Title: Sunday Brunch
Author: Ky (Venom_69)
Fandom: Voyager
Category: Romance, angst, thoughts.
Pairing:
J/C, mostly. A little of C/7 in there.
Rating: Teen friendly.
Summary: They’re home, he’s with Seven…
what now? Set after Endgame.
Archive: My site. Anywhere else, sure, just let me know where so I can come visit.
Disclaimer:
Don’t own them, never will. Promise to put them back in the state I found them. Song’s not mine either.
Author’s
notes: Written after Anne posted a challenge on the JC1 list to breakup C/7 without killing them off… I didn’t
kill her off, but I was tempted. For Jo.
Date: 14/12/2005
Copyright © to Venom, 2005
***
I don’t
know where you’re going
And I don’t know why
But listen to your heart
***
Sometimes he wonders if he made a mistake.
There's a little voice inside of his head that tells
him, time and time again, that he stepped off the Ship with the wrong woman.
He remembers, very vividly, the day that
Voyager landed on Earth. They'd burst out of the wormhole with no warning, but somehow, between the Press and Starfleet, they
had pulled together and virtually everyone had a family member waiting for them at the end of the ramp.
In the hour
that it had taken them to get from their exit point to the landing sight near Starfleet Headquarters, someone had managed
to work a minor miracle and he swears blind that half the Quadrant must've been there, waiting to see the famous ship make
it's triumphant return. Waiting to see the weary travelers take their first steps back on Terra Firma.
His sister was
there, smiling and crying and laughing when she saw him. He remembers feeling her arms around him for the first time in well
over a decade.
But mostly he remembers the frown of confusion that had crossed her features when she noticed the blonde
on his arm. Sister hadn't said anything, curiously, she had bitten her tongue and politely greeted Seven.
He had known,
though, by the look in her eyes that she did not approve.
Similar reactions had greeted him from others, too. It appeared
that Seven's Aunt, Irene, didn't approve of him any more than Sister approved of her.
B'Elanna called him a P'tak,
Paris call him a 'twat.' (Although he's not sure what it means but he's relevantly certain that it's from the 20th century
and that it's derogatory.) Ayala had asked him in his quiet, polite, softly spoken way, if he was nuts.
He's never
really cared what other people thought before, but when the general consensus is the same, one does begin to wonder.
And he finds himself wondering more and more lately.
There's a lingering doubt that pops up and a neon sign flashes
as each person expresses his or her disapproval until he reaches the point that his head starts to hurt and his eyes close
in defeat.
You made your bed, old man, he tells himself,
now lie in it.He wishes that their opinions
didn't mean so much to him, but they were the closest thing to a family that he had for seven years and, even now back on
Earth, he finds himself seeking their approval. He finds that it hurts when he doesn't get it, too.
Most of Voyagers
former crew has had something or other to say to him. Or to someone else that would happily relay the messages clearly to
him. He understands that the general consensus is that he made a mistake - actually, he understands that he 'has his head
shoved up his ass so far he can't see daylight' - he just wishes that they would stop telling him.
Kathryn, however,
has been eerily silent. It's something that he definitely hasn't failed to notice. He's used to her having an opinion on everything.
He's used to her being quite vocal with those opinions. He's used to
her.For years, he told himself that he
was over her. He told himself that the thought of her didn't make him shiver. That the potential of hearing her rich and throaty
laugh filling his ears didn't make him want to get out of bed in the mornings. He told himself that he didn't really want
to make love to her, he just wanted the chance to feel a soft, warm, feminine body against his own. Abstinence does that to
you, he told himself. He really just wanted to run his ringers through her hair because of a longed-for intimacy. He told
himself that the spark he always,
always, felt in her presence was simply due to the outstanding command relationship
that they had developed and maintained for so long. He told himself that, no, it wasn't love, it was some kind of
infatuation
with a powerful woman.
He knows, now, that he lied to himself.
They still have lunch, regularly. He goes to
her office and sits across the desk from her and always thinks that nothing has really changed.
They're still separated
by rank - Admiral and Captain, respectively - but it still doesn't affect their bantering attitudes. They still pick off each
other’s plates and he still always ends up with both of their desserts. She still drinks far too much coffee, as far
as he’s concerned and she can’t possibly be eating enough, but he doesn’t say it anymore.
She still
touches him, too. She's a tactile person, he's known that since the very first day that he met her. And while, back then,
her touch was a welcome luxury, now it's a painful reminder of how things should have been for them.
She always asks
him about Seven and he always asks about her own romances - there are never any - and
that whole conversation always
lasts less than a minute and is safely filed back under 'awkward.' They have a lot of moments in that category, he thinks,
but he doesn’t let his mind linger too long or an ache starts in his heart that he refuses to acknowledge.
Seven
knows that he has lunch with her, and she always asks how it went. He always says ‘fine’ and never wonders why
he doesn’t elaborate.
After every lunch with Kathryn, he makes dinner for Seven, but he tells himself that it’s
not guilt that makes him do that. He tells himself that the former Borg looks right in his home, but he lies to himself again.
Kathryn
hasn’t seen the home that he has now and he hasn’t seen hers. He doesn’t think that she has seen Seven’s
house either, but he doesn’t ask.
After they had been through all of the debriefings – long and painful
that they were – he had been left with a sense of anti-climax. After seven years in an unknown quadrant fighting for
your life on daily basis, how exactly does one go back to the monotony of an Earth-bound routine?
Sister wanted him
to go back to Trebus, to help with the rebuilding of their once great and beautiful planet. He had said no, that his place
was on Earth now. Sister had smiled and glanced at Kathryn, standing across the room with Owen Paris, and said that she had
expected as much. He didn’t read anything into it. Various friends, new and old, had offered him a place on their respective
worlds, but he had said the same to them, too.
In the end, he had jumped at the chance to return to teaching. Starfleet
Academy had decided that they would run a new course; designed and taught by him.
So now he spends his days planning
lessons and re-living the horrors – and the good times, to a lesser extent - of the Delta Quadrant. He tells them stories
of the Kazon, the Hirogen and the Vidiins. And he tells them about the friendly people, too. He tells them of the beautiful
plants that they had seen, the wondrous races that they’ve met.
He doesn’t tell them about the alien and
his After-death Matrix and he never mentions New Earth.
The cadets, bright and eager, ask about Admiral Janeway and
he always answers with calm respect for a great woman and a brilliant Captain.
She is Starfleet’s Golden Girl
now, someone for the Federation to parade around at all the right gala’s and help to pick up Starfleet’s tattered
image, left over from the war. She has a large office and she spends her days ordering around Picard and other quadrant-wide
captains.
His rank holds little meaning to him now. He is Professor Chakotay and he likes the way it sounds again.
He enjoys teaching these young men and women all about what could one-day await them. He hopes that they never face what the
Voyager Crew did, but he wants them to be prepared for it anyway. He teaches them to think on their feet and that, sometimes,
you have to bend the rules a little. He teaches them to think on their own and to think of others.
He never preaches
to them about rules and he wont touch protocol with a ten-foot barge pole.
Reporters still follow him home, on occasion,
looking for the ‘scoop.’ Most of them want to know about the inter-personal relationships of the ship. He never
answers. Some have asked about his feelings for Kathryn and he always tells them the same thing he relays to his students;
Brilliant Captain, lovely woman. They never ask about Seven.
She is now the leader in the department of Borg Technology.
She is teaching the federation all they ever wanted to know about the Borg and how they work, how Starfleet can adapt the
Collective’s methods to their own. She doesn’t talk to him about her work much.
He sees his olds friends
quite regularly. B’Elanna, Tom and Miral host a regular Sunday brunch at their large house. The attendee’s vary
depending on who is on Earth and free. Harry, Sue and Ayala are always there, Kathryn never is.
Last month, Starfleet
held a ball to celebrate Voyager being home for a full year. Black tie. He wore a brand new Black Tuxedo that made him itch.
Kathryn wore blue silk, eloquent and becoming of her. He doesn’t recall what Seven wore.
He tries to tell himself
that the comparison is wrong, that comparing the two women is like comparing oil and water. He tries to tell himself that
it’s unfair to continue with thoughts like that. His mind seldom listens. His heart never does.
Seven is in
his living room, reading, he thinks, while he is cooking her dinner. He is having lunch with Kathryn tomorrow, their regular
fortnightly lunch and Seven can’t make dinner tomorrow night. He wont admit that he is pre-empting the guilt that will
come. He has nothing to feel guilty for, he reminds himself sternly.
Their meal is ready, he takes it to the table
and she joins him with the wine. They eat in silence for a while, because he doesn’t know what to say and to her, even
after all of these years, small talk is still mostly irrelevant.
He doesn’t know why he says it, he doesn’t
know why he brings it up. He doesn’t know what about tonight specifically has made him
snap but suddenly he finds
himself staring at her intently, words coming out of his mouth before he can stop them.
“It’s not working.”
He tells her, tugging at his earlobe unconsciously.
She thinks for a moment and he’s worried about what she will
say. He does care for her. “I concur.”
“We should end this before we end up hating each other.”
“Logical.”
“You’ve
been spending too much time with Tuvok.” It’s a weak attempt at humor, but he doesn’t know what else do
say.
“Perhaps.” She agrees and it’s possible that he sees the ghost of a smile.
He thinks
that, after more than a year together, they should have more to say to each other as they end it. But he finds himself without
words and she does too, apparently.
They eat the rest of their meal in silence, but it’s amicable. There is no
yelling, no tears and no harsh words. He admits that at the times he imagined this ending, he had predicted that there wouldn’t
be. If anything, over the last year they have been little more than friends who share the occasional kiss. She is nervous
and, if nothing else, he was good practice, he supposes.
When dinner is finished and she leaves, she kisses his cheek
gently and wishes him well, promising that they will catch up for coffee soon. He knows that they will.
She doesn’t
hesitate when she keys open his front door and he is glad for that. For her first break up, she takes it remarkably well,
he thinks. It makes him proud of the woman that she has become. He knows that Kathryn would be proud too and that makes him
smile.
The house is silent after she is gone and he finds himself wandering aimlessly through the living room. The
remainder of their dinner sits on the table, along with an open bottle of wine that he ignores. He is tempted to call Kathryn,
but he doesn’t.
He makes his way to bed, shedding his clothes as he goes, turning off the various lights. Slipping
under the cool sheets and pulling the comforter over himself, he sighs and wonders if it will be a restless night.
When
he opens his eyes next, it’s morning and his alarm is about to go off. He wonders if he should feel guilty about getting
a full night’s sleep after the end of a relationship, but he doesn’t. He showers and dresses quickly; he wants
to get to his office early and mark a few more papers before class.
The transport to the Academy grounds is quick,
the terminal is always empty at this time of morning and he is thankful for the quiet. He keys in his code and enters the
building, finding his way to the room with the bay window that house all of his various PADD’s and few leather-bound
books that he keeps for sentimentality.
His desk is in disarray, like every other office he has ever had. Very few
personal items line the walls, he feels no need to keep those here. The only thing not standard issue on his desk is a small
statue given to him by Kathryn at their lunch before his first lecture; it is a wooden, hand-carved, model of Voyager. She
had it made, she said, didn’t have quite enough talent for that. He looks at it now and can’t help but smile.
His
office is peaceful at 0830 and he gets four more papers read and marked before making his way to the lecture hall. He feels
comfortable there, behind his podium, he feels like he is in control. Despite the mutually agreed upon parting of the previous
evening, he still longs for a little bit more control in his life.
A common reaction, he tells himself.
Confidently,
he walks through the long corridors, much like he would have done not so long ago on Voyager. There is direction and purpose
in his stride as he mentally goes over the lesson plan for this morning. He is going to be talking to them about the Prime
Directive. The first time in the semester that he has broached this subject with his students.
Lunch with Kathryn slips
to the back of his mind and he leaves it there as cadets begin to file into the room and take their seats.
He talks
for a while, discussing the various situations that they encountered, mostly from their first year. They were still fresh
then, still hopeful and slightly obtuse in regards to the exact length of their journey ahead.
They had known, logically,
that they were on the edge of a seventy-five year trip home, but they had been so hopeful of finding a wormhole in those days.
Hope had, over time, been jaded by reality until they were all just happy to survive a day, a week, a month, a year.
He
thinks that, looking back, one by one they began to give up hope of that wormhole appearing out of thin air and began to truly
see the practicalities of surviving in the DQ. That was when they had really begun to work as one crew, he recalls.
A
cadet asks a question about the implementation of the Prime Directive. He thinks for a moment, before beginning to respond.
“You
have to understand what it’s like to be alone. There is a standard that has to be kept, but when you find yourself faced
with someone that doesn’t share that same ideas, it can be tough.” He stops for a moment and it is only then that
he notices the new arrival to his class.
He is tempted to call her on her arrival now, but the cadets are oblivious
and he doesn’t need them witnessing first-hand his reactions to her. She smiles, slightly, and sits, gesturing for him
to continue. The cadets don’t notice his lapse in concentration.
“Maintaining the Prime Directive can be
both the easiest and the hardest thing you have to do when you’re alone out there.”
A young woman in the
front raises her hand, and he nods for her to speak. “I can understand it being the easiest, with pre-warp societies
especially, but why would adhering to the Prime Directive be the hardest thing you have to do, Professor?”
She
makes a good point, he thinks, and wonders briefly if he’s marked her paper yet. “When you encounter a culture
that has technology that could’ve helped you get home and you had to leave it for whatever reason, it’s like a
physical blow to you each time.” He remembers such occasions that they encountered, but doesn’t let himself dwell
for too long. “When you see a way home and it’s right before you, all you can think about it reaching out and
taking it. But that comes back to the Standards that Starfleet sets. I may have taught you to not always go by the book, but
you do always have to maintain your principles.”
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the real reason that
Captain Chakotay is one of the best XO’s in Starfleet.” When she speaks, he thinks that not much has changed.
Her voice is still hard as steel and smooth as silk all at once and he hears the hundred odd students in the room gasp and
turn around quickly, surprised to hear the voice that everyone recognizes. “I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion,
Professor.”
“Of course,
Admiral.” He smiles. “We were just finishing up now anyway.”
“Not
on my account, I hope.”
“Not at all.”
The cadets, most too shell-shocked to comment, begin
to file out. A few pause to take a good look at the famous Admiral up-close, but it appears no one has the gall to actually
talk to her. He wishes that they did, if only for the experience.
She waits until the last student has left, the door
swishing shut behind him, before making her way down the steps of the Lecture Theater to stand before him.
“Are
you OK?”
“Should I not be?”
“Seven called me this morning and told me what happened.
She asked me to check up on you, though not in those words.”
She always was as subtle as a freight train, he
thinks with a slightly nostalgic smile. “I’m fine. We both knew it was coming, I think. Easier to have done it
now rather than later.”
“I suppose.”
“Are we still on for lunch?”
“Of
course, you can walk me back to my office.”
He gestures with his right hand and they both turn and head towards
the exit.
As they leave the teaching wing they are silent, but they’ve never really needed many words, he thinks.
Despite their comfort and familiarity, he wishes that he had something to say. He feels a slight air of apprehension surrounding
them like a bubble, but he doesn’t know what to do about it.
They don't meet many people on the journey back
to her office, but the few that they do see smile and nod politely. He sees the look on their faces and knows that they will
tell all of their friends about the encounter with Admiral Janeway and Professor Chakotay.
He is still somewhat of
a celebrity, even with his low-key job, and he doesn't think that he'll ever get used to it.
Kathryn appears to have
adapted well to the fanfare, but she has always had the ability to do whatever was required of her. He admires her. He doesn't
envy her position, though. After the debriefings, the media circus had begun and her face was plastered on every surface possible,
along with shots of the crew. She did press release after press release and was the consummate Captain the whole way through.
He
doesn't know if the media ever asked her about him, though he knows that she would never have said much anyway, but he still
wants to ask.
"You're quiet."
"Thinking." He replies and it's only now that he notices that they have passed
her aid's desk and she is keying in the code to her door. He doesn't really remember much of their journey to her office,
but he knows that she was there the whole time so it doesn't bother him like it probably should.
She has moved to the
replicator and appears to be treating it to her death glare. "Any preferences for lunch?"
"Are you asking me or the
replicator?"
"I'm asking you what you'd like... and I'm asking it what it's going to give us."
Their banter
is familiar and easy, it is just what he needs. "I thought it was only the replicator's on Voyager that you had trouble with?"
"Apparently,
some things are universal."
Yes, he mentally agrees, some things really are. He smiles. "I'm not fussy."
"Vegetable
Lasagna it is then." She calls for a coffee and a tea for him before programming the replicator for their lunch.
He
is here earlier than he is used to, they don't normally have enough time to sit down and have a beverage before they eat and
he finds the novelty strangely comforting. Perhaps Seven had been right in calling Kathryn this morning - he is glad for her
company now.
"Are you sure that you're OK?"
They sit on opposite sides of her desk, facing each other with their
cups between them. "Yes, I think we both knew nothing would ever really come of it."
"Then... if you don't mind me
asking... why bother?"
"Why not?" It's out of his mouth before he can stop himself and he thinks for a moment that
he sees a flash of pain in her eyes. He hates himself a little more for being happy about that possibility. Sigh. "I suppose...
loneliness, perhaps?"
"I can understand that. It did get very quiet out there, didn't it?" She's smiling, softly, and
he wonders if she's remembering Kashak, Michael, Jaffen or maybe even some unknown lover that he never heard about. He finds
it hard to believe that anyone could have been discreet on such a small ship.
This is the longest that they have ever
spoken of their relationships, past and present. "Yes, it did, especially towards the end." Especially when I was the most
unsure of where I stood with you, he wants to add. He doesn't.
“We changed, over the seven years we were out
there. We all did.” He agrees.
They talk for a while longer, about what he is going to do now, what she is working
on. They talk about their pasts and their potential future’s. They don’t mention Seven and they don’t discuss
their own uncertain relationship. They agree to meet for coffee soon. He knows that they will. He kisses her cheek when he
says goodbye.
On Sunday, he takes her to brunch at the Paris/Torres household.
No one is surprised.
***
End.
