Chapter Text
Chapter 1
The first few weeks aren’t without their growing pains.
Merging two crews. Two captains. Starfleet and Maquis.
More than once Kathryn has wondered if what she's attempting is ill-conceived and damn near impossible. Forged in a moment where her own ideals and drive to do the righteous thing usurped the need to do the sensible thing.
But, slowly, by the grace of god, they’re coming together.
And none of them has actually killed each other yet, so that’s an encouraging prospect in itself. Personally, she didn’t think Tom Paris would last this long without being stuffed in a storage locker or tossed out an airlock, but he’s proved her wrong again. The man can talk his way out of anything. He’s still running that mouth of his, and she’s heard rumors he’s been stirring up some less than professional leisure time on the holodeck.
Luaus. Bars. Nightclubs.
Oh well, perhaps it's good for the crew to let down their guard for a moment. And, really, a bit of foolishness is the least of her worries while traversing the Delta Quadrant.
Kathryn sighs, absently running a hand over her hair, checking to make sure her bun has held through the long shift she’s just finished. It's been a fairly uneventful week, surprisingly so. The Talaxian, Neelix, promises they’ll reach a friendly planet in the next few days to trade for fuel and supplies, and there’s nothing but open space between then and now.
Perhaps, for the first time since the array, they can all find some time to relax a bit.
A glance at the chronometer tells Kathryn that her senior staff meeting isn’t supposed to start for two hours. She’s already prepared the itinerary, checked the flight plan for the next shift, and read through the reports from the last few days.
There’s nothing pressing to do.
That feeling in itself is nearly unsettling. For weeks there’s always been a landslide of tasks that need attending too, barreling toward her at breakneck speeds. Now suddenly they’re in calm waters.
Could she take a few moments…?
The idea of doing anything not directly related to the well-being of Voyager sends a ripple of guilt along Kathryn’s spine. Logically, she knows she’s being completely irrational. She can’t spend every moment of the next seventy years working, or she’ll be stark, raving mad long before they reach the Alpha Quadrant.
Possibly before she reaches her next birthday.
Thirty minutes. Just thirty minutes for a cup of coffee and a few pages of her book, then she’ll begin reviewing her briefing notes for the third time.
Or is it the fourth time?
That’s it. She definitely needs a break.
Kathryn orders up a fresh cup from the reciplicator, feeling a bit like she did as a child, when she’d sneak off to read in the hayloft instead of tending to her chores. She smiles fondly as she remembers her mother’s voice calling her name from the house, and she’d hurriedly skim the pages to try to reach the end of the chapter before she was discovered.
Beverage in hand, Kathryn makes her way back to her desk, reaching for the thin bound book with the dusty gray cover that’s traveled with her over 70 thousand light years. Other captains she knows bring liquor, games of chance, various vices and indulgences.
Hers are books.
An entire crate, worn and dog-eared, from her father’s collection. They’ve nearly all been on starships before, though never so far from home as they are now. Some she’s read before, revisited often like a favorite tree in a meadow. Others were chosen for this journey alone, and only bear the small notes of her father’s boxy scrawl in the margins.
These are the memories of her childhood she treasures the most, tiny pearls of warmth and love that she lets shimmer and gleam in her chest on her darker days. The sound of her father’s bass reading Grimm’s fairy tales under the stars as she lay on a flannel blanket. The soothing lilt of her mother’s words as she read poetry around the fire in their living room on stormy nights. Her own quiet hours in the window seat in the study, cuddled up with a book as she let the pressure and stress of the day fade into the world of fantasy and adventure.
Leaning back, Kathryn props the book in one hand and takes a decadent sip of coffee. She hasn’t picked the text up since before they reached the array, and has to pause for a moment to remember her place. But then it all settles and draws her in, and for a few blissful moments she’s finally able to let the escape the crushing pressure of leading a ragtag crew on an impossible mission.
Only a handful of minutes slip by, however, before the chime of her door breaks through her escape.
Damn it.
Kathryn lowers the book quickly, straightening in her chair as she calls for entry. She’s not entirely sure who it could be, and feels her body tense at the thought of trouble that may require her attention.
Kazon…Vidiians…Borg…
But when her first officer walks unhurriedly through the door, she can tell there’s no reason to be alarmed. Even in this short time they’ve spent together, she’s come to know the way his jaw tenses and his shoulders draw back when there’s trouble. Chakotay’s not one for blustering and shouting in a crisis, but there’s a quiet, blistering intensity that overtakes him the moment the red klaxons blaze.
There’s no hint of that now, however. Instead he comes toward her desk with a relaxed, long stride and a friendly smile. As if he’s just come by for a leisurely chat.
She’s not entirely sure what to make of this man yet.
Chakotay is a model first officer. Intelligent, competent, slipping into the role as if he’d never left it. He’s been instrumental in forging a peace between the two crews, and something tells her that he’s done more than just agree to this tentative alliance. He’s embraced it. And, she expects, gone toe to toe with more than one of his former crew to ensure there are no major incidents.
It's not lost on her how fortunate she has been to have him by her side.
“Captain,” he says smoothly, his smile deepening as he comes to stand in front of her desk, “Just wondering if there’s anything I can do to help prepare for the staff meeting. I’ve finished reviewing the background information on the planet Neelix mentioned, and prepared a brief for you if you’d like it now.”
Well done. Once again, he’s done exactly the right thing, and now is offering more of his service. It's nearly unnerving how good he is at anticipating her needs and the needs of the crew.
He’s not just some rogue rebel, she reminds herself, he’s Starfleet. Or he was, until fate and the Cardassians upended his path.
“Thank you, Commander. I’m actually just about to delve into some reports myself. Just -ah -” Her eyes fall guiltily to the book that’s laying, open and face down, on her desk. “Just having a cup of coffee first.”
“You’ve been on duty for about 24 hours, Captain, you’re entitled to more than a few minutes for a cup of coffee. I can handle the briefing if you’d like more time.” he says warmly.
His astute brown eyes drift down to her desk, landing on the book cover. There’s the subtle flick as he reads the words, and his expression turns contemplative, “The Odyssey. Captain I’m shocked you’d be reading such scandalous escapism.”
A sputtering objection nearly falls from her lips. Scandalous? He can’t honestly think…
Wait.
Is he…teasing her? Kathryn opens her mouth and then closes it, likely looking rather like a fish gulping for air.
It's not the first time he’s said something like this, that throws her off balance and blurs some of the lines of strict duty. This type of relationship is different, however, than anything she’s had before. Cavit was serious and quiet, and answered every question with a reaffirming “yes ma’am.” Chakotay, however, seems to be able to keep her just a bit on her heels, not quite sure if he’s going to say the expected, dutiful thing, or make a comment about mating behavior.
But now he chuckles, a playful glint in his brown eyes as he looks up to meet her gaze. And she finds herself smiling in return. She hasn’t smiled nearly enough lately, and the stretch of her cheeks feels almost foreign on her face.
Unfamiliar, but good.
“I’m afraid I have a weak spot for the classics. This one was my father’s copy. He read it during his first captaincy. Odysseus facing the trials of the unknown. Though now it seems more fitting than I imagined,” she says wryly, patting the cover with her palm.
“Hopefully we won’t be encountering Scylla and Charybdis out here in the Delta Quadrant,” Chakotay says, a broad grin still on his face.
She’s surprised by the specific reference to the book. He’s clearly read it, or at least knows quite a bit about it.
“You’ve read this?”
“I took Ancient Literature at the academy. I’ll admit I’m a bit rusty, but I recall the basics.” Chakotay nods, seeming to find humor in her surprise.
Of course. Of course he did. Kathryn’s immediately a bit embarrassed for, once again, judging the man in front of her. She’s not used to being sent to capture men who read classic literature and can run a starship as well as she can.
“I’m impressed, Commander.” It's the truth, and she’s not just talking about his knowledge of Homer.
“So am I, Captain.” he answers immediately, his gaze holding hers.
There’s a silence then, and a sense of heightened awareness passes over Kathryn’s body. Awareness she hasn’t felt in weeks.
And it has nothing to do with literature and everything to do with dark eyes and the scent of sandalwood.
Stop that. She shuts it down with the force of an airlock slamming shut.
“Well, I do appreciate the help Commander, but I think I’m all set for the briefing. I’ll see you there.” Kathryn gives a polite smile.
“Yes, Captain.” Chakotay smiles at her again, dimples she hasn't noticed before flashing in his cheeks.
Really? He has dimples too? That’s nearly uncalled for.
She nearly bangs her head on the desk this time. Apparently she needs a break more than she anticipated, since she’s clearly losing her mind.
After he leaves, Kathryn can’t help but wonder about the man who is now serving beside her. He’s a rebel, a traitor. But he’s also an officer. Who has read the classics. He’s brilliant, but unorthodox. Like a puzzle where she doesn’t have all the pieces just yet, and can’t quite see how they fit. In moments like these though, she gets just a few more clues, a few more pieces, and each one draws her in a little more.
There’s still half a cup of coffee on her desk, and time before her meeting. So she sits down and picks up the book again, and her mind is filled with Odysseus sailing the open seas. But now, as she pictures the man who’s crossing an ocean of perilous enemies without fear, he bears a dark tattoo on his brow.