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As she watched the Kazon move off through the wreckage of what had been the Caretaker's array, Kathryn Janeway finally allowed herself to sink back into the captain's chair. Damaged when her ship was hurled across the galaxy, the base shifted alarmingly under her weight--but at that moment, she knew that anything would seem less precarious than her own feet. Behind her she could hear someone crying, while someone else snarled menacingly; the latter, she guessed, must be Chakotay's engineer, who had tried bodily to prevent Janeway from giving the order to fire on the array. Frustration radiated from other crewmembers, and she suspected that more would give in to tears once they had left their duty stations. She wondered whether she would be one of those. She still had her ship, and the conviction of her choice to save the Ocampa, but she'd also lost as much as any of them.
She'd known she and Mark were all but finished the moment she gave the order to destroy the array. Even if Voyager found its way back to Federation space--if he were waiting, if he forgave her--the trust they shared would be gone, and she half-suspected that he would be relieved to be free to find someone more domestic than herself. In the more than ten years they'd been together, they had never discussed marriage. Seldom before had she had to choose between love and duty; now she knew that duty would always win. The fact that she felt certain of the rightness of her decision gave small comfort. "Seventy thousand light years from home": she had first heard the words surrounded by the dead bodies of her colleagues. Her own crew would blame her for being stranded there. Chakotay's crew would blame her not only for that, but for having to be on her ship, following Starfleet's rules.
She turned to look at the Maquis leader; he no longer restrained Torres physically, but stood very close to the engineer, as if to let her know that he could pin her down if necessary. To stay in command, perhaps even to stay alive, Janeway was going to need Chakotay. She gripped the chair and pushed herself upright. "Commander, may I see you in my ready room?" He followed her silently, tossing his soot-covered vest to Tom Paris as he passed.
Janeway sat on one of the couches, not wanting to presume the position of authority behind the desk. Nonetheless, when she said, "Thank you for backing me up on the Bridge," Chakotay immediately echoed his words to Torres at the critical moment:
"You're the captain."
That sentence gave her more pleasure than a simple statement of fact should have. She tried not to show it. "I'm not sure all your crewmembers agree just yet."
He sat and gazed levelly at her, commander to commander. A chill passed through her as she remembered the same expression on his face in the Ocampa cavern, when she had thought she might have to leave him to die; he had given her an unspoken order to take care of his people. "My crew may not be happy with our position right now, but they'll understand. You refused to permit the destruction of an entire race in spite of Starfleet rules. That's something a Maquis would do. We've all been prepared not to make it home again since we joined."
Janeway stared at him, appalled. "You backed me up because you thought I was bucking the Prime Directive?" Tuvok's earlier concerns echoed in her mind; she dismissed them, framing her argument as to how the Federation's highest order applied here, on the other side of the galaxy. Then she realized that he had said nothing of the sort; she had just revealed her own fears to him.
If he noticed, Chakotay nonetheless did not press the argument. "I backed you because this is your ship. Because, as you said, whatever conflicts we might have had in the Demilitarized Zone have been superseded by our current situation. And because we've been talking on the Bridge instead of in the brig."
"It didn't make much sense to spoil you in quarters when we need help cleaning up this mess," she admitted wryly, relieved to see him smirk in response. She leaned forward to put a hand over his. "That's what we need to talk about. How we're going to make our ship work."
* * * *
A pleasant emotion propelled Chakotay to turn his hand over and clasp hers. He'd had the feeling before, when she sent Paris down to rescue him. Maybe even earlier, as he stood on her Bridge watching her wave away his phaser, her body telling him that if necessary she would fight him barehanded but she would not be intimidated. Perhaps he had felt it that very first moment on the viewscreen, when she called him "Commander" and told him she wanted to solve their problem together. It had been a long time since he felt it, but he thought the sentiment might be allegiance.
Then she shattered it with one sentence: "I think we must remain a Starfleet vessel, with a Starfleet crew."
Rather than fight her then and there, Chakotay begged off. "Captain, I'm sorry to presume, but do you think we could continue this discussion after I've cleaned up a little? I have so much soot up my nose it's clogging my thinking." Janeway took one look at him, and at the stain his charred pants had left on her couch, and agreed.
He did not realize just how filthy he was until he peeled his clothes off in the room which she implied he was to consider his quarters. He dropped his clothes across the floor as he walked toward the sonic shower, thinking that the scorched outfit was probably not worth saving, but wondering what else he had to put on--everything he'd owned had been aboard his doomed ship, he'd lost all but the medicine bundle he'd had hidden in his vest from the time he beamed aboard Voyager. He didn't put much stock in premonitions, but he'd had one, when he woke on the floor of his vessel after the Caretaker had finished experimenting on them. He'd arisen with the distinct sense that he was being given a second chance. Then, he had thought he felt lucky to have escaped the Caretaker. Now he knew better. His ship was gone, he was back aboard a Starfleet vessel--not as a prisoner, at least not yet--and he was about to start a new life, in a new quadrant of space. A lot to think about.
Turning, he surveyed the mess he'd made of the room. It was enormous--not just the mess, but the cabin. It appeared that some furniture had been removed--the table had only one chair, and a scar crossed one wall where a shelf had been--but a holo of a Federation ship hung over the desk, which had a new viewscreen attached to it. With a start he realized that Janeway must have put him in the first officer's quarters.
A bribe? Or an admission of need?
He tugged open one of the panels. Someone had removed all visible effects from the room, but had forgotten the civilian clothes tucked away in the drawers. He held up one of the shirts; it was going to be too small, he doubted it would button. Well, it would be better than a Starfleet uniform.
The only satisfaction he could find came from imagining the poor soul who would have to cope with B'Elanna's wrath when she was told that their new captain intended for her to serve Starfleet; he only hoped it wasn't going to be himself on the receiving end.
* * * *
"Tuvok," Janeway began without preamble. "I'm going to invite the Maquis to become part of this crew. It's the only way to fill our own positions and guarantee their assistance."
Her security chief raised an impassive eyebrow. "That may not be wise. Some of the Maquis have criminal records dating many years before the insurrection in the Demilitarized Zone. And several are Starfleet dropouts, familiar with our systems and weaponry. Allowing them the freedom of the ship may expose the crew to unnecessary danger."
"That's why I'm telling you this now," she grimaced sympathetically. "It's going to be your job to watch out for potential conflicts. There's no other way, Tuvok, we cannot keep that many people locked up when we barely have enough personnel to operate the ship. I think that if we trust them, we'll earn their loyalty."
"If you are incorrect, we might find ourselves prisoners on a ship run by Maquis officers who would not be so generous."
"I don't think so." Although she had not met most of Chakotay's crew, Janeway sensed that they would obey his terms; his personal charisma guaranteed that. "I believe that Chakotay will agree to become my first officer. And if he follows us, I have confidence that his crew will also."
Tuvok's face registered something very close to displeasure. Had he been human she would have attributed it to ego--he was, after all, the logical choice to become first officer--but she knew the Vulcan concerned himself with the orderly functioning of the vessel, the following of protocol. The chief of security was dependent on the institution of Starfleet: the presence of the larger military organization gave weight to the office. Out here, without legal representatives or backup protection, Tuvok's job was going to be much more complicated.
"You know Chakotay's crew better than anyone but himself," Janeway went on. "You probably have some sense of which officers can be trusted to follow orders and which are perhaps not officer material at all. I need to know who's who."
"And the Commander? Are you sure you can trust him?" She regarded Tuvok warily; he had worked closely with Chakotay. "It is fair to say that he was an effective Starfleet officer, and used his Starfleet training in discipline and morale to run his own ship." Good: that meant that the Maquis officers would be prepared to obey protocol. "But, Captain, I have observed that Commander Chakotay harbors some contempt for Federation law. He may agree to become part of this crew, but I do not believe he will fully follow Starfleet regulations. He does not always respect the chain of command, and I am not certain whether he still accepts the importance of the Prime Directive."
"That will have to be my project," she noted. "I'll take care of Chakotay. I need you to look after the crew." He nodded shortly. She wanted to say something in appreciation, but settled for, "Thank you for your input, Tuvok. Dismissed."
She dropped her head into her hands, sighing.
Chakotay stepped in just as Tuvok exited; Janeway looked up to catch the appraising look that passed between the two men. Her gut tightened at the impression that they did not like each other. Quickly she dismissed the feeling; Vulcans did not bear personal grudges, and Chakotay was still angry at the discovery that his comrade had been a Federation spy. Nonetheless she could already see how complex the task of integrating the crews was going to be.
And she suspected that in a one-on-one fight, Chakotay could wipe the floor with Tuvok, Vulcan strength notwithstanding.
Chakotay was wearing a shirt buttoned only halfway up his chest with the pants he'd had on all day, somewhat cleaner but still charred. Janeway looked him over in surprise, marking the hard muscles of his upper body, but she dropped her gaze when he cocked his head at her study. "The replicators aren't working," he explained, his own discomfort blanketing a twinge of humor. "Nice quarters you gave me, but the clothes don't fit. And I guess I'm not going to get any of that coffee I'd been looking forward to as one of the perks of being on this ship."
"Don't make me think about coffee," she replied darkly. "Commander...why didn't you just put on a uniform?"
He crossed his arms over his exposed upper chest. "I don't think you're going to have an easy time convincing my crew to wear that uniform," he nodded at her.
"I don't think they're going to have a choice, unless you beamed over your personal effects when your ship was destroyed," she retorted. "But that's not really the issue, is it? The problem is that you don't want to wear it." She glared at him. "I want you to become the first officer of this ship. But I don't see how I can, if you won't accept the most basic regulations."
"Starfleet regulations," he almost spat back. "I hear you launched from DS9. Surely you noticed that more than half the officers on that station are Bajoran, not Starfleet..."
"Deep Space Nine is the property of Bajor," she cut him off, fighting not to raise her voice. "This ship is belongs to the Federation. If you're going to be a part of it, you and your crew are going to obey Starfleet regulations. The matter is not open for discussion."
"What are you going to do if they refuse?" He leaned over the desk towards her and she started to rise, jaw clenched. "I'm not trying to threaten you, Captain. But a lot of my crew have personal reasons to mistrust Starfleet. And the rest joined the Maquis out of a heroic impulse, or they just didn't fit in anyplace that had a rigid hierarchy. This is a pretty fundamental problem."
"You're right, Commander," she grated. "Do you hate the Federation so much that you're willing to live under terror? I thought the Maquis claimed to fight for their homes, not for anarchy and chaos." He started to protest and she continued, "You want a double standard for the crew? Everyone will know on sight who is Maquis and who is Starfleet, and they won't forget with time as they might if we integrated the ship. There will be prejudice, and fights, and loss of discipline, and soon neither one of us will be able to stay in control." She could see that she had scored points, and plunged ahead. "Right now I think the Maquis will obey your decisions. We must have a uniform crew..."
"You mean a uniformed crew," he added straight-faced.
"Don't interrupt me," she started to say in her most authoritative voice, but in spite of herself she could not suppress the snicker that crept into her speech. He tried to his face absolutely impassive, then gave up and grinned mischievously. They were still smiling at each other when the ship jolted.
Janeway slammed a hand on her comm badge as they strode towards the door. "Report!"
An unfamiliar voice answered, "We're having a problem in auxiliary control with the computer. The system is..."
"Who is this?" she interrupted.
"That's Torres. She's one of mine," Chakotay answered as the ship shuddered. "I think maybe we should get down there."
The computer crisis in auxiliary turned out to be insignificant beside the personnel problem. Two Maquis officers had reinitialized the primary backup system, but the young lieutenant whose station it was did not look pleased. "Captain, they seem familiar with the specs on the computer," he said softly to Janeway while Chakotay praised the Maquis. "I think this section of the ship should be off-limits..." She glared and informed him that since they obviously needed the Maquis officers to repair their systems, he should be grateful rather than suspicious. But as she toured the lower decks to check on repairs, she knew it would not be so simple, and the pressure was already beginning to exhaust her.
Then a crewmember attacked her as she walked out of engineering.
Her initial reaction was that Tuvok had been right--it must be a Maquis mutineer. But when she called for security backup, members of both crews appeared and quickly restrained the officer, whom she'd managed to throw off. He was wearing a Starfleet uniform. The young ensign quickly broke, sobbing something about a girlfriend at the Academy and his sister who was ill. Two crewmembers hustled him off to sickbay before she got a chance to speak.
She wasn't injured, and was relieved that she'd been in control of the situation when help arrived, not wanting to show any weakness. Still, several crewmembers made sympathetic comments after the attack. Their concern seemed exaggerated, but then for each crewmember who blamed her for their situation, there was probably another who feared the loss of the Captain would end any chance they had of getting home. She felt almost maternal towards them; part of her wanted to shield them from the awesome responsibility of the Prime Directive. They were, after all, very young and very far from home. Her head pounded. She headed quickly towards the upper decks, thinking that Tuvok was right about one thing: she needed to remember to rest before she collapsed.
Chakotay was waiting for her outside her quarters, half-turned to a computer panel as if he were looking for information. Despite her exhaustion, her mood lifted at the sight of him; their gazes knotted for a moment. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Janeway regarded him skeptically, wondering who had notified him so quickly and whether his concern was professional or personal. "I'm fine."
He prodded, "I heard there was trouble."
"Not much, just a scared kid," she retorted, gesturing wearily for him to follow her inside. His look was not sympathetic so much as understanding, and she realized that he was the one person on board whom she did not feel any need to protect. "Commander," she sighed, "tell me what you really think. Did I do wrong by these people, stranding them here..."
He moved toward her, eyes wide with alarm. "You know better than to ask that," he said almost angrily. "You did what you had to."
She lifted her hands in frustration. "If there's even the slightest possibility..."
He caught her by the arm. Though she often made physical contact with people when she sought their full attention, everyone on a Starfleet crew knew better than to behave so toward the captain; she glared at him incredulously.
"Janeway," he insisted, but when she tried to jerk away, he tried, more gently: "Kathryn." While a commander might call a captain by his or her first name after some acquaintance, he was dangerously close to insubordination. But then, her question had deflated the hierarchy for the moment. He was speaking to her captain to captain, she realized, because he thought she had invited him to do so. "You listen to me. We all knew what had to be done once we realized the stakes." He tugged at her gently. "Come on, sit down for a minute."
* * * *
She seemed to take his words as permission. Her knees simply went out from under her and she sank onto the floor, pulling his arm down with her. He caught himself before they both fell over, folding his legs to drop beside her.
Janeway tried to focus her tired eyes, rubbing at them as a child might, a gesture which struck him as oddly intimate. "I'm sorry," she lamented. "I know the rules, but we're so far from home. I shouldn't have put this on you."
"That's what a first officer is for," he reminded her mildly, bewildered that she would admit to him concerns which could be interpreted as a sign of fragility. Unless it was all an elaborate attempt to gain his sympathy.
But her distress seemed real as she shook her head: "No, it was my responsib..."
The word stuck in her throat and she swallowed. She glanced down to where his arm still held hers. Wondering how they had become so entangled, and aware that he could not indefinitely deny the physical response her closeness engendered in him, he watched cautiously as she studied him. She made no effort to free herself.
"Permission to speak freely, Captain?" he asked finally, with barely a trace of irony.
"Of course."
"Your head will feel a lot better if you get that knot off of it."
He lifted a hand to her hair and pulled it free of the bun, stroking the length. For what seemed like several minutes, they remained immobile, her arm resting against his body, his hand curled on her shoulder inches from her cheek. He waited for her to recoil, but neither moved. Her hair, slightly damp where it had pressed againt her scalp, smelled faintly sweet. He fought an urge to raise it to his nostrils, to let the fingers holding it stroke down her neck. Observing his stare, Janeway flushed slightly and began to extricate herself. But as she disengaged her arm from his, an impulse lifted her hand to touch the tattoo on his forehead, tracing the pattern with faint curiosity in her eyes. He held utterly still, smiling faintly to let her know he didn't mind, but that whatever happened next would have to be her decision.
As he had pointed out several times, she was the captain.
He watched the fatigue lines on her face dissolve into lightheadedness; she smiled back, looking like a different person with her hair down and the professional demeanor put aside. "Let's worry about protocol later," she murmured, reaching around his neck. The strength in his arms seemed to startle her as he lifted her into his lap. Yet he kept his kisses gentle, lingering tenderly. Janeway nudged his mouth open with her lips, entwining her tongue with his. He moaned quietly, and he felt her tremble with arousal at the vibrations.
Fighting the urge to throw his weight against her and tumble them both to the floor, Chakotay settled for wrapping one leg over hers to maneuver her closer. When they finally drew apart, he was panting; his chest rose against the tight shirt, and she tugged at the fasteners. He had the top of her uniform open before she'd gotten to the last one. Trying unsuccessfully to keep her pressed against his hip in order to prevent his erection from ramming into her, he put an arm around her waist and they staggered together to their feet.
Janeway looked up at him in amusement, then dropped her gaze to the opening on his pants which she yanked impatiently. He spread his legs slightly and straightened his back, relishing her scrutiny. Her study made him flush faintly--months in the Maquis had not left him in the best of shape, certainly not by Starfleet standards--but as she stroked him, she murmured, "It's been a long time since I've studied someone else's body."
"Need any lessons?" He was cupping her breasts, sliding his hands around her back so as not to obscure his view of them. Before she could realize what his fingers were doing, he'd gotten her entire uniform undone; a quick tug dropped it to the floor. "I'm glad you didn't forget everything from your years in Starfleet," she hissed in wicked glee while stepping out of the tangle of cloth.
"I remember how miserable the bunks are." His breath heated her hair as his mouth slid down her neck. "Do you prefer the floor"...he kissed one breast..."the couch"...he kissed the other..."or your desk?"
"Usually I prefer the holodeck," she confessed, her body tickling his as a giggle shook her torso. "But we'd better settle for the bed. I don't think we want to start gossip this early in our collaboration."
Kicking his boots and pants from around his ankles, he danced her trippingly across the room. She sat when the backs of her knees hit the bunk, pulling his buttocks towards her but stopping him when he would have swung himself beside her. She stroked his thighs, nipping at his abdomen, then licked and sucked the tip of his penis. When her fingers made contact with the back of his scrotum, his throbbing organ warned him that he wasn't going to last very long that way. He could not even recall the last time--since his Starfleet lover had refused to share his exile over the trouble in the Demilitarized Zone, he'd had a humiliating sequence of liaisons, including some ill-advised flings with members of his own crew. He put his hands on her shoulders and rolled Kathryn Janeway back onto the bed, lowering himself on top of her. Arching her back, she wrapped her legs around his body and sighed with contentment.
* * * *
The scent of fire still clung to him. It was delicious, and seemed appropriate. His tongue was working its way slowly down her belly while his hands slid up her thighs. When they met, gently stroking the warm wetness at the center, she let out a long shiver.
"Computer, dim lights," she commanded huskily, closing her eyes as she settled back. His mouth kneaded her sex while his thumbs traced the outer edge of her vulva, palms resting on her inner thighs and fingers lightly tickling her skin. Moving slowly against him, at first merely clenching and releasing the muscles in her pelvis, then swinging her hips slightly, she soon found herself thrusting forward with her legs as her toes dug into the bed. Occasionally he hummed in reply to her soft coos. The quivering sent tremors through her. She could feel him smile while he pressed down relentlessly. Her legs straightened and her body convulsed as she came, crying out in pleasure and gratitude.
He waited for her to stop twitching before he lifted his head, his mouth leaving a wet trail across her belly and chest as he slid up along them. She grasped his rigid shaft when he came into range. He inhaled sharply through his teeth, leading her to suspect that it had been awhile since he had made love. Good, she thought. Slowly he lowered himself against her body and she shifted to take him in.
He stifled a sound like a sob as he entered her, burying his face in her hair. Then he surprised her by locking his arms around her back and rolling over, flipping her on top of him. "Don't move," he groaned. She tightened around him and kissed his neck, pressing down against him just enough to send sensuous ripples through her own loins. Breathing slowly and evenly, he brushed his fingertips lightly over her back, then began to rock gently, letting gravity pull him back down when she arched away. The slippery heat of their bodies spurred his rhythm. Sliding her hands between them, she stroked his abs, squeezing as he sat up slightly to grip her bottom. Together they rolled over again, his thrusts becoming more intense, one of his hands edging between her legs to rub just above the point at which they were joined. She shrieked and shook, clinching him tightly within. Gasping a word which might have been her name or her title, he held himself up long enough to look at her before finally letting go, his breath releasing in a shuddering "Ohhhh" as his climax swelled and burst inside her.
They clung to each other for several minutes afterwards, faces pressed into one another's throats, making low inarticulate sounds. She gripped him within her for as long as possible, drowsily reflecting on how sheltered she felt with his weight covering her. Then, utterly spent, he rolled to one side, and they fell asleep clamped stickily together.
* * * *
The shrill of a communicator shrieked--Chakotay could not have said after how long--causing them both to jolt awake. It was Neelix, in search of parts for a navigational chart he was constructing. Janeway snapped at him to contact stellar cartography, then broke the link before she remembered that the chief astrophysicist had died during their cataclysmic trip to Neelix's quadrant.
Chakotay listened to her grumble as he waited for his heart to slow; being jerked from sleep usually meant a crisis, and adrenaline already surged through him. He wondered idly which spirits he had so pleased that his life had been spared three times in barely as many days, then granted this new beginning. She raised an eyebrow at his smile as she relaxed against him. "I should never have given that man a communicator," she grumbled.
"That's just the beginning of our problems." She rubbed sleep from her eyes while he sighed exaggerated regret. "Don't cry."
That got a grin out of her. "Well, at least we're both used to getting called at all hours during crisis situations."
"Does that mean this is only going to happen again if there's an emergency?"
Her smile wavered. "You know it's more complicated than that. This was...well, it was wonderful." She glowed for a moment as he nodded agreement, his expression melting momentarily into the bliss she'd witnessed before. "But, I think we had better leave it at that for now. We can't let it affect our duties, and we certainly can't afford to start second-guessing each other."
"You don't think it would interfere with our ability to work together?"
"I think it could, yes. And, if it went on, it might affect your capacity to take orders from me, or mine to give them. But...it isn't just that. There's always the possibility that one of us won't make it back from a mission, and the other one will have to command the ship."
"Don't you think I'll think about that anyway every time you insist on joining an away team?" His fingers closed tightly around her hand. "Tell me one thing," he entreated. "Are you hiding behind command responsibility now because you're sorry you let us do this?"
"No," she stated firmly. "But we have a lot of work ahead, and I'm not willing to do anything that might put the crew at risk. They deserve families and homes and lives after Starfleet, and I may not be able to get them back." She rolled onto her back and he lay his head on her shoulder. "I may have ruined their dreams for all of them. With everything we may have to face, that's probably my greatest fear," she whispered. After a long pause during which his head drooped further against her neck, she turned so that their noses brushed. "What's yours?"
He had been almost dozing, lids fluttering, breath caught in his nostrils; for a man lost on the far side of the galaxy, he was feeling profoundly at peace. But at her question, his eyes flickered open. "Right this minute?" he mumbled. "The opposite. That we'll find a way back."
"It's not something to joke about." Sounding hurt, she lifted herself up on an elbow, knocking his head off her shoulder.
He grunted sadly. "I wasn't." A pang of regret stabbed at him. He pulled himself up so that their faces were almost touching again, thinking that this was not the right time. "We find a way back, and I could lose everything, even my freedom. I'll have to give up this ship, this job you're going to give me, and all these people. Even that uniform of yours."
He could tell from her breathing that she was shaken. "It would be different, yes. Your Starfleet record was exemplary until you resigned. You would have to make a choice..."
"A choice?" The anger resonated as his chest quaked against hers. "The Federation made a choice for me when they chose to cut off my home. I won't go back to Starfleet."
"You're serving in Starfleet right now!"
"In this quadrant, you are Starfleet. I'm serving you. But don't think that changes how I feel about your United Federation." In spite or perhaps because of everything else, he could not keep the resentment from his voice.
"You don't mean you'd go back into the Maquis, not after..."
"I mean I won't go back to the system that bartered away my life!" His voice rose more than he had intended, making her jump. "Do you think I'm like Paris, or those kids who came along looking to be heroes? I was fighting for my home. And if Starfleet is so much a part of you that you can't accept that..." he lay back, not looking at her, "...then none of this means anything."
She didn't look at him as she smoothed her hair and exhaled hard. "I thought you understood why I made the decisions I did, to work with you and to destroy the Array. I'd hoped maybe I'd given you a different perspective on what it means to live by Federation code."
"That's exactly why I don't want to go back." He waved his hand above his head, sweeping the room. "Here, we're in a little magic bubble that contains only the best aspects of the Federation. We can explore, we can cooperate, we don't have anyone to answer to at headquarters. There's no bureaucracy to betray us in the service of some treaty. But as soon as we find our way back, that all changes, and it's back to business as usual." He paused to catch his breath, thinking that despite the past few hours, he did not know her well enough to choose the right words. "When we get home, as you call it, I lose everything. Even you."
She remained silent for so long that he thought he'd gone too far. He'd already heard enough gossip to know that she'd had a lover on Earth, whom she'd probably relinquished when she chose to strand them in this quadrant. She wouldn't let that personal relationship stand in the way of what she considered to be her obligation to Starfleet. He had no right to expect her to treat him differently, especially when he represented the opposite of everything Starfleet stood for. An ugly thought entered his head--possibly she was only lying here with him now for the good of her ship, in an attempt to stave off a mutiny--bringing him over to her side in the most direct way she could think of. Did personal devotion mean anything at all to her, against the weight of her Starfleet obligations?
"Chakotay. What would you have done if we had gone back?"
"I guess that would have depended on whether you sent me to prison," he shrugged gruffly. "If nothing had changed, and you went back to Starfleet? Probably I would have gone back to the Maquis. Where else would I have to go?"
"A lot might have changed. Maybe the fact that we came looking for you would have made a difference," she said wistfully. "What would it take, for you to stop thinking of yourself as Maquis, here and now?"
"I don't think of myself as Maquis here and now, Captain. You're the one who asked me to make a choice."
"Fair enough." She was quiet for a long time. "All right, Chakotay, I'll make you a pledge. If you retake the oath of a Starfleet officer and serve this ship as one, I promise that when we get back I will do everything in my power to make Starfleet reconsider its policy in the Demilitarized Zone."
"And if the Federation is unwilling to reverse its policy?" he prompted. "What are you going to do if they decide to lock me up?"
"If they won't negotiate..." She paused, swallowing. "I won't let them take you prisoner. I'll resign from Starfleet if I have to."
He put a hand over his eyes, before she could see the emotion that twisted his features. "You'd do that for my people?" he asked incredulously, hearing his voice warped with doubt and hope.
"I'd do that for you," she said quietly. He looked at her, wishing he knew what he could offer her in return which she would accept at this point, then he gave up and simply hugged her hard. He stopped before she had a chance to respond or pull away, knowing he'd gotten more than he could have dreamed and not wanting to ruin any of it.
"We'd probably better get back out there and read our crew the riot act," he sighed, feeling his serenity return with her smile. "So, where do I get one of those uniforms you're so determined to see me in?"