RESOLVING "RESOLUTIONS"


	WARNING:  This is a collection of stories based on the second season's
penultimate episode. As you can guess, they contain suppositions about what
went on between Janeway and Chakotay after the Angry Warrior scene.
Included here are only a very few of the speculations floating around; we
decided to print them because a great many people asked us to. These
stories all involve sexual tension, if not outright sex, between the
characters, and while none are explicit, some leave little to the
imagination. Moreover, most of these extrapolations are idyllic and contain
the "L" word...but none entails the "M" word, so if you think that marriage
should be a prerequisite to the physical manifestations of love, the events
herein might offend your morals. If that's the case, or if you haven't
reached the PG-13 age, or if you don't like romantic stories, or if you are
offended politically or personally by the idea of Janeway and Chakotay
having any sort of intimate relationship, then don't read any further--or,
at least, don't complain. There's non- mushy fanfic in the newsletter.
	DISCLAIMERS:  Paramount owns Janeway, Chakotay, and the rest of the
Voyager crew, but can't seem to keep track of what they do offscreen and
off duty. Jeri Taylor wrote "Resolutions," for which we thank her
profoundly. The writers herein are all responsible for their own
interpretations of the show, the episode, and the characters.

____________________________________

REVELATIONS
by L. R. Bowen
____________________________________
	
	She had it all planned out, every move in advance, though she knew he
would have smiled if he had known. He would have cracked a joke about how
she organized everything she did, and he would have been right. She did
like to organize, and to have a clear plan of action. With enough room to
maneuver, in case of surprises.
	None of this should have taken her unawares. Of course she had noticed his
notice of her, and his careful grace in trying not to make it too obvious.
Even though they were the only two humans on the planet, that was hardly
basis for a relationship, and she had meant to tell himthat. That had made
sense at the time. Really, it had. They had struck a spark into ready fuel,
and it needed rapid quenching if it was not to keep smoldering, all night
and longer. His hands on her shoulders, strong fingers, stooped low enough
over her that she could feel his warm breath through her hair; and the
sweet sensual feel of loosening muscles, of melting tension. His intent had
shifted, silently, but so clearly that he might have spoken it in her ear.
They could have surprised themselves just then, but she had never planned
on this, and she needed room to maneuver. No matter the heart-stirring
warmth in his dark eyes, reluctantly shown, and the almost-asked question,
suppressed, and asked anyway. Tall and broad, his features open as a
child's.
	She had had to think first, tucked in bed, the narrow little cot that
would never accommodate such a big man--no, that was not the thought she
wanted. Thoughts needed planning too. She sped her mind along several
possible paths at once, extrapolating the outcome on each. The most likely
one? She was a woman, there were no other women, but that didn't mean
anything if she didn't want it to. He would never make it mean anything
that she didn't welcome, no matter how much he needed it. She didn't want
him to starve, but she wasn't survival gear. She had to tell him that. They
were friends, far more, and this might spoil that forever. Forever could be
a long time with no friends. Parameters, drawn firmly, clear plans, and she
would not worry any longer.
	And then he had handed her another surprise. How long had he been building
it in secret?
	He had to wrap himself in a story, the way he so often did. Why couldn't
he just say what he meant, instead of attributing it to someone else? "My
people have a saying," he would say, and she would want to reply, "I will
listen to you all by yourself, Chakotay. You don't have to cite authority."
He had to set it outside himself to bring it out at all. And she had
listened long enough to realize that this was not a story, and that he had
brought her another gift out of hiding. The most precious of any thing he
had built for her, and she knew its meaning instantly. Could she ever not
have known that he was keeping it for her? She wept unconsciously, and did
not know it until he smoothed one tear away. They sat so long,
hand-clasped, that the birds were stirring in the trees before he rose,
kissed her thumb, and stepped away. When he retreated into his own alcove
and she into hers, she had no sense of interruption, because somehow he had
filled her with his warmth. Her sleep was deep and peaceful, knowing she
had brought him peace herself. He had given it back to her.
	The smell of breakfast woke her, and his movements around the work area,
the creak of his belt when he leaned over the table to set it, flatware
clicking softly on the surface. Coffee. They were careful with the use of
the replicator, though they had power for many years; they would need it
far more in the future than they did now, still young and able to farm and
gather.
	They were going to grow old together.
	She had more time than she could possibly need to find the right moment,
but she wanted to use a little more of it. Exist in the present, keep this
instant of their lives as long as possible. This could only be done once,
and had to be done correctly. Slowly, in order to make no mistakes. When
there were only two people in all the world, they couldn't afford mistakes.
There would be only one first time.
	Slow, gradual; he might kiss her cheek today, briefly, and she would put
her hands on his shoulders when he did so. Touch his face, let him comb her
hair and braid it. The knowledge of his feelings was too new, and her own
feelings--now that she could look back at the last year and a half with
this new lens, many incidents leaped into focus, but she could not yet form
a coherent picture. It would emerge bit by bit, memories blending with the
present to shape the future. She had a vision of the finished picture in
mind, only a glow on the horizon now, but she knewthe light would
strengthen, that dawn would eventually rise to a new day. It seemed as
inevitable as the turning of the planet. But it was not here yet; it was
only a goal. She liked having goals, and watching their approach. She would
signal each stage when she was ready, by being in reach when he moved, or
by reaching out to him. She would wait a week before she hugged him from
behind to greet him in the morning.
	This morning, she gave him a smile when she came out of her alcove with
her hair loose, and he took her hand for a moment before he turned to put
the dishes on the table. She estimated six weeks, tops, from the date of
yesterday when he had told her his story. It could have been diagrammed in
an arc: they had been left on the planet together, as one foot of the arc,
and there had been a slow rise along the limb to where they were now, short
of the apex of the curve. It had not been a smooth progression, since
surprises leaped it upwards, now and then, but it rose steadily on the
average, plotted between the points. She could plan for surprises now, and
smooth the curve. And put off the gradual downturn after the apex, if that
was the natural shape of the arc. She knew he liked to carve new shapes
from the natural. Two weeks, and she would go to sleep on his shoulder as
they lay on the grass under the trees.
	Breakfast was a little more special than usual, with the coffee, but not
overstated. That would have been too much of a leap on the curve. He wanted
it slow, too. He would let her lead. He seemed to eat nothing, but smiled
as if that were his nourishment. She smiled back. Three weeks, give or
take, and she would let his hands soothe her weariness, as long as they
both liked... She helped him clean up, and went outside to clear away the
last few fallen branches.
	The kiss he gave her when she came back in surprised her. Not her hands on
his shoulders, but her arms around his neck, and his arms wrapped so
tightly she was lifted off the ground. And his lips brushed hers, open,
briefly, before he put her down a little sheepishly and they sat at their
desks to work. By four or five weeks, she would have seen his body, and he
hers. She knew he would never rush her. She would need to study his
reactions to know what pleased him. At five weeks, she would ask him what
he liked the most, so he would know that he could ask her the same. A
little discussion beforehand never hurt, and opened the dialogue. It was
always worth the trouble to check one's assumptions and hypotheses to avoid
experimental blunders. They ate lunch together, and talked so long that it
was dinnertime before they stood up from the table.
	Six weeks, and she would linger in his alcove after dinner, listening to
him read aloud as he reclined on his bed. She would put her cheek against
his chest to feel his voice resonate through his body. She would give him
poetry to read to her, and watch his face. He would cock an eyebrow at her
when he came across a phrase that struck him as funny, and she would laugh
even before she heard what he was going to say. Then she would stop
laughing, and grow serious--or collapse in laughter on his chest, embracing
him under his shirt. He would drop the padd on the floor and embrace her as
well, and they would lie sealed together, counting heartbeats, time
expiring. One part of their lives would pass away like that, and another
take its place. Would she say something to confirm it? He might know, by
then, how to read her without words. And he would know it was coming, by
then. She did not intend to take him by surprise.
	At bedtime, they kissed again. She let her lips relax against his, soft
and affectionate, not too intense at this point. He read her perfectly, and
did the same. A long hug pressed his face into her hair, molded her body
against him, not too tightly. But enough for her to feel his chest heave
against hers, his sudden breath warmly audible in her ear. Right then,
right now, if she gave the word, he would sweep her up and lay her down,
reveal them both to the light, advance time so swiftly that her senses
would fill themselves with him in an instant, weeks crammed into the
moment...
	He let her go, and went to bed behind the partition.
	She lay awake for some time, listening to him turn over every few minutes,
and automatically doing the same, as if she were shifting to accommodate
his movements or lie closer to him. The bed seemed too large for her alone,
though still not big enough for two. Would only time help her with that
perception?
	The days passed slowly one by one, but each was so swift that she had no
sense of impatience. Nothing hurried them. They cooked and ate, worked and
read, went on exploring walks. They held hands when it was convenient.
Sometimes they would stop in their tracks, watching an animal escape into
the trees, or simply to allow a lull. Sometimes then his hands would rest
on her shoulders, and he would move closer until his arms went around her
and his chin pressed on her head. He was heavy, but he never let his weight
rest on her. Their favorite little meadow, where the grass was usually not
damp in the afternoons, was a good place to sleep for an hour when it was
warm. She would wake to find him watching her, as if he meant to read her
dreams, and she would let them show in her eyes, since she wanted him to
know. Kissing, they would lie on the grass, exploring the minute variations
of each positioning of lips and tongue, tasting the sweetness of promised
future. It would never taste the same once it had become the present. It
might be better. But she needed to study each nuance before it passed
forever, because she would never have another opportunity.
	At two weeks and several days, she had let him know that his hands were
welcome anywhere he chose to put them over her clothing, and he had used
that privilege discreetly. The soft brush of his fingertips over her hair
in passing, resting a hand on her hip when she bent to retrieve something.
She did not touch him too much herself, as that would be a signal which
even he might misinterpret. But she would stroke his thigh when he stood up
next to her, feeling the movement of the muscles under his trousers.
Tighten and release, the strength of the movement, the relaxation when it
was complete and he loomed over her, smiling down with the little quirk of
the lips she liked so much. He had strong legs, and a muscular pelvis; his
every movement had weight, and light grace as well. He would never use his
strength clumsily or wrongly. She knew he had power, and that he had no
need to restrain any urge to abuse it. There would be no surprises from
that quarter.
	He even gave her space to breathe and think alone. His eyes did not follow
her everywhere she went in the house, so she did not need to escape
outside. And he let her go on walks by herself, though he would remind her
to take a phaser just in case. She never needed it. There were no animals
larger than the monkeys. She wondered a little at the structure of the
ecosystem, but he only said, "That reminds me of a legend," and smiled at
her. He told her a story about an earthly paradise, where people could live
all their lives on the fruit and acorns, which were always in season, and
on the trout in the streams, which leaped of their own accord into the
fires to roast.
	"It's not quite that easy here," she said.
	"I wouldn't want it to be that easy," he replied, and stirred the soup he
was making.
	The next day she found something on her bed. A leaf, folded carefully
around some small object and tied with a strand of grass. It was a pendant
and small polished beads, all carved from soft dark stone and strung on a
round braided cord. He smiled when she came out wearing it over her dress,
and told her that the stone would harden with exposure to air and sunlight.
On examination she realized that the cord was made from gathered strands of
her own hair, twisted into slender twines and plaited. It was as strong as
steel cable, and the color of bronze. The pendant pulled the beads into a
sheer parabola around her throat. After a few days, the dark stone took on
a subtle sheen from her body. She removed it only when she took her baths.
	At three and a half weeks, she invited him to come and talk to her one
evening while she soaked, and eventually he shed his own clothes and
slipped in with her, spilling the excess water onto the hot stones with a
noisy rush of steam. "Thank you for illustrating the principles of
Archimedes," she joked, and he laughed harder than she had ever seen him
do, sending little ripples across the tub to her with the vibrations of his
chest.
	"Eureka," he said when he could speak, and she laughed with him. They were
sitting at opposite ends of the tub, a little cramped with knees drawn up,
but he had built it roomy.
	"I don't suppose he expected revelations from a bath," she said.
	"Neither did I," he replied. Both of them were quiet for a long time,
sitting in the steam. Eventually his eyes drifted from her face, and she
smiled to let him examine her. It was dark, and the water lent mystery, but
she knew he could see the curve of her torso down into the dimness. She
spread her arms and leaned back. He was poised a little forward, his elbows
on the rim. "You're very beautiful, Kathryn," he said.
	When she did not reply immediately, he looked off into the woods. Was he
going to surprise her after all? She held her breath, but he did not move.
Only his chest, deep controlled breaths. He smiled off into the darkness,
pulling in his lips. She expected a quip when he turned to her again, but
he only looked at her with the same heart-stirring warmth, open as a
child's.
	"You're very beautiful, Chakotay," she said at last, and he grinned, and
closed his eyes.
	"There's not much basis for comparison around here, is there?" he said.
	"What comparison do I need?" she asked, and surprised herself.
	"Yes, some principles are absolute," he said, and stood up. The water
level dropped precipitously, and he put a hand on the rim and vaulted out.
"I'm afraid I've spoiled your bath."
	"I invited you." Their eyes met. He dropped his gaze after a moment, then
brought it back up and looked earnestly at her.
	"Would you like some help?"
	"Getting out of the tub? I can manage that pretty well on my own."
	"There are a lot of things I can manage on my own. Sometimes I let someone
else help me with them." He picked up her towel and wrapped it around his
waist, then stepped back. "I'll get another one for you."
	While he was gone, she wondered. Was she going too slowly? Was the curve
dropping off between the points? She would have to draw the line again and
re-plot the chart. Sometimes in the middle of an experiment, a new weight
would pull the curve into a different shape, and she was bound to consider
that. There was another hand to carve this with her. It took him so long to
come back that she realized he was giving her time to think, and then her
decision was swift. When he came out of the house again, dressed and
carrying a dry towel, she kissed him, nude and dripping as she was, and
took him back inside, leading him by the hand.
	He never removed his own clothes, though she unbuttoned his shirt, and he
gently pushed her hands away from his trouser fastenings. Nestled against
him, his explorations self-circumscribed, she had no concept of the passage
of time. He wanted to give, and she let him, for an eternity of the
present.
	They slept, awkwardly, on his narrow bed.
	The next morning he had not started cooking breakfast by the time she
rose, and was designing something on her monitor. Purposely, she did not
look at the screen. He spent a long time in the woods, and she saw him
looking thoughtfully at the downed trees in the yard, occasionally
phasering off a large section and dragging it out of sight with him. It
took him almost a week, and he quietly stacked finished crossbars and posts
in his alcove, one by one.
	"Would you like some help?" she asked, and he smiled at her.
	"No," he said. "It's a surprise."
	Four weeks and one day. She went for a long walk on her own, and he still
had several walls detached and down on the grass when she returned. He
looked sweaty and disheveled, a littlefrazzled, and relieved when she
suggested dinner outside in the warm evening air. She took a bath while he
made thumping, dragging noises inside for an hour afterwards. Once she
heard a crash, and a curse. Finally it fell quiet, though he did not call
her, and it grew too late to delay any longer. She put on her robe and went
inside. He was fast asleep, probably from sheer exhaustion, still in his
clothes. He hadn't finished rearranging the interior, but the new bed had
an alcove of its own, barely large enough to accommodate it. He had left
room beside him. She put on her nightclothes, watching him as he slept. He
was on his stomach, turned to the outside of the bed, to the door of the
alcove, his head pillowed on one arm. At least he had taken off his boots.
His shirt was damp across the back and under the arms; she could smell him
like a warm breeze. She tugged the blankets out from under him and snuggled
in against his side.
	The smell of breakfast woke her again, and coffee. She sat up in bed and
he brought her a tray, and fetched one for himself. He had washed and
changed his clothes, and when they had finished eating, he brushed out her
hair. She could feel his fingers stroking through it, smoothing it, and she
asked him what he liked about it. His hands paused, then dropped to her
shoulders, and he rested his cheek against hers, lightly, his chest warm
against her back. He told her a story, about corn-silk goddesses and a
lusty warrior, and she laughed.
	Four weeks, two days. Thirty sunrises. She had marked every point along
the way, nestling each in the soft lap of memory, saving them one by one to
keep them strung on the curve of the unbreakable cord. The apex was
reached, and it might only keep ascending. There were no predictions in her
mind any more, so there could be nothing that contradicted expectation. For
the rest of their lives. He asked her, shyly, what she liked best about
love, and she answered simply, "You." It wasn't surprise in his face; it
was more like the sun rising. She didn't have to answer any more questions.

	That afternoon, she put tomato seeds into pots to sprout. She had no idea
how long it would be before they were ready to plant.
____________________________________

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
by Dottie Ronhovde
____________________________________

	I sit here, my emotions in turmoil, after hearing his story, and I
suddenly realize that there are too many parallels to his own life. That
thought amuses me a little. He's always so solid and strong that I'm
surprised he needs to hide behind a "legend."
	"Is there really an ancient legend?"
	"No...but that made it easier to say."
	Oh God, he's released the genie, and there he waits, so open, so afraid
that I'll reject what he's finally had the courage to admit. Do I have the
courage to accept it? I don't know, this is too sudden. The physical need
I'd expected, and I think I could have found a response to that. But
this... I have to do something. The fear is building in his eyes.
	His hand meshed with mine seems so big, yet it's so gentle. His warmth
flows into me through the connection and it feels so good.  I become
absorbed in examining the shape and texture of his features. I thought I
knew this man, but in the last few weeks, he's shown me things that have
surprised me.
	There, in his eyes...he's unbanked the fires and I feel a spark ignite in
me too. It would be easy to accept this as inevitable. But I can't. I've
never just accepted anything as inevitable, and certainly not the fact that
this will be my life, that he will be my life. My body is telling me one
thing, but my heart and mind say something different. Why can't it be
simple?
	His thumb whispers across my cheek as he wipes a tear I didn't know I'd
shed. Before I can stop myself, my face turns into his palm and then I
freeze. What am I doing? My eyes fly to his and I see understanding and
more than a little regret. His hand comes away from my face reluctantly and
he says, "It's OK, I've lived with this for months now, and I still
couldn't tell you how I feel without hiding behind a story. We have time,
maybe the rest of our lives. I'll be here when you're ready." Then he
stands. Without another word, he leaves me to go to his bed. Now that he's
gone, the space around me feels empty somehow, but I'm grateful to him for
understanding.
	He's turning again. Is he as restless as I am? Be still, Kathryn! You
can't help him with that problem. Think of something else.
	My thoughts flit from one memory to the next, all of them remembered
moments with him; moments that now take on a whole new meaning. I need to
analyze this meaning, and I replay them again, examining them and their
meaning to me now. Is this situation so different that what we were has no
importance now? Just what is my real problem in accepting him?
	I was his captain. That prevented any other relationship. But now...I am
still the captain, and I'm not ready to give that up yet. To do so would be
giving up hope of leaving here.  And I want to leave here. I want my ship
back. Impossible as that is, I still want it. Oh, Chakotay, I wish I could
be as accepting as you seem to be.

	It's morning already and he's up. I wonder if he slept at all. I'm going
to have to get up and face him. What will I say? How do we go on from here?
Do I pretend nothing happened? But something important did happen, and I
can't ignore that. Mmmm, coffee. He already knows me so well. What is that
smell? He must be cooking something special. Now that we've turned down a
path we can't reverse, perhaps he's as nervous about facing me as I am him.
	"Good morning."
	He turns at the sound of my voice and hands me a cup of coffee. "I thought
we needed something different than the normal rations. I'm trying one of my
mother's recipes."
	"That smells wonderful, I could use something special this morning."
	"It's almost ready, have a seat."
	Damn, now he's caught me staring. Does he know what that smile does to me?
There's no self-consciousness with him. I guess his accepting nature makes
that possible. He's placed the next step in my hands and is comfortable
with the waiting.
	"What do you think about adding the extra rooms? It would give us a little
more privacy and more space to work in."
	"I don't know, that would be a pretty big project."
	"Well, I would need some help."	
	"Do you really think it's possible?"
	"Yes, I do. It might take some time to gather all the materials we'd need,
but it could be done."
	"All right, I think we should at least look into the possibilities."
	This need to build and create is another facet of him I would never have
suspected if we hadn't been forced into these circumstances. When we finish
eating, he's eager to get started. He takes our dishes and cleans up. "I'm
going to look for the trees we'll need to build the walls today. Would you
like to come with me?"
	I wonder if he has a hidden agenda, but I see nothing of it in his
expression and surprise myself by agreeing. "I think I'd like that."
	We pack a lunch and set off. I've wandered some of the area near our
shelter, but Chakotay knows far more of it. He leads me to the edge of a
small meadow and stops to watch my reaction. I also stop in surprise. It's
filled with flowers, creating a small sea of yellow blooms. In delight, I
wade into their midst, wandering through the clumps, touching their petals
and smelling their scents. He waits patiently for me to get my fill and
come back to him.
	"This is beautiful. Are there other places like this?"
	"Well, each place is unique, but yes, there are others just as beautiful.
Would you like to see them?"
	"Yes! When can we do that?"
	He chuckles and says, "We have all the time we want, and can decide how to
use it. When would you like to do it?"
	"How about right now. How many can we fit into one day?"
	"I don't know, but let's find out."
	We spend the day roaming the secret little places he's discovered. In each
one, he takes me to a spot where we can feel and appreciate the energy and
unique qualities found there. As we eat our lunch perched on a large rock
beside a little stream that feeds the river, he tells me a story about his
childhood and his father.
	"My father tried so hard to teach me to appreciate nature and what it does
for us. But I was impatient, and couldn't see the value in listening to the
trees or the animals or the wind. I was more interested in starships,
phasers and torpedoes. I don't think I truly believed in the things he
tried to teach me until after he was gone. But, after visiting places where
the living things have been used, discarded and destroyed, I know how
important they are. I wish I could share them with him now."

	We've spent the last few days roaming the places he wanted to show me. We
talked and laughed and even cried together. And never once has he let
himself show me the heat and need of that night again. It's never far from
my mind though, and I can't help but study him during those moments when
he's absorbed in telling me another one of his stories.
	I'm learning to see beyond the obvious point of his stories. He reveals
little pieces of himself in each one of them. I tuck them away, saving them
to examine again at night when we're settled into our separate beds for the
night. I listen to the sounds of him shifting in his bed and wonder if
perhaps he's doing the same thing. We don't discuss it, but the question
between us remains unanswered.

	As we settle into our new routines, we become more and more comfortable
with going about all the little chores of daily living together. We learn
about the little habits that define our personalities. I don't like to wear
shoes. He clenches his jaw when he's concentrating very hard on something.
I am compulsive about keeping things organized. He's by nature an untidy
person, although he's trained himself to curb that.
	And through it all, we become comfortable with the enforced closeness of
our existence. I can stand behind him and watch as he carves and we are
both comfortable with that. He can reach past me for something on the table
and it no longer cause either of us to pause. In the evenings, we share the
same table instead of choosing our places away from each other.

	Today was warm and we went for a long walk, enjoying the sights and smells
we found. He's teaching me to see things in a totally different light. I'm
beginning to feel the essence of life in everything around us. At one
point, he offered me his hand as I stepped over a fallen tree, and kept it
in his when we move on. If it had been another time and place, I might have
quirked and eyebrow at him in pointed question at his audacity, but today I
felt mellow and left it there.
	Later, we stopped to rest and absorb, and we talked about little
things--he pointed out the birds that came to forage near us and I
expressed appreciation for the lushness of the trees and undergrowth. After
a while, we lapsed into easy silence and sank into our own thoughts.
	I was nearly asleep when he said, "Kathryn?" When I opened my eyes, he was
leaning over me watching me closely. His eyes were so intense they sent a
little rush of warmth through me. "We should be getting back. It looks like
it's going to rain."
	My name on his lips no longer seems foreign to me and I don't think of him
as 'Commander' anymore. We are just Chakotay and Kathryn. I'm surprised
that I like the sound of that. My rank and position in Starfleet were
always important to me yet I've set that aside quite easily. When I
realized this, I felt guilty; guilty of forgetting who I am and to whom I
owe loyalty. Voyager, my ship, is moving on toward home, and I'm not with
her, not with my crew. Although I didn't willingly choose to be left here,
I feel I've let them down.
	As we walked back to our home, and yes, I do think of it as home now, I
struggled with the conflicting desires. I still think of Voyager and the
crew often, and wish I...we, were with them. But I'm also happy here in
this life that he's making comfortable. If this is truly going to be my
life, I'm glad that I'm sharing it with him. Chakotay sensed there was some
problem I was working on resolving and led me back in near silence, leaving
me to my thoughts.

	Tonight we're confined inside by a steady rain. The sound of it's drumming
on the roof has drawn me to the door to watch the water splash into our
yard. As I stand here looking out, Chakotay's come to stand behind me,
close enough that I feel his warmth at my back. It attracts me and I lean
back lightly against his chest.
	"Are you going to curse me for not building a shelter over your tub?"
	I like his humor. "If I said yes, would you build me one?" As I turn to
see his reaction his nose brushes through my hair just above my ear. His
eyes are closed, but they open when he feels me move.
	"...I ...excuse me."
	The aching desire is exposed for a moment again before he forces it behind
the curtain of his control. He pulls away and I feel a need to ease the
moment. He deserves more than I've given him so far. So I reach out and lay
my hand on his arm to stop him. When he turns back to me, his expression is
guarded, and I see the unanswered question there again. Will you accept me?

	"I need time, Chakotay. If we don't make this work between us, there's no
way to undo it or to start over with someone else. If this is to be our
life, I want it to be a long and happy one."
	He stands there silent, his eyes searching mine for something. Whatever he
sees satisfied him and he nods. Without speaking, he turns and retreats
into his sleeping cubicle. His acceptance is almost harder to tolerate than
if he'd bargained with me for more. It places the weight of his emotional
needs squarely on my shoulders.
	I too go to my bed, but not to sleep. The reality of our life here is
settling into my consciousness and I ask myself what I'm waiting for.
Perhaps he's right, I should just accept it and make the best of it. It
really isn't such a bad life, and I certainly could have been stranded with
worse partners. I make a decision to begin the process.

	As we eat our breakfast together, I propose a new project to him. "I was
thinking that we should try to grow some vegetables. We have the seeds
Neelix gave us and the climate seems perfect right now."
	He pauses in his eating to look at me in surprise, but he nods and
launches into some suggestions on a site to put the garden and what we'll
need to do to prepare it. Then he pauses and smiles at me and I'm not
surprised that he recognizes the turnaround I've made. I return his smile
and we share a special moment.
	Later that morning, as I prepare a seed tray and plant tomato seeds, he
comes over to see what I'm doing.
	"Why did you choose tomatoes and not something that's easier to preserve?"
	"I want ammunition to throw at you, and ripe tomatoes make lovely splats
when they land."
	"Well, you'd better plant a lot then because I want to have enough to
return fire."
	Chakotay, do you feel it too? This kind of closeness is so special. You
make each day a joy. Yes, I can see you do know what I mean. Laughter binds
us tighter than any promises could.
	The next day, we work together to dig up the soil and break up the clumps.
It's hard work, but I thoroughly enjoy it. Once the hard part is completed,
Chakotay leaves me to finish the task of preparing the bed while he goes
back to his plans for the house. Once the garden bed is ready, I again join
him in his wandering the woods. I've missed these walks with him and I want
him to know it.

	One of our favorite places is a little stream that runs down a steep hill
over boulders and fallen trees. It sometimes pauses in its downward plunge
in pools that are deep and dark. The trees along its banks are huge and
old. Chakotay says they speak to him of history long forgotten. Today, we
stop at one of the pools and pick a place on a small patch of tender grass
to sit and listen. I deliberately sit close to him, although not actually
leaning against him.
	For a while we sit silently, absorbing the peace around us. But my
thoughts begin to wander, and Chakotay sees something in my expression that
causes him to ask. I hesitate to tell him my thoughts, but if we are to
build a relationship, he needs to know this part of me.
	"I was thinking about Mark. I really loved him and he was the first man
I'd ever let get that close to me. He came into my life at a time that
couldn't have been worse for making it work. I'd been on Earth for a year,
but I'd been too busy to allow time for anything but my work. I had just
been named as Voyager's captain, but she was still in the shipyard,
undergoing final testing. We were having problems with the bio-neural
circuitry and they brought Mark in to help."
	Chakotay shifts his position, so he can sit facing me and watch my
expressions. This memory is painful for me, and I can't look at him as I
speak of it.
	"At first I resisted his attempts to see me outside of the professional
situation. But, as the testing required longer and longer hours together,
we began to get to know each other better. I won't bore you with how it all
started or how we spent our time. The reason I'm telling you any of this,
is because he's still a part of me. Mark understood how important the ship
and my career were to me. He encouraged me when I needed it, and he cheered
for me when things went well. He filled the need for companionship and love
for me and he gave them without any strings attached.
	"When we got stranded in the Delta Quadrant, he was the driving force in
my own desire to get home. My memory of him, my desire to get back to him,
gave me the strength of having a goal and I thought that was all I was
going to have to rely on... But, I was wrong. I think there might be
someone else who will give me strength...and perhaps more."
	I see hope in his eyes, but he's cautious. We both understand what's at
stake if we push our relationship into something we can't live with. This
time, he makes the first move and holds up his hand to me. As my fingers
mesh with his, I feel the rightness of this connection and realized that
I've relied on him for quite some time. I can't say that I love him, but,
if we are going to be here for the rest of our lives, I think that will
come.
	He locks his eyes with mine and says, "I promise you that as long as I'm
with you, you can rely on my support and strength. You'll never have to
stand alone."
	I don't resist when he pulls me up onto my knees and against his chest. As
we wrap our arms around each other, we discover that our bodies fit
together like custom tailored clothing falling into place. I close my eyes
and sink into his embrace, my nose tucked against his throat. His warm
scent fills me and I listen to his steady heartbeat under my ear. We hold
each other, giving and receiving comfort and strength through the contact
of our bodies pressed together.

	Since that day, things between us have subtly changed. I guess the easiest
way to describe it is to say that I'm relaxed and comfortable with him now.
I sometimes feel the heat beneath the surface, but he's always careful to
keep it under tight control. Because he does, I feel safe to let myself
explore my feelings for him.
	We touch each other often, always briefly, always in nonsuggestive ways,
but still touching. Until very recently, I never realized that he'd been
careful not to do so before. And I hadn't realized how starved for it I
was. I'd wrapped myself so securely in the command mantle that I'd
forgotten what it's like to have that contact from another person.
	Our days have settled into a familiar pattern. In the mornings, we do
whatever work is needed around the house. Then we use the afternoons to
explore more of the area around us. The river offers some possibilities
we'd both like to look into, but we don't have any means to travel far
along it. Perhaps at some point, we'll figure out a way to use it. In the
meantime, we enjoy our land-based explorations.
	My tomato seeds have sprouted and they'll be ready to plant in a few more
days. I've been checking them daily, poking a finger gently into the soil,
looking for the first signs of green. Chakotay watches in amused silence,
and he smiles encouragement when I tell him I've seen the first hint of
growth.

	Tuvok has just closed communications with us, and we remain motionless
staring at each other.  I sit in shock, my emotions again in turmoil. I
gave up too soon. I let go of Voyager too soon. And now they're coming back
for us. I'm going to have my ship back, and I don't deserve it.
	"Kathryn, don't. Don't believe what you're thinking. It wasn't wrong to
enjoy life."
	I turn to him, and his words soothe my conscience a little. I reach for
him, and he takes my hands in his. He kneels down, to put himself at eye
level with me.
	"We have to live each day one day at a time. It's not wrong to take the
best that day has to offer and enjoy it. This day offers us a joy we
thought we'd never have. We'll be rejoining our ship and our family. You
should be looking forward with happiness, not backward with regret."
	His words are so appropriate to what I'm thinking that I can almost feel
him inside of me, reading my thoughts. He reads me like an open book. That
should make me uncomfortable, but it doesn't. I think I like having him
know me so well.
	We spend the next day sorting and packing equipment and personal
belongings. It's tiring, and we speak little. I feel his eyes on me often,
but I'm not ready to answer his question now. There is too much to think
about. But I know he'll ask, and I know he has a right to. I just don't
know what the answer will be.
	I've felt it hovering all day, just beyond my hearing. Now it's evening
and Voyager will be here tomorrow. We've finished everything we want to do
and finally can take time to eat and rest. For the first time in many
weeks, there's tension between us. The house feels too small, and I make an
escape outside. Chakotay's eyes follow me, but he let's me have some time
alone. Then I hear him come out too. He stops a little away from me and
stands, leaning against a tree. His posture is rigid, and I know it's
coming soon. He's just trying to put it together in his mind.
	I wait for him, still unsure how to answer. Finally, his head comes up and
he turns toward me. He's lifted the curtain and I see all the things he's
kept from me until now; need, love and uncertainty. The intensity shocks
me, but his words are still controlled. "Will things be the same when we
get back on the ship? Or am I going to be just another crewman again?"
	"You were never 'just another crewman', and I don't see how either of us
can go back as exactly the same people we were. I hope you'll continue to
be the strength behind me and the one I can drop the rank and position
with."
	"You know you'll always have that... Is that all you'll want from me?"
	He's still balancing his own needs, waiting to see where I'll place myself
in his life. I want to ease the pain I see in his eyes. But I can't give
him everything he wants. I have to sacrifice some of me, some of us, for
them. They are my first responsibility.
	"On the ship, yes, that's what I want. Right now I want a little more."
	He stands there so rigid and still. I'm going to have to give him a little
help. I've wanted to know what it feels like. It's just a step forward, to
settle against his chest and fold my arms around his solid back. Hesitantly
at first, he returns the embrace, but then he lets his own instincts take
over. He relaxes his stance and adjusts himself to fit us together. His
head turns downward and his cheek rubs across mine. Then his mouth come
seeking.
	Softly at first, his relaxed lips brush mine and his warm breath mingles
with my own. My chest quivers with the first stirrings of desire and I open
to him. He accepts the invitation and brushes my lips with his tongue.
Slowly, he traces them, licking and retreating, tasting me. I want to do
the same, but force myself to let him lead. I can't stifle the sigh of
frustration though, and he hears it. His firm mouth returns and his tongue
dives in to dance with mine. I get my first taste of him and it's
intoxicating. He teases me, withdrawing so that I have to chase him past
his lips and into the warm recesses of his mouth. We become involved in
learning the tastes and textures of each other, taking turns with the
initiative.
      Our lower bodies join the dance and move closer, trying for the same
intimacy.  When I feel his desire, I suddenly realize where we're headed.
My own desires have risen just as quickly and it frightens me. I stop
still. I hadn't planned on this, and I'm not ready for it.	Chakotay stills
too and he steps back. His dark eyes sparkle in the low light. "I'm sorry."
	"No, don't be sorry. I'm just not quite ready. If we had more time..."
	"But we don't. They'll be here tomorrow."
	"Yes, tomorrow."
	Tomorrow we'll step back into our old roles, but I wonder if that will be
possible. I don't feel like the same person now and I don't see him as the
same person either. For the crew, we'll try, but...perhaps, someday, we can
be just Kathryn and Chakotay again.


____________________________________

RESOLVE
by Diane Nichols
____________________________________

	I wanted to take her in my arms after we heard from Tuvok, but she
wouldn"t let me. She stiffened, then pulled away, eyes averted. Before I
could speak, she was turning toward the shelter. "There's so much to do,"
she muttered. "Things to sort out, things to pack..."
	"He won't leave us behind if we're not standing on the corner with our
bundles in our arms, Kathryn," I said to her back. I wondered privately
about that, though. Tuvok had been looking for an excuse to get rid of me
for months, and when he found out how much matters had changed between his
captain and me, I had no doubt that he'd be more ready than ever to abandon
me on some pretext.
	"No, of course not, but our journey has already had so many delays. It's
not fair to the crew." Her voice sounded tired suddenly, although it was
still early morning and we'd slept in. "Chakotay, I--I need some time to
think. I can do it best if you'll just let me go inside and organize
things. Alone." She glanced back over her shoulder at me then, and I saw
that she had tears in her eyes.
	So, I let her go. I took a walk down to the river, where the boat I hadn't
had a chance to build would never sail. I heard that damn monkey screeching
from the upper branches of  the big tree that reminded me of a willow, and
I darted quickly to my left. A few seconds later, a piece of soft mushy
fruit dropped down, right where I had been standing. I was getting better
at avoiding the barrages of food and less pleasant things it always greeted
me with. It seemed to like Kathryn well enough, but obviously it was not
partial to me. Must have been a male monkey.
	A few hours later, I was still hanging around outside. The industrious
packing noises from inside the shelter had continued unabated for most of
that time, and I was beginning to wonder if she was taking the place apart
piece by piece, from the inside out. I sat with my back to the house, in
the middle of the clearing where the monkey couldn't reach me with its
missiles, and listened to the bumping and dragging and occasional soft
curses issuing from inside, and I thought back to the night, just two
nights ago, when I first told Kathryn I loved her.
	We had been "defining parameters" about our relationship--her words, of
course, her suggestion. I said that I didn't think I could do that, and
then I told her an ancient legend that I made up on the spot, about an
angry warrior who meets a woman, joins her tribe, and finds peace. A five
year old child could have seen through it, of course, and Kathryn had very
little difficulty figuring out what I was trying to tell her without saying
the words. She couldn't hide her smile, and for a second I felt my heart
sink because she was so obviously amused, but then I saw something in her
eyes that hit me square in the chest and made it literally impossible to
breathe. Acknowledgement, acceptance--I'm not sure what to call it--but I
could see that she understood, and that she was pleased. After a moment she
raised her hand and reached out to me, her movements tentative but her eyes
full of tenderness.
	I remembered to breathe, then, and I lifted my hand to hers, letting our
fingers mesh. I'm not sure how long we sat like that, holding hands,
watching each other. A single tear made its way down her cheek and part of
me wanted to lean forward and follow that shining path with my mouth, but I
couldn't seem to move, or to speak. It felt like an enchantment was holding
us there, motionless, perhaps for all eternity. The thought crossed my mind
that this was exactly the way I wanted to die, with Kathryn Janeway's eyes
on me and her fingers touching mine.
	Finally, she moved, giving a little shiver and glancing down at our
clasped hands. A rosy blush came creeping up her neck from the top of the
puritanical pajamas she'd taken to wearing around at night, as if covering
her body from chin to toes would make me less aware of her. Her hand jerked
as if she meant to break contact, and I heard my own voice, sounding
breathless like I'd been running for miles, saying the words I never
thought I'd have the chance to speak to her, words I had never even allowed
myself to utter in my dreams.
	"I love you, Kathryn. I love you. I love you." By the fourth or fifth
repetition, she figured out that I couldn't stop, and she pulled her hand
away, reached up and caught me by the head, and shut me up with a kiss.
	 Things get a little hazy, then. I remember thinking that she tasted of
peaches. I remember her fingers tracing the pattern of my tattoo, and then
sliding into my hair. I think that she cried some more. I know that I did.
It wasn't like I would have imagined it--if I had ever dared to imagine
it--a scene full of passion. It was beyond that. I wanted her, and I knew
she wanted me, but somehow it was enough just to know, as if taking our
time--we had the rest of our lives, didn't we?--would make each moment,
each small step forward, more precious. We ended that night standing in the
doorway of the shelter that had become our home, looking out into the
darkness with our arms around each other. After a few minutes, we kissed
goodnight, then turned to our separate corners of the house and went to
bed, not really apart, but not really together, not yet. I slept better
that night than I had in weeks.
	I awoke to the feel of something tickling my face--the end of Kathryn's
braid, which she was drawing gently across my cheek. I opened my eyes to
see her sitting on the edge of my bed, fully dressed. Sunlight was
streaming in the open door.
	"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," she said playfully, letting the braid fall
and reaching down to tweak my nose.
	I felt myself grinning, and I couldn't resist taunting her. "What's wrong,
Lady Kathryn, did you forget how to replicate your own breakfast? I've
spoiled you with my cooking, admit it."
	"Hmmph. You know that as long as I get my coffee, I could care less about
food in the morning," she said, trying for a note of petulance but
completely failing to reach it. She sounded girlishly happy, almost
excited, and she was pulling me up and out of bed before I even had a
chance to think of a clever reply. "Come outside, there's something I want
you to see."
	"Can I get dressed?" I asked. I was wearing my oldest pair of shorts and a
t-shirt, which was more than I normally wear to bed but still didn't leave
much to the imagination. She just gave a tug on my hand and led me outside.
We had set up one of the storage boxes as a table, and we sometimes ate out
there when the weather was nice. Glancing ahead, I saw that she had been
busy. There was a pot of coffee, steaming hot, and breakfast for two,
replicated pancakes and fresh fruit. Between the two plates was a beaker,
salvaged from the scientific equipment and miraculously whole, holding
flowers that looked a little bit like daisies, only smaller and bright
pink. She must have done all this while I slept. I was absurdly touched at
her gesture, and knew if I said anything at all it would come out as it had
the night before, so I just raised her hand and kissed it, then sat down to
the first breakfast on New Earth that I hadn't cooked myself, knowing that
it was going to be a very good day.
	It was. We puttered around all morning, going through our usual solitary
routines, but with a difference. I sometimes would wander far from the
shelter, looking for foodstuffs, getting to know the territory, but that
day I stayed nearby, close enough so that she could call if she needed me,
close enough so that I could hear her humming as she mucked in her garden
and could catch a glimpse of her from time to time as she moved around. I
found some mushrooms that had sprouted overnight, and a fresh patch of the
watercress-like greens which were her favorites. I watched the birds for a
while--this planet had yet to show us much wildlife except for Kathryn's
little primate friend and of course the insects that got us stranded here
in the first place, but there were several species of birds--and I added
several shiny blue-black feathers to my collection of treasures. With a
length of twine and a few beads which I could carve, they would make a nice
hair ornament, I thought. Another surprise, not as good as the bathtub,
maybe, but I thought that she would like it.
	I never got to make that hair ornament.

	We spent the afternoon down at the river. It had turned hot, and although
we pretended that we were going to do some fishing, we knew that we
wouldn't catch anything that day. It was a good excuse to loaf on the mossy
riverbank and tell each other tall tales about our adventures at the
Academy, each one more incredible than the last. I hadn't laughed that much
in years. I would catch Kathryn studying my face, and finally I asked her
what she was doing. She said that she was basking in my smiles, which were
usually so rare as to be almost mythological, but which suddenly seemed to
be very much a reality. She even added something silly about investigating
them as a possible alternate power source to the solar batteries. I told
her that I could also make her garden grow just by peeing on it, and she
hit me. It was a great afternoon.
	We both fell asleep at some point, then woke up hot and sweating. Without
thinking twice about it, I started peeling off my shirt.
	"Chakotay, what are you doing?" she asked in some alarm.
	"Skinnydipping. Come on." I left my clothes on the bank and plunged into
the river, swimming out a little ways before turning back to see what she
would do. She was standing there with her hands on her hips, in a stance
I'd seen a thousand times before on Voyager's bridge. She looked really
warm in her form-fitting jumpsuit. I watched and waited, treading water.
"It feels great, Kathryn, you should try it," I added helpfully.
	Finally, with what looked like total indifference but which I suspect
actually took considerable resolve, her hands raised to the fastenings of
the jumpsuit and she slipped it off. She glanced down at my underwear on
the riverbank next to her foot, then reached behind and undid her bra,
letting it fall on the grass. She removed her panties next, with an economy
of movement that awed me, and slowly stepped down into the water, wading
toward me with the grace of a queen.
	We spent most of the rest of the afternoon in the water, sometimes
swimming together or playing childish ducking games, sometimes idling in
the shallows under the shade of the willow tree whose branches hung down
nearly to the water. I tried to catch a fish in my hands to impress her. I
couldn't do it, but she did, and then she laughed so hard that she dropped
it. We stayed there for hours, so long that the early evening shadows were
lengthening by the time we walked back to the shelter, half-dressed and
with wrinkled skin, holding hands.

	I suppose that we had supper, but I don't remember the details of what I
cooked or what we ate, only that we managed to do it without breaking eye
contact. Her hair had dried in wild disarray, her cheeks were pink with
sunburn, and she was radiant, in spite of the fact that the dress she had
hastily and heedlessly changed into as I started dinner had a big smear of
dirt on the hem and was missing several buttons. We barely spoke, nothing
more than the courtesies of the table, but the silence was comfortable. I
found myself trying to read her face, knowing somehow that her quick
grimace while eating dessert came from the one sour berry that always
manages to hide among thesweet ones, and that the big smile she couldn't
hide as she watched me putting the remains of the meal away meant that she
was looking forward to another dessert, perhaps sweeter than the berries.
	I had thought that it might still be too soon. In all of the splashing
around that afternoon, we'd done a lot of touching, some of it accidental,
some of it not. Once, when I was behind her, peeling her water-slicked hair
away from her neck, my fingers had slipped down and come to rest on the
sensitive skin below her collarbone. She had caught her breath, then leaned
back into me, forcing my hand to continue its downward path. I could not
resist the urge to let my lips trail along the top of her shoulder or my
other hand lightly caress her hip. She obviously liked what I did, but
after a moment or two, she had pulled away and waded upstream, her
attention caught by a brilliantly-colored butterfly. It felt not like
teasing, but more like--savoring. I understood, because I wanted to make
those moments last forever, too.
	I could have waited. I'd thought I might have to wait forever, after all,
so somehow just knowing that Kathryn wanted me was enough for me.
	But if we had waited...
	...would it matter, that we hadn't?
	She was inside, now, dismantling our home, and my dreams.
	Would I go back to Voyager thinking "well, at least I had her once"? Once,
and never again. It had a frightening ring of truth to it, and the fear
struck me to the core as I listened to her thumping and banging away. I
wanted to go in there and tell her that what we had found was too precious
to waste. I wanted to beg her not to turn away from me. I wanted not to
talk at all, but just to touch her hair, to bury my face in it, and to feel
her hands on the back of my neck, pressing me closer. I wanted to hold her,
and be held.

	I didn't go inside. I went into the woods, revisiting familiar spots.
There, that was where I built her bathtub. The leftover scraps of wood were
still there, sweet smelling piles of shavings. I had invested so much
energy in that bathtub, and so much love, and I never even got to use it.
Farther on, that was where I'd found her the afternoon of the plasma storm,
grimly clutching her bugs to her chest and trying to forge ahead, to make
her way back to me. That day she had leaned on me, literally, for the first
time. In the aftermath of the storm, after she had wept for her losses and
for all that had happened to us, I think she leaned on me figuratively,
too. My words about acceptance, about living each day to the fullest,
seemed to inspire her, and she never looked back or bemoaned our fate.
"That's one way of letting go," she had said, and there was no trace of
bitterness in her voice, just determination, the kind of grit I'd come to
expect from her no matter how dire the circumstances...
	She never quits.
	Never gives up.
	Never turns her back on a challenge.
	So why am I so sure that she's inside, packing our future away?

	I sat down then, or maybe my legs gave out. As if I were not miserable
enough, I deliberately remembered the night before, the night that my
unspoken hopes became reality. She hadn't said a word, just smiled at me,
but I knew that she was ready. We made no pretense of doing other things;
she didn't pick up a padd and begin to read, and I didn't go back to the
boat design I'd been tinkering with.
	We came together in the center of the room, my arms enfolding her tightly.
She breathed a sigh into my ear, and then I was kissing her and she was
kissing me, and there was no turning back. After a full day of smiles and
touches, of hours spent in the river while we played innocent courting
games and studied each other's bodies unselfconsciously, knowing that the
fire was there but keeping it banked, suddenly we ignited. We undressed
each other with criminal haste, in a blur of hands and lips and touches.
When her fingers wouldn't cooperate as she tried to unbutton my shirt, she
simply tore it away, then grinned cheekily at me when I stared at her in
surprise. I felt huge and graceless, my hands suddenly too big, too rough
on her impossibly smooth skin, except that I knew from her throaty moans
that she didn't find them so. We sank onto the floor right there by the
table, unable to walk the few steps that would take us to her bed or to
mine. I could not wait, and she urged me forward. Some forces are too
strong, too elemental, for mere control. There on the hard floor, clothes
piled around us, I looked into Kathryn Janeway's eyes and saw eternity.
	Afterwards, I tried to apologize to her. She wouldn't let me. "I wanted
you that way," she said. "Next time will be time enough for soft words and
seductive touches. I wanted the storm, I wanted to feel the fire."
	I didn't accept that, not at first. We had been readying ourselves for
love all that long day, and maybe for much longer than that. She was the
woman of my dreams, of my soul, and I had taken her on the floor like a
rutting animal.
	"Like a warrior," she corrected me. I remembered the story I had told her
the night before, and I saw that she was thinking of it, too. She smiled,
and touched my face, her fingers tracing the curving lines on my forehead,
and suddenly I understood. Under her softness, the warrior that lived
within her had waited, sensing a kindred spirit, wanting to feel the shared
power. After we had soared to that height and stared into the abyss
together would come the time for gentleness. She would let me show her the
love I had never revealed to another, never known I could feel, but only
after we had burned together in the fires of a sudden, cleansing passion.
	And so it was. We moved from the floor over to her bed. It was too small,
too cramped for us, but somehow we managed to fit. There, where night after
night I had watched her shadow moving restlessly behind the privacy wall,
we lay together and listened to each other breathe, we talked and touched
and kissed. This time we came together in peace. There was no more urgency,
no driving need spurring us on. It was the river, again, when we had all
the time in the world, and the mutual resolve to make it perfect.
	 It was. I think it was. I can't remember the details, because when
Kathryn touches me, when I hear her voice murmuring my name with that
inflection that only she gives it, as if saying it gives her some secret
pleasure, I find that for those precious moments I can forget everything
but her. I wonder now, where was this woman during the years when my
thoughts burned holes in my soul, when I believed nothing and cared about
less than nothing? She could have healed me with a smile, a whisper. But
had I not gone through what I had, had I not been that angry warrior, would
she have given me her smiles or her whispers? Perhaps not. Perhaps what
made this night so perfect was the paths we had taken to get there.
	I sat in the woods and thought about that. I made myself remember Voyager,
and all we had been through since the day she chased me into the Badlands
and we ended up in the Delta Quadrant. We had lived with so much adversity,
so much doubt. I had tried, from the moment that she chose me, to be the
kind of first officer I might have been had the Cardassians and my own
guilt not come between me and my career in Starfleet. I believed from the
very first that she deserved my best, and that I came to her with a clean
slate. And yet, so many of our troubles with the Kazon, with Seska, seemed
directly caused by things I had done, decisions I had made. I tried to make
them right, and sometimes I only succeeded in making them worse. I felt for
a time that I had lost my captain's trust. I know that it wavered, and I
know that she was right to doubt me, but that just strengthened my resolve
to prove to her that she had made the correct choice, the only possible
choice, the choice that would best enable us to get home.
	Home. The idea that keeps us all sane, that convinces us to get out of bed
every day--how ironic that for me, this tiny shelter on a nameless planet
we called New Earth had felt more like home than my war-torn homeworld ever
had. I had honored the need my shipmates felt toreturn to the Alpha
Quadrant, back to loved ones, families, careers. I had given my utmost
effort to see to it that in fact we would someday make it back--but
although I gave it lip service, I had never shared that dream. For me, home
was not an option, not until an insect bite had changed the course of my
life and that of the woman who had been my commanding officer...the woman
who, in a little more than a day, would resume that role, and take my home
away from me...
	How was it going to happen? Would she tell me that sacrifices must be
made, that good officers put the needs of their crews first? Would she tell
me anything at all? As captain, it was her right not to have to explain her
decisions to me, even a decision such as this one, which involved me so
directly and so intimately. As her first officer, it was my duty to obey
her in this, not to question, not to doubt. She would do the right thing,
and unless she asked me for my opinion, I had no right to give it. And
yet--as her first officer I had certain responsibilities, to show her the
possibilities, the alternatives, the differing perspectives. I could not
insist, but I could suggest. Only, suggest what?
	I didn't know. I could not see any clear solution to this problem we
faced. To continue our relationship and somehow make it bend to fit the
command structure seemed, if not impossible, certainly daunting--but to go
on without it seemed even more impossible. She can't order me not to love
her, and as good a captain as she is, I don't believe that she can stop
loving me, either. We had come so far together. We had begun as enemies,
become uneasy allies, then moved through successive stages of doubt,
acceptance, and approval. We were partners, a unit which we both knew was
stronger than either of us could possibly be individually--and all of that
happened before either of us so much as admitted to ourselves that our
professional relationship was becoming personal. We might have acknowledged
friendship, back on Voyager. We might have talked uncomfortably about how
we were becoming a family, and conveniently overlooked the heat that
sometimes radiated between us. Maybe we would have agreed that the teasing
remarks and shared glances were a flirtation of sorts, but nothing more.
Nothing serious. Nothing that could interfere with our duties to our cause,
and our crew. And what of our duties to ourselves? To each other? Didn't we
have the right, even the responsibility to see this through? What we had
shared, not just the passion but the gradual growing together, the birth of
love, was surely something good, something positive, an unlooked-for gift
that had blessed us both. I could not--can never--turn my back on it, and I
believe that it is the same for her.
	I looked around me, seeing that the morning had passed while I sat and
bemoaned my fate and did nothing to assure that it would turn out the way I
knew in my soul that it was meant to. I couldn't wait until it was tomorrow
and I was once again in uniform to offer counsel to my captain. I would
have to do it today, as her lover, her friend, and her first officer. I
stood up and strode off toward the shelter, filled with resolution. I would
make her listen to me, and she would see the sense in my words. From above,
I heard the shriek of my impish rival, and I heard the splat of something
nameless hit the ground behind me, but my steps never faltered.  I had
thought so much about home, and I was just beginning to realize that the
physical dimensions of that place didn't matter. Whether in a tasteful grey
and beige box on a planet we called New Earth, or on a battlescarred but
still beautiful starship en route to the Alpha Quadrant, my home would be
wherever Kathryn Janeway was.

	"Kathryn, we have to talk about this," I said firmly. I stood in the
doorway, uneasy. The interior of the house looked mostly the same to me,
though I could see that she had packed a few of her personal belongings.
All that crashing and banging--what had she been doing for the past four
hours?
	She glanced up at me from her seat at the table, her expression grave. I
saw that she held something in her hands--the flat rock I had found on our
first full day here, the one I had been carving away at for months, that
when finished would be a blessing for this house, and for our union. She
smoothed her fingertips across the symbols, then set it carefully down on
the table, folding her hands and looking fully at me. "I know," she said.
	"You know?"
	"I know that we have to talk. We have so many decisions to make, and they
must be made together." She smiled. "I--I don't share control easily, not
even after all these weeks when we've been so much more to each other than
captain and first officer." Her smile faltered. "But I realize that I can't
do this alone, not now."
	I let the breath I didn't even know I'd been holding out in one explosive
exhalation, and felt my rigidly-held body relax suddenly against the
doorframe, understanding that her simple words--"I can't do this
alone"--referred to much more than the discussion we were to have and the
decisions we were to make. She smiled again, possibly in amusement at my
reaction to her words, then deliberately, slowly, she held her hand out to
me.


____________________________________

DIFFERENT RESOLUTIONS
by Lisa Oh
____________________________________

	Chakotay was the first to break the silence. "I guess we won't be taking
that camping trip after all."
	Janeway glanced at him, startled. Here was a man with whom circumstances
had thrown her. Here was a man who promised his unending devotion to her.
Here was a man whom she was willing to spend the rest of her life with,
working beside him on this deserted planet which they were just beginning
to call...home. Their fates were about to change yet again, and the future
she had envisioned was wiped out and replaced with another. Kathryn Janeway
found herself strangely saddened.
	"Well, we have less than 30 hours before Voyager gets here. We'd better
start to get our things together." Without waiting for a response, she
turned and headed for her work station. She could feel his eyes follow her
as she gathered her data padds and books. After a few moments she felt him
turn away and engage in a similar task. They worked silently for hours,
eyes carefully avoiding each other.
	It felt unnatural for both. Over the past four months, their relationship
had grown rapidly. When he had admitted his feelings for her a few weeks
ago, she was delightfully happy. Looking back, she realized that the
attraction was there from the beginning, but they were forced to keep a
distance, for the sake of the ship. She became aware of the possibilities
for their relationship and it excited her. She made up her mind to explore
these possibilities, but to take things slowly. After all, a lifetime was
at their disposal. The jokes and the laughter came naturally. So did her
playful jabs when he teased her, his arm around her waist when they walked
together, and the lingering of their eyes when they said goodnight.
	Little by little, she began to accept the life on this planet as their
future...until several hours ago, when Tuvok contacted them with the news
that the cure for the virus had been found. In less than 24 hours, they
would be returning to Voyager as Captain and Commander, and not...
	"Kathryn."
	She jumped, and whirled around to face Chakotay.
	"It's getting pretty late. I think we should get some sleep. We can finish
the rest tomorrow."
	She looked around and was surprised to find that it had become dark.
	"Yes, I suppose you're right. We don't want to be still asleep when
Voyager gets here."
	Chakotay smiled. "Or worse. The crew will never forgive me if they find
their captain passed out from sheer exhaustion." He returned the smile that
lighted her face. "Well, goodnight, Kathryn. See you in the morning."
	"Yes. Goodnight." They turned and went to their beds, each knowing full
well that rest would be the last thing that would be accomplished that
night.
	Kathryn was tired, but sleep was slow in coming. The excitement of seeing
her ship again, mixed with sorrow at having to abandon the life she and
Chakotay were building, agitated her. She sat up, wincing at the sharp pain
in her neck.
	Chakotay. Being together 24 hours a day, they had become extremely
sensitive to each other's moods and conditions. Even if she didn't say a
word, he would come over, massaging her shoulders till she felt so relaxed
that she forgot what she was doing. Chakotay. From the day they were on
this planet, he worked hard to make a home for them, to make it more
comfortable for her, even when she resisted in hopes of finding a cure for
the virus.
	In less than a day, she would have to call him Commander, and he must call
her Captain. On the bridge, they would keep physical and eye contact to a
minimum. When the shift was over, they would each retire to their own
quarters after a cordial goodnight. They had to redraw the lines around
them which had become so faint during the last few months.
	Chakotay. With whom she was falling deeply in love. Kathryn suddenly felt
a desperate need for air. She got out of bed and walked briskly out the
door into the cool night.

	Chakotay lay on his bed, listening to Kathryn toss and turn. Apparently,
sleep was eluding her as much as it was himself. Being contacted by Tuvok
that afternoon was the last thing he could have anticipated. He fully
expected to live out his life on this planet, surrounded by the wilderness.
Although he was distressed that he would never see his home again, being
with Kathryn made it easy for him to adjust to the new life. He was very
happy with their developing relationship. He was touched--and relieved--to
see her happiness when he told her of his feelings for her, that smile when
he told her the "ancient legend" of the angry warrior--the smile that
rarely left her face when she was with him. It was all he could do to
restrain himself from taking her face in his hands and holding it next to
his. He wanted to take that smile with him to bed, keep it next to him,
revisit it in his dreams.
	He knew she needed time, so he was perfectly content to wait for her, till
her feelings caught up to his. He again vowed to himself, as they sat with
their fingers entwined, there would be nothing he would not do for her.
	So when he heard her get up and go out of the house, he resisted the urge
to follow her. He gave her space. He was well aware that once they were
back on Voyager, the direction that their relationship was headed must
change, that they would go back to being the Captain and the First Officer.
He would work alongside her, always sensitive to the needs of her and of
the crew. He would stand beside her in every situation they faced, and back
each decision she made. Off duty, he would be her close and loyal friend,
nothing more. He would hide his longing for her. He would do all this
because he knew that it was what she wanted.
	What she wanted...
	Chakotay jumped out of bed and dressed quickly.
	He stopped at the doorway, watching her frame silhouetted by the
moonlight. She was standing with her back to him, staring at the Talaxian
tomato plants she had transplanted the day before. The double moon of this
planet illuminated her hair, which tumbled down her back in a disarray that
he found extremely alluring. He stared, transfixed, until he realized that
she was crying. Her hands clutched tightly at the sides of her nightgown.
He felt his breath quicken as he closed the distance between them in two or
three steps. He took her in his arms, not very gently, and held her tightly
against his chest. He lowered his head, breathing into her hair and
fighting his own tears that threatened to escape from his eyes and mingle
with her hair, for an indeterminable amount of time, until her sobs eased.
Lifting his head, he looked into her eyes, moist from tears. She gave him a
smile that could have lit up the night sky, brighter than all the moons
combined. His heart stopped at the sight. All he wanted to do was to keep
that smile from leaving, to keep it even after it left her face. He did the
only thing he could think of at that moment. He covered her mouth with his.

	They kissed hungrily, passionately. She put one of her hands behind his
neck, gently tickling his hairline with her fingers. His hands freely
caressed her back, exploring places he hadn't dared till now. The last of
the barriers that separated them was being shattered with each kiss.
Kathryn quickly let go of any hesitation that might have still lingered and
returned his caresses. He responded by deepening the kiss, pulling her
closer to him.
	They separated long enough to catch up on their breaths. He looked down at
her flushed countenance and saw the desire that was clearly evident.
Putting his hands on each side of her face, his thumbs gently wiped away
the remnants of her tears. Softly, he kissed her forehead, the tip of her
nose, then her lips. Still kissing her, he gathered her up in his arms and
carried her inside the house.

	As consciousness gradually returned, Kathryn became aware of the arm that
encircled her torso and the slow and steady breathing of the man on whose
chest she rested her head. By the light she could feel on her eyelids, she
knew it was morning. Yet she resisted opening her eyes, recalling last
night's events and how she had wished this morning would never come. She
smiled sadly when she felt his fingertips run down the length of her arm.
"Well," she thought. "Looks like we have to face the day after all."
	She lifted her head from his chest and looked into his eyes. "Sleep well?"
he asked, with a slight smile. Kathryn opened her mouth to reply, but found
herself kissing him instead. They hugged each other tightly, reveling in
the warmth of their skin. With much reluctance they pulled away from each
other and got up to get dressed.

	Chakotay stopped at the doorway to see Kathryn standing almost exactly as
he had found her the last night, with her back to him, staring at the
tomato plants she would never see to maturity--except this time, she was
dressed in the red and black Starfleet uniform, and her hair was in an
immaculate bun. Only her hunched shoulders gave away her distress.
Resisting the strong urge to put his arms around her, Chakotay slowly
walked up to her, knowing that when she looked at him, it would be Captain
Janeway he faced.
	"Ready?" When she turned and nodded, her composure was almost back. He
looked away, trying to find his own composure, when they heard the
now-familiar chirp of a monkey. He watched her say goodbye to the monkey,
and said a silent goodbye of his own to this planet, this life, and the
night before.
	However, when she turned and walked up to him, for a moment their eyes
locked in a glance that was more powerful than any words spoken, more
intimate than any embrace of the body. With a racing heart, he realized
that they simply could not return to the strictly professional relationship
of four months ago. They could never be just Captain and the First Officer,
command structure and protocol be damned.

	Oh, God. What have we done? For the first time in her life, Janeway was
entirely at a loss of what to do, and it terrified her. Back on the Bridge,
she kept her back stiff, eyes straight ahead, and her voice calm and
authoritative when she addressed her First Officer.
	"Commander, we'll need to review the ship's systems. I'll handle
propulsion, environment, and communications. You'll be responsible for
sensors, weapons, and transporters."
	"Aye, Captain. I'll have a report to you by 1800 hours." His voice was as
equally devoid of emotion.
	"Check with Phaser Maintenance. See if they solved that problem with the
pre-fire chamber temperature."
	"Yes, ma'am. I'll see to it." Fully aware of each other's struggling
emotions, they plunged themselves in their work.
	When the door to her ready room chimed at 1800 hours, Janeway found
herself unable to speak. Catching up with four months worth of reports had
made it easy to avoid being alone with each other up until now. Janeway
found herself suddenly terrified. Her voice sounded hollow and forced when
she managed to find it at last.
	"Come."
	The door opened to admit Chakotay, data padd in hand. He stopped in front
of her desk and stood silently, waiting. Slowly Janeway stood and lifted
her eyes to his. His next word, though it was simple, made her want to weep
in relief and happiness:
	"Kathryn."


____________________________________

1800 HOURS
by E. Klisiewicz
____________________________________

	My people like to perpetuate the myth that we don't live by the clock, but
my ancestors weren't in Starfleet. I wore a precision chronometer on my
wrist, and checked it often that day we returned to Voyager.
	I want your report by 1800 hours. What else did she want from me? And I
had called her ma'am. She hated that and I had used it deliberately to
irritate her. After I said it, I regretted it. Janeway was not someone I
wanted to alienate. Tuvok and Paris, maybe, but not Kathryn. The easy
camaraderie we had enjoyed on New Earth seemed like a thin morning mist
that had burned off with the morning sun.
	I looked at her surreptitiously while I made busy noises on the center
console. Her golden brown hair was neatly coiled in that godawful bun and
her eyes were glued to her PADD as her lightning fast mind absorbed system
analysis reports. How did she do it? Did nothing affect her? Perhaps it was
all an act, and she was having as much difficulty concentrating as I was. I
tried to tell myself this, but I knew better. She slipped back into command
mode like she had never left the ship. Suddenly, she felt my eyes on her
and returned my rather frank stare with a curious glance.
	I smiled slightly and her mouth quirked up in that way she has that I like
so much. Kathryn and I share a rather dry sense of humor, and that
particular expression was never far from the surface. The moment was not
lost on certain helmsmen who should have better things to do with their
time. Paris smirked at me from his forward position before returning his
attention to work.

	Yes, Ma'am. His calm utterance of those two words got under my skin, just
as he intended. Chakotay had an uncanny way of cutting to the heart of the
matter, and I rather think that his verbal skills have replaced the bow and
arrow as a weapon.
	On numerous occasions, I had corrected my staff when they resorted using
Ma'am. God, it made my skin crawl to hear it--it rather reminded me of Vice
Admiral Finch, my archaeology professor at the academy. Any sense of humor
she might have possessed was dead and buried, much like the subject we
studied. If she did have another life, she never let one speck of it
interfere with her duty as an officer and professor. Three times a week at
0800 hours she marched into that classroom--her uniform freshly starched
and her boots shined to a high polish. She was so stiff that we often said
if she dared smile, she'd crack into a million fragments. Finch insisted
that we call her Ma'am, and she ruled her classes with an iron fist. And
now, decades later, my Maquis warrior had the nerve to call me that awful
word. It conjured up images of time spent in the cobwebbed basement of the
Academy library, researching an equally dusty subject. To this day, I
avoided potshards and fragments of ancient civilizations like the plague.
This was something I would never tell Chakotay, for I did so like to hear
his legends. However, I did have to do something about this Ma'am business.
	As I scanned the data on my PADD, I saw his darting looks in my direction.
Those warm brown eyes touched on my hair, my lips and the curve of my
cheek. Heat rushed into my face, and it was a good thing he couldn't see
the effect those casual glances had on me as they smote me with their
understated intensity--laying my few defenses bare. I was effecting a
deliberately studious pose--one I had perfected at the Academy when I
wanted to shut out the world. Was I fooling him? I decided to sneak in a
glance of my own and was caught in his snare. Chakotay rewarded me with a
slight smile--one that turned up that lovely mouth just enough to show his
dimples. How could I help but smile back? He was so utterly charming...
Yes, we really did have to have a talk at 1800 hours. I sighed and returned
to my reports.

	The reports she wanted were done at 1500 hours, so I had to spend three
interminable hours touring the ship. I don't think I could have stood it on
the bridge another minute. With nothing to occupy my mind except Kathryn, I
would go slowly mad with frustration. Finally, my chronometer chimed a one
minute warning and I marched double time to her Ready Room.
	"Come in." I walked quickly to her desk and handed her the PADD with all
the requested data. She gave it a quick perusal and nodded in satisfaction.

	"Good job, Commander. It appears that all systems are normal." Her tone
was dismissing me already, but I sensed something restless in her body's
posture.
	"Is there something else, Captain?" I looked at her questioningly and she
gave me a tiny nod. She made no move to leave her desk, effectively using
it as a barrier between us.
	"Yes, sit down, won't you?" She indicated the chair in front of her desk,
but I ignored her direction and walked over to the couch by the viewport. I
sat there and pulled my best inscrutable Indian face until she sighed and
joined me a safe distance away.
	"Captain..."
	"Chakotay..."
	Our confusion broke the tension and we both laughed. At my nod, she said,
"I wish you wouldn't call me Ma'am..." Her voice trailed off, but I knew
she was thinking of far more than just a simple word. I waited patiently,
knowing she would continue when she was ready. "Chakotay, there's no need
to call me Captain when we're alone."
	I could see how difficult it had been for her to bring this up. She was
using a name to define the parameters of our relationship now that we were
back on duty. Those dark blue eyes locked onto mine and waited for an
answer.
	"All right, then what should I call you, Ma'am?" I threw her an innocent
glance and she responded with a marvelous peal of laughter.
	"You aren't going to make this easy, are you--Angry Warrior?" Kathryn's
mischievous glance and quirky smile got to me, and suddenly the tension was
back, thicker than ever. I slid closer to her and took her hand in mine.
She looked down at this chaste joining and her eyes returned to my face,
studying it intensely as if its contours revealed the mysteries of the
universe.
	I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed it gently, not releasing it for an
instant. I could not allow this fragile connection to sever, because I
might not get another chance like this. As I caressed that still callused
hand with my thumb, I chose my words cautiously. "There is a saying..."
	She groaned and laughed, her hand still captured in mine. "Tell me,
Chakotay, do Native Americans really have a saying for every situation?"
	I grinned at her and shook my head. "Alas, no. But it sounds good, doesn't
it?" Her answering laughter prodded me to continue.
	"Kathryn, I think the easy, well travelled path would be rather boring,
don't you? I prefer to explore the unknown fork in the road. Would you care
to join me?"
	Her expression spoke volumes and she nodded with a smile before she
tightened her hand around mine and our gazes entwined before turning to the
heavens outside. Wherever our journey took this good ship, we would be
among friends--good friends.


____________________________________

A REAL RESOLUTION
by Hannah R. Henriksson
____________________________________

	He stared down at the little tomato plant, watching the way the leaves
teased his fingers as he traced the narrow stem from tip to root. It was
small, still; only three days had passed since Kathryn--Captain
Janeway--had reclaimed it from the plot in which she had carefully planted
a dozen of its siblings, and any growth it had managed in the upheaval was
unnoticeable.
	Chakotay wondered absently if she had been down to check on its progress
since she had transported it from New Earth to Kes's waiting hands. For a
short time, Kathryn--Janeway--had been so methodical about watching the
transformation from seed to sprout to small, but recognizable, tomato
plant.
	He heard himself chuckle. He had teased her that she was going to spend
more time washing the dirt off her clothes than actually growing anything
edible, and she had narrowed her eyes at him with mock menace while
brushing at the offending dirt with exaggerated gestures. Finally, she had
laughed, and he had gone happily to heat water for her bath.
	Chakotay had walked slowly away from the fruit section of the hydroponics
bay, and now sat heavily on a bench near the flowers. He could readily call
up a picture of Captain Janeway's face when Kes had suggested putting
benches in the bay--her face lit up like a firefly on a summer night, her
eyes glowed-- what a marvelous idea she had said, or something of that
nature.
	She had the same look on her face, in her eyes, when he had let her open
her eyes and finally see the secret project he had finished: her bathtub.
Sometimes, he mused, it was amazing how easy it was to make her happy. Like
the "ancient tale" he told her of the brave warrior--he'd never expected
the tears, that smile, the touch ...
	He leaned forward on the bench, gripping the edges of the seat with his
hands. He hadn't realized, until he'd been obliged to put it back on, how
uncomfortable their uniforms could be. To make her happy, to make things
easier, he had taken to wearing the uniform most of the time when the
voyage began, even off duty. It was a symbolic gesture for the benefit of
the Maquis crew, but he did it as much for her as he did for the message.
It pleased her.
	Now, though, he knew that they were past that, and he wore civvies, left
over from their stay on New Earth. After all, he had found other ways to
please her.
	"Hey."
	A slight smile spread over his face before he looked up, and when he met
Janeway's--Kathryn's--eyes, he noted the same smile.
	"Hey," he responded.
	"I know it's a cliche, but...is this seat taken?" She indicated the half
of the bench not taken up by him, the half he had left empty for her.
	"Looks like it is to me," he offered, and followed her with his eyes as
she lowered herself onto the bench. Her hair was down, and, most
surprisingly, she wore one of the dresses that had made the return trip
with them from the planet. "You look wonderful."
	She blushed, an echo of the same blush that struck when she had realized
he was more than a little interested in the towel she wore during their
first encounter with the mysterious little monkey--when she had realized
that his hands had stilled on her shoulders during that unexpected backrub.
He loved that he could do that to her.
	"Thanks," she said, and the slightly huffed tone told him that she didn't
appreciate her body's involuntary responses. Her voice was warmer when she
added, "Were you waiting long?"
	She was reaching a hand to him, then, and his fingers intertwined
comfortably with hers, as instinctive a bond as long-time lovers share. He
squeezed gently.
	"No. Not at all." A lock of hair had fallen in front of her shoulder, and
he took it in his other hand, tracing it with fingertips as carefully as he
had the tomato plant stem. He leaned in to kiss her cheek; she put a hand
up to push him away, teasingly, but changed her mind halfway and circled
around the back of his neck instead, pulling him into her.
	He listened to her breathe for a long moment, his forehead pressed to
hers. So fleeting, these moments, when she finally let her guard down, sure
of not being discovered by the crew. He closed his eyes, inhaling her
scent, hoping that this moment would never pass.
	"I never expected this, Commander," she chuckled deeply, and he could feel
the rumbling purr of her throat where his own palm rested against her neck.
"This is one contingency I didn't plan for."
	"I know, Kathryn," he answered slowly, kissing her face again, moving his
mouth towards hers. Her throaty giggle was contagious, and he worked hard
not to lose himself in her laughter. "But sometimes..."
	He gave in to the laughter then, and, releasing hands, they embraced into
an impenetrable mass.
	"Sometimes what...Chakotay?" she whispered as he reached for the barrette
that held her hair at the crown of her head.
	He freed the rest of her hair, and loosened it around her face. Pausing
just before pressing his lips to hers, he said, "Sometimes the most
unexpected things can be the most rewarding."

____________________________________

THE BOAT
by Laura A. Williams
____________________________________

	For days afterwards, he dreamed about the boat.
	Usually it came to him amidst a chaos of images--trees and tomato plants,
thin shoulders in moonlight, the second plasma storm, the one that caught
them asleep in their respective alcoves and forced them to take shelter in
the newly-built log room. That ridiculous monkey. A whirl of dream-shapes,
flashes of memory, or imagination.
	But always they slowed and stilled, settled down into the boat, the one he
never built.
	In his dreams they sailed down the river, pushed by the current and the
wind, rocking gently down the straight stretches, trembling through the
little rapids. He sat behind her, steering the boat without ever taking his
eyes from her hair, sometimes lifted on the breeze, sometimes hanging over
her shoulders, sometimes lying still in a thick, damp braid. When he closed
his eyes he could feel it against his palm; he would have leaned forward to
touch it, but the gear stowed between them in the bottom of the boat
prevented the movement. And so he sat and watched, and wished.
	Wished some more when they pulled the boat onto the shore so that they
could eat and rest, talk and bathe. He watched her; she knew he watched,
but said nothing. She was a little self-conscious, even now, even still.
She kept her back to him while she bathed in the middle of the river--as if
a few meters of water between them would keep him from noticing her. Often,
she talked to him while she bathed, pointing out details of the flora
around them, the color of the sky above them, the texture of the pebbles
beneath her feet.
	Their feet. Eventually, after a week of bathing in the river only after
she had dried and dressed and retreated to her half of the tent, he
stripped and waded out after her. Slipped into the river behind her,
shuddering a little at the unexpected cold against the heat of his skin.
She turned to face him, her eyes widening a little, and he stopped,
submerged to his belly, his head tilted to one side, questioning. The
current swirled around him but he stood firm until she raised her chin and
reached for him, her arms stretched toward him, her hands lightly skimming
the surface of the water. He moved to her, his hands touched hers, their
fingers laced easily, comfortably, as they had once before. Both of them
smiling suddenly, they met in the middle of the river. Peering into her
face, he laughed.
	"What's so funny?"
	"You have new freckles."
	"I do not." But she reached to cover them, pulling her fingers from his. 	
	"You do. Right here." He leaned over and kissed the bridge of her nose,
then pulled back to see her reaction.
	She lowered her eyes and rubbed the spot he had kissed, then looked up at
him with a mischievous smile. "Well, you have a tan line. Right here." She
placed her hands on his shoulders and pulled herself a little out of the
water, high enough to nuzzle his neck just above his collar bone. He felt
her lips open on him for an instant only before she started to slide back
into the water. He caught her before she could slip away completely, held
her tight against him, the smile fading from his face.
	"Kathryn..."
	"No," she said softly, but almost in the old tone, the tone of a command.
"No words. No ancient legends, no tribal sayings. Nothing. Understand?"
	He nodded, let her slip away from him, let her guide him out of the water,
let her pull him down into the soft moss at the river's edge. Let her lead
him, over and over, until he lay exhausted with his head resting on her,
sighing, sleeping, dreaming about the boat.

FIN