Title: Hope for the Hopeless

Author: Megara79

Series: Star Trek: Voyager

Rating: M

Summary: A seven year friendship is disintegrating and comes to an explosive end just before Christmas. Is there any hope for a reconciliation?

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Thanks to: Cheshire, CoriMariee, Belle Paris and Elin. The amazing Evil Shall Giggle betaed, and the equally great Missyhissy helped with the renovations.

A/N: I have uhm'ed and ah'ed about posting this story on for years. It was written for VAMBs Secret Santa back in 2008 and was my gift to Shayenne. She wanted a story based on the Leonard Cohen song "Chelsea Hotel", and the reason I haven't posted it here until now is because the fic doesn't really paint Kathryn and Chakotay in a very pretty light. They are downright ugly towards each other at one point, and though things work out in the end, I guess I was worried no one would want to to see them behave like that. I have changed the odd thing here and there, but other than that it's pretty much the same as it was back in 2008.

The snow-clad streets of New York were quiet.

The Earth date was December 23rd, 2378, and the crew of the USS Voyager had been home for almost fifteen months. It had been a year since his last visit to the city, and he revelled in the silence the night offered. Puffs of wind teased across the air, sending large cottony flakes of snow on the odd detour before allowing them to wistfully flutter to the ground. A few hover cars and a couple of passing people were his only distraction, and he marvelled at how a city famously nicknamed for its lack of sleeping habits could still manage to give him such a perfectly quiet December night. His own personal Christmas present from the Big Apple. He was thankful. He wasn't there to take part in the festivities. He was there to remember, and, hopefully, make himself forget. The last thing he wanted was crowds of merry people, their stress and excitement over the holiday, pressing down on him as he attempted to exorcise his demons.

Not that that had been his original plan when he got out of bed that morning.

He'd left his home in sunny California with the intention of finishing up some work at the university before joining Mike Ayala and his family for dinner. He probably should have had an inkling that this wouldn't be his destination when he'd left the house with a wool coat, scarf and gloves, but he'd been none the wiser. He'd exited the transporter terminal some hours later, caught in the frosty grasp of New York City, buttoned his coat, and grudgingly decided that he had become a glutton for punishment and had developed a rather unhealthy need to bring up the past and bury himself in its misery.

Rounding a corner, he was greeted by the Chelsea, just as regal and welcoming as he remembered it. The hotel was one of the city's oldest and most exclusive, its art deco style elegant and pleasing to the eye. Like everything else it was dressed to the nines, a vision in fairy lights, silken bows of silver and gold, white wreaths, and delicately decorated Christmas trees. He took a deep breath, walked through the revolving doors and felt like he'd been transported three hundred and sixty-five days back into his past.

The last time he'd been there, he'd been with Annika; the two of them, like the rest of the senior staff, unable to leave Earth until the debriefings had ended. A four-day leave had been approved for the holiday, and they'd gone to New York on a whim. Neither of them celebrated Christmas, he, because it wasn't part of his faith, she, because she didn't really know how. They'd both been part of the festivities on Voyager, but without the infectious anticipation of the crew who celebrated it regularly, there just didn't seem to be any point.

And now he was back.

Entering the foyer, he made his way over to the large reception area where a dozen receptionists were working around each other like a piece of well-oiled machinery. A pretty twenty-something welcomed him and after a brief exchange of pleasantries Chakotay had acquired a room and said his goodbyes. Throwing a quick glance at the elevators next to the reception, he shrugged off his coat and walked into the bar. Frowning slightly at the annoying tune of 'It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas', he headed over to the counter. A giant Christmas tree stood in the far left corner, its decorations simple and elegant and in stark contrast to the music. The dimly lit bar was nearly empty, and he thanked the spirits for small favours and the late hour as he told the waiter his order.

He swallowed his shot of bourbon in one go and asked for another. Sitting down on one of the barstools, he sighed deeply and did what he'd come to do.

Remember.

A year earlier

He watched Annika disappear in a shimmer of blue and white and considered, not for the first time, that being involved with a former drone certainly had its moments of affliction. Scolding himself, he shrugged off the thought as soon as he'd acknowledged it. It wasn't her fault that she had to regenerate, and it wasn't like she'd be gone all night.

They'd transported to the Chelsea earlier that morning, thrilled at the prospect of having four days alone together before having to return to San Francisco and the last part of the debriefings. They'd been home for almost three months, and Starfleet had hinted that everything would be wrapped up sometime early in the new year. The Maquis had already been pardoned, the Equinox crew had been discharged, promotions were looming and praise had begun to rain down on the crew of Voyager and her captain. Only formalities and sign-offs were all that was left and after that, they were free to do whatever they wanted.

Heading out of the hotel's transporter terminal, he found himself wondering what Kathryn was doing. He quickly decided that he didn't really care. That chapter of his life seemed to be truly and irreversibly over. They'd grown apart in the last years of their journey, and their sudden return to the Alpha Quadrant had done nothing to repair the fraying bond between them. He knew he wasn't blameless. For one, he'd never fooled himself into believing that Kathryn would be thrilled when she found out about his relationship with Annika. To be perfectly honest, that was probably why he'd waited so long before telling her in the first place. At the time, he'd reasoned that he didn't really have any obligation to tell her to start with. They hardly spoke outside of work, and he wasn't even sure they could call themselves friends anymore. When he'd finally gotten around to it, weeks into the debriefings, she'd just stared at him, an undecipherable look in her eye, then told him whoever he chose to date was not her concern. She'd been cold and detached, and a short-lived hint of panic had gripped at him. He didn't want to leave it like this. He wanted to say something else. Maybe that he hoped they'd still be friends, and that he'd miss not having her in the room next to his. That she'd always be a part of him, no matter whatever else happened in their lives, and that he'd never forget her. But the words had refused him and he'd excused himself, fleeing from her piercing eyes and his burgeoning self-loathing. They'd hardly said two words to each other since.

Sighing, he walked towards the bar, forcing Kathryn Janeway out of his mind.

When he reached the counter, he sat down and ordered his drink. It was still early evening and the bar was packed with guests waiting for their table at one of the hotel's many restaurants. Soft music played through the room, and he recognised the old Terran Christmas song with fondness. He'd always liked the idea of Christmas. The religious background of the holiday was fascinating in its own right, but what Chakotay enjoyed most was the coming together of families and loved ones, which seemed of such importance during this part of the year. Sitting there, alone, watching people dance and enjoy themselves, he found that he missed not being part of the festivities anymore and he missed the family he'd had on Voyager.

He'd hardly managed to finish his line of thought when an unmistakable flash of auburn caught his eye, and his melancholy all but evaporated.

"Of all the gin joints, in all the world…" he muttered, cursing Tom Paris and his twentieth-century movies.

He frowned when she laughed and placed a hand on the uniformed chest of the man she was dancing with. The gesture was so achingly familiar that he could almost feel the warmth of her palm against his own chest. He frowned again, but it wasn't until she tilted her head and allowed the man to kiss her, that fury exploded within Chakotay.

The man's hand brushed against the nape of her neck then trailed down her back, and from his place by the counter, Chakotay seethed. A small part of him tried to say he had no right to be jealous, but his ego huffed in response. He was not jealous. Kolopak's face flickered in his mind, telling him that delusion came in many forms. Chakotay chased him away by emptying his drink.

The song ended and the couple on the dance floor came to a stop, the officer, a lieutenant by the looks of things, whispering something in Kathryn's ear. She smiled broadly and followed him to a nearby table, her hand still clasped in his. As the man pulled out a chair for her, Chakotay's common sense took a momentary leave of absence and before he knew what he was doing, he found himself heading over to the table.

Walking up behind her, Chakotay put a hand on her bare shoulder, brushing his thumb over her collarbone in a gesture too intimate for the two of them. Not caring if he was caught in a lie, he spoke.

"There you are."

Paying no attention to her surprise at seeing him, Chakotay addressed her companion. "Many thanks for keeping my wife company. I'm sure she appreciated the gesture." Nodding at the confused man, he gripped Kathryn's arm firmly, waiting for her to stand. He smiled at her warmly, the infuriation seeping through hard to see for the untrained eye.

Kathryn, however, saw.

He couldn't help but be impressed by the speed at which her astonishment turned into anger. Ever the diplomat and not inclined to making a scene, she kept her emotions in check, turning to her date and offered him her most brilliant smile, "I'm sorry, Peter. You'll have to forgive my first officer's quirky sense of humour. I'll be right back." She rose gracefully, smiling at the man again, then let Chakotay lead her out of the bar.

As soon as they were out of sight, she jerked out of his grip, any pretence of cordiality gone. "What exactly do you think you're doing?" she hissed as he all but pushed her into the opening elevator. Entering right behind her, he came to stand by her side as the doors closed.

"I was just going to ask you the same." He told the computer his floor and ignored her glare.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

The elevator started to move and he turned to face her, refusing to listen to pleas of his better angels, as he barrelled on. "Just that I didn't spend seven years in the Delta Quadrant listening to you quote rules and regulations about propriety and suitable conduct, only to have you throw those same principles out the window as soon as we make it back home. Consider this an intervention."

"You have got some nerve."

He could tell that if she'd been pissed at him before, it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now. Her voice was quiet, every word measured and carefully articulated. Her fists clenched at her side and she was working hard to keep her composure.

"Tell me," he said, not caring that he was way past crossing the line. "How old is this Peter? Thirty? And a lieutenant to boot. Not exactly becoming of a soon-to-be Starfleet admiral, is it?"

"Says the Starfleet commander screwing the virgin Borg."

"I would hardly call it the same. At least I know my girlfriend's last name."

"And what's worse?" she demanded, her voice still eerily calm, as stark contrast to the menace in her eyes. "Throwing yourself at anyone who's willing, like you seem to be accusing me of, or getting involved with a girl who'll never be more than someone else's replacement?"

It was the closest they'd ever come to acknowledging that friendship wasn't all that had once been between them. He'd always imagined that if they were to broach the subject, he'd be the one bringing it up, not Kathryn, and she'd certainly not be staring him in the eye, unwavering, while he was the one stumbling for words. He didn't know what rattled him more, that she'd called him on his relationship with Annika or that she hadn't flinched when she'd said it.

In the end, spite was the only thing he came up with. "You have a very high opinion of yourself, Kathryn."

"This conversation is over," she bit out, hands coming to rest at her hip. "You are not my first officer anymore. What I do in my own time and whoever I choose to do it with, is none of your business. I'm not your responsibility, and I suggest you start getting used to that fact. I'm sorry if you're having trouble readjusting."

"Old habits die hard," he countered, just as sharp. "I'm sure you'll thank me for it later. After all, I know how fond you are of your career and I don't think Starfleet will take lightly to their most treasured possession prancing around half-drunk and ready to breed."

Her palm connected with his cheek at lightning speed. His head jerked to the side, the sound of the slap cutting through the air like a whip.

The palm flew at him anew, but this time he was prepared and managed to grab her wrist before it hit, wrenching her arm behind her back. She didn't miss a beat and he was just barely able to catch the other hand before his right cheek was treated to a similar blow. He wrenched that one behind her back as well, bringing her body even closer to his.

"Don't do that," he warned.

He felt her leg move, and did the only thing he could think of to keep from being kneed in the groin. Her shoved her back into the far wall with enough force to make her gasp for air. Pinning his body against hers, he growled, "Don't do that either."

"Go to hell."

He watched her chest move with every irate breath, her breasts brushing against him every time she inhaled. Tresses of golden hair played against her cheek, her pupils dilating when he unconsciously moved against her. He hated himself for thinking it, but she really was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Seven's blond locks and icy blue eyes flashed before him, and he felt nothing. His lips hovered so very close to Kathryn's, and, Spirits help him, he felt everything.

"Get. Your hands. Off me," she gritted through clenched teeth.

He didn't move. Her breath smelled of wine, and he wondered if she would taste of it as well. She was livid, and he felt her shake under his grip. He was beginning to think that maybe Kolopak had been right all along, because the only thing he seemed to be able to think about was how much he wanted to kiss her, and how hell bent he was to make sure her date never would again. He leaned even closer and saw Kathryn's eyes dart towards his mouth.

With a jaunty ping, the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open.

They moved in unison, he quickly easing his grip on her and she pulling free just as an elderly couple walked inside. She tried to move past him, but he grabbed her arm again, keeping her in place. The other couple eyed them suspiciously, but seemed to relax when Chakotay, flashing his dimples, said, "Wrong floor, honey."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, tension building with each passing level. At last they stopped and the doors opened. Chakotay nudged Kathryn's arm. She walked out of the elevator without objection and made no attempt to leave when he stopped in front of his room to key in the code. As soon as the door opened, she almost violently shrugged his hand off, and strode inside. He followed, ordering the lights on low, and half expected her to come at him again when she turned by the windows.

"I…," she shook her head. "I can't believe you said that."

Regret rushed through him and he pinched the bridge of his nose in a moment of self-loathing. He knew full well what she was referring to.

He'd always suspected that Kathryn's biggest personal regret about the Delta Quadrant was that she most likely had signed off on any chance of having children of her own when she made the decision to destroy the Caretaker's array. His comment about wanting to breed was downright ugly. "I'm sorry," he told her, meaning it. "I shouldn't have said that."

"You're sorry?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I guess that makes it all right then."

"Kathryn—" he tried, but she interrupted him.

"No. You've had your turn. I'm talking now."

He crossed his arms over his chest, but kept his mouth shut.

Kathryn gestured towards the hallway. "What was that, just now?" She started to move, anger radiating from her in pulses. "You have no right to waltz in here and judge me. What's wrong with you?"

"I wasn't —"

"I'm not finished," she snapped. "Whatever it is that's going on with you, keep me out of it. You've shut the door on us and I do not need to justify my actions to you. If you regret your choices, that's your problem, and if this jealousy of yours is so all consuming, I suggest you have a good hard talk with yourself instead of taking it out on me. I do not answer to you. You moved on. You!"

"What do you mean, I moved on?" Chakotay's remorse fizzled out and he welcomed back his anger.

"Oh, don't do that. You know full well what I mean."

"I hardly knew there was anything to move away from."

She took at step towards him and stopped, her blue eyes locking with his. "Don't play the martyr and make all of this into me keeping you at arm's length while we were out there."

"You did keep me at arm's length!"

"And you know why I had to."

"Maybe I do," he conceded. "Maybe I even understand it. But would it have killed you to say something? Anything? Give me a hint or a clue that you might feel something other than friendship for me?" He threw his hands up. "Did you expect me to just wait for you? We were looking at a seventy-five year journey."

"No," she answered, voice as low as he'd ever heard it. "Not for seventy-five years. But when we suddenly burst through that Borg hive sixty-eight years ahead of time, I expected you to at least acknowledge this." She gestured between them. "But you didn't. You moved on, and you have no right to have a go at me for trying to do the same."

"I was already involved with Annika by the time we got home," he defended.

"You'd had four dates. That's hardly an engagement."

"Don't you dare trivialise our relationship."

"I'm not trivialising it," she sighed, some of the fight in her ebbing out. "I'm just stating a fact. I might not have been able to tell you when we were out there, but I wanted to tell you here." Her voice almost broke.

"It was too late by then."

"Obviously."

Silence filled the room as they stared at each other. Kathryn looked away, and in the dim light he saw her hand come up to brush at her cheek. When she turned back to face him, any stray tears had been wiped away. "Do you love me?" she asked evenly. Apparently, bluntness was the theme of the night.

"No," he answered automatically, not sure if he was trying to convince himself, or punish her. As soon as the lie tumbled out, he regretted it. What the hell was he doing? What was he trying to prove? He regretted this whole night and every childish, spiteful thing he'd said to her. He cursed his choices, his decisions, and his inability to just admit that he was jealous.

And he damned her for refusing to be exorcised from his heart.

"Then there's nothing left to say."

Moving from her place at the window, she made her way to the door. The same sense of panic that had enveloped him when he'd first told her about Annika surged through him anew, and when she passed him, Chakotay moved.

Taking her hand, he pulled her towards him, almost desperately. He expected her to stiffen in his arms, but instead she seemed to melt into him, gripping at his shirt with purpose. His cheek brushed roughly against hers, stubbles rasping against her skin. A hand swept up her back, erasing the path her date had made earlier. He felt the grip on his shirt tighten, and he gruffly spoke into her hair, "I'm sorry." He wasn't sure if he was apologising for his despicable behaviour, or for everything they'd ever been through.

She said nothing. She just kept clutching his shirt, shuddering when he kissed her temple. His lips lingered on her skin, too long. He knew he should back away, let her go and remember who he was really with, but he kissed her again and with that, it was suddenly abundantly clear that there would be no turning back.

His mouth touched the corner of her closed eye, then found its way to the spot behind her ear. He nipped at it and enjoyed the tremble he caused. His tongue came out to taste her and she tipped her head, exposing her neck to him. He grew bolder, more aggressive, rasping his teeth against her skin, licking at her before moving down her jaw line. He had no doubt that she was still furious with him, and he couldn't deny that a part of him was infuriated as well, both with her and with every missed opportunity. He wondered if the reason she was allowing his advances was because he'd already told her he didn't love her. That she had nothing to lose now and that she wanted to show him what he was missing.

He wouldn't put it past her, but couldn't hold it against her either. He'd lied to her, after all. Maybe they both deserved the hell they were creating.

When his mouth met hers, he shamefully found himself unable to care that he was cheating on Annika. Kathryn's lips against his felt more right than he'd ever dared to imagine. The hand that had held hers came to cup her cheek and he caught her bottom lip, letting his tongue tickle it. She pressed against him and her mouth parted, allowing the kiss to deepen. Their tongues met fleetingly before the intensity grew and they started to kiss in earnest. She whimpered into his mouth, and he growled into hers, taking full advantage of finally being able to do this. His tongue pushed against hers, but she fought back, managing to catch his bottom lip between her teeth. Biting down, she almost drew a yelp of pain, but just as quickly she let him go, kissing the offended flesh with tenderness. His fingers found their way into her hair, holding her to him.

When they finally broke apart, she fought to catch her breath, her eyes meeting his, and he was caught by how difficult it was to read her. He'd always felt that he could see right through her, but in the darkened hotel room he found it impossible to tell what her frame of mind was. They stared at each other for a beat before she pulled him back to her, attacking his lips. She kissed him like she wanted to hurt him, and maybe she did. He didn't have time to roll it over in his mind before he started to retaliate.

After that, the mood became frantic.

His shirt was unceremoniously ripped from his pants and she started on the many buttons that kept it closed. His fingers fumbled with the zipper of her dress and they both managed to kick off their shoes at the same time. He finally won his battle with the zipper and she shimmied out of the dress as they stumbled into the bedroom, mouths still joined. His shirt and tank joined her dress on the floor, his pants disappearing just as quickly.

Breaking their connection, Kathryn shoved him onto the bed, still unmade after his earlier tryst with Annika. She quickly joined him, straddling his waist, and he was just able to see her eyes narrow before she tugged at something he was half lying on. She pulled it out from under him, and flinched when she realized what she was holding. A nightgown. He could only imagine what was going through her mind as she looked at the garment, and guilt pricked at him as he thought of Annika in her regeneration chamber.

He moved into a sitting position on the bed, one arm winding around Kathryn's waist to steady her. He was perfectly ready to let her go. Part of him even wanted her to. She looked at him, the nightgown still in her hand.

"Seven's?" she asked, her breath tickling his face.

"Who else?" he answered.

She looked at the gown again, before letting it slide out of her hand and off the bed. She rested her forehead against his for a moment, motionless. Then her hands touched his face, a couple of fingers brushing over his tattoo. She moved back and her eyes connected with his. She seemed to be contemplating what to do next, but determination settled and when she leaned against him she kissed him, it was clear that she'd made her choice.

Just as he made his.

His arms closed around her, and he kissed her back. Her body was soft beneath his hands, and he fell back against the bed, bringing her with him. In a corner of his mind he rejoiced in the feeling of finally having her body against his like this, but pure joy was drowned out in the sea of emotions that raged in him. Guilt pricked at him again, but wasn't able to settle as the scent of Kathryn in his bed overwhelmed that of Annika.

The atmosphere changed, and he couldn't help the fresh burst of anger that welled up in him as he kissed Kathryn. Anger at their situation, anger at his weakness, and anger at hers. His hands had moved into her hair and his hold on it was sure to be hurting, just as her nails on his chest were sure to leave their marks. But it hardly mattered because at that moment, her fingers found the hem of his briefs and his mouth was left panting in the darkness while she quickly moved down to his member. He was aching hard and when her lips surrounded him without preamble, he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. He could feel her tongue circling the head of his cock and he felt himself arch into her as she sucked the tip into her mouth. Her teeth gently scraped against his length. He hissed and fought the urged to move against her. Using her hand, she stroked him when she drew back, increasing the speed when she felt him harden even more. Her hand moved faster and faster, and her mouth, concentrating on the head now, licked and sucked at him, making him think that he could probably die a happy man right there and then. As the beginning of an orgasm started to build, he felt like the only thing keeping him conscious was the worry of what her teeth could do to him if her anger overwhelmed her. Pathetically enough, the thought aroused him as much as it scared him, and he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hang on.

"Kathryn..."

The tightening in his groin was unmistakable. Exerting more self-control than he'd ever thought possible, he managed to grab her, pulling her off him and up to his mouth. Crashing his lips against hers, he flipped them over, the faint taste of himself on her tongue. Together they managed to rid her of her underwear and with one hard thrust he was inside her. She gasped loudly, and he wondered if it was out of pleasure or pain. The thought of her date made him thrust into her anew and another cry escaped her. He imagined the boy on top of her, and thrust into her for the third time, burying himself deep within her.

It didn't take long before their rhythm turned irregular.

The tension started to build in his groin once more and he kept on thrusting. She was warm, and tight, and gave as much as she took, arching her back, moving her hips at just the right moments. He heard a sharp intake of breath from her and felt her internal walls clench around him as she climaxed, smooth legs winding around him, pulling him closer. His own release came shortly after and he yelled out as he emptied himself inside her.

He held her tightly, enjoying the last pulses of his orgasm. She whispered his name and he was almost able to forget how they'd ended up in bed together in the first place. Clinging to the illusion that this was a common occurrence for them, he kissed his way down her breastbone, before sliding out of her. He pulled her to him once he was on his back and enjoyed the feel of her heart thumping against his chest. They lay in silence for a good fifteen minutes before she rose and got out of the bed. He watched her search for her underwear and wished things could be different.

Pulling his briefs back up, he sat himself on the edge of the bed. "Are you okay?" he asked, still not used to being unable to read her like he once could.

"I'm fine," she answered, pulling the dress over her head. "Help me, please?"

He stood and did up her zipper. "I'm fine," he echoed, annoyance tingeing his words. "After everything that has happened tonight, that's all you have to say? I'm fine?"

"What do you want me to say, Chakotay?" She turned to look at him. "That everything will be all right and we'll live happily ever after?" She shook her head and went into the other room, picking up her shoes on the way.

Chakotay followed. "I want you to tell me how you feel."

She walked over to the mirror by the door, combing her fingers through her hair. "I've been telling you all night."

He could hear a slight hint of hesitation in her voice, and he wanted to ask her to come back to bed, only to remember that Annika would be back soon.

"No," he pressed on instead. "You've dressed it up in pretty words and innuendos, always avoiding saying what you really mean."

"Glass houses, Chakotay," Kathryn reminded him, turning towards him. "I may not know any ancient legends, but my pretty words and innuendos make things easier to say as well. And what does it matter, anyway? It's too late."

He shook his head, suddenly tired of their fruitless conversation. "One step forward and two steps back. I need you, I don't need you. I want you, I don't want you. I love you, I don't love you. The same merry-go-round. Neither of us wants to let go, and neither of us can move on."

"No," she said, looking back at him. "You may regret it, but you did move on. You did let go. You love someone else." Walking to the door, she keyed in the exit code. When the door opened, she added, "I love you." Then she turned, and the ferocity radiating from her eyes almost had him staggering backwards. "Try not to think of that the next time you're fucking Seven."

Back in the present, Kathryn's final words rang in Chakotay's ears, and he took a healthy sip of his drink. He couldn't believe it'd been a year. The memories were so vivid, it could just as well have happened yesterday. When she'd left that night, he'd been too stunned to follow. Then Annika had returned, and things had gone from bad to worse. He'd never told her that the woman he'd slept with that night had been Kathryn, and as far as he knew Kathryn hadn't said anything either. At least he and Annika were back on speaking terms now. He hadn't spoken to Kathryn since.

He thought about getting in touch with her almost daily, but he always managed to find an excuse not to. As a week turned into a month, into six, into twelve, it became harder and harder to muster up any kind of courage at all, and in the end all he managed to do was come back here. To the same bar where his brain had taken that fateful leave of absence in the first place.

He took another sip.

A glass of red wine appeared next to his bourbon, bringing Chakotay out of his reverie. The rich aroma of the wine filled his nostrils, blending together with the faint scent of a woman's perfume.

The warmth of the newcomer teased at the edges of his personal space and he watched slender fingers gently touch the stem of the glass. As she lifted the glass, he imagined her lips caressing the rim and was tempted to look. Keeping his eyes on his own drink instead, he wondered if he really wanted the company. Then again, wasn't this why he was here? To put the past behind him and start over? He finally turned towards her, and it irked him to admit that if he'd come here in hopes of getting over Kathryn Janeway, he was already failing miserably. Any delusions he might have had about moving on fell to the ground like snow from the sky. Emotions warred within him, and he couldn't decide if he was happy to see her or not.

Like he had a year ago, he couldn't help but mutter, "Of all the gin joints, in all the world…"

"Is this seat taken?" She nodded towards the empty barstool next to his. Her coat was draped over her arm, the wineglass in the hand of the other.

"Would you believe me if I said my date's in the ladies room?" It was a lame joke, but he couldn't help himself.

"No, I wouldn't."

He strangled a smile at her nonchalance. "Then help yourself."

He watched as she put her coat on the back of the stool, before sitting down. She took a sip of her wine, eyes resting on him. The silence stretched between them, only eased by the soft tones of 'O Holy Night' playing in the background. She'd let her hair grow a little longer, and she'd put on a few pounds, looking all the better for it. She was pale as ever, but the hint of blue that had tinted the skin under her eyes a year ago was gone. She looked rested and happy, and he had to admit that whatever the year had brought her, it had to have been good.

"What are you doing here?" he asked at last.

She shrugged. "The same thing you are, I suppose."

"I never took you for a sentimentalist."

"To be a sentimentalist you need to remember something with fondness."

If he'd expected bitterness from her, he didn't hear it. Yet there was no doubt; she wasn't proud of what had happened between them. "If you wanted to exorcise your demons," he said quietly, "you could have done it at home."

"This place seemed more appropriate. And I thought you might be here."

"Am I that transparent?"

"No," she smiled. "I was just..." she searched for the right word, "hoping."

They both sipped at their drinks again, the tension growing in the awkward pause.

"I've been thinking a lot about you," she finally said.

"Funny," he chuckled. "I've hardly thought of you at all."

"Liar."

This time the smile wouldn't let itself be hidden and he was rewarded with one from her in return. "Yes," he admitted.

She grew serious and fiddled a little with the glass before looking away. "I was very angry with you last year."

"I remember," he said.

"I—," she hesitated, searching for the right words. "I didn't handle the situation with you and Seven very well. I didn't handle the two of us very well either."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "But you weren't the only one to blame for that night. Or the events leading up to it."

"I never claimed I was," she said, eyes snapping back to his, a momentary flare of anger passing through them.

"No, I wasn't suggesting—" he broke off, annoyed that he couldn't get this right. Fury flickered through him as well and he couldn't help the harshness that crept into his voice. "Why did you come here, Kathryn?"

"Why did you?" she shot back.

They stared at each other, neither wanting to back down. He wondered how they'd managed to survive seven years together, stuck in a spaceship, with nowhere to run. Part of him wanted to tell her to get the hell out of his life. He was too tired to fight and too tired to keep on trying to decipher the complexities of their relationship. But as he sat there the familiar sense of peace she always seemed to bring him regardless of what else went on between them, seeped through and he sighed in defeat, calming in her presence. He was the one who spoke first, and with every word his resentment withered away.

"It doesn't matter why I came. What matters is that I want to fix this," he gestured between them. "I want to fix us."

Her voice softened. "So do I."

"I love you," he told her. "Only you," he added somewhat sheepishly.

"I love you too."

In the end, it was surprisingly simple to ask. "Stay?"

She looked down, and he fought the urge to swear. It was too late. He nodded as she confirmed what he already knew.

"I can't."

Setting her wineglass down, Kathryn slid off the barstool and picked up her coat. He turned away from her and nursed his drink.

"I can't because I'm expected in Indiana." There was a small pause before she added, "I'm celebrating Christmas with my family. With the people I love."

He could feel her eyes upon him.

"Chakotay. Look at me."

He emptied his drink and cocked his head in her direction. They stared at each other and then she smiled, her hand extending towards him.

"I was hoping you'd come with me."

The End