Defining Parameters

Author's Note: I wrote this story in 1997, and it was first printed in the fanzine Delta Quadrant 5.

She woke to the feel of a warm, bare back pressed against her cheek and chest; under the blankets, her legs were entwined with his. Strong, broad shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath, and she knew that he was sleeping. She'd grown very familiar with his sleep patterns in the past eight months, even more familiar in the last five weeks. He worked hard, he slept deeply, and he loved tenderly. Very tenderly.

Gently, she pressed her lips to the point of his shoulder blade, kissing the warm skin, inhaling the musky scent of him. She felt him stir, and she moved back slightly and turned as he rolled over in his sleep, his arms folding around her and drawing her close into his chest as he settled on his side, shielding her in his embrace, the sweet warmth of his breath tickling her neck.

She sighed and relaxed into his arms, feeling his chest press along her back, the steady rise and fall of each breath, the measured beat of his heart. Even as he slept, his hands and fingers unconsciously stroked her, touching her arms, smoothing down over her breasts and stomach. With another man, she might have suspected that he was partially awake, aware of the sensualness of his movements. But not this man. She knew he was sleeping, perhaps dreaming. And she found herself hoping that she was part of his dream, just as they were now integral parts of each other's lives.

She smiled as the strong, blunt fingers of his hand lingered on her breast, fingertips unconsciously caressing the lace of her nightgown. She had always thought of herself as a tactile person: a touch on the arm, a pat on a shoulder, her way of conveying warmth and assurance among her friends and crew. But the man who held her was truly tactile, with all things, in all situations. She'd watched and studied him for months now: the way he manipulated tools and cooking utensils, the way he handled the earth, the trees and flowers… and the way he touched her, with tenderness and love.

She curled in closer to him, covering his hands with hers, enjoying the feel of them on her body. She wanted these early morning moments to last forever. She wanted to watch the room turn pink, then orange with the approaching sunrise, watch the shadows in the corners recede as the familiar pieces of furniture solidified before her eyes. She'd grown accustomed to this view from their position on the floor, and as much as she loved the nest of blankets he made for them each night, she knew they needed a bed.

"Umm?" The sound murmured into her ear, warm and sleepy.

She felt the rhythm of his breathing alter slightly. She realized that she must have been thinking aloud. "We need a bed," she whispered, kissing his forearm.

"We have… beds," he sighed sleepily.

"We have separate beds," she reminded him, turning over carefully in his arms. She pressed her face to his chest, kissed his collar bones, and then his neck and the point of his chin.

His eyes were still closed, but the corners of his mouth drew up in a familiar grin. "That's a… very permanent request."

He felt her fingers brush through his hair, and the pressure of her body pushed him over onto his back. She rolled with him and his arms encircled her tighter, holding her on top of him. Their lips met in a deep kiss, an answer to unspoken questions.

"I'll start building one this morning," he murmured moments later when their lips parted, his eyes opening.

She traced her fingers along the line of his jaw. "Thank you, Chakotay." She gazed into his dark eyes, so deep and warm.

He gazed back for a few seconds, and then smiled and rolled over again, this time carefully taking her body beneath his. He nuzzled her neck and cheek, brushed the long brown hair away from her forehead. "You're welcome… Kathryn."

~vVv~

As promised, Chakotay began building a bed immediately after breakfast. He didn't use the computer to draw up any plans, but proceeded as if he'd already thought through the process.

Kathryn leaned against the table, her coffee cup cradled in her hands. She watched as he confidently gathered his tools. "You've been thinking about this already, haven't you?" she questioned him, a glint of exasperation touching her eyes. He was always a few steps ahead of her in matters of the heart.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, giving her an all too familiar boyish grin. "Let's just say I've been… hoping."

Her coffee had grown cold and she set down her cup, shaking her head in mock consternation. "And all this time, I thought you saw me as more than just…"

He put his tools on the shelf, crossed the room with purposeful strides, and wrapped his arms loosely around her hips. "As something more than… a woman to take to bed?" His lips almost pursed into another grin.

And Kathryn, after weeks of exploration, now knew that a hand, strategically placed against his ribs, could cause him to convulse with laughter. And he was asking for it, so she tickled him… unmercifully.

Chakotay gasped, a smile broadening across his face. He squirmed against her hands as they sought out his most sensitive areas along his ribs and under his arms. And since two could play this game, he fought back, fingers playfully digging into her ribs and stomach. But she was solid and had thus far withstood all of his attacks.

"This… isn't… fair," he gasped, successfully pulling away. "You're not ticklish." He held his hands out in front of him, trying to hold her at bay.

And she retreated, calmly striking a familiar pose, head held high, hands on hips. "No, I'm a captain," she answered, her expression completely serious.

Chakotay leaned against the table, catching his breath in deep lungfuls. "What?" he managed, his eyes wide with humor and curiosity.

"Captains aren't ticklish," she replied. "It's a requirement."

He nodded and sat back on the table, his legs swinging freely in front of him. Kathryn took a step closer, relaxing her stance and placing her hands on his knees.

"In case we're ever captured and tortured," she explained, her grey eyes twinkling. "Captains aren't allowed to be ticklish."

Chakotay grinned and wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. Tiny beads of sweat were gathered there. Kathryn reached up as well and brushed the perspiration away.

"I'm afraid you're out of shape, Commander," she chided. "You could never stand up to a full attack."

He shook his head. "No, I wouldn't." He noted the look in her eyes. "And let's not test that hypothesis. I admit my frailty openly and honestly. And besides," he gently pushed her back and hopped off the table, "if you want a real bed by tonight, I'd better get started."

He crossed back to the other side of the room and gathered his tools. "Any specifications?

She shrugged. "Surprise me."

"I always try." And he flashed her a smile as he walked outside.

Kathryn sighed. He did surprise her in some way. Every day. But what surprised her the most was herself. And the fact that she loved him.

And she did love him.

Very much.

And she knew he loved her. Had loved her for a long time. She remembered sensing his growing desire for her only weeks after they'd been on the planet. And now, months later, she realized that his love for her had been present long before that, only he'd kept it hidden in the everyday routine of life on a starship. The protocols of Starfleet and their positions as Captain and First Officer had been enough to conceal his inner feelings.

But here, on New Earth, together alone, there were no rules and regulations on which to rely. Although she had made a feeble attempt to suggest that they define some parameters, she now knew that it was her way of trying to hold onto a command structure in a situation where command was not an issue.

She could clearly remember Chakotay's reply, and the story he'd told her.

"I'm not sure I can… define parameters." He shrugged slightly and the expression on his face reminded Kathryn of a small boy, trying to explain unfamiliar feelings.

Chakotay drew in a breath and lowered his eyes for a moment, the tip of his tongue running across his upper lip. "But I can tell you a story." He looked back at her. "An ancient legend among my people."

He twisted the stylus he was holding in his fingers and took another short breath, pursed his lips, took a breath again.

"It's about an angry warrior… who lived his life in conflict with the rest of his tribe… A man who couldn't find peace, even with the help of his spirit guide."

He glanced away, dark eyelashes blinking. And then back.

"For years he struggled with his discontent… but the only satisfaction he ever got came when he was in battle… This made him a hero among his tribe, but the warrior still longed for peace within himself. One day, he and his war party… were captured by a neighboring tribe led by a woman warrior." He steadied his gaze on Kathryn. "She called on him to join her because her tribe was too small and weak to defend itself from all its enemies. The woman warrior was brave and beautiful. And very wise."

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his tongue licking his lips again. His next words seemed almost heavier, as if they were solid building blocks, a foundation to a belief.

"The angry warrior swore to himself… that he would stay by her side, doing whatever he could… to make her burden lighter… From that point on, her needs would come first." His voice seemed to grow even calmer. "And in that way… the warrior began to know… the true meaning of peace."

Kathryn hesitated and then smiled. "Is that really… an ancient legend?"

Chakotay gazed at her, apprehension evident in his eyes, and then he smiled softly, looking down, allowing a boyish grin to crease across his face. He raised his eyes back to hers, his expression suddenly serious again.

He took a deep breath. "No…" He exhaled. "But that made it easier to say."

Kathryn stared at him for long moments and then propped her elbow on the table, holding up her hand, spreading her fingers wide. And his hand met hers, his broad fingers lacing together with her slender ones. Gently, his thumb rubbed against her hand, and his dark, soulful eyes held hers in a meaningful gaze, the left corner of his lip almost lifting into another grin.

And the moment they shared was warm and peaceful, no technical parameters, just a new understanding.

Kathryn looked down and was surprised to find the breakfast dishes in her hands. After seven months, the memory of Chakotay's story still held her in thrall, whether she was remembering it, or he was retelling it, as he had many times at her insistence. She loved listening to the sound of his voice, the simplicity of the words that carried so much meaning and love. And to know that he could have felt this way about her for the rest of their lives and never said a word had they not had to begin a new life on this planet together.

She walked over and deposited the dishes in the replicator, pushed a button and watched them disappear. She wondered if she would have ever known, if she would have noticed his loyalty or interpreted it as something more, something not defined by Starfleet rules. A First Officer defends his Captain. And she knew that Chakotay would lay down his life for her if necessary. And now, he was sharing his life with her, together, here on New Earth. And they were defining parameters as they went along, one day after the next.

Five weeks ago they had crossed the parameter that had frightened her the most. The one she'd been afraid of even considering seven months ago, let alone crossing. And yet, it hadn't been a surprise. It had been considered, and talked about, and even debated. And she had cried, remembering Mark and the love she still had for him. And Chakotay had held her, patient and caring, loving her and respecting her feelings, desires, and fears.

"Shh, Kathryn, it's all right. It's all right." He rocked her gently in his arms, the evening air growing cool around them as the sun set beyond the hills.

She shook her head and pushed away from his chest where her cheek had been pressed against his shirt. She drew in a ragged breath. "I'm… I'm afraid." Her voice cracked and she shivered.

Chakotay drew her close again, his hands rubbing briskly along her arms, warming her. "I know. Afraid of letting go, afraid of holding on."

She swallowed convulsively around the lump in her throat. "It's a circle, isn't it?" She blinked up at him, and laughed softly when a broad, white smile creased his face.

"You're asking a Native American if life is a circle?"

Her soft laughter choked into tears again, and he strengthened his hold on her.

"It is a circle," he whispered, brushing his hand over her hair, his fingers resting against her flushed cheek. "And our life here is a very small circle. I remember the people that I love… my father, my mother, family, friends… I think about B'Elanna, and…" He drew in a deep breath, and Kathryn felt him tremble. "And Seska, and… the baby…"

Kathryn looked up and saw tears on his cheeks. She reached her hand up to touch them. Chakotay wrapped his fingers around hers, stopping her movement.

"There are a lot of people with us on this circle. I know how much you miss Mark, how much you love him." He drew her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed her fingers. "You won't ever stop loving him. I know that. Just know that there's room on our circle for all of us."

She nodded and stroked her hand along his neck, gently pulling his head down to hers. "I love you," she murmured. It wasn't the first time she'd told him, but it was the first time she was sure of the words.

"And I love you." He smiled through the tears flowing down his cheeks. "I will always love you."

It had been the first night Chakotay had spread the blankets on the floor in the log room that he had built months earlier. He'd started a fire in the hearth and the flames had warmed them as they made love for the first time. To say it had been bittersweet was too much of a cliché, and yet, it had been. And often, still was. But she did love him. And she knew that would never change.

She turned around and surveyed the house. It was still small, but it was growing. The addition of the new room, with the fireplace and skylight, gave an airy quality to it. And everywhere she looked Chakotay had added personal touches: shelves, new pieces of furniture, his artwork. It was far more than a house now. It was their home.

A home that needs a good dusting, she decided. And then I think I'll decide where we should put that bed.

~vVv~