan...

 

"So this is Chakotay."

 

Kathryn turned to Chakotay, felt suddenly she had to apologise for Ethan's lack of manners.

 

"Ethan's been wondering about you, Chakotay."

 

"Same as I have," Chakotay responded, not taking his eyes off Ethan. "I believe Kathryn lives with you on your property..."

 

"If you'll excuse us, Chakotay, Kathryn has promised me the next dance," Ethan said evenly.

 

Chakotay simply nodded as Ethan led her on to the floor.

 

"You never asked me," she berated him as he took her in his arms.

 

"Now, Janeway, act like you've never acted before. I would like to kill Chakotay for that graceless innuendo back there, but I realise he's not much of a man and he doesn’t deserve my giving him any consideration. I told you this morning - "

 

"I know what you told me this morning. But Ethan, if you'll listen to me - "

 

"I know you still love him, sweetheart, but we're fish in a glass tank here. Your every movement is being watched, analysed, and discussed. Tomorrow it will be all over the Federation that Admiral Janeway brought Chakotay back to Earth to keep him near her, and him a married man."

 

"You're despicable, Bellamy."

 

"I know. And I hate being despicable. Now, honey, enjoy the dance, will you? You can pretend I'm Chakotay."

 

But she didn't have to pretend.

 

She felt small against Ethan's wiry frame, small and secure. Something in her head exploded; she didn't know what it was. She only felt, sensed, assimilated smell, texture, the touch of his hand against the small of her back, his breath that fanned just above her head. If she tilted her head towards him, his chin would scrape against her cheek. A hundred thousand little electrical shocks passed through her body, so many that they merged as one giant wave of rapture touching all her nerve endings.

 

Pretend? She was lost in Ethan's embrace. Lost and intoxicated and breathless.

 

She was where she knew she wanted to be. Ethan appeared unaware of the impact his closeness was having on her; he still harboured the belief that it was Chakotay she wanted, Chakotay she needed. She didn't care if Ethan still believed that. The moment was too great, too important to care about anything else but the fact that she was in his arms, not as the sick Janeway whom he'd nursed back to health, not as the friend who held his hand when he called her in the night, not as the woman scorned needing his solace, but as a woman.

 

She prayed that the music - Someone To Watch Over Me - would last forever. She prayed that it played in an endless time loop so that she could remember the touch of him, his smell, the timeless rhythm of the dance to which they seemed to move as one, his breathing that rasped the moment her cheek touched his chin, the glimpse she stole of his face, the closed eyes - to relive it over and over and over.

 

She melted into him and she wondered absently if the sound she heard was a moan from him as if he too experienced their joining, the lovemaking in sheer movement across the floor. They were two and they were one.

 

"Ethan…" she murmured against his chest, her head swimming.

 

"Shhh…" he responded, but she felt his lips against her hair.

 

And all she could do was bury herself against him, oblivious of all eyes on them, of envy, of caring, of blessing bestowed upon them. She was in Ethan's arms and drowning in his nearness. They swayed gently to the music, and when it finally ended, Ethan whispered in her ear, "Now that was a wonderful performance, Janeway."

 

And for a moment Kathryn felt like murdering Ethan Bellamy.

 

**************** 

 

At a table where Mike and Carmen Ayala, Tom Paris and B'Elanna were sitting, the four of them gaped at the two on the floor. Other couples had paused in their dancing to gaze at their former captain and her companion. Chakotay had walked back to his table to join his wife and while Seven was engaged in conversation with Susan Nicoletti, Chakotay couldn't take his eyes off Kathryn and Ethan.

 

"So, Mike, you have all the dirty low-down on the two people dancing there. They are perfect!" B'Elanna breathed. "Who is that glorious hunk of a man? His white hair gives him an air of detachment, class…"

 

"I don't know much - " replied Mike.

 

B'Elanna snorted.

 

"Don't know?! Look at them! They're perfect, and making love on the floor, too, if you ask me."

 

"Heard she was vacationing with Commander Bellamy last year," Tom said, pulling B'Elanna closer to him.

 

"Yes."

 

"Is that all, Ayala?" demanded B'Elanna.

 

"That is all."

 

"You're not going to get anything out of Mike, B'Elanna," Tom grumbled. "My father made damn sure he selected an aide who would never talk out of the house."

 

"So, what else do you know, Mike? They're lovers? He sends her flowers? She sends him flowers? What?" Tom insisted, finding his wife's enthusiasm catching.

 

"Carmen? Aren't you going to help us?" B'Elanna asked as she turned in her direction, giving Carmen a pleading look.

 

Carmen smiled her gentle smile. She loved Admiral Janeway and had a very high regard for Commander Bellamy, even if he seemed to her too much of a cynical, hard type of character not easy to reach. But she and Michael knew how much Admiral Janeway meant to Commander Bellamy, even if it looked to them that he would never admit the influence the beautiful admiral had on him. What they knew about Commander Bellamy they never divulged to anyone. She didn't know much herself, but Michael, working so closely with Admiral Janeway, was privy to a good many things that Carmen knew had to remain highly classified.

 

What happened on Dorvan had spread like wildfire after Admiral Janeway left so suddenly without saying goodbye to her hosts. There had been a lot of speculation, and some hinted that Chakotay had had a brief liaison with Admiral Janeway during her stay on Dorvan. Others said that she couldn't leave Chakotay alone and wanted him now that he was married. Whatever it was that happened left Admiral Janeway too quiet and looking pale.

 

After that, on their way home,  Admiral Janeway had cloistered herself on the USS Gainsbourg for the entire journey to Earth, and when they all disembarked, she had disappeared straight away. Just in the way Admiral Janeway departed from Dorvan was evidence that there had been something that happened between her and Chakotay. It was too sudden, and if they hadn't gone themselves that morning to bid Chakotay and Annika goodbye, they would never have had an opportunity to do so, because there had been no one to see them off. She had thought that Chakotay and Admiral Janeway were great friends, that he would at least have come to say goodbye. Admiral Janeway hadn't waited. They left in a hurry.

 

Michael had told her afterwards that Admiral Janeway must have gone to her new friend who lived in Oregon. She had spent her vacation there with this friend whom, after she had asked very insistently, she had learned was called Ethan Bellamy. Carmen had come to know more of Admiral Janeway and met Commander Bellamy. What was clear to her - and Carmen gave a silent sigh of exasperation - was that they belonged together and they didn't know it.

 

Now everyone could see how close Admiral Janeway and Commander Bellamy were as they looked at the dancing couple.

 

"He's made her whole again," she told B'Elanna, a little shyly.

 

"That I can see," replied B'Elanna. "She's over Chakotay at last, Tom. Thank goodness for that."

 

"But old Chak isn't over Kathryn Janeway. Sorry if you can't see that, but it's clear to me. He's happy with Seven, isn't he? Happy being a husband and daddy, right?"

 

"Yeah," said Mike Ayala at last. "Yeah...right."

 

"Yeah? So why is he gawking at her right now? Like he's thinking he can't live another day without her?"

 

***************** 

 

"Kathryn..."

 

Kathryn gave a sigh. It was cold outside, and standing so close to the French window of the farmhouse transmitted the chill to her so that she shivered. Yet it was a clear night, with the moon a great big disc that appeared suspended in the sky.

 

Ethan stood behind her. She flinched when he touched her arm, her movement eliciting an expletive from him. It had taken every ounce of her control not to show her distress at his remark at the anniversary ball. They had walked back to their table to loud applause from the crew, and the rest of the evening she enjoyed herself, with Ethan's words ever near the surface of her consciousness.

 

And like always, he had sensed instantly the change in her mood. Later, they had again danced and it had been a little easier, though she had been as constantly aware of his nearness as the thought that he knew she wasn't happy. She had made her speeches and left with the promise that the anniversary would become an annual celebration. They stayed 'til almost the last, making a few last minute arrangements with Icheb for the Academy's open day.

 

In the shuttle, she had been quiet and Ethan looked boorish.

 

Now, an hour after their return to Indiana she still smarted, though Ethan had attempted to make conversation. She hadn't felt like talking to him and had been unable to relax, unsettled by the break in communication between them.

 

"I'm not returning to Beavers Lodge with you tomorrow," she said softly. She felt like crying, her heart still too raw after what he had reduced their dancing to at the Memorial Hall.

 

"I upset you..."

 

"Yes."

 

"For which I am deeply sorry."

 

His hands gripped her shoulders gently. Sighing, she leaned back against him. She couldn't see his face, but his remorse was in the tone of his voice. It was a register lower, hoarser, almost not Ethan.

 

"I never want to hurt you, Kathryn," he continued. "Never. I don't want to see the pain in your eyes again, and tonight, after..." His voice trailed to a sigh. "After my damnable sick excuse of a thank you for a wonderful dance, I saw for a moment the same pain in your eyes as the day you returned from Dorvan. Only this time, I put it there..."

 

"You hurt me," she couldn't help saying, her heart overflowing with pain.

 

"God, Kathryn...forgive me..."

 

Ethan's remorse was so heart-felt that she blinked, trying to hold back the tears. It pained her that they weren't talking, that they argued, that they weren't happy. She couldn't lose him too.

 

"I want us to remain friends."

 

"You know they think we're lovers."

 

She turned to stand fully in his embrace, her arms round his waist, giving a little moan of pleasure when he pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. She breathed a sigh of relief.

 

"We can pretend..." she said softly, feeling the same waves of pleasure coursing through her that had claimed her during their dance.

 

Ethan stilled. She heard him swear again.

 

"So you're not going to let me forget my transgression tonight."

 

"No. I enjoyed dancing with you. Ethan, I - "

 

"Sometimes men say things only as a way to protect themselves."

 

"What were you protecting?"

 

His eyes bore into hers. Then they narrowed, yet she was aware, acutely, of a new sensation, one of trembling in anticipation at what he was going to do or say next.

 

"Why do you want to know?"

 

"So I don't have to pretend."

 

Ethan groaned as he pulled her tighter in his embrace and when she lifted her face, she was surprised to see the deep gleam in his eyes. An unnatural gleam, one that smouldered like red coals in a hearth on a winter night. One that was in complete contrast to the look he had given her after their dance. A look that showed promise and which made her heart pound erratically, painfully, hopefully.

 

Very slowly Ethan lowered his head, her vision blurred by tears as his mouth met hers in a searing, wondrous kiss.

 

****************

 

END PART FIFTEEN

Note: Repos ailleurs [rest elsewhere]

 

PART SIXTEEN: AS TIME GOES BY

 

Back to Bellamy Main Page

Home Page

 

JC Fanfic