UNPLANNED (con'd)

[one]

The crew of Voyager always wanted to know that they had tried--to fight, to help, even to run, if that was the only course left to them. If they had tried, they could be at peace, even if they had failed. And so Janeway was not surprised that the mood of the ship grew calmer after the unsuccessful attempt to save the child Ally Lang had carried, that bickering ceased and laughter was frequently heard, and a party of some kind could usually be found when one was in the mood. They completed the mental and emotional shift into a slower pace of life, into safety and security, and found in them pleasure and renewal.

Janeway was delighted for them, while she herself was quietly--or not so quietly, depending on one's point of view--going mad.

She wanted to go on away missions, but the Doctor wouldn't let her. She tried to read reports, but couldn't concentrate for more than a few pages at a time. She tried to exercise, but was usually too dizzy or too queasy or too tired, or too peevish to be a good sport when she lost a game--or all of the above. She tried to read, but old favorites held no appeal and unfamiliar works were too demanding. The Doctor monitored her practically by the hour, for which Chakotay expressed approval but Janeway wanted to deactivate him--and occasionally Chakotay as well. Maybe he'll go on an away mission soon and leave me alone.

Unfortunately Chakotay seemed content under present circumstances to leave the exploring to others. Research parties continued to survey the Zera and neighboring systems, and had discovered deposits of dilithium on several uninhabited moons. As the Zeru used only small quantities, their spacefaring vessels being based on other energy systems, they authorized Voyager to set up a refinery at the largest deposit, with the happy result that additional storage containers were soon required in the cargo bay. In exchange, Voyager's sensors, superior to those of the Zeru and now properly calibrated with the aid of Zeru engineers, were able to locate equally substantial deposits of materials they did use in quantity. Guest engineers came aboard, not only Zeru but members of other nearby species as well, one or two offering this or that device that might, with some modification, prove useful in alleviating the warp coil incompatibility. B'Elanna worked obsessively, which seemed to do her no harm but provided much relief to her family. Paris, in fact, was helping Kim prep the Delta Flyer for a two-week expedition to a nearby cluster, though he would not himself be going. Along with Kim and Neelix, in his capacity as expert forager, Chakotay was sending a few crewmen who remained more restless than most; spending some time with Harry, probably the steadiest person on the ship besides Chakotay himself, would be good for them. Maybe Harry would calm me down if I gave him a chance, Janeway thought, but when she half-seriously began to argue her case to the Doctor, he didn't let her finish the first sentence.

While Chakotay tried not to hover, Janeway tried not to be dependent. She felt more out of sorts now than when she had been reeling with shock, as her body felt less and less her own. She could ask of Chakotay only so much friendly support, could inflict upon him only so many gory details, and in fact had felt very much alone--until one night in the mess hall she'd stumbled into a sort of impromptu therapy session with the other women with whom, just now, she had more in common than she'd ever had with anyone else in her life. At first she had thought that she couldn't loosen up too far with them either--they were, after all, still her subordinates--but it was soon apparent that they had no intention of overstepping the familiar boundaries of rank, and it was a relief to compare symptoms with them, to commiserate and complain, to know that she was not the only one enduring sleepless night after sleepless night.

It was B'Elanna, who knew her best and was most comfortable with her, who invited her to join them. She would hardly have predicted that B'Elanna would be drawn to such a group, Klingon psychotherapy consisting mainly of pummelings with pain sticks and shouts to "GET OVER IT!" Janeway herself liked to think that while counseling was a fine idea for other people, she could get along very well without it. The two unlikeliest people on the ship for this, but here we are.

Here also, usually, were Lang, Tal, and Wildman, still feeling connected to "you four," as Samantha had put it, even though their shared experiences were relatively brief. Two weeks after her close call, Ally still looked pale and underweight, but she had conquered the depression into which emotional letdown and wildly fluctuating hormones had thrown her and was putting in full duty shifts once again. "I wish it had worked out, but it's sure nice not to feel sick all the time," she said, looking apologetic as she bit into her third leola root cookie of the night. Janeway had also spoken several times to Indyssa and was glad to know that she was fully recovered from her own ordeal and that Menlin, though saddened by his loss, was far more relieved that that loss had not been a double one. They had moved her to tears with their offer to adopt the child she carried if it was determined that Zera was the proper place for her and the biological father would not accept her. "If she can't be with you, Captain, your child will have a home and family here."

Golwat, too, was digging into the plate of cookies with enthusiasm. "I'm not having so much trouble these days. I hope I don't jinx us by saying it, but I think the worst is over."

"Maybe the worst of the nausea is over," Torres said, "but I can hardly move when I wake up in the mornings, my back hurts so much. And that's after tossing and turning all night.  Tom gave up and moved to the couch."

"Try not going to bed," Janeway suggested, pouring out another round of chicory tea, which had proven just as welcome to the others as it had to her. "Just pace around most of the night the way I do. It will definitely keep your back from cramping up, but then of course your feet will hurt."

The others laughed, and then Nicoletti spoke up. "I'm beginning to wonder if our gestation periods really will be shorter than usual for our species. Our symptoms seem to be running their courses pretty quickly. My mother had nausea for months when she was pregnant with me, but mine lasted just a couple of weeks. And we all started to show pretty quickly."

"It won't be soon enough for me," Golwat declared, "though these girl-talk sessions are kind of fun."

"Yes, they are," Janeway said. "So often I've lamented that we don't have a counselor on board--"

"We've done fine!" Wildman broke in, obviously surprised by her captain's concern. "You and Chakotay and Neelix are great to talk with, and in the early days we had Kes. And I think we all tend to counsel each other when we need to."

"I miss Kes a lot," Tal said, and all their heads bobbed up and down.

"She was wonderful when I was pregnant with Naomi and when Naomi was little."

Janeway remembered vividly poor little Kes's suffering during her false elogium. So terribly young, but she could tell me a thing or two now about bodily changes and discomfort and panic. Some important questions about parenting had arisen then, for both young mothers-to-be and those not so young anymore. "I remember talking then with Commander Chakotay about the possibility of Voyager's becoming a generational ship, about my concerns over raising children in this environment."

"There's never been a question in my mind or Tom's that Voyager was the right place to raise a child," Torres declared. "I suppose it's because we both found our true homes here." She rolled her eyes. "Sorry for being sappy--I promise it won't last."

"But it's true," Lang put in. "Voyager is our home. Maybe not forever but for now. Raoul and I have talked about how we all, or most of us, lived in an emotional limbo for so long, not ready, deep down, to commit to a new way of life. It's good that we let that go after the transwarp hub didn't work out. Most of us anyway." Janeway wondered if she imagined the glances directed her way.

"This may be home," Golwat said, "but I do miss my sister. We're close, and these days especially I really envy Megan and Jenny, having family here. I hope they know how lucky they are."

"This situation has made me miss my mother like never before," Janeway said, and her sudden self-consciousness at her own confession was immediately quashed by the chorus of "Me, too"s that greeted it. "I guess we never lose the inner child who needs to be comforted by a parent."

"Speaking of parents," Nicoletti said, "I'm in a bit of a bind. I'll have a turn during the next communications window, and I don't know whether to tell my parents what's happened."

"I wouldn't," Ally said. "If it doesn't work out you'll have worried them for nothing. I didn't when I talked to mine last month. Can you wear bulky clothes?"

"Not very easily. I've promised them a quick recital--me on oboe, Harry on clarinet, and Sanchez on violin. They're going to have the whole family there, and somebody's going to notice that I've gained weight."

"Too bad oboes aren't bigger," Golwat said. "Maybe you should take up guitar."

"Or the double bass," Janeway put in. "Or Andorian harp--ten feet tall if they're an inch."

"No no," Wildman said, "that big piece of foil stuff they use to make pretend thunder. You can't see behind those at all!"

Laughter was good, Janeway reflected. It might not solve a problem, but it could make one seem less insurmountable. "Parents are pretty tough, Sue, tougher than most children think they are. They'll worry, but they'll also know you're in the best of hands. And even though it won't be your turn during the window after that, somebody's family will get a message to them telling them you're doing fine."

"Thanks, Captain." And then Sue gave a wry smile and shook her head. "I can't really believe I'm talking to my captain about this sort of thing!"

"In all honesty I can't believe it either," Janeway said, "but I'm glad."

Captains were always sounding boards and counselors to some degree, that degree varying with the captain. She had served under very maternal or paternal types and also under those who tended to be aloof, and thought of herself as somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, reserved by inclination but compassionate when someone needed her to be. But because of this experience her relationship with these six of her crew had changed. During these talks, at least, they were women first and officers second. And she had a question to pose to them, as women and as friends.

"I've been wondering if the rest of you have given as much thought as I have to what you're going to do if these four babies go to term. Of course we might not have a choice depending on the medical needs of the children, but if we do--?"

"Chell's already said he's in it for the duration," said Golwat. "I guess I am, too, though I certainly wouldn't have chosen to get pregnant with a lizard baby."

"Me neither," Sue said softly. "Bill and I are getting pretty serious, I think, but it seems an awful lot to ask of him, though he says he's willing-- But I think I'd come to hate myself if I left this child behind. On the other hand, if the biological father decides he wants her--that might be the best solution for everybody. I just don't know."

"Tom and I have been trying for another child, but this wasn't exactly what we had in mind--though Miral does have kind of a thing for snakes, actually. But seriously--we've already decided to be a family of four, if that's how it turns out." After a pause, during which she seemed to consider whether she should, B'Elanna asked, "What about you, Captain?"

"Well, in my circumstances I don't think I would ever choose to have a child--all my energy is pretty well spoken for. But I always did assume I would have children someday, so I can't say that I'm entirely displeased the fates might have decided that 'someday' is now."

"Did you and Mark plan to have children?"

B'Elanna's question was tentative, and when Janeway didn't answer immediately she began to look embarrassed, as if fearing she had crossed into too-private territory. After putting them on the spot, Janeway didn't want her to feel that way, and so produced a response, though not without difficulty, not least because she was wondering only now why she hadn't thought of Mark when she had talked about whom her current situation made her miss most. "We talked about it but never came to a decision. Probably that's lucky--" She sipped her chicory, and was grateful when the conversation, no doubt by design, moved into the more mundane cataloguing of physical symptoms and griping about the need for uniforms of larger size.

That night she dreamed of familial bliss with Mark and woke herself with her sobs. For a time she fought them back, but ultimately, foolishly, gave in and wept until there was nothing left but hiccups that made her whole chest ache. She staggered into the bathroom and tried to pull herself together, but even modern cosmetics couldn't reduce swelling and redness in a flash, and she went straight to her ready room without stopping on the bridge to advertise her state of mind.

One minute after she logged in there was a buzz at the door--Chakotay, thinking her reclusiveness odd. She let him in, because if she didn't he would worry and bother her even more.

One glance at her was all it took. "Hey, what's up?"

"I didn't sleep well, that's all."

"That doesn't usually turn on the waterworks."

She shrugged, conscious of stiffness in her shoulders. "Just a mood swing. You know all about those."

He smiled and didn't push farther, and set the stack of morning padds on her desk. "No rush on any of this--go back to bed if you need to." Her face crumpled and the tears began to flow. "What did I say? Kathryn?"

"Nothing--damn it--I didn't think I had any left. It's just that--I dreamed about Mark last night. I hadn't in a very long time. In our meeting we got to talking about families, and I dreamed that Mark and I were living happily ever after, you know, with three point seven kids and two dogs, and I woke up wondering whether he and his wife have any children, and then I told myself I was pathetic for caring-- Oh god, Chakotay, I'm sorry!"

He was distinctly confused. "Why?"

"Because, because--" How could she have gone on and on about Mark and dogs and happily-ever-after to Chakotay of all people? She'd unburdened herself to her usual sounding board before she'd stopped to think how it might hurt. But why should it be a big deal to mention Mark? He mentioned Seven now and then and she never thought a thing about it--not that they were ever as serious as she and Mark had been-- "Never mind." She fumbled about for a tissue and discovered that the box on her desk was empty, so she got up and ordered another from the replicator, while Chakotay simply watched her, waiting, she supposed, for an opportunity to be helpful, damn him.

On her way back to her desk she gave him an impulsive hug that left him blinking rather stupidly. "Good lord, can these mood swings get any worse? You've been so patient and understanding. I don't deserve you and you make me feel like a wimp, so please go away."

He shook off his astonishment with a laugh, amused by her flight into unaccustomed humility, but at the same time he wondered whether she might really be on the verge of needing the doctor's help. "I'll check with you in a little while."

She was looking up at him, her hands still on his arms, and a sudden tender urge swept through him to kiss her forehead. This disconcerted him so badly that he stood rooted to the spot for several seconds. At length, feeling the need to respond somehow to her embrace and his own befuddlement, he brushed away the tears still seeping from her eyes. "You aren't a wimp, and it's going to be all right."

She took a deep breath, let it out. "I know. I keep telling myself that this too shall pass."

"It will. And I'll be with you all the way."

"I know. Damn! Don't you dare make me cry again. Go away!"

He went.

It was a blow to everyone when Golwat miscarried.

It happened on a day when she was feeling particularly fine, while she was having lunch with friends on the holodeck, joking about how colorful a family she and Chell and "their" child would be. "I hope she's a glorious shade of purple," she said, and then the pain struck her.

Within minutes the Doctor had removed the fetus and begun to stabilize Golwat's hormone levels. A few minutes more and she was out of danger, though she would experience some physical discomfort for several days. The emotional discomfort would last quite a while longer. "It was over so fast," she sobbed to Janeway, propped up on six pillows on the bio bed, her skin so pale it could hardly be called blue. "Chell is a wreck and I'm not much better. We had started to plan the nursery, just in case she could stay with us--"

The Doctor ran every test he could think of on the fetus and stored the results and tissue samples for further study, then turned the small body over to Dr. Lassimar and her colleagues as he'd done with Ally Lang's child. "With every setback we learn something new," he said. "Both fetuses were severely deficient in an enzyme necessary for successful development of a Zeru baby. It is unknown in human, Bolian, and Klingon physiology, and therefore I would expect the levels in a hybrid child to be lower than normal, but since all my tests indicate that it will have no effect whatsoever on the host mother if introduced directly into the placenta, I would like to administer a low dose; it will nourish the fetus but any excess will be excreted by your bodies as an inert substance." All three women assented to the new treatment and watched nervously as the hypospray was applied to their gently rounded bellies. And then they resumed their lives and tried not to fret.

Chakotay and Paris and Chapman didn't bother trying. All three hovered more than ever; all three envied Chell and Molina their release from utter helplessness. But when none of the remaining mothers-to-be showed any sign of impending trauma, in fact even seemed to feel better, as if the fetuses could now gain strength without drawing so much from their mothers, they began to relax again--if the word relax could be applied, Chakotay reflected, to this state of constant heightened tension. It was getting so that his pulse shot to warp speed with every chirp of his comm badge.

"Henley's and Jor's teams have departed on schedule, and Harry's team will be debarking in the shuttle bay in a few minutes," he reported in the ready room ten days after Golwat's miscarriage, glad as always to see Kathryn looking reasonably hale and hearty. She was sleeping better since the Doctor's enzyme treatment, but her mood swings were more exhausting than ever, because she now had more energy to power them. "And B'Elanna just this minute reported that the warp coil problem is fixed, so there's some good news to start your day." He saw no reason to relay Torres's off-the-record follow-up: "But we can't fucking GO anywhere!"

She knew he had come to tell her in person just because he wanted to see how she was; he hadn't set eyes on her since breakfast, all of thirty minutes before. "Fine. Thanks. That is good news." Not that it's much use at the moment-- She accepted the padds he had brought her but set them aside for later perusal of the details. "Chakotay, how are the crew now, after Golwat? I can't shake the feeling that they're getting impatient again. There's less work to fill their time now, fewer away missions--"

"What--you think I can't find enough for them to do? Have you noticed how clean everything is? Voyager hasn't looked this good since she was built. And the engineers are thrilled to spend so much time in one place so they can work out on the hull to their hearts' content. The Zeru pilots always wave at them as they fly by--"

"I'm serious. Sit down."

"So am I." He sat beside her on the sofa, and shrugged. "A few short fuses, a little more indulgence in real booze--nothing that will get out of hand. They understand the situation."

"Some of them probably think I should have followed Samantha's and Celes's example."

"Yes--but they know why you didn't, and a lot of them support you and B'Elanna and the others. And all of them understand that it's your decision to make, not theirs--or if they don't understand they're keeping their opinions to themselves." He also thought it best not to mention the "discussion" he'd had the night before with a couple of Maquis security personnel a little the worse for boredom and drink after an unexciting away mission; he hoped she wouldn't notice his swollen knuckles or question him about the crewmen's severely docked rations. Tuvok's people always came back disappointed that their services hadn't been required, though most of the time they managed not to show it.

"As long as their resentment doesn't build up and explode in our faces."

"They'll be fine if they stay busy." The crewmen in question were definite candidates for the next away mission, to a primeval jungle planet that ought to provide them a few challenges--or at least wear them out. "Harry's always looking for promising systems to explore. And now that the Doctor has announced that the delay probably won't be as long as we feared, most people feel that we're on the downhill slope." Agreeing with Nicoletti's hunch, the Doctor had finally theorized, based on the growth rate of the fetuses, a gestation period of no more than six months, and they were now well into month four.

"I'm so aware of them looking at me, monitoring my condition, and I wonder if I see accusation in some of those glances, if I see questions and doubts. Am I really doing this just because I have--maternal yearnings?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I shouldn't have said that--I'm sorry. But I was afraid you were going to be bullheaded. I guess I thought I needed to shock you into listening to me."

"Maybe you did. And maybe you were right about part of my motivation."

"What if I was? It's perfectly natural. One of the fundamental biological drives of every organism we've ever studied is the need to procreate. I insist on being godfather, by the way."

"Even if she has scales?"

"Especially if she has scales."

"Well, as long as she has blue eyes. According to Aunt Martha, every Janeway female for ten generations has had blue eyes. I can't face her if I fail that test!" It was good to hear her laugh, he thought, even briefly. And then she went on with new sadness, "You could hardly be her godfather if she stays on Zera. And maybe she should--I couldn't possibly give a child the attention she would need."

"I thought you weren't going to worry about that yet." She responded with a can't-help-it lift of her shoulders. "Anyway, do you really think you'd do it all alone? You'd have a shipful of babysitters, just like our other parents do."

"But I have no right to divide my focus that way, to take energy away from the crew--"

"Come on, Kathryn, captains have babies all the time. Their crews don't fall apart."

"Not while they're on active duty, they don't--they take a leave of absence."

"So could you."

"I most certainly could not! It would feel like--like cutting class at the Academy."

Playful amazement brightened his face. "You cut classes??"

She blushed. "Once or twice--but only for very good reasons!"

"Sure, sure-- And did the hallowed halls collapse?"

"Of course not, but--"

"No buts. No one on this ship would begrudge you a chance for something like a normal life--as normal as any of our lives can be, at any rate. No one is inexperienced anymore; we've got at least a dozen people now capable of assuming command if necessary. Everyone would pitch in and help you, the same way they help each other every day. And if you think you haven't earned that kind of support in nearly ten years, you're crazy."

She ducked her head modestly and looked out the window. "We're talking as if this is something else I have a choice about."

"Well--you do."

Her head snapped back around. "Don't start that again, Chakotay."

He tried not to show his annoyance. Did she bait him deliberately? "I'm not starting anything. I'm just reminding you that medically speaking you do have a choice about every aspect of this situation until and unless the Doctor says you don't. Don't try to kid yourself that the decision isn't in your hands."

"'Kid' myself? Kid myself? Listen, Mister, you have no idea, any more than Harry does, what this is like--no idea what I'm going through. You think you can just crack a joke and make it all better--"

He had regretted his own remark the moment he'd uttered it, so he tried not to react with anger to the unfairness of hers, tried not to let his brain form such a thought as Sorry I bother trying to cheer you up. "I think I'd better go. Let me know when your mood swings back."

He was already down the steps before she could extricate herself from the sofa. "Chakotay--I'm sorry--damn these hormones--!"

He took a deep breath, and pasted a smile on his face, and turned around. She was standing on the first step, gripping the rail so hard her knuckles were white. She held herself stiffly and he knew her back had to be hurting after that lunge up from the sofa. "It's okay--it isn't your fault--"

"So often I'm clinging to my temper by a hair, and then the hair breaks--"

"So don't fight it. Next time just whack me and I'll march you off to Sickbay and order the Doctor to pump you full of sedatives."

She laughed--though after this little tiff he's probably only half-joking--and came down the steps to give him a quick hug--which wouldn't have been a problem if she hadn't immediately gotten self-conscious and pulled away, too quickly-- "Sorry--"

"No problem. Anytime." His smile felt frozen on his face. "Listen, I've been thinking about visiting those ruins on the third moon--would you feel all right if I was off the ship for a couple of days?"

She felt suddenly weak and watery inside, but tried to make her tone light and teasing. "You'd have a hard time giving me a hug from three planets away--" Either she hadn't succeeded or he'd heard the fear beneath the jest; he shook his head and started to say something like "never mind," but she broke in, trying to salvage the exchange. "I'm sorry--of course you should go. You worry too much. Present evidence to the contrary I'm feeling well overall and I couldn't have better care."

"It was just a thought. If you're okay I need to debrief Harry--"

"I'm fine," she said testily, peeved because she had been brave enough to let him go and now he refused. "Tell him I hope he had a good trip."

"I'll relay the message, Captain." His crisp tone matched hers.

The closing of the doors behind him sounded crisp, too. He'd probably have slammed them if he could. And now he would hover even more, assuming she was on the verge of a breakdown, needing a hug every five minutes. Oh GOD let this be over soon!

Four. Or more. Nearly every crew member had been off the ship four or more times in the past three and a half months, on shore leave or away missions, for at least a few hours and sometimes for a few days. Some in the most relevant specializations had gone six or eight times. And I get to set up their schedules, Chakotay thought. Lucky me.

He hated himself for feeling trapped. He was supposed to feel patient and supportive. Paris wasn't complaining (not about being trapped), nor was Chapman, nor had Chell or Molina. But they didn't have to plan the trips for everybody else.

He wondered if Mark would have been patient and supportive. At least she'd been embarrassed when talking of him. He had decided long ago that he really didn't ever want to meet Mark--meeting Jaffen had been awkward enough--and yet he had no right to be jealous, even retroactively, of her relationships, no right whatsoever to that mortifying burst of outraged envy when he'd first learned of her pregnancy. He was the one, after all, who had most recently known something like emotional fulfilment, and she hadn't been jealous of him--not that she'd ever shown, anyway. Did she ever wonder if he dreamed of Seven?

The door buzzed, and at his terse acknowledgment Ayala stepped in, with--no surprise--a request for shore leave. "Nozawa is scheduled to go tomorrow but he'd rather stay aboard because Dorado just got back with Kim's team, and I'm not scheduled to go until next week but I'm really going stir-crazy. We were hoping we could swap."

"You think you're the only one? Some of us--" He shut his mouth.

"Sir?"

"Nothing." He couldn't swear that he hadn't been indiscreet during Kim's debriefing either, and foresaw a long talk with his spirit guide that evening. "I'll look over the roster and let you know."

"Thanks. How's the captain doing?"

Uh-oh. "She's fine."

"I'll bet. I figure she's at about six months in human terms, and at six months my wife was snapping my head off--"

"Ayala, if you want that schedule change, you really don't want to say anything else."

The lieutenant snapped to attention. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Sorry to bother you--" He sidled out fast, and Chakotay gave it an hour and a half before his account was all over the ship.

"Will there be anything else, Captain?"

"What? I'm sorry, Tuvok. How long have I been drifting?"

"A few moments only. You are preoccupied this afternoon."

"A little--but I appreciate your report on our guests. I do want to see Indyssa before she goes." Today Voyager was hosting a party of Zeru educators, led by Indyssa, curious about raising children in such unusual circumstances. Naomi and Icheb were tickled pink to be called upon for interviews, and the little ones just liked to be fussed over by somebody new. "It's nice that we're here long enough to make some friends, even though--" Her voice trailed off.

"Captain--you were saying--?"

"I don't remember. Never mind." Even though there's a cost-- "I've got to stop taking Chakotay's head off about every little thing--he must hate me." She hadn't seen him since lunch and he hadn't said much then, obviously treading with caution. He hadn't mentioned getting together for dinner and she was glad she hadn't had to invent an excuse to get out of it. Though he'd probably have been relieved if I had--

"Humans do typically display their worst moods to those with whom they feel most at ease--family members, romantic partners, close friends. But while it is true that such persons are more patient and forgiving than casual acquaintances, they can also be more vulnerable to emotional strain as a result of their expected roles, and so more care must be taken not to damage a valued relationship beyond repair."

"And how long have you been rehearsing that particular warning, my very perceptive friend?" Tuvok's rising eyebrows did not erase her affectionate smirk. "So how do pregnant Vulcan women keep from taking their hormones out on their family and friends?"

"Increased exercise and meditation are usually sufficient. Rarely is medication needed."

"The Doctor won't let me do anything really strenuous, but I'm walking as much as I can--three or four miles a day. I did try to contact my spirit guide, but without any luck, even with Chakotay's help."

"Commander Chakotay was assisting you?"

"Yes--why?"

"Perhaps his presence was a distraction."

She tried to tell herself that his tone carried no special inflection, his words no hidden meaning, but beneath her breastbone a little knot of tension began to form. "I don't see why--he's the one who introduced me to my guide all those years ago."

"Perhaps under current circumstances there is a certain loss of objectivity, a lack of the necessary calm--"

This remark did not serve to make her any calmer. Why did Vulcans have to be so damned perceptive, anyway? Watch out, Tuvok--if you make me any more self-conscious around Chakotay than I am already, I'll be taking my hormones out on you--

"Good morning, Commander," Janeway said brightly as she took her seat on the bridge after a night in which she had actually managed to stay asleep for three hours at a stretch.

"Good morning, Captain," Chakotay replied, carefully.

She was giving him her most radiant smile. How did Paris do it--actually live with a woman in this condition--never knowing from one minute to the next which of her several charming personalities he would have to deal with? Of course he had heard that Tom and Miral had spent a few nights in Harry's quarters . . . But as bad as it was for those closest to them, it was a thousand times worse for the women themselves. And heaven help them all if men had been susceptible, if a Zeru embryo needed only a warm body to develop rather than a womb. Tom Paris pregnant! There should be a movie.

She heard the wariness in his tone. Well, who could blame him? "I'm going to be on my best behavior all day today--I promise."

He gave her a patient, supportive smile and felt relieved enough to tease. "Don't strain yourself. You might as well enjoy having a legitimate excuse for a bad mood."

"P'tak!" she hissed, and then continued in her normal tone, "No, you're entitled. You're getting all the grief of a husband without any of the benefits." She said it with casual wry sympathy, then drew a horrified breath--and Chakotay's composure was easily as shaken as her own--

A snort reached them from the helm, and in that moment she adored Tom for his nosiness. "You have something to add, Mr. Paris?"

"At times like this there aren't any benefits--right, Tuvok?" Tuvok's eyebrows shot to his hairline with indignation at being included in such a vulgar comment.

"Tuvok tells me that Vulcan women rely heavily on meditation during their pregnancies," Janeway said. "He gave me some pointers yesterday. Why don't you talk to B'Elanna, Tuvok?"

"I don't think Klingons have a meditation gene," Paris replied in a cheerful drawl.

Chakotay was wishing he could do a little meditating right then, but he knew he was too wound up to have much success. Kathryn was more on the mark than she knew. Of the five women who had decided to continue their pregnancies, she was the only one without a partner, and from the beginning the crew had assumed he would fill that role. For that matter, so had he. He was glad to do it, wouldn't think of doing otherwise, but he had soon become aware that there would be consequences he had not anticipated. He was her partner, but not "that way." As time passed, however, he began to notice that his shipmates were treating him more and more "that way." There were curious glances and whispered asides. Assumptions and speculation added undertones to ostensibly casual inquiries about the captain's health. It didn't help, of course, that he was behaving as he imagined husbands and partners behaved, as he saw Paris and Chapman and the others behave, trying to walk the line between stolid support and teasing her to keep her spirits up, then working off tension in the holodeck. He'd lost five pounds. He'd be a wraith by the time this was over.

When he rejoined the conversation, after industrious and unnecessary study of the previous shift's security report, he was relieved to find it was now safely focused on fuel consumption. But his escape was not complete; in the ready room later Janeway said to him, "I hope I didn't embarrass you earlier."

"What do you mean?" --though he knew very well, and wanted only to buy himself some time.

"When I made that comment about husbands, I hope I didn't embarrass you." She was embarrassed about bringing it up again deliberately, but she needed to know how bad a blunder it had been, wanted to apologize if an apology was necessary--so they could move on. Again. Best behavior--

He'd had time to decide how to answer. "Not at all. Don't worry about it."

Why did he have to be so emphatic? And why did it bother her that he was? "Good. Well. Anyway. I was thinking it would probably be a good idea for you to visit those ruins after all. Why don't you plan to leave tomorrow?"

"Fine. I shouldn't put it off, I guess. Probably we could both use a break." And then he frowned, uncertain whether he should have said what he'd said but also uncertain why he questioned it, when the trip had been his own idea in the first place. Probably now I'm feeling guilty about wanting to go--

"Yes, I think so." And yet she felt uneasy contemplating a separation from him when they'd just had a fight and she wasn't sure whether they'd made up. It's two days. How much can I miss him in two days?

"You can always call if you need me. In fact you can call even if you don't need me."

At last a warm smile. "I will. Call, I mean. I hope I won't need you--even for a hug--"

"Come here--I'll give you one you can store up." Caught by surprise, she hesitated at first and he thought she would refuse; but then she laughed and came into his arms. "You know, I don't get many hugs," he said. "I think we should declare a Hug-the-First-Officer Day."

"Poor Chakotay! I'll be first in line." She gave his back an encouraging pat.

As they disengaged, his hands brushed against her shoulders and almost of their own accord began a spur-of-the-moment massage, a friendly little neck and shoulder rub, over in a moment--but her mouth was too dry even to say thank you. Damn hormones!--but it wasn't just hormones, it was memory, too, of a brief wish months before in Sickbay that someone would rub her shoulder, and a glance toward the familiar steady presence across the room; of inexcusably selfish comments like Who have I got? How could she ever have said that to him? She couldn't remember how he had reacted. She should have paid more attention. And what in God's universe had she said about how well he knew the workings of her body?? But nothing, nothing, could be as bad as that comment about husbands. Where the hell had that come from? Probably from the deepest recesses of her unconscious, which obviously needed a better padlock.

Well, we're both adults and we got past New Earth, massage and all. We'll get past this, too. We will get past this, too.

He had thought a little return flirting would be harmless, would prove to her and to himself that this whole unsettling situation hadn't--unsettled them. It was achingly clear, however, that he'd been wrong. He, too, was remembering--two people alone in a new world, and a conversation that had changed them forever--

The moment, though it contained years, was brief. They were drawing breath to end it when the chime of the comm system ended it for them.

"Paris to Chakotay."

"Chakotay here." He answered too quickly, with relief, and had to clear his throat. Kathryn had obviously expected--and hoped--that the call would be for her. As it was she could only stand there and listen in discomfort, just as he would have done had their positions been reversed.

"You wanted to know when the dilithium storage facilities were ready for inspection in the cargo bay, sir."

"I'll be right there. Chakotay out."

He met her gaze again, but said nothing more, nor did she. They would file this moment away, as they had learned to do by trial and error over the years, in the portion of their hearts marked "Danger--Do Not Open."

But as he reached the door he glanced over his shoulder, and the look on her face almost made him turn back

Later in the mess hall Chakotay wasn't so happy to see Paris when the latter's first words to him at the counter were, "Hope I didn't interrupt anything important earlier."

He couldn't decide whether Paris's tone held genuine concern for his captain's well-being or an inappropriate curiosity about that captain's interpersonal relationships. Consider the source-- "Just what are you insinuating, Paris?"

"I'm not insinuating anything--take it easy, Chief."

Chakotay gave a rueful shake of his head and filled his plate with a purple stew labeled "vegetarian." "Sorry. I guess I'm a little on edge." Not to mention overly sensitive just now about speculation of a certain kind--

"No problem. I'm the same way when B'Elanna's expecting."

Chakotay frowned. Right the first time. "Don't make assumptions, okay?"

Paris greeted this reproof with his patented Who me? expression of wounded innocence. "I'm not making assumptions. Why are you getting so defensive?"

Chakotay gave up and decided on a more or less dignified retreat. "Never mind. I should go pack anyway." His appetite gone, he handed over his untouched plate and headed toward the door.

"You don't leave until tomorrow--it must take you longer to pack than it does Harry," Paris called after him. He sniffed the plate and, with a shrug, headed for a table. "Waste not, want not."

Kim joined him, tucking in to a slithery mound of red noodles topped with a spiny pink blob. "Leave the guy alone, will you please? He's already using twice his usual holodeck time. At the rate he's going he'll run out of rations even earlier this month than he did last month. And I do not take a long time to pack. Thanks so much for shouting that to the whole mess hall."

"You take forever to pack, and everybody already knows it. Well, Doc will be happy--he's pretty tired of patching him up after he runs that boxing program. But what'll he do to relax the rest of the month?"

"Last month he challenged me to a few velocity matches. He slaughtered me every time."

"And you refuse to think this means something. What is this stuff, anyway? It smells sort of--horseradishy."

"Trust me, you don't want to know. Neelix has procured some very weird food from our new friends. What I think is that what you think is going on, isn't."

"Maybe not yet. Come on, Harry, open your eyes--"

Kim leaned forward, jabbing toward Paris's nose with a forkful of noodles. "And if it is, it's none of our business."

Paris poked at the whatever-it-was to make sure it wouldn't yelp or poke back. "Aw, you're no fun now that you're a lieutenant."

Kim grinned and briefly ducked his head; his promotion was recent enough that he could still be teased to good effect. "He's just worried, Tom."

"Yeah," Paris said, momentarily grave. "Yeah, we're all worried. But Chakotay's so worried he's morphing back into a Maquis. You didn't see O'Donnell's shiner a couple of days ago. Come on, Harry!"

"Tom, if you don't stop right now I'll tell you what you're eating--"

Clothing and boots more suitable than his uniform for slogging through damp caves and clambering over half-buried temples. Toiletries. Extra tricorders. Tools. So much paraphernalia for two days away--it was silly, Chakotay thought. He should just stay on board and run a dig program in the holodeck. But he was committed now; he'd promised Icheb and Naomi a field trip, and Neelix and Samantha were going as well, the former to forage (to the unending apprehension of most of the crew) and the latter as chaperone, for in recent months Naomi and Icheb had begun to look at each other with new eyes.

Naomi and Icheb. It seemed almost inevitable. Relationships ebbed and flowed; people grew and changed. Those on Voyager who had had nothing in common nine years before now had nine years of shared experience. Unexpected friendships had sprung up, unlikely couples had formed--quite a few of them. It was harder now to be alone.

The destruction of the Borg transwarp hub had been a catalyst for a general shift of psychological equilibrium aboard ship. "Before the hub," as he had heard people say, relationships had started up but soon dissolved. They'd made several big jumps toward home, and the crew were reluctant, either consciously or unconsciously, to commit to a new kind of life when they might suddenly find themselves returned to their old one. After the hub, severe disappointment seemed to hit everyone all over again. We've been out here seven years, they reflected. We could have been in love all that time; we could have a family by now. Many of the crew had begun a general re-imagining of the journey of their lives. Such an alteration in the communal attitude was most difficult for those who had spouses and children back home, who were trying to keep those relationships alive with letters via the datastream and brief conversations every few months through the communications window. Chakotay felt that they should probably let go, as so many of their shipmates had, but he never gave such agonizing advice unless someone really pressed him for it--which they almost never did, because they knew what he would say.

His own relationships had ebbed and flowed. Charting the ups and downs of his friendship with Kathryn would keep a team of psychologists busy for days. After the hub, she had withdrawn from him, from the crew--not physically, as she had done in the Void, but emotionally. She was visible, but she wasn't connected. They had crippled the Borg by obliterating the hub and with it the entire transwarp network, but instead of riding the shock wave triumphantly home, they'd been forced to turn back into the Delta Quadrant, and in Kathryn's eyes she had failed once again. In the eyes of the crew, they had failed her, for when the captain gave the orders it was the crew's job to carry them out. They had resumed their homeward course, but without much hope or energy. It might have been better had they been thrown, wounded as they were, immediately into another fight for survival against a new enemy; such a challenge might have shocked them out of depression. Or it might have destroyed them. In the end they had dragged themselves out of despair little by little, thanks in great part to Neelix's greater objectivity and Paris's gift for fighting off his own bleak mood by improving everyone else's, with scavenger hunts and sack races and movies and once even a haunted house in the holodeck. Parties didn't have much energy for some weeks, the attendees doing little more than going through the motions, but making the effort had made the difference, and slowly but surely they recovered, though they were not unchanged.

During that dark time his increased attention to Kathryn's needs had soured his relationship with Seven, and it had soon ended. Whether her relative immaturity was to blame or whether she had sensed a deeper involvement with Kathryn than he himself had realized was yet present, he still didn't know. He did know that he considered it part of his responsibility to the crew to be available for their captain when she needed him, and after the hub she had needed him, whether she could admit it or not. He had always wondered--indulging his ego, perhaps, or was it just wishful thinking?--if she'd faltered in the Void partly because they had become estranged after Riley Frazier, after Scorpion, as Seven had become more and more her protégée-- The convoluted ironies of their romantic, or quasi-romantic, triangle were not lost on him. When Axum had come for Seven, however, risking a solitary journey through a highly unstable wormhole, their private farewell had been emotional and honest, and he was glad of her assurances that in their brief time together he had been as good for her as she had been for him.

He'd thought of Seven more in the last couple of months than he had in the last couple of years. He missed her, yes, they all missed her--but more than Seven particularly he missed being with someone generally, what with the current situation shoving couplehood in his face every time he turned around. And now Naomi and Icheb--he couldn't wait to spend two days with lovestruck teenagers.

Kathryn had missed Seven terribly, all the more so because she had already been skirting the edge of depression. She began to turn to him again as she had in the early days, when they had felt the constant pull of unspoken and usually unacknowledged attraction. They were closer now than they'd been in years, their relationship more companionable, less prickly--a blessing, considering the current strain it was under. Enforced intimacy was usually unhealthy for any friendship, as many friends who vacationed together learned to their regret. He and Kathryn were experts in enforced intimacy with all its joys and pains. What would another month or two on New Earth have brought?

She was at her meeting tonight, and he was relieved to be spared the chore of making innocuous conversation over dinner while he was in this mood. Did she know how awkward he felt? Did she share the feeling? Had she thought about New Earth as much as he had? After today he thought perhaps she had. They couldn't talk about it, of course. Talking about it would mean admitting that there was something to talk about, and he wasn't sure Kathryn would be willing, or able, to do so after so many years of avoiding the subject entirely. What would have happened had they stayed longer? If they had become involved, would they have wanted children? Probably not, but replicator failure--a very real possibility--would have left them at the mercy of Mother Nature. And had a romantic relationship, or a sexual relationship that developed into romance, really been inevitable? Sometimes he was sure it had been, sometimes he wasn't. For a long time he hadn't wondered at all. Now, however, his musings were constant, and wearying. Digging in the dirt for two days was going to be good for him.

Friendships had periods of intimacy and periods of distance. He very much hoped that this time in their case the one would not lead ultimately, as it had before, to the other.

It was late that night that they nearly lost Nicoletti.

"She just collapsed," Torres reported to Janeway in a trembling voice, in Sickbay a little after midnight. "We were taking routine readings and talking, and I thought she'd fainted, but then I couldn't find a pulse. I don't think she felt any pain--"

Bill Chapman rushed in, and moments later Megan and Jenny Delaney, and Torres repeated her account to them while Janeway began to pace, trying to keep her eyes on the surgical bay while closing her ears to horrible phrases like "imminent circulatory collapse" and "widespread infection," her nerves jangled by every beep and warning from the bio bed. There was blood on the bed and the floor, on the uniforms of the Doctor and Paris and the orderlies, on the tiny form an orderly carried away to the lab. Vaguely she heard Chakotay on the comm with Kim, putting him in charge of the bridge at the beginning of first shift; hours had passed of which she had not been aware. It was two more hours before the Doctor came to the anxiously waiting group with a smile.

"I am pleased to report that Lieutenant Nicoletti will make a full recovery." It was a measure of just how close it had been that he did not boast about his professional prowess. "She'll need a few days' rest and observation in Sickbay and a few more days' light duty, but I don't foresee any complications."

"Can I--can we--sit with her?" Chapman asked.

"Of course. She'll be happy to see you when she wakes up." Chapman and the Delaneys arranged themselves around Sue's bed, and the Doctor addressed himself to Janeway and Torres, running a scanner over them all the while. "Captain, Lieutenant, I realize that Lieutenant Nicoletti is only one case, but so far all the diagnostic data point to a greater integration of fetus and host than was evident before today, even in the lieutenant's regular examination yesterday afternoon. I'm detecting some of the same indications in both of you. I believe a threshold of development may have been reached, with the fetus now requiring more sustenance from the host than the host can safely provide. Such an insufficiency will certainly damage the fetus even if you are able to carry it to term, but I must warn you both that from this point on I believe that miscarriage is very likely, and will almost certainly carry grave risk."

"But it wasn't like this for Golwat," Janeway protested.

"Bolian physiology is more similar to Zeru than either human or Klingon, which might have offered some protection. Ensign Golwat's baby was also two weeks less developed."

B'Elanna was very pale. Her exhausted husband turned to her and said simply, "Please." Tears began to spill down her cheeks, and after a moment she gave a nod. Tom clutched her to him in relief and held her for a long moment, then escorted her to another bio bed, while Chakotay, watching, regretted ever doubting Paris's fidelity, even in a moment of insanity.

"Tell Miral I love her," B'Elanna was saying.

"You can tell her yourself in a little while--"

Chakotay's hands were firm on Janeway's shoulders. "Come on, you've been up all night. You need some sleep."

"Doctor, you'll call me when Sue wakes up--"

"It will be several hours at least, Captain."

Janeway nodded. "At our meeting we were planning baby showers," she said softly, her hand resting protectively on her swollen abdomen. She allowed Chakotay to lead her away.

After a while, she looked up to find herself at the door to her quarters. Automatically she said, "I should be on the bridge."

"You should be in bed."

"You're right. You're always right, aren't you?"

It was such an uncharacteristic remark that he was instantly and deeply alarmed. "Kathryn, I have to ask you again to reconsider. Nicoletti's fifteen years younger than you are, and we almost lost her. It isn't just a matter of toughing out a few discomforts anymore." She wasn't looking at him; her eyes didn't seem focused on anything. "Remember Samantha's decision, and now B'Elanna's. You have a responsibility to this crew just as they do to their children."

From somewhere she summoned the energy for a sharp retort. "Don't tell me my responsibilities, Commander." And then she burst into tears. "Oh Chakotay, I'm so sorry." She sagged against him and he put his arms around her and rubbed her back, and the fact that she would display such vulnerability in the corridor only intensified his worry. "Will we ever again have a conversation that doesn't end with me saying 'I'm sorry'?"

He laughed softly into her hair. "Probably not." When she pulled away his hands gripped her arms. "Kathryn--please--" He hadn't really thought she would force him to make good on his threat.

She stared up into his face. He never begged. Ever. "I'm not suicidal, Chakotay, but I can't let it go just like that. I'm the last one. Let me sleep on it, please?"

His anxious gaze searched her face. She was begging, too, in her way, pleading for his support one more time, pleading for what she already had, always. He gave a reluctant nod. "Call me if you need me." He took a breath and made his hands release her.

He didn't want to let her go through the door alone, and wished he could see her into bed--she looked so fragile and rather gray. He tried to tell himself that it had just been a long night. He tried to feel confident that she was truly making up her mind to do what was best for the crew--and for herself.

Still wearing yesterday's uniform, he headed for his quarters for a quick shower and change. He'd stop back by before he went up to the bridge--if she didn't answer a soft knock he could use his override code to make sure she was only sleeping.

He hadn't even gotten his jacket all the way off when his comm badge chirped. When he answered she was in mid-cry. "--tay, Chakotay--help-- "

"I'm coming--hold on--" He dashed out the door, crying silent prayers to the spirits. "Chakotay to Sickbay. Prepare for emergency site-to-site transport--two from the captain's quarters--" By the time he finished speaking he was at her door, punching in the code. It took an eternity to open. "Oh God, Kathryn--" She was on her knees, doubled over and clutching her abdomen, half-conscious, the comm badge fallen from her hand. There was blood on her hands, her thighs, the carpet. He gathered her in his arms. "Sickbay--energize!"

She woke to a memory of stabbing pain and a profound sense of loss. Her abdomen felt tender and stretched, but the firm little bulge was gone. Sobs welled up in her chest but she conquered them. Later. Later I'll cry for a month. Chakotay was there, slouched on a chair next to the bed, contemplating his folded hands. When she stirred he straightened and looked up; his smile was relieved but his eyes were sad. Blood stained his uniform, brownish patches against the red and black. "Mine?" she asked.

"What? Oh--" Immediately he stripped off his jacket and threw it in the recycler. "Sorry--" At least he'd washed his hands.

"The baby?" she asked, though she knew the answer.

He shook his head, and tears filled his eyes, a rare sight. Gently he said, "She died, probably while we were walking back to your quarters. The Doctor tried to save her, and B'Elanna's baby as well, but their internal organs weren't far enough along."

She tried to be stoical, pressing her lips together--after all, success hadn't ever been very likely--but then her throat tightened and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she turned away. His hand closed over hers and after a moment she gripped it hard, and they sat unmoving for a while. She heard the rustle of clothing as people moved about Sickbay, and quiet voices, Sue's and B'Elanna's among them.

Presently Chakotay asked, "Would you like to see her? She has red hair and scales--and blue eyes." Her sobs were blended with laughter and wonder. His smile was very tender. "She's beautiful. Doc has her in stasis so he can beam her down to the Zeru--but don't feel you have to--"

"No, I want to see her."

He nodded off to one side, and then helped her sit up while the Doctor wheeled in a stasis chamber. To her eyes the baby looked fully formed but terribly small, hopelessly vulnerable, hardly bigger than her hand. Her scales were a shiny blue-green, not unlike a peacock's plumage, with streaks of violet extending from her miniature gills and spine. The orange fuzz on her head was the exact shade of Janeway's nieces' hair when they were born; her eyes were the same blue she saw when she looked in a mirror. My eyes. Something of me. In that moment she learned, if she had not learned it before, that maternal love was immediate, instinctual, and infinite.

"May I touch her?"

The Doctor adjusted the field and she was able to run her fingers over the soft hair, the textured skin, the tiny fingers and toes and rounded ears. "Can she stay here a little while?"

"As long as you like."

He and Chakotay withdrew, and she pillowed her head on her arm and simply gazed at her daughter, her fingers resting gently on a small motionless arm.

The Doctor kept her in Sickbay for observation for twenty-four hours, then released her to Chakotay's custody, with instructions to watch her closely for signs of depression. Her arm linked through his, they walked slowly to her quarters, Janeway delighting in all the good wishes that came her way from passing crew members. When they reached her quarters he didn't give her a chance to escape through the doors but followed her in.

"I'm all right--go back to work."

"I only got you out of the Doctor's clutches by promising not to leave until you were in bed asleep."

"I've been sleeping for twenty-four hours. How about resting on the sofa?"

"That'll do."

"Make yourself comfortable while I take a shower."

He escorted her to the bathroom door. "Call me if you feel faint or need any help." He sat on the bed where he could easily hear her.

After a while she came out to find him dozing, but he woke immediately at her approach. "Sorry, long night. Two nights, actually." A couple of cat-naps in the ready room hardly counted as sleep.

"Glad I didn't need to call," she teased.

"I'd have heard you."

She knew he would have; his eyes had opened at her nearly soundless step. They went into the sitting room, Chakotay not taking his usual chair until she was settled on the sofa. He was pleased to see that the maintenance crew had done a good job; the carpet bore no trace of a stain.

"I guess it's over now," she said. "Nothing left to do but call everybody back and make ready for departure."

"Another day or two won't make any difference. A lot of the crew have good-byes to say--I predict heavy use of the shuttlecraft. And I did promise Naomi and Icheb that field trip."

"I suppose after all this time there's really no rush. I don't have the energy to be impatient, anyway." She saw his concern and took his hand with a reassuring smile. Wrapping her other arm around her knees she leaned back into the corner of the sofa, looking small and delicate. Soon she was asleep, and he watched her for a while, making sure her breathing was even, her color good. And then, enveloped in the companionable quiet, the familiar and yet not familiar rustlings of another person so near, he let himself drift into sleep as well, her hand still in his.

"Tea?" she asked, adding impishly, "It's chicory."

"My liver thanks you." He took the mug over to his chair, and she joined him on the sofa with a large mug of her own--but hers wasn't filled with chicory.

They were well on their way to the Haldi cluster, another bustling region two months closer to home, where the Zeru were certain they would find willing assistance. Though they carried with them no wormhole generator or catapult, they did carry new sets of star charts, fuel and food reserves at capacity, helpful hints about navigating this region of space, and heartfelt good wishes, along with the hope that they might someday find a way to visit again, or at least let their new friends know the outcome of their journey.

The ship's mood was subdued, unexpected perhaps from a group of people who had chafed for months to resume their journey. But the taste of a stable life had been sweet. They had adapted well, learned new rhythms; now they would have to adapt again to being travelers, all the while missing the new friends they would never see again.

Janeway, too, was subdued, and during their dinners several times a week Chakotay fitted himself to her mood, willingly following wherever she wanted the conversation to go, or being comfortably silent--she seemed content to have him there even if neither had much to say.

"It's sheer bliss to have coffee again!" she said now in a reverent tone. "And chocolate, and wine, and plomeek soup--and gak! How did I ever live without gak??"

He refrained from suggesting that she might take this opportunity to become permanently decaffeinated. "I bet you vaporized that padd with all the dos and don'ts on it."

"I did indeed."

When their laughter faded he asked her a question he had not yet asked her in quite this way. "How are you, Kathryn, really?"

"No more mood swings!" she quipped. "It's nice to feel like myself again." He smiled, but she knew that wasn't the sort of answer he was after. "Wistful," she said after a time. "Sad. It was wondrous and frightening at the same time. Motherhood was an experience I thought I'd never have, and so there was intense pleasure in going through part of the process, and intense grief that it ended the way it did. Although she'll always be a part of me."  A lump formed in her throat.  "I'll never forget the first time I felt her move, and I wish that just once we could have looked into each other's eyes. I should have--I should have given her a name."

"It isn't too late."

"It isn't? No, it isn't. I will."

"When you decide we can hold a ceremony to give her name to the spirits."

She leaned forward to touch his knee. "Thanks. I know they'll take good care of her." She couldn't speak for a while, and he quietly sipped his tea.

She hadn't yet been able to tell her mother and sister what had happened; she had begun numerous letters but had always erased them. She had tried all along to compose effective entries in her personal log, to document and reflect in some meaningful way, but her words had always seemed inadequate, ponderous. She could no longer read a poem about a child, either memorial or celebration, without tears, and often these days she caught herself staring at Naomi or Icheb, trying to picture her daughter at their age. It was painful now to imagine the kind of relationship they might have had. Smoother than her relationship with Seven, no doubt, but perhaps not as rich. Or would it have been more so, from having begun at the beginning of life?

Presently she brushed at her eyes. "There's still such a thing as the biological clock, you know. Even though we've learned to prolong a woman's fertile period, it does run out eventually. I suppose it's all wrapped up in biological drives and a sense of mortality. If you're no longer fertile you're aging. If you're no longer capable of procreation you're suddenly old, used up." She would never again look at Sam and Naomi or B'Elanna and Miral without a tiny flash of envy. "Men don't have that problem. You can father children when you're a hundred if you want to."

"Well, sometimes we do need a little modification if the necessary equipment isn't working anymore--but you're right, it isn't exactly the same kind of limitation. Kathryn--" He set aside his mug. "I'm going to say something that maybe I shouldn't say--" Intrigued, she was patient while he considered his words, recognizing that this was something big, for it was rare that he had to steel himself to speak; he usually proceeded with assurance. "There's still a lot of gray surrounding many of the decisions we make out here, about our lives, and relationships, but--if you ever want to go through this experience deliberately--" He drew a deep breath. "--I hereby volunteer to be the donor."

She stared at him, profoundly startled and profoundly touched. "You mean that, don't you?"

He breathed a little easier, relieved that she hadn't scoffed. "I once thought I had a child, you know. And when I finally accepted the circumstances, I--well, I liked the idea. I pictured myself teaching him about our people, sharing my interests with him. He'd have a hundred and fifty godparents, like Naomi and our other kids do. I knew I could give him a good life here on Voyager, just like I'd found. When those dreams were taken away, I felt a hole inside, even though it was a relief as well. Something in me had been awakened but not fulfilled, and that--hurts--sometimes, even though I can be grateful I'm not having to cope with the inevitable difficulties. I know there are a lot of reasons not to, but Naomi and Miral and the rest are doing fine. I trust you not to take such a step lightly, and I trust you not to exclude me from the child's life, so--it seems a pretty safe bet." She was silent. "Have I offended you?"

"No," she whispered, and he realized she was crying. She held out her hand and he clasped it, and at length she said, "You're a good man, and a generous friend. But--I don't think I could take that step unless we were--more than we are."

There was a long, charged silence. He looked at their clasped hands, and then directly into her eyes. "Who knows--maybe I'd be willing to volunteer for that, too."

Her lips parted, but the words stopped in her throat. I could never get involved with a subordinate, she might have said. It isn't fair out here when we're all we have, but that's the way it is. The words stopped in her throat because she could imagine what he might say in reply. Who says you have to be captain forever? You say things are different out here, but you don't always live that way. Starfleet allows for resignation and reassignment, and maybe as the culture of the ship changes, with more and more people marrying and starting families, we'll need a different kind of leader, maybe a captain-mayor, even a rotating one--

He was, as usual in such matters, out of his mind. Or maybe it was just that he was so adaptable he assumed everyone else was, too--even me. But she realized that the fact that she could hold this conversation in her head meant that she was considering his hypothetical argument in a way she couldn't have, wouldn't have only a couple of months before--realized how this experience had changed her. Was she wrong not to insist on the kind of balance here that she would have enjoyed--had enjoyed--in her former life, even as a Starfleet captain? Captains did have relationships, families, children, take time off, get promoted, take station assignments for a while. Was she confining herself unnecessarily to a limbo that no reasonable person--or Starfleet admiral--would expect her to inhabit for the rest of her life? She could just imagine Chakotay and the Doctor in cahoots, ordering her to take maternity leave. Only if they swore in blood and photons to give me back my ship the minute I was ready for it--

Replaying the years in her mind, she could see that as she had grown more and more confident in her role as captain she had taken him more and more for granted. She hadn't liked it much when he'd started seeing Seven, but she'd resigned herself to it as perfectly understandable and not really any of her business. And yet, she'd had moments of longing--as she'd observed him seeking balance, or at least accepting the opportunity when it was presented to him. What he was suggesting now would mean letting him into--or back into--personal and psychic space from which she had shut him out for years. Could she do it? But in recent months, she had.

Of course she could adapt when she had to. She had adapted to the Delta Quadrant, hadn't she? She had even let go of the dream of home once before, on New Earth, had begun to make a commitment to another kind of life. That new life had been wrenched away from her, from them. Was she too hesitant now to make another such commitment, the memory of that heartache too strong?

He, evidently, was not. She was surprised by his declaration of feeling--or perhaps of a capacity for feeling if she would only meet him halfway. He would never pressure her, and he would move on again if she gave him no encouragement, but what he genuinely felt he would never deny.

And maybe, just maybe, the two dreams weren't really as incompatible as she had always assumed they were--

She met his gaze, and he read hers. With one of his uncannily understanding half-smiles--sometimes she could swear he was reading her mind--he disengaged his hand. "Goodnight, Kathryn."

Softly she replied, "Goodnight, Chakotay." And then: "Chakotay?" He turned in the doorway, partly in silhouette. "I'll keep it in mind, okay?"

And in the dimness his eyes, touched by a slow, astonished smile, began to shine. "Okay." The doors swished closed.

She propped her chin on her hand and gazed out the window. The stars blurred as her tears flowed anew, tears of grief and loss but also of hope, and the new possibility of unexpected joy.

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© 2005 by Karen A. Beckwith

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