A BEGINNING, A MIDDLE, AND A PROPER END
Parting
Janeway hesitated before answering the chime. Only one more left--one more good-bye from those who were not simply taking some of their accumulated leave, but were going on to new lives or resuming old ones in which Voyager and her captain would play no part. Only one more.
"Come in."
He was clad in civilian garb--brown trousers, rust shirt, and his leather vest. She had always liked that vest; he'd been wearing it when she'd first met him, when he had looked much more the angry warrior than he did now. He had worn it frequently on New Earth, five years and a lifetime ago. He came in far enough that the door closed behind him, then stopped uncertainly, his expression grave. She set the "do not disturb" light and came around the desk to look up at him with a shaky smile.
"I can't get my favorite people to stay aboard. Tom and B'Elanna, you and Seven-- Even Tuvok is planning to teach on Vulcan for a while after he finishes his treatments. Everybody's leaving but Harry and the Doctor."
"They just want to spend some time at home with their families. They'll be back."
"Some of them, maybe. But you won't."
Chakotay was not, however, headed for the stockade. As more and more information about Voyager's journey had been declassified and disseminated, support for the ship's Maquis contingent had grown, even among Starfleet crews who had once fought them, with the result that the wheels of justice had in the end turned fairly swiftly. All the Maquis, including their captain, had been sentenced to seven years in penal rehab, and their sentences were considered to have been served in the custody of Captain Janeway, from whom they had received Starfleet training. And that was that. It was all very irregular, but what about this ship and crew had ever been regular? And in true Voyager tradition, the Starfleet veterans had thrown a party in their shipmates' honor when the news came through.
Not long after the decision had been made public, Chakotay had been contacted again by Sveda, the Bajoran woman who had recruited him into the Maquis. Upon her release from prison she had formed an organization that worked to obtain pardons or alternative sentences for those Maquis still incarcerated, and it was her hope that his current celebrity would do her cause some good. Finding himself attracted by her offer--"I couldn't help them in the fight," he said; "maybe I can help them this way"--he began to explore other options that would allow him to spend time on Earth with Seven, and at length received an invitation from Starfleet Academy to teach special courses on Delta Quadrant archaeology and anthropology.
Janeway had never seriously expected him to let Seven brave the perils of Earth alone, and in truth she would not have wanted him to. She could admit, however, to some ambivalence about a relationship that was depriving her of not one but two of the most important people in her life. And though she had not expected Chakotay to stay aboard Voyager forever, for him to leave so soon after their homecoming only magnified the disruption, the hurt--
He had not had to tell her when he'd made his decision. She had known from his face, his bearing, the moment he walked through the ready-room door.
"I can't talk you out of it?"
He drew a deep breath, let it out. "Not this time."
"Then I won't try." She forced herself to sound brisk, even though she felt as if she'd been dealt a physical blow. "I'll just very sincerely wish you well, and be glad we don't have to say good-bye just yet--"
They might as well have done so, however. During these past several weeks the ship's corridors had been crammed with admirals, ambassadors, reporters, engineers, and scientists, and the exterior hull had looked like a spaceport, such was the number of technicians tramping around out there at any given time; captain, first officer, and resident Borg had been in constant demand. Chakotay and Seven had spent their limited free time with each other, while for her part Janeway had forgotten what free time was. Chakotay had handled dozens of crew reassignments and leave requests, all the systems reports and upgrades, and most of the hosting duties--a full-time job in itself--but he could not write reports or attend debriefings for her, or testify at the Equinox courts-martial in her place, nor could he make seven years' worth of condolence calls to the families of the Voyager crew members who had not come home. Despite their daily conferences, she felt as though she had hardly seen him, as though this moment had caught her unawares. But what amount of preparation could ever have been enough?
When he did not speak, she did, struggling for nonchalance in her tone--or, if not exactly nonchalance, at least something a bit lighter than heartache. "So you're going to see Seven's aunt before you take up your post?" He nodded. "How I wish I could be there!"
"I'm sure Seven will tell you all about it."
"Yes, she promised to keep in close touch." She was glad he had given her time to recover from that good-bye before coming himself; if he hadn't, she wouldn't have given two of Fair Haven's shillings for her chances of hanging on to her self-control during this one. Iron determination had kept her going until the fate of the Maquis had been decided, and then for a while she had been able to share in the communal celebration--but now she was feeling distinctly fragile, knowing that the reality of homecoming hadn't truly hit her yet, and that when it did she would have to adjust to it without his steadfast support. "And you're the perfect person to get Icheb settled in at the Academy. Then where to?"
"To my sister's in Lima. My niece and nephew can't decide whether to be scared or excited about meeting a 'Borg lady.'" He found a smile at last.
She managed to return it. "Seven probably feels the same about them."
"Probably so. Of course they're a little nervous about me, too. Comm calls aren't the same as direct interaction, and we haven't had much time even for those."
"Oh, they'll like you. You'll be a wonderful uncle."
"Thanks--I hope so. How about you?"
"To my mother's in Bloomington, as soon as I--" For the first time she faltered. "--brief my new first officer. As soon as I tell him what big shoes he has to fill--" She willed her voice not to break, but it did not obey. "I once told you that I couldn't imagine a day without you. That's four years truer now. We've been through so much together--" They had fought, yes--God, they had fought--but for seven years, through hope and despair and terror and joy, he had been by her side, and now, every day, something necessary would be missing. So often on their journey she had felt she was alone. She'd been wrong. "It's a painful irony that nothing could break us apart except coming home."
"Part of me almost wants to go back." He stepped forward until he stood just before her. "I don't know what to say. This moment has been coming for a month--a month plus seven years--but I still don't know what to say."
She swallowed hard, but could not dispel the lump in her throat. "Good-bye, good luck, it's been a pleasure, it's been a challenge, it's been enlightening and infuriating and I wouldn't trade a minute of it."
"All of the above."
"I was saying it to you." She laid her palm against his cheek, and he tipped his head a little and pressed his hand over hers. "You and Seven take care of each other."
The dozens of good-byes--she escorted every departing crewman to the transporter room herself--made her feel as if she were sending her children out into the world. It was agonizing to let them go, any of them, where she could no longer protect and guide them. With Chakotay, however, the analogy failed. Seven was probably as close to a daughter as she would ever have, but Chakotay defied categorization. The language needed a new word for someone who was friend, partner, confidant, and conscience--and at the same time something more than all of those together.
When she removed her hand his own kept hold, and he reached for her other hand so that he clasped both of hers tightly in both of his. "Kathryn--" Reckless, stubborn, patronizing, combative, brilliant, nurturing, resolute--he had never known anyone more exasperating, or more inspiring. He had loved this woman once, but love had had to yield to circumstance, and in that yielding had made way for a bond so deep that to turn away from her now would be to tear himself in two. "Good-bye, good luck, and all the rest--" His smile was affectionate and sad. "--my brave, wise, beautiful warrior woman."
Poignant memory pierced her heart and for an instant utterly robbed her of breath. "Chakotay-- I've been so blessed in you. You will always be a part of me." Her hands gripped his, hard. "You're so good at coping with changes-- Help me to cope with this one."
"This one isn't going to be easy."
To hear that sentiment from him very nearly undid her. She pulled him into a close embrace, and they stood in silence for a long while, until she drew away from the circle of his arms and said, smiling through her tears, "You'd better go before I lose all my dignity."
His own dignity clearly at risk, he backed away and cleared his throat. "This is crazy--we're acting as though we'll never see each other again. We'll be in touch."
"Don't people always say that and then never follow through?"
"All right--let's make a date. Have some champagne with me at the reunion. Whatever happens in the next eleven months, we'll see each other then."
"You can count on it," she said, as firmly as if she were giving an order.
He gazed at her another moment before he spoke again. "Peace in your heart, Kathryn, and fortune in your steps."
To her the ancient tribal blessing sounded achingly like a permanent farewell. Her lips moved, but her words were barely audible. "You too."
Gently he kissed her forehead, and then he was gone.
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