Written as an episode addition to "Unimatrix Zero, Part One"
Rendered non-canonical by "Unimatrix Zero, Part Two"

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Roses

The Waiting Begins

"So far, so good. Tom, I think you can back us off now."

Paris didn't look any happier than I felt, but he followed the order. I returned to the first officer's chair while he moved Voyager out of the Borg cube's range. As we had guessed, now that the Queen had what she wanted, she didn't pursue. Behind me, I could hear Rollins and Kim coordinating damage control. We'd survived.

Casualties were remarkably light – if you didn't count the destruction of the Delta Flyer and the supposedly-temporary loss of three senior staff – so there was little for me to do until the end of my shift except brood. Down at the helm, Tom Paris appeared to be in a similar mood, but at least he could complain under his breath about this whole thing being a lousy idea.

I wasn't so lucky.

I'd offered Kathryn my support. I hadn't agreed to like the idea, and I didn't, not one bit. But I had given her my support; I wouldn't withdraw it now.

As soon as I felt like things were relatively stable, I left the bridge and headed for my office to go over the damage reports in peace. I didn't have the heart to quiet Paris since, deep down, I agreed with him. All the same, listening to him did nothing to improve my mood.

Two roses were lying on my desk.

One was yellow, the color of friendship; the other was pink, the color of peace. They were still fresh, and the stems had been trimmed at an angle to help them last a little longer. I picked them up and found a card underneath.

I hope I can have these back when I return.

She hadn't signed the card, but I've seen Kathryn's handwriting enough times to recognize it. It's not at all what you might expect: neat, with well-formed letters and the occasional decorative flourish here and there. Nothing frilly, or fancy, but definitely not the hasty, illegible scribble you might associate with her personality.

I must have stood there for ten minutes, turning the roses around in my hands and thinking about tangents like Kathryn's handwriting, before it finally hit me. "Computer, run an internal sensor scan of the captain's ready room."

"Scan complete."

"How many roses are in the vase on the coffee table?"

"Ten."

Earlier today, there'd been twelve: six yellow and six pink. I knew this because I'd given them to her myself, just a few days ago, on her birthday. One for each year of peace and friendship, I'd explained, since we were thrown into the Delta Quadrant.

She'd looked up at me with that smile on her face, the one that cuts right to my heart when I let it. "Oh, Chakotay, they're beautiful. Thank you."

"Happy birthday," I'd said, with a smile of my own. "And thank you for the most memorable years of my life. Even if I did have to get stuck on the other side of the galaxy to have them."

Her eyes had crinkled at that, as I'd intended, but they were also suspiciously shiny. She'd reached up and laid a hand on my cheek for a few moments of silent communication before turning away, saying something about putting them in water so they wouldn't wilt.

They'd been in the ready room the last time I'd been in there, when she asked for my support with this crazy mission. Even though I wholeheartedly agreed that we can't pass up any chance to undermine the Borg, I didn't like the idea of deliberately putting the ship in that much danger. It was necessary, though, and I knew it. I had covered my discomfort with a joke, but something in Kathryn's eyes told me she knew how difficult a decision it had been.

Now, she'd given two of the roses – one for peace, one for friendship – back to me. When had she had a chance to get them from the ready room? It couldn't have been an easy thing to do without my knowledge, since I had been on the bridge for most of the rest of the afternoon.

And then I understood what she was trying to say. That she understood and appreciated the effort it required for me to let her do this, even if I hadn't been able to offer everything she wanted. That she hoped she hadn't imposed too far on my friendship and support.

I walked over to the replicator and got a vase of water for the roses, careful not to bruise the stems when I put them in. I firmly secured the vase to my desk; I wanted them to stay there, safe, until Kathryn got back. Because I will return them. I'm holding her to the promise implied on that card: that she'll be back, safe and sound, to accept the roses back from me.

She'd better hurry. Roses only last a week or two after they've been cut.