Every word that I process heightens my heart rate and raises my neck hair. Adrenaline, noradrenalin and cortisol cause the familiar tingling in my chest and upper arms. I usually don't mind this sensation - I order a 'Red Alert' and immediately get to business. Not this time.

'Shadow Log of Voyagers Captain Reveals All'

The news station was 'kind' enough to send me a first copy. Soon this piece will reach millions of their subscribers.

Messages and hails keep pouring in as my eyes shoot from paragraph to paragraph.

"I don't…I don't understand. It's encrypted. This log is supposed to be encrypted".

I'm glad we're still in our little universe -together. The shuttle is now my hiding place.

"Will it get anyone in trouble? I mean, do you have anything to hide?" He remains calm.

I avert my gaze and think.

"I think not." Silence. "I hope not." Sitting back I add "Seven years of writing -and it was like a diary almost –all my shame, my second thoughts, far more private than my personal log, all my-" I shift to the tip of my seat, "-oh no-"

"What?"

"It's mostly about you."

Chakotay pushes 'mute' and lays a hand on my arm. It comforts me.

As we ponder the possible ramifications of this breach in my privacy I tell him

"You should read it. Might as well, since the rest of all mankind gets its chance tomorrow..."

I didn't mean that last remark to sound so bitter.

He nods and emphasizes his next words with a slight squeeze "We always figure it out. Why would this be any different?"

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Instead of calibrating targeting scanners and plotting flight patterns we now prepare for battle by pouring coffee and downloading what we can from Voyagers datafiles. Our goal: preparing ourselves for the media frenzy that will no doubt explode with the morning-newsreels.

Our apartment is still shrouded in this night's darkness, making the dinnertable the sole beacon of light.

Maybe the anonymous hackers sat just like this when they started their operation. Or was he alone? I shake the thought. We'll get to the 'whodunnit' later.

Chakotay's thumb digs into his cheek and his fingers cup his chin. I can tell he already started reading, he's intrigued. That worries me somehow. "All formal logs have been processed by Starfleet and the Reiner Institute– we should focus on any contradictions between the reviewed files and my personal ones." That got his attention.

Chakotay directs his eyes at me. "Contradictions? You mean, well- what contradictions would there be between the formal logs and your private logs?"

"Well," I add "-not contradictions, just…expressions of doubt."

"Right." He closes the workstation and folds his hands. "Just tell me now if we're going to find something bad. I'll back you, you know that right?"

"I know"

I can tell he's tired by the way he reaches out to my hand and warms it with his own. "So what are you afraid of?" Our hands are so different; mine are pale, cold and small – his are strong, warm and almost twice my size. I ponder his question before I answer "You'll see a side of me that you're not so familiar with and not just you; the crew, Starfleet…Everyone."

"Well, I know I don't mind, and I'm pretty sure the crew will understand. Let's worry about the rest later. Okay?" My lips hesitantly echo a soundless 'OK' as he retracts his hand and retakes his former pose; chin resting in his hand, frown aimed at the small viewscreen in front of him.

"You typed this out didn't you?" Even without my confirmation he knows he's right and he seems proud of his detective skills "It doesn't really sound like you." He pauses. "Also, it's in the lay out of a rapport. Stick to captaining, it comes more natural to you". He snickers and treats me to a wink. "It's not the literary reviews I'm worried about. Just read." I say with feigned authority at his poor attempt to lighten the mood.

We decide to work our way down the reference list in the article. It's not in chronological order but we figure these passages are selected for a reason.

"Just read," he repeats my earlier words and drinks a gulp of coffee, presses his lips together at its bitterness, and rolls his shoulders. "Right,'just read'. Here goes."

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Stardate: 54973.4

Time: Late. I don't know.

Music: none.

Drink: Tea. I don't know why. It's old.

15 minutes. We'll dock in 15 minutes.

I'm waiting for Q to tell me it's a joke, or maybe a conduit to open up and suck Voyager in. Anything, ánything that would take us far, far away from Earth would now seem more credible than the truth; the truth that we will be home in 15 minutes. 143 dear and good people will set foot on the docking bay and their –no, our- paths will finally untangle. I don't like the thought. I will miss them everyday. Needless to say this entry won't be long. It may very well be my last.

13 minutes now.

Chakotay is holding the jacket of my dress uniform.

We don't know ourselves outside of this ship and this command anymore. We don't know each other.

12 minutes.

NO FURTHER ENTRIES

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Chakotay is confused after reading my log-entry. "You seemed so carefree and elated. You couldn't stop smiling. But I think I remember this moment. Everything went so fast."

I nod.

He carefully asks "Do you still feel we don't know ourselves? Or each other?"

"It's only been two months since Voyager docked. All we've done since the inquiries ended is either being celebrated by Starfleet brass or getting harassed by journalists. I think we haven't quite landed yet."

Chakotay pushes his mug towards me, he knows mine is empty. I continue: "Tonight's party was nice but I felt- I don't know what I felt. It's all so uncertain. How about you, have you 'landed'?"

"Yes." There is no doubt in his voice. I feel guilty now. He continues as he tugs his ear "My 'landing' had little to do with Voyagers homecoming, though, I 'landed'- " he pauses shortly and ends with a slight scoff "-years ago".

Chakotay slowly shakes his head as he scrolls further down the screen.

"In fact," he continues "I think this next entry may deal with just that."

He clears his throat and reads out loud as I watch him intently.

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Stardate: 49690.1

Time: 00:15:16hrs

Music: Kaleo - Vor í vaglaskógi

Drink: wine

It's my first alcohol here on New Earth. It's bad wine and I don't know why I didn't just replicate a proper one. Chakotay says I shouldn't be so cheap with the energy. His 'carpe diem' outlook on life doesn't always seem sustainable though– or realistic for that matter.

Chakotay seems set on making this a pleasant life for the both of us; he would forgive me if I would replicate a good glass of wine. I do try to humor him but it all seems fake somehow. We haven't addressed the real issues that are so obviously at hand. Will we live celibate now? Can he imagine ever being intimate with me? Will we become some sort of family? We shouldn't condemn children to this life but still, we should talk about these things. What am I even thinking. I don't imagine any of that happening anytime soon though and frankly, I wouldn't know the conversation starter. Here I am contemplating al these 'what if's' while he still calls me 'captain' sometimes. He is quick to correct himself but it's getting awkward. I get out of bed for a midnight coffee and he basically salutes me. It must be horrible for him; less than two years ago he was a respected rebel and now he'll spend his days making house with me, me! Does he feel we're merely playing house as well?

We're fine now, acting all polite and perfect, but the frustration will hit him –I'm sure. He'll grow impatient with me, or definitely bored at some point. How thick is that layer of respect and 'aye captain'? How long until our god-awful reality comes crashing down on him? His criminal record had a whole section on anger-issues. I wonder when I get to meet 'Chakotay the Maquis warrior', or 'Chakotay the horny drunk'. Maybe I should put the wine away –there that's better. My earphones are starting to irritate me though.

He's drawing with sand right now. Doesn't seem like a man with anger-issues if you ask me. I've heard of Buddhist monks making art out of butter, but I've never heard of 'sandpaintings'. Is it still a painting if it's not made with paint? Maybe that will be the final drop to overflow my proverbial bucket, 10 years or so down the line, I can see it now 'No I don't need a headboard, No we shouldn't waste the energy on luxury goods and damnit it's not a painting if it's sand!' I wonder what about me annoys him, surely there's something. I know I should be able to ask but I'd rather just wonder. Maybe he'll one day hit the coffeemug out of my hand, going all berserk 'No, I can't stand the stench of that, Yes, I do prefer blondes and Yes, of course I wish it was B'Elanna instead of you at least she doesn't make a diplomatic mission out of every native rodent we encounter.'

Then again, he just wipes the sand away when he's done painting; maybe he's not the type to hold grudges.

Shit, he saw me staring.

END OF ENTRY

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Chakotay seems relieved, amused even.

"It looks like we don't need to fact check or cross-reference any of this." He stretches and gets up to sit next to me. "All this, it gives heart to the story, to our story. Isn't that what they're always after? Emotion, despair – whatever makes us human." His arm encircles me as he leans his forehead against my temple. "Stealing these is unforgivable. But if they're all like this-"

"Chakotay" I interrupt him. "Seven's big reveal, it's all in there". I turn the workstation around and scroll down the referencelist in the article. "There it is." The very last one, of course.

I finnish Chakotay's coffee and read out loud.

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Stardate: 54973.2

Time: 08:15:16hrs

Music: LP - Lost On You

Drink: Coffee

"Is he still in love with you?" That's what she'd said. Simple as that.

Tom and I had been hunched over the wallscreen in the meeting room, we hadn't even heard Seven come in; we'd been too engulfed in plotting our trajectory. Not that I would normally meddle with that, this was different though, it was our last trajectory - the final trajectory to reach Earth.

I think I made a silly remark 'I hope not', while looking at Tom, -or something like that.

We'd been in such a good mood.

Now that we're in the alpha quadrant moral on the ship is so high I swear crewmen stop skipping just in time for me to catch them doing it. I get it. Hell, I'd probably join in. It's like we're at arm's length with our moms, dads, husbands, wives, sisters... Phoebe seems closer than ever.

Seven was obviously tense though. We've talked about her trepidation with Voyagers homecoming. I figured her anxiety was acting up again. I think I said "I don't know what you think you know but-" no, no, I just had to believe her. She had asked Chakotay the same question and apparently he had answered that, 'no, of course he had never loved the captain'. Well, that had been a mistake on his part because; as Seven had apparently said to him "then I know you're lying, because I'm certain you once did".

Seven wouldn't be Seven if she didn't clarify -thoroughly so. I could sense Tom shifting as the weight of her statement sank in and Seven calmly argued her case:

"Stardate 53329, I modified my alcove to be a cortical processing subunit so that large amounts of data could be downloaded into the alcove and subsequently into me. I downloaded months worth of data in a matter of hours-"

I had tried to nip it in the bud and said something along the lines of "I believe Tom called it 'learning by sleeping', Seven, have you been conjuring up theories again? - because I must say, impressive as your initial findings were, we both know your conclusions haven't been exactly flawless." She'd even had Chakotay and me conspiring against each other. Well, almost.

She'd then turned around and started pacing as she grew more tense. Seven apparently had had a thought since "-stardate 53329; The thought that he still loves you."

I was experiencing déjà-vu as Seven paced and coldly delivered dates and facts that support whatever theory she'd chosen "Stardate 48439.8: Commander Chakotay researches Captain Janeway's family and fiancé. He spends a disproportionate amount of time on her fiancé. Is he laying the foundation of a fruitful work relationship or is he assessing his competition?"

I wonder what she would deem a 'disproportionate amount of time'.

Tom and I had been flabbergasted, obviously. I think I'd held up a hand as to signal for him he'd better stay silent. He did.

The determination on Seven's face had grown nonetheless, "Stardate 50518.6, Commander Chakotay and the Captain have their first away mission together even though safety guidelines clearly state the preference that either one of the commandteam remains on board. Are they showing the crew that Starfleet and Maquis can cooperate or is their objective of a more personal nature?"

I must look up what my first away-mission with Chakotay was about.

I think at that point I asked Seven what exactly she had shared with Chackotay. No answer.

"Relationships are hard," I assured her "- and trusting someone can be intimidating, at first. We all have difficulties but you solve them by talking about them." Seven wanted to speak up but I was quick to add something like "—together, you won't solve anything bytalking to me."

Would she have rattled on like this if the meetingroom had been full? What if I'd been on the bridge? I cringe at the thought.

For a moment Seven was hesitant to continue.

"Stardate 49690.1: Captain Janeway is infected by species 5926" -or whatever species, I can't remember. "... during an away mission and will eventually be left on a planet that will come to be known as New Earth."

Sevens breathing became more heavily as my facial expression shifted from feigned empathy to my best glare - 'glare of death' I think the crew charmingly nicknamed it. Anyway -she continued none the less "The EMH's medical reconstruction complemented with my Borg-data on species 59-something-something clearly shows that the Commander can not have been infected during this away mission."

Silence. It's truly incredible that we did not look into this at the time.

According to Seven there were approximately 2 hours and 16 minutes between the moment that I became infectious and the moment that I was quarantined on the planet. In those 2 hours and 16 minutes I had had contact with 8 crewmembers, none of them had gotten infected. During this time there was no contact between me and the commander.

I truly can't remember. Not after all these years. We should have studied the chain of events straight away, of course, back when our memories of all the when-and-where's were fresh and not spoonfed by Seven who was now on maximum paranoid-mode.

"Seven, stop this." I'd said.

She'd raised her voice "-23 hours Later Commander Chakotay is alone in sickbay with the pathogen in his system. Did the Doctor not handle his cellculture with his regular care, or does the commander infect himself on purpose?"

I'd told Seven that she was implying that Chakotay had willingly abandoned his crewmembers at the very moment that they were about to lose their Captain. I had briskly warned her not to imply that again. Unable to fix the situation at hand I had barged towards the bridge with a firm "I suggest you ask the man in question and let me know when I should get worried."

I was pissed and I hate that I was.

Tom asked if I deemed Sevens allegations true but I waved it off.

Looking back I feel odd about my response. My well constructed role easily dismissed it - Chackotay and I are always a united front, we've worked hard for that. Then again; things are far from normal. The ship is a welcome chaos: crewmen skipping through corridors, Miral being born, the admiral giving us this marvelous technology and we're finally home. Freedom awaits.

Later, Tom and I entered the bridge and at that very moment– thát's when we knew. I'll never forget. Never. The bridge was a bustling beehive, three shifts present all at once, just to experience these last hours of our journey. All protocol was thrown out of an airlock and several crewmen had brought snacks and drinks - alcoholic I'm sure. In the midst of it all, there they were; Seven and Chakotay had just left my readyroom as Tom and I left the meetingroom. They froze in their tracks, so did we. Our gazes met. I can't quite put my finger on it but Seven was dumbfounded and Chakotay; I don't know, apologetic I guess.

That moment. The four of us, we knew.

Seven is right. Chakotay had purposefully infected himself all those years ago.

Later Seven told me that she had believed Chakotay's romantic interest would shift towards her, that all he needed was time. Our homecoming -no, us letting go of our current positions muddles that plan for her. We are now free to love whoever we please. Seven couldn't handle this uncertainty and had been determined to get a straight answer, one way or the other. I can't blame her, really.

It was that moment on the bridge, that véry moment, that I knew my life was about to change.

As I write this, I wear the earphones from New Earth because I remember that my music can easily wake him. Now, only one day after that moment on the bridge, I woke up earlier than him and felt the urge to write down these details, I don't want to ever forget. I won't be able to finish though -he'll wake up soon.

END OF ENTRY

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Chakotay had been listening patiently as I'd read my log entry. He's tired, leaning back against the chair next to mine, legs crossed and stretched, fingers intertwined on his abdomen, head slightly tilted and eyes narrowed.

"So," he says calmly "this can actually get me in trouble."