Bemusement. That rather summed up the state of his mind these days; the events of the last few weeks still shook him every time he stopped to think about it. From moment to moment he wondered exactly when he had lost so much control over the quotidian events of his life; from a stable, if somewhat precarious, life in the Delta Quadrant to the slingshot that reverberated even now. They were home, back in the Alpha Quadrant. Being debriefed by StarFleet, getting used to a planet beneath their feet, and re-acquainting themselves with a humdrum existence that didn't require a constant mental red alert for disruption from yet another unknown species.

Somewhere along the way, he’d also found himself in a relationship not of his own devising.

Chakotay lay back against the grass; it felt cool against his forearms where the sleeves had been rolled up. The sun burnt steadily overhead, a late September day of an Indian summer. He wondered idly where the expression had come from, and then dismissed it. If he closed his eyes, maybe it would all go away; but he'd tried that before.

"Chakotay, are you listening to me?" He blinked and realised he'd missed a fair amount of what Seven had been saying - the last thing he'd heard before he tuned her out had been something to do with going to Vulcan. He sat up.

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep for a moment," he replied. Not exactly the truth but maybe it would offend her ... no such luck. She simply took the statement at face value and repeated her request for him to go to Vulcan with her.

"I don't think I can manage it this time; I need to be here to sort out what I'm going to do going forwards." A trip to Vulcan; not a chance. It wasn't entirely untrue, he was negotiating a research position with the University of Berkeley's Museum of Palaeontology. What he left unspoken was that the position had been agreed, all that was left was to decide when he started.

It was difficult; prevarications and half-truths didn't come easily to him on a personal level, for all that he hid himself behind apparent openness in everyday life. Drawing a veil over his emotions wasn't the same as disguising his actions.

Chakotay looked over at Seven; she was looking over to the Palace of Fine Arts, apparently scrutinising the architecture. He wondered what she saw; she was probably tell him soon enough. She was his complete opposite - where he gave little away at a fundamental level, she wasted little time in letting people know what she thought. Chakotay wondered whether she would ever learn that a little mystery was far more interesting than an open book.

"The buildings are not as old as they appear to be." Her analysis was, as usual, quite correct.

Chakotay sighed and answered as she turned to look at him. "That's right; they're early twentieth century, made to look like Roman ruins. They were built as an exhibit for a World's Fair and then left in place when the exhibit ended."

"I don't understand this apparent desire to make things seem older than they are."

Chakotay shrugged; he wasn't in a frame of mind to discuss nostalgia with her. Their time together since returning to the Alpha Quadrant sometimes felt like an unending lecture; he was being unfair, but irritation made him exaggerate.

The buildings were a soft gold in the afternoon sunlight, a gold intensified by the deep blue of the sky above them - at this moment, they were unbelievably beautiful and Chakotay wanted nothing more than to be able to sit in the unquiet silence of a Sunday afternoon in San Francisco and simply absorb the scene. For a while, his wish was realised - Seven was quiet, and the soft sounds of the city soothed him as he forced all conscious thought from his mind. All that existed was the moment, and himself in it.

Reality broke in soon enough, as Seven started to gather the detritus of their meal. "I will see you later, I need to attend a medical examination," she said as she gathered the plates.

The statement snapped something inside Chakotay, but he kept his voice steady. "I'll have to take a rain check on that, I have other plans." Seven lifted her head enquiringly, but Chakotay looked away.

"Very well. I will call you later, then."

Chakotay nodded; they stood, and Chakotay brushed the grass from his trousers as he forced himself back into the here and now. Seven leaned in for a kiss, which he met as expected. "I'm going to walk back", he said, knowing she needed to take the transport. He needed time to himself, an increasing requirement in these odd days of readjustment. With a wave goodbye, Seven walked away to a vehicle at the kerbside.

Chakotay exhaled with the relief of being alone. He was being unfair, he knew he was being unfair - most of his irritation was with himself, for allowing himself to have been placed in this position. But here he was, and extricating himself seemed to become more difficult with each passing day. Intellectually, he knew exactly what he should do but knowing and doing ... the gulf between them sometimes seemed insurmountable.

He started to walk, cutting across the lawns. His head lowered, he watched the grass bend and recover with each step that he took. Resilience; a resilience he wanted to take for granted in others but couldn't. The grass gave way to the hard sidewalk, hot from the sun and warm through the thin soles of his shoes; he crossed the road, heading vaguely eastwards into the city.

The houses around him were an eclectic mix of styles spanning five hundred years and countless imaginations; candyfloss confections and Mission statements, the post neo-Modernism of two hundred years ago and the Gothic re-revival that seemed to be the current fashion. Chakotay allowed his mind to wander amongst the follies and crenellations, wondering at the people who built these and those who lived in them now.

Anything to distance his mind from his own situation.

He found himself climbing a hill after a short while, following a path to a destination he hadn’t consciously chosen; nonetheless, possibly the only path he really could take. A door, similar to others on the street, stepped up from the steep gradient of the hill. Chakotay stood for a moment, looking at the house and keeping the questions from his mind. Then, before the questions could crowd back in and make him turn away, he reached over and pressed an old-fashioned buzzer requesting entry. Somewhere in the house a bell rang and, moments later, he heard steps.

The heavy wooden door swung open, pulled back. Kathryn looked out, and smiled with what he hoped was delight, although her features were quickly schooled into a less unrestrained smile.

“Chakotay – did you … I didn’t forget a meeting?” she asked.

“No, I was in the neighbourhood. I remembered you mentioned that you’d moved out of quarters and I thought – well, I thought I’d come and see you. We haven’t really had a chance to talk since we got back, maybe even before then.” He was still standing on the steps, hoping for an invitation to enter.

“Come in, please,” said Kathryn suddenly, as they stood looking at each other. He entered; the cool darkness of the house was a balm after the heat and light outside. The decoration was quietly elegant, a mixture of tones – cream and white, tan leather and soft brickwork. It suited her, he thought, wondering whether it was she had decorated it or whether the house was as she had bought it. The pictures on the walls were clearly hers, though – he recognised a few of them from Voyager.

“Do you want to come and sit outside?” The question interrupted his distraction, pulling him away from a contemplation of her tastes. “I’ve got some iced tea, I was planning a lazy afternoon doing nothing. Want to join me?” Kathryn looked at him sideways, and Chakotay recalled how many times over the last six weeks he’d made his excuses when she asked him to join her. Was she expecting him to do the same again?

“I’d love that,” he answered honestly, and smiled at the grin on her face.

“Good.”

She led the way to the back of the house, picking up an extra glass as they passed through a kitchen that gleamed white and metal with an old-fashioned coffee machine sitting in solitary splendour on the countertop. The coffee machine was undoubtedly Kathryn’s, but Chakotay suspected that the rest of the kitchen had been designed long before she bought the place. The replicator tucked discretely into a corner was far more her style than the range in the island in the centre of the room.

Outside was a small revelation: a compact garden of curves and colour. Formal flowerbeds edged with tiny hedges, roses spilling across the whitewashed walls and a fountain that chuckled quietly in the afternoon haze of the sun warmed city. The covered veranda that ran the length of the house provided all the shade needed, without sacrificing the sight, sound and scents of the garden.

Kathryn motioned him to a chair on the veranda, taking the twin next to it. Chakotay sat down, adjusting comfortably, as Kathryn poured a couple of glasses of tea.

“This is perfect,” he said on an exhaled sigh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. They sat for a while, letting the afternoon wash over them without any need for conversation. Chakotay felt a peace that had eluded him for weeks and tried to grasp it; contentment was too precious to allow it to slip away. A perfect time: a moment to capture and treasure against the days when nothing seemed to work, and a way to remind himself to reach for the calm centre within himself. Too often now he found himself chasing the insubstantial, tossed from one thing to another, trying to hang on rather than letting go and waiting for events come full circle around him.

Kathryn refilled their glasses. The ice chattered against the lip of the jug, bringing Chakotay back to the moment at hand. Kathryn seemed drawn back to the present as well, turning to him. “So what are you doing now? Taking some leave?” she asked.

“For a short while, but I’ve got a research position at UCMP,” he said. Kathryn leaned forward, her eyes alight.

“Berkeley? That’s wonderful, it's perfect for you – what area are you going to be working in?” she asked eagerly.

Chakotay laughed, a harsh sound; Kathryn sat back, obviously bemused by his response. One sentence … one short sentence and suddenly he knew he couldn’t carry on. He had to find a way out.

“I can’t do this. I really can’t do this.” Kathryn looked still more confused. “Do you have any idea, any idea at all how much this conversation means to me?”

The question was undoubtedly rhetorical, and Kathryn didn’t interrupt him as he carried on. “I told Seven I was planning to apply, and she just said ‘an excellent institution’. The gap between knowledge and understanding – you understand what this means to me. All she has is empirical knowledge. A distinction without a difference, perhaps, but a distinction nonetheless.

I can’t continue this farce any longer. I’ve tried, god help me, I’ve tried. It’s my damn fault, this entire mess, and the last thing I wanted was to hurt her but there are only so many hoops I can jump through, only so many explanations I can give. I’ve tried to force myself into emotions I just don’t feel. There’s just nothing there.”

“Chakotay, I’m not sure you’re making any sense,” Kathryn said gently. He blinked at her, having almost forgotten that he was actually talking to someone and not just venting to himself. “I think I know what you’re talking about, but I’d rather not guess wrong,” she went on. “Do you want to talk about it?” The question was a little hesitant, as though she was afraid of opening something up that shouldn’t see the light of day.

“I can’t face Seven anymore.” Blunt, and to the point. Why couldn’t he be the same with Seven?

"God only knows I don't know why we're dating. I suppose - well, you see, she asked and ..."

Chakotay buried his face in his hands. He felt, abstractedly, as though he made a picture of dejection. If he didn't feel quite so miserable, he would laugh at himself - but, as it was, laughter was more than he could summon at this point. He looked up, glancing at Kathryn. She sipped at her tea, patiently waiting for him to continue. There was an odd tension about her, which Chakotay supposed wasn't unreasonable.

"It was a surprise; not something I'd ever imagined. I really hadn't thought of her that way - I mean, I admired the scenery the same way most people did, but she's half my age with a tenth of my experience. In all senses of the word. So ... it was a surprise; which I suppose explains the fact that I agreed to the date before I'd had a chance to think about it. If I did agree ... I don't remember agreeing, but then I suppose I didn't disagree either. Engaging mouth before brain."

- Not for the first time -

The suggestion hovered unspoken between them, but neither seemed inclined to voice it.

"And the second ... and third dates?" Kathryn asked, her voice soft and barely audible above the hum of the city. Chakotay wondered at the tone; did he dare to believe she was affected by this, or did she just not want to break the sense of the confessional that this conversation had taken on? Still, he had to answer.

"I ... I didn't know how to let her down. I still don't, really. I hear myself saying everything that I shouldn't, out of politeness - I can't just sit there and say nothing. I've tried keeping the subjects neutral and, well, trying to bore her, I suppose. If she would only back off ... but even then, she's done that and I found myself asking her to reconsider. I'm going mad."

"No, no you're not. You're just rather over-sensitive to other people's feelings, Chakotay - I'll bet she didn't seem happy about it when she was backing off?" Chakotay shook his head. "So you tried to make her feel better? It's a reflex for you; think about it."

"I ... yes, I suppose you're right. And she's never dated before - I know that something went on in Unimatrix Zero, but that seems different. I think - and anyway, it's ... oh god, this is such a mess. Kathryn, please, you know her better than anyone else. How do I tell her I'm not interested, how do I stop this before it goes any further?"

Kathryn sat back in her chair, looking at Chakotay. She seemed to be considering options, weighing her response to his plea. He looked away, somewhat ashamed to be having to ask her for assistance. He was ... what was he now, 45 years old? Something like that. Anyway, too old to be asking for help in ending a relationship - although this could hardly be called a relationship.

They had no conversation - all they discussed on dates was the Delta Quadrant, the crew, the banal; and a future he wanted no part of. Chakotay cringed inwardly as he recalled his comment about wanting to be within transporter range of her - what had possessed him to say such a thing? Charm was one thing, but surely not at the expense of his own sanity.

She had nothing that he wanted from a relationship; no common ground - the things that interested him, she obviously deemed irrelevant even as she clearly tried to sound interested. But she had nothing to contribute ... he preferred to be challenged, to really interact with a partner than to have to deal with this blank interest.

"I'd advise you just to tell her. Point blank. Seven does appreciate the straight-forward route, you should know that." Kathryn's words made more sense than he wanted them to. Seven certainly appreciated directness; he recalled that kiss that she'd startled him with when she beamed into his quarters. "Better to get it out of the way" she'd said.

"I suppose so. Gods, this is going to be difficult."

"Can I just ask ..." Kathryn hesitated, then spoke again. Chakotay could have sworn she sounded nervous. "Why don't you want to date her? The Admiral .. the Admiral said that in her timeline the two of you married. I assumed you would want that."

"We married?" Chakotay wondered whether he sounded as incredulous as he felt. Kathryn just nodded. "I ... I have no idea. I can only assume I never got up the courage to end it - I mean, it's hard enough now. What drove me here today was her comments about what she wants to do now that the de-briefing is almost over. She's trying to get me to go to Vulcan with her and I couldn't ..." Chakotay rubbed his face with his hands. "I couldn't face the thought of weeks with only Seven for company. Maybe I never had to deal with that sort of impetus in the other timeline and just drifted along, trying not to hurt her and getting hurt in the process."

"The Admiral said you were devastated by Seven's death; she died in your arms."

Chakotay wondered what Kathryn was trying to do, raising these comments from a timeline that would now never happen. Provoke him? She seemed uncomfortable saying them, as though probing a sore tooth. It seemed to much to hope for that she had been affected by the Admiral's recounting of her future, that she wanted explanations for his actions.

"I don't know ... maybe I would be; it would be a waste of a life in any circumstances and maybe - oh, who knows. Maybe I felt guilty that I'd been lying to her. I don't see a way that I would be in love with her; and god knows, I hate living a lie. And that's all I can see here, now, is lies - unless I can stop this before it goes further. I've already lived a lie of omission for almost seven years, and that's been hard enough to-"

Chakotay broke off as Kathryn's eyes widened in shock, and then realised what he had said. He groaned and slumped backwards in the chair, staring at the ceiling as he let his head rest on the back.

“Kathryn, I’m not going to go into this conversation now. You know how I felt – how I still feel – about you, regardless of my idiocy and the problems I’ve got at the moment. Let’s just let it go. For now.” He leant forward again and closed his eyes. “What the hell am I going to do?”

Kathryn let his comments go, and concentrated on the plea.

“Chakotay, sometimes you can’t avoid hurting someone. Better to do that now than to let this go further. The longer it lasts, the more she’ll be hurt – and you. You weren’t always this sensitive – how did you cope in the Maquis?”

“That was different. It was personal in a different way, the actions weren’t personal. I can kill someone I don’t know, but hurting someone I do? That’s so much more difficult. It took me a long time to end the relationship with Seska.” The last sentence was a murmur, and he thought perhaps Kathryn hadn’t even heard him.

“One thing you do need to do,” said Kathryn, “is work out for yourself what you want, what you are. Maybe that’ll give you a framework for planning what you do want.” She laughed, deprecatingly. “It’s taken me far too long to work it out, but this past week I’ve finally had the time to sit down and stop thinking like the Captain. I realised I had no idea how to think any other way; I could barely remember a time when my every waking moment wasn’t, on some level, taken up with being captain. And yes, I know that perhaps wasn’t necessary, but it’s the way I am.”

Chakotay shifted a little, physically tired now from the emotional conversation. “I don’t know anymore. I used to know, but looking back I’m not sure I really did know myself.”

“You probably didn’t – god knows, I didn’t. I’ve spent my life defining myself by the external; judging my actions and plans by the reaction of others, directly or indirectly. Somewhere in the middle of those interminable debriefing sessions I suddenly realised that I didn’t care any more – I spent seven years wondering what StarFleet would think of my each and every action, wondering what the crew would think, and never stopping to think what I thought of my actions. I found myself in a bookshop, wondering what to read – wondering what was appropriate for me to read. That’s when I decided enough was enough, and ‘appropriate’ be damned, I’d read what I want to – and do what I want to – regardless of anyone else. The only problem was that I don’t know what I do like to read. Still, I need to find out. I’m not going to ride roughshod over someone else,” Kathryn checked herself, but Chakotay shook his head. He wasn’t quite that sensitive about his problems, for all the outpouring Kathryn had listened to.

“Well, anyway – I think perhaps you need the same thing. To be yourself, not just the Maquis, or the First Officer, or whatever other title or position you’ve lived under. We’ve both been figureheads for too long, suppressing ourselves in the process.” Chakotay raised an eyebrow and Kathryn laughed. “I know, I sound like the counsellors – but sometimes, although I’ll deny this if you repeat it, sometimes they’re right.” It was Chakotay’s turn to laugh at Kathryn’s apparent embarrassment in agreeing with the bane of an officer’s life, the counsellors. They were wonderful – until you became the subject of their scrutiny.

“As I said – you can’t be this sensitive about her feelings. I can’t tell you what to do about it, you’re going to have to make that decision, but I can tell you that Seven has always reacted best to the straight-forward. One way or the other, you need to decide soon or you will both be hurt even more. You need to decide what you want from your life; it’s an odd sensation, to have the freedom to decide.”

Chakotay wondered at her tone; relaxing the inhibitions of command had given Kathryn a philosophical quality that had rarely surfaced on Voyager. It was odd, but refreshing – it completed her in a way; gave another dimension, another layer to the texture of her personality. How many more layers had he yet to find? Quite a few, he suspected.

She was speaking again. “Have you talked to your spirit guide about this?”

Chakotay shook his head. “No – I haven’t had enough time to myself to do that.” Kathryn looked at him oddly, and he explained. “Seven has been a little … well, she’s been anxious not to be alone. Between that and the debriefs, I haven’t had much time to myself. But I will … it’s a good idea. Would you mind if …?”

“No, I don’t mind – go on. Please, though,” Kathryn hesitated, then asked, “please let me know what you decide. I … I need to know.” She gave no more explanation, and Chakotay didn’t push for one. “And don’t leave it so long between visits.” Her smile was crooked, and Chakotay ached to comfort her.

“I won’t leave it so long, I promise – and I’ll let you know,” he said, as he stood. He looked at her for a moment, then gave in to the ache and leaned down to kiss Kathryn on the cheek. Her skin was warm and soft, with the scent of rain and something more indefinably Kathryn. “I’ll let myself out, you look comfortable there.”

Kathryn smiled, an image that he carried with him as he left the house and started to walk back to quarters.

The hills of San Francisco barely registered as he wandered; the occasional view of the bay breaking through over the crest of a hill, between houses, was a distraction that he didn’t allow as he sorted through the conversation. An odd conversation, with undercurrents that he fought to interpret. Kathryn had seemed uncomfortable, but perhaps that wasn’t surprising – discussing his relationship with Seven was never going to be easy for either of them.

If he could have picked someone else to talk to, he would have done. But to speak to a counsellor was impossible – it needed someone who knew them both and, really, that was only Kathryn. B’Elanna was too busy with Miral, and her attitude towards Seven was such that he was sure he wouldn’t get a balanced view. Was she even aware that he and Seven were ….? Perhaps not, since she hadn’t mentioned anything about it to him. How many people did know?

In the end, it didn’t matter whether people knew – only that there would be more or less people to ask what had happened, why they weren’t together anymore.

Chakotay brought his thoughts to a rapid halt. When had he made the decision? He’d been on the edge of it all day, he knew that much.

Somewhere in the conversation with Kathryn, his sub-conscious had clearly made the decision for him.

He found himself now on Lombard Street, following the meandering path downwards to the bay; the circuitous street hadn’t changed in centuries, and he had to watch his step. The concentration on the physical focussed his mind, making the decision less of a surprise, less of a shock. He was already getting used to the idea, formulating the how and when, dealing with getting past it and on to the future. But still, a vision quest could be useful.

The Embarcadero spread wide before him, the bay beyond it lapping lazily at the wharves. StarFleet quarters had a view he would never tire of, even if the decoration inside redefined bland. A couple of recitations of authorisation codes and he was home. Well, what passed for home.

The conversation with Kathryn was still echoing in his mind as he looked at the quarters; a safe beige and grey. Nothing to jar the senses, but nothing to please them either.

Blue and green pinstripes. An odd thing to come to mind, but … well, if that’s what he liked. What did he like?

Chakotay forced that chain of thought away, filing it for later consideration and exploration. Now, instead, he would handle things one at a time and clear the way so that he could think about it later. His medicine bag was tucked, as always, into a corner of a drawer. He spread it out, and began the chant to draw him into the psychotropic akoonah.

Chakotay felt himself drift into the vision quest; the scene was familiar, the damp scent of a forest centering him in the location. Dark, silent, the place never failed to calm him. He momentarily recalled Kathryn’s garden, a place of similar calm though so very different in actuality.

In the distance he saw a flash of silver-grey weaving between the trees; his guide had chosen to approach from a distance this time. Chakotay had never quite worked out the distinction; sometimes she was there, waiting for him, other times he waited for her approach. Sometimes she never appeared, and he was grateful that this wasn’t one of those times.

“Sister, I greet you.” The formula, the ritual, was comfort to him. The familiar, his own. The wolf entered the clearing, gold eyes startling in the half-light of the primordial day.

“You are greeted,” came the soft reply into his mind. “And you are troubled – although you know the route, the way through. Why do you seek my counsel?”

Chakotay stared; his guide was rarely this direct, preferring to let him talk his way through whatever had prompted his quest.

“Sister, I …” He stopped. There was little point in prevaricating with his guide; all he would achieve would be a lie to himself. The quest was internal, the guide a creation of his sub-conscious. To lie to it would be to lie to himself, and that would achieve nothing.

“You are right,” he laughed, although the sound was forced, “as always. I know what I need to do, what I lack is the courage to do it.”

Another brush against his mind as the answer flickered across his mind. “Better to do it now. Take the courage from those around you, face the fear and use it.”

The scene dissolved, and Chakotay found himself back in the anonymity of his quarters. ‘Take courage from those around you’ he mused, and his thoughts returned to Kathryn; Kathryn, who was steadily trying to regain a sense of herself in the unexpected freedom of the Alpha Quadrant, who had asked for nothing more than his company.

Courage. This time he thought of Seven, struggling to deal with an alien familiarity of being human. He was about to add to the sum of her humanity; experience, good and bad, gave form and character. He still winced at the idea of causing her any hurt but the pressure to give in to her lead was no longer overwhelming.

The vision quest was a contradiction that he rarely tried to puzzle out – by going deeper into himself he gained an overview of himself; the internal became a vantage point from which he could observe himself and his interactions with others. It lent a focus and clarity that was occasionally painful, often refreshing.

Now – well, now he knew what he needed to do. He forced himself upwards, his legs protesting after the stillness of the quest and his subsequent reflections, and crossed to the comms terminal. A couple of moments later, the connection was open.

“Seven, we need to talk.” Chakotay winced inwardly at the abruptness of his voice; if Seven noticed anything amiss, she didn’t mention it. “Are you free later?”

She nodded. “I’m free now - shall I come there?”

“Yes, please do.” They signed off. Chakotay sat back and exhaled, trying to quash the nerves that spread through him. Better that it were done quickly, if it were to be done at all.

A chime moments later startled him; had she been in the building already? He spun round from the terminal, the nerves multiplying as he allowed the door to open.

“Hello.” Seven stepped into the room, a smile on her face. “It’s good to see you again – I thought you would be busy for longer.”

Chakotay smiled. “The plans have changed. Can we go for a walk?” Seven nodded, letting him lead them out of the building. They began to walk down the Embarcadero towards the Bay Bridge, letting the ebb and flow of afternoon walkers and skaters move around them. Seven tried to take his hand, but he tucked his behind his back.

“You said you wanted to speak to me,” announced Seven shortly after they left quarters. Chakotay took a deep breath. Now or never. Fish or cut bait. How many more clichés could he find to put this off? Kathryn’s image flashed across his mind, her quiet determination to live her life now on her own terms. Courage. Strength.

“I do. We need to talk. Seven, I’m sorry but,” a pause, then he continued “this isn’t working, our relationship. There are too many differences, and I don’t think it’s fair to either of us to try to continue it.”

Seven was silent, staring straight ahead as she walked next to him. Chakotay looked across at her, wondering what was going through her mind. Heaven help anyone who played poker with her, he thought. Her face gave nothing away.

Had he been too blunt? Chakotay stopped the second-guessing before it had even started and waited for her reponse.

“I appreciate your telling me, Chakotay.” Seven broke the silence, stopping and turning to face him. “I am … sorry … that this has not been a suitable relationship for you. May I ask why you do not think it is functioning?”

The stilted grammar tore at Chakotay; in that moment he understood exactly why he’d had so much difficulty ending the relationship, understood the depth of emotion there. An emotion that the element of surprise in her approach to him had disguised. He felt as though he was talking to a child, his child. How strange, to know he was the instigator of her pain and yet also to want to comfort her and tell her that not all men were so indifferent to her. That she was loved, and would someday find someone to appreciate her properly.

He let a moment pass, searching for the right words, trying to comfort without igniting hope. “Seven, we’re too different. I have a lifetime of experience that I’m still trying to process. I have a context to my life that you are still developing. Relationships are most meaningful when the participants grow together; you have a life to grow into, so much still to discover.

I’m not saying I won’t grow, or discover, but it’ll be in a context that you won’t reach for decades. I’ll hold you back, and that’s the last thing you need. I would love to see you explore your life, but I can’t be part of that exploration. I left that exploration behind too long ago to recapture it.”

Life continues; people wandered past, skated past. A street-trolley trundled along the street behind him. The fading heat of the day lingered in the scent of lilies from the nearby florist stall.

Seven stood still, and Chakotay again wondered what she was thinking. He’d said all he could for now.

“I believe I understand,” she said at last. “Your feelings for me are … paternal, as the Captain’s are maternal. Would that be an accurate reflection?” The question was quietly uttered.

“Yes. Yes, it would. I am sorry it’s taken me this time to realise.”

“Perhaps you needed this time to realise it, Commander.” Chakotay nodded, the pain that lay behind her use of his title cutting him. Seven turned to leave.

“Seven,” he stopped her. “Talk to someone about it. Please – and please know that I will always be available to talk to you if you need me to. If you come to feel comfortable enough to talk to me.”

She nodded, acknowledging his words, and Chakotay let her go. He watched her stride back to quarters, and saw the heads that turned. Male and female, and not all staring at the Borg implants by any means. She was stunning, and he would be fascinated to watch her grow up; perhaps even to help her through that growing up from time to time but … and there lay the crux of the matter, not to live that growing up with her.

Seven disappeared into the crowd and he lost sight of her. His mind returned to Kathryn again, and he thought perhaps he should let her know now. He’d promised to tell her, and he suspected that Seven would go and talk to her. He made his way to a public comms terminal not all that far away, and placed the call.

“Kathryn? It’s done,” he said, simply. Kathryn looked steadily back at him.

“How did she take it?”

“I’m not sure. Not well, but I can’t tell to what degree she’s not taken it well.” Kathryn interrupted.

“I’ve got another call coming in, it’s probably Seven. Can I talk to you later?”

“Yes, of course. Anytime. Please.”

The connection terminated, and Chakotay felt oddly bereft. The evening died into night as he walked slowly to Fort Point, letting the day’s events assemble themselves into some coherence in his recollection of his life.

Seven, a daughter. He hadn’t ever looked at it that way before, but it made more sense than superficially appeared to be the case. She was Kathryn’s personal reclamation project, more like her daughter than anything else. His relationship with Kathryn – while difficult at times – undoubtedly influenced his relationship with others.

Was it so difficult to imagine Seven as his daughter? Well, physically he doubted his gene pool would allow for a blonde blue-eyed child but that was evading the issue. She challenged his authority as any child would, and that perhaps was at the heart of it. That, and her development as a person. They had all watched her grow up on the ship, moving from the emotional shell that had been suppressed by armour and implants. How different was that from watching Naomi grow up?

The only difference, really, was the physical. That was enough of a difference, though, to have confused his reaction when she asked him for a date. Hindsight, with the clarity that one would want in actuality and not only in retrospect, cast another light on it. Flattery, and his interest in her combined. If he had stopped to acknowledge that interest before, he would have seen it for what it was – the curiosity and fascination of watching someone’s childhood which, from his vantage point now, made him feel vaguely as though he’d taken advantage of her. His antagonism towards the Borg, though, had blocked that acknowledgement. One more thing to blame on Riley Frasier, he thought wryly.

The Golden Gate rose in the distance, traced in outline by thousands of lights; a sight he would now always associate with Voyager’s homecoming.