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The first time he asked me I didn’t know, could never have even begun to imagine.
What it would mean. Who we would be to one another.
I wasn’t ready yet.
There were too many lives at stake. Too many complications. Too many risks.
He asked me in the middle of my quarters, with a teasing smile on his face. As if it were the easiest question he’d ever asked.
A question it took another five years for me to answer.
**************
Around the end of Year 3
You would think, after three years, I'd have managed to develop a detente with the replicator that was currently hissing furiously at me in my quarters. I’ve waved white flags, begged for steaming mugs of coffee, played it sonatas. Unfortunately it still seems stubbornly hell bent on burning everything it produces, and me along with it.
Just this morning the coffee it belched forth for me was actually boiling. So much so that a large drop splattered across the back of my hand in an angry pink burn. I’m regretting not using a dermal regenerator on it now, but I don’t want to take the time to procure one. Between the trip to sickbay and the twenty minute lecture from the Doctor, it's not time I have to spare.
“Damn it,” I mutter quietly.
I’m laying on my back, hypospanner in hand, on the floor of my quarters. The open panel of the replicator is directly in front of my face, sparking merrily as it taunts me. I swear I can hear words in the irritated beeps and creaks it makes.
No dinner for you! Leola root for the next fifty years!
“I’ve constructed a communications device with primitive tools and scrap parts, I know I can get you to produce some edible food.” I growl back at it.
I’m talking to a replicator. Clearly the starvation-induced insanity has set in.
Usually I would wait until Chakotay arrives for help with the replicator repair, but his shift is running long and I was feeling confident.
Apparently it was misplaced.
Groping beside me, I find the glass of brandy I poured a half hour ago and take another long drink. Drinking while laying down, another skill I’ve perfected out here in the Delta Quadrant. I had debated wine, but it doesn’t seem to go with mechanical repairs. My father always had a cup of coffee or a glass of whiskey when he worked on a project. For tonight, I’ll settle for brandy.
Of course the brandy is likely having the opposite of the intended effect as I lay back again, dropping a hypospanner on my forehead and swearing so loudly they probably hear me in the corridor.
“I can’t decide if you’re trying to fix that or disembowel it,” a deep voice says from above me.
I move so fast I slam the same spot on my forehead on a piece of metal tubing, stars dancing in front of my eyes.
“Shit…”
My vision is still blurring as I scramble to sit up, a large hand steadying me with a firm grip on my bicep. I can hear the sound of stifled laughter, and I try to manage a withering glare. It would probably be more effective if I weren't currently cross-eyed from mild head injuries and liquor.
Chakotay touches two fingers gently to the aching spot on my forehead. “You’ve got a bump there, do you want me to grab a hypospray?”
I start to shake my head but decide against it as the room is still coming into focus. “I’m fine, but I’m afraid our dinner hasn’t fared as well.”
Shrugging, I gesture to an unidentifiable burned chunk on the table of what I swear was lasagna. Maybe. This time Chakotay can’t help himself, and ducks his head too late to hide the dimples that burst on his cheeks as he chuckles.
I can’t even pretend to be truly angry with him. After so long out here, my woefully inadequate attempts at cooking anything are nearly as well known as Tom’s tendency for lavish holodeck parties. Usually Chakotay offers to cook, but every once in a while I get a renewed desire to show my culinary prowess.
Usually to disastrous results.
Sullenly, I rest an elbow on my knee and put my chin in my hand, “I swear we were just coming to an agreement when you walked it. There would have been a perfect spaghetti bolognese in moments.”
“I could tell. That’s why it was trying to knock you unconscious,” Chakotay teases, his thumb rubbing my upper arm. “Do you want me to give it a look?”
As much as I hate admitting defeat, I also hate starving to death, and it doesn’t appear the infernal replicator is going to succumb to my charms this evening. I nod in spite of myself, and let Chakotay guide me to my feet.
“Be my guest. It always seems to like you better anyway.”
I watch as Chakotay lowers his large form to the ground and peers at the inner workings of my replicator. Despite sparking and crackling furiously at me for nearly an hour, it seems to settle down nearly immediately with a few touches of a hypospanner from him. For a man who has destroyed more shuttles than anyone I’ve ever known, he at least has a way of fixing things.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask, making my way to the cabinets to see what we have left. Chakotay must have put the bottles away after our last meal, and I have to stand on my tiptoes to peek into the top shelf. “I have brandy, wine, and, ah, mystery blue drink.”
Chakotay pulls his head out of the replicator to give me a quizzical look, dark eyebrows drawn together and hypospanner poised mid air. I shrug and hold up a swirling clear bottle full of what is definitely a blue liquid.
“I think we may have already been drunk when we replicated this last time.”
He laughs heartily and shakes his head, winking at me, “Well then by all means, let’s live dangerously.”
Why not? We’ve been kicking ass and taking names across the Delta Quadrant. Might as well indulge in a little unknown liquor.
By the time we’re each a glass in, I’m sprawled on the couch laughing hysterically as Chakotay attempts to finish the last of the repairs. He’s crooning and praising the ridiculous hunk of possessed metal in a way that’s so utterly ludicrous I can’t help but hold my sides.
“There now girl, let’s give us a nice, warm dish of pasta, okay? Please…” Chakotay closes the access panel and gives it an affection pat despite my eye rolls.
“Do you think flirting with that machine is going to work?”
Chakotay grins at me, “Always has in the past.”
I’m about to object, but a series of merry beeps and blips sounds, and two heaping bowls of food materialize on my reassembled devil machine. I swear my eyes must be bugging out of my head as I watch Chakotay pick them both up, bringing mine over to the low table in front of the sofa and placing it in front of me.
He’s looking all too smug as he sits beside me and digs in, and I’m still staring at him in disbelief.
“How did you do that? I replaced the manifold processor, rotated the control arm…” I sputter, gesturing wildly and nearly spilling blue liquor on his pants.
“I just put it back together and sweet talked it a little bit. Sometimes a little flattery goes a long way.” he says, his voice turning honeyed.
“Does it now?”
“Sure does.”
I scoff at him and shake my head, trying to decipher the real reason I’m eating food instead of charcoal. Chakotay does certainly use his charms to his advantage. Often at a first contact I’ve seen other species eyeing him with more than friendly interest, and his diplomatic skills are not the only reason he’s made more trade deals than I have.
But it's not just physical, his appeal. He’s honest, respectful, and a fantastic listener. Even now, as I ramble about mechanical components and engineering tools, he’s fully attuned to everything I'm saying, his body angled toward me and his eyes on my face.
Eventually I sigh, tapping my fork to my lips. I can’t get him to admit what he did to the replicator, and I’ve run out of ideas as to how he always manages to get it to work. It's a mechanical mystery I can’t solve, which irritates me to no end.
“Well I suppose I'll have to brush up on my flattery if I don’t want to spend the next few decades eating in the mess hall.”
Chakotay chews thoughtfully, “Why don’t you practice?’
“Practice flattery? On you, I suppose?” I give him a whack on the arm, causing a few pieces of pasta to plop in his lap.
“Sure. I’m sure there must be something nice you can say about me. Besides, of course, my superior engineering skills.”
Oh, I want to stab my fork in his gorgeous, dark eyes.
Fine.
“All right then. I suppose you are a slightly more than competent velocity player, though your backhand needs work-”
“Um, Kathryn, do you know what a compliment is…?”
“Oh hush. This also includes constructive criticism,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes a bit as he bites back a laugh, “You’re very good at managing the crew and keeping Tom and Harry from being thrown in the brig for any number of things I likely don't want to know about…..”
I pause, take a large drink, and tilt my head to the side as I think. For whatever reason, alcohol makes me honest. Sometimes dangerously so.
“You’re also a great listener, even when I'm rambling. And you remind me that every setback is just that, a setback, and we’ll keep on going. You’re important to all of us…you hold this crew together.”
I stammer a bit, caught off guard by the honesty of my own admissions. Of course I’ve given him compliments over the years. I remember not that long ago, words floating between us like fireflies, hands clasped over a table. When he swore to me he’d always be at my side.
Chakotay pushes his plate forward on the table, his lips curved up in an affectionate smile. Sometimes it's as if he knows something about me that I don’t, sees things inside me that I can’t see. I feel like now, like a book laid open to read.
“Would you like me to show you how it's done?” he asks me, fingers brushing my arm.
I didn't answer at first. There’s no mischief in his eyes now, and that makes me nervous. Banter, teasing, that comes easily to me. When the words turn deep and honest, I tend to run.
“All right.” It's difficult to hold his gaze, so I stare at my plate instead, finding patterns in the swirling sauce on white porcelain.
“You’re stubborn and reckless -”
My eyes flick up sharply.
“Excuse me!”
“But that’s part of what makes you one of the most exceptional, incredible people I’ve ever met. And the greatest captain I’ve ever had the pleasure to serve. You’re compassionate and strong, and you hold yourself to the highest standard on board.”
I shift uncomfortably at the praise, glancing down at my knees. Being put on a pedestal isn’t something I'm comfortable with, especially out here. In truth, I’d rather face the Borg than a medal ceremony.
But it's what he says next that truly sets me off balance.
“You’re also incredibly funny, and adventurous. Loyal to the people you care about. You’re brilliant and kind, and I could spend hours talking to you, listening to whatever’s in that mind of yours. You’re disarmingly easy to be with, to work with. You make each day on this ship one I look forward to.”
I’m stunned, all my defenses dissolving. This is nothing I expected, nothing I’m remotely prepared to handle.
His tone vibrates with honesty and emotion. I’ve never had anyone say these things to me. Not with such ease and affection, as if I’m actually worthy of hearing them.
I can tell my entire body has gone soft as his words flow over me like a gentle touch, and I want to lean in to him. Touch him. Chakotay’s watching me with a heady gravity, dark eyes flicking back and forth as they search my face.
I freeze instantly. We’re too close to the edge.
So I back away.
“Well, luckily we still have plenty of time for you to learn all my horrible faults. I drool in my sleep and I cheat at cards. I also hate fishing,” I say with a shaky laugh.
Chakotay slaps a palm to his chest in a mock heart attack gesture, “You hate fishing? Well that’s it, I’ll be on the first shuttle off this ship. We simply can’t coexist anymore.”
I poke him squarely in the chest, relieved for a break in the intensity of a few moments ago. This type of back and forth I can handle, and greatly enjoy. It's our relationship in a nutshell, that dance that edges right to the precipice, then turns on a dime back to solid ground.
“And you’re without any flaws, Commander?”
“I hate cake,” he replies solemnly.
“You hate…what? How does someone hate cake?!”
Grinning, Chakotay shrugs, his broad shoulders rolling under his uniform, “I’m just an ice cream kind of guy I suppose.”
“Good thing I didn’t know this before, I’d never have made you First Officer.”
The atmosphere is relaxed again, and I jump up from my seat, gathering up our dishes. “I did manage to make dessert before the replicator turned on me though.”
Chakotay twists his face into an expression of mock horror, “Is it…cake?”
He’s so comically appalled I almost wish it was.
Shaking my head, I pick up a covered plate of caramel brownies from the dining table and carry them over. “Fortunately for you, they’re brownies, an extremely distant cousin of cake and far more delicious.”
I take a bite as I walk over, plate outstretched to offer him one. It's really delicious considering the replicator production, chocolate and just the right amount of gooey caramel in the middle. Humming in satisfaction, I sink down on the couch again.
Chakotay takes an equally enthusiastic bite, closing his eyes and sighing in pleasure. “Damn, that’s good.”
“For whatever reason these seem to be the only thing I can produce without a disaster lately, so I expect we’ll be having a lot of them.”
“I officially forgive you for all your flaws. You’re perfect. Marry me.” His eyes are playful but there’s a note of something else in his smooth baritone. Something that tilts the room a bit on its axis.
I stumble a bit with words at first, trying to find something light and breezy to answer, to not show how such a simply spoken phrase shaken me.
“Ah, but I believe we’ve already established that I hate fishing and you despise cake. It would be an ill-fated partnership for sure.” I try to tease, but my voice is just a little shaky.
Of course he didn’t mean anything by it. We’re both slightly drunk, tired, and now gorging ourselves on dessert. It's just a playful, friendly joke. Nothing more than I might say to a male friend at the academy.
Except…
For the briefest moment something in my chest twists and tightens, my pulse whooshing in my ears. There’s a subtle longing that pulls at the parts of me I hide under this uniform. It's frightening, unnerving, and I push it away as quickly as it surfaced.
“Well, thankfully we make a great command team.” Chakotay says then, eyes warm as he holds up a half eaten-brownie in a toast.
“We do.”
******************
Years later, he asks me again.
We’ve been home for six months. Six grueling, confusing, beautiful, terrifying months. Debriefings are over, and we’re left to find our place in a world that kept moving on without us.
And, by some miracle, we’ve found our place with each other.
It took time after we got home, slow steps back toward one another. Coffee and dinner. Smiles and laughter. Days and nights.
And now I wake up with the sunlight glowing red through my eyelids, groaning at the realization that soon I’ll have to leave the warmth and joy of Chakotay’s bed. Even though we have our own spaces, we stay with each other often. Neither of us was ready to move in together just yet, so we’ve taken it slow.
Because, at last, we have plenty of time.
He’s beautiful when he sleeps. Even as I think the words it feels strange to call a man so defined by strength as beautiful, but he is.
Chakotay’s sprawled on his stomach, the arm that was draped over my waist flung out against the white sheets, the other tucked under the pillow. He’s snoring softly, his bare back rising and falling with a gentle movement. The dark hair on his head is tussled from sleep and my fingers, and I lean over to brush it affectionately from his forehead.
The movement wakes him and dark lashes flutter open. This is my favorite part of the mornings we spend together, when he first opens his eyes and I watch him recognize that it's me next to him. The delight and love that lights up his face.
I’ve never felt so cherished.
“Good morning, beautiful.” He reaches up, threading his fingers through my messy hair and pulling me down for a slow, sensual kiss. Whereas I like to have my coffee and wake up a bit before rolling around in the sheets, Chakotay loves early morning sex. His hand roams my side, skims the curve of my breast, and I giggle and shift away.
“I need a shower and some coffee. Then…” I smile suggestively at him, biting my lower lip. He never fails to react when I do that, his eyes flaring with heat.
“Sounds perfect.” He kisses me one more time, gentle and sweet, and swings his legs over the side of the bed to head for the kitchen. I know he’s going to start a french press of my favorite blend. That thought itself is almost as delicious as the sight of his backside as he walks away.
While I shower, still reveling in the feel of actual water raining down on me after so many years of sonic showers on a starship, I find myself grinning foolishly. It happens often now, this unexpected delight that seems to explode like a sunburst, bright and brilliant.
I know it's because of Chakotay.
This man makes me happy, settled. He completes me in ways I’ve never felt before. Maybe today we’ll take a hike, go visit Tom and B’Elanna. It's rare we have a day just for us, and the possibilities feel endless and exciting.
By the time I wander out to the living room, wrapped in my favorite bathrobe, Chakotay is sitting on the couch in his snug boxers, cup of coffee in one hand and a PADD in the other, likely skimming the news. His smile makes my stomach do a delicious little flip.
“I put a cup for you by the french press. I didn’t pour it yet since I know you can’t stand it to be less than scalding.”
I nod and lean over to kiss his mouth gently. It's tempting to lean in a little, breathe in the scent of him that hasn’t yet been obscured by a morning shower, all sweat and man.
Coffee first.
“Mmmm I'll be right back,” I tell him, letting my hips sway just a little as I turn to walk to the kitchen, feeling his eyes watch me go.
The kitchen is sunny and warm, filled with actual cooking supplies, unlike my own. I see the french press immediately, the smell of Columbian roast flooding my senses. My favorite cup is set on a saucer next to it.
Then I see the folded piece of paper tucked neatly inside the cup.
Puzzled, I reach out and grasp it between two fingers, unfolding the small sheet. The words are written in a familiar, plain handwriting, and the message makes my breath catch in my throat.
Dear Kathryn,
After we made it home, I think we all wondered if our adventures were over.
For me, they’re just beginning.
With you.
It's always been you. From the moment I first saw you, every second since, until this moment right now. I fell fast and hard, and I never looked back.
Sometimes you just know where you belong. And for me, it's with you.
I love you more than I can ever tell you. And I promise to keep loving you the best I can, everyday.
The first time I asked you to marry me, the night I put the replicator back together, I meant it. I just knew you weren't ready yet.
God, I hope you’re ready now.
Marry me, Kathryn. Because no matter where we go or what we do, I’ll love you everyday for the rest of my life.
Chakotay.
The words are blurry by the time I finish, and I have to wipe the tears before they smudge the precious paper in my hand. I’ll keep this tucked away forever. To pull out on our anniversaries. Maybe show our children. It's a paper to build a life on.
It's incredible to me I don’t feel any fear as I read these words, only wonder that so much happiness is within our grasp. After all this time.
As I look inside the cup there’s a simple gold ring with a shimmering blue stone. To me, it looks just like the nights in the Delta Quadrant, when the stars shone through the viewport and we laughed over replicated wine and burned food.
I slip it on my finger and watch as it catches the light, and then, with a steadying breath, pick up a pencil and write my answer.
Chakotay,
I don’t know what I’ve done in this life to deserve you.
Of course, I’ll marry you. Now. Tomorrow. Always.
If I could have, I would have married you then. The first time you asked me. I knew even then, that there’d never be anyone for me, but you.
Because, despite being imperfect, we’re better together. And every day I spend with you is my greatest adventure.
So…yes.
Love,
Kathryn
When I walk back to the living room, coffee mug in one hand, I hand Chakotay the note. His eyes fall immediately to the ring on my hand. He flushes, eyes darting up to my face, his eyes taking in every nuance of my expression, before he finally reads my answer.
The smile he gives me is brilliant, brighter than the millions of stars we traveled through to get to his moment, and it tells me everything I need to know.
“Kathryn…” He takes the cup of coffee from my hands, places it on the low table in front of him, and tugs me down onto his lap.
I start to object, but I’m grinning like a fool and laughing, and instead I settle down straddling his thighs, my fingers linked behind his neck.
“When?” he asks quietly, voice full of emotion, as he draws our foreheads together.
“As soon as you like.” I answer, the joy racing through my body like sunlight, filling all the dark corners and bursting forth in a tumble of love for this man.
“I love you.”
I’m not sure who says it, but then we’re kissing. Soft, deep kisses that soon have the moment turning from tender to passionate. I grind down on his lap just a little, feeling the rearing pressure of him beneath me, and I hear his answering growl.
“Can you drink that coffee fast?” he asks, voice rumbling as he nips at my jaw, my throat. I let my head fall back, my body rolling against his in pleasure.
“I think it can wait...”
I don’t finish because I’m scooped up in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom. He’s whispering how much he loves me, all the intimate things he’s about to do to me, and I’m dizzy with love and desire.
He asks me again as he lays me down on the bed, love shining in his eyes, and I answer him back, just to say the word he’s waited all these years to hear.
Yes.