1. Chapter 1

Checkmate

**Chapter 1**

Never had Daniel been so intrigued by someone as he was by the woman who was sitting in front of him.

Both his hard work and his big mouth (although, in all honesty, it had mostly been his big mouth), had gotten him to where he was now; a large office on the top floor of the building, in front of a huge desk.

The room was soaked in sunlight, but for Daniel it had an ice-cold feel of trepidation and uncertainty.

This was not the First time that he could pluck the fruits of his charisma, amiable appearance and quick wit; all qualities his friends had more than once compared to those of a talented magician. A magician who would make you feel determined to see though his tricks, but as soon as the cards had deceived you, you would have to admit that you where outgunned by the quick marvel that had unfolded right in front of your eyes. All with apparent ease and nonchalance on the magicians part.

In stead of cards, Daniel worked his wonders with words. Daniel had always been the first to walk up to the pretty girl at the bar, the first to talk back to an overly authorative high school teacher and the first to talk himself out of detention class (the third had proven worthy after having done the second). It had been these qualities that had brought him to where he was today. It were also these qualities that were now dripping out of him as if they where drops of a popsicle left out to melt in the sun.

The chair he was sitting in seemed to grow larger and larger as the incessant ticking of the chronometer reminded him of a perpetual motion that existed solely to intimidate those who dared to take place in front of her desk.

Daniel wondered what it was exactly that had obliterated his natural flair in mere seconds. His confidence had taken the first blow as he had rung the door chime and was entering the room. He had clumsily poked his head through the opened door asking if he was in the right place (how could he not be since hers was the only office in this corridor).

Over her glasses, she had given him a swift but stern glance; one with an air of surprise and slight annoyance. She quickly returned to the conversation she was having through a wireless earpiece.

Telling off her expression and her staccato hand gestures the person on the other end of the line was also annoying her and Daniel silently thanked the poor soul she was talking to that it was him, and not Daniel, who had been the cause of her seemingly bad mood.

She had carelessly gestured for Daniel to come in and take a seat. Not exactly the dashing entry he had prepared (and practiced in front of a mirror, although he would never admit it).

This must have been about ten minutes ago and the idea of her completely forgetting his presence had started to lay root in Daniels mind.

It was then that she ended the conversation, took off her glasses, and shoved aside some datapadds. She straightened her back, closed her eyes for a second, took a sigh and folded her hands on the mahogany desk (not exactly Starfleet issue).

This little ritual seemed to shake off her former annoyance and she now looked at him without any expression.

She took him in and let her eyes wander slowly, almost as if they were dissecting him with some supernatural power that he had been unaware of until now. For a moment Daniel was unsure of whether he should let her size him up or if he should speak.

Deciding on the latter he started, "Admiral Janeway, it's a pleasure to meet you. I consider it to be a great learning opportunity, not to mention a great honor, to have you supervise my-"

"Flattery is the food of fools." She cut him off, with the unchanged stern look that might as well have been chiseled in stone.

"…Admiral?"

Her face softened as she turned her chair away from the desk and stood up.

She continued as she walked to a bar in the far corner of the room. "That's Jonathan Swift". She took her time pouring a glass before walking up to the still growing chair as she added "I once gave that advice to a good friend of mine and I shall now give it to you."

She handed Daniel the drink with half a smirk on her face and repeated "Flattery is the food of fools."

As he took a sip she leaned up against her desk and never took her eyes off him.

She reminded Daniel of a detective who was desperately searching for the last piece of the puzzle in his deductive process, the one, and final detail that would eventually solve the mystery.

Unsatisfied with her investigation and seemingly resorting to a different tactic she said "86% of all students who filed for supervisors for their final dissertation chose me."

A short silence.

"Motivations varied from _'no other professor has done this amount of research and has the field experience to go with it_' down to '_you've got spunk'_. I chose you because your work is thorough and precise, but most of all because your professors warned me about your stubbornness, perseverance and directness."

Daniel looked down as she paused.

She stood to walk back to her chair but then, as if to make sure to make her point in one final argument, she paused and said "I have people to suck up to me, so don't waste your time. You've got my attention. You can keep it by doing good research, working hard and most of all by being yourself. Don't disappoint me."

"Yes ma'am..or no ma'am. I mean I won't."

Smiling a little she walked around her desk and looked through some padds. She did it slowly, taking her time, like someone who wasn't used to being rushed by others.

**Daniels POV: **

I had felt too self-conscious to observe her before, but now, after having been scrutinized by her like someone with a microscope who studies creatures that swarm in a drop of water, I felt I could return the favor (without ever resting my eyes directly on hers, fearing she might feel the weight of my sight).

She was about twice my age, and about half my size. Although she was larger then life, it occurred to me that she was in fact much smaller and more petite than she had seemed to be in the newsvids (in which she had been ever-present since Voyagers return to earth). Her slender hands had been a grave contrast to the large glass she had handed me before and I wonder if the desk would still look as huge as it now did, had it been occupied by a somewhat more normal sized person.

Not that anyone could ever doubt that it was in fact her desk. If it wasn't for all the junk-resembling knick-knacks, stacks of padds and steaming cup of coffee, it was because of her simple, matter-of-fact-way of handling herself that gave her a natural authority.

This ridiculously large office (that resembled a penthouse suite more than it did an office due to high windows, a bar, a comfortable seating area and several viewscreens), might not seem so big at all once you knew it was hers.

Remembering my drink, I take a sip and it occurs to me that she hadn't even asked what I wanted (or whether I wanted a drink at all). She had just given me some dry-flavored beverage and for a moment I wonder if it has alcohol in it. She wouldn't, would she?

Suddenly, it dawns on me that she was reading my research proposal and I'm curious if she had even read it before now. I hate to find that my confidence is 100% depending on every sign of appreciation (or lack thereof) she could spare. Whether it's a facial expression, an 'uhuh'-sound or a hand gesture; anything to shed some light on her opinion of the piece would be more then welcome.

I'm sure Collin didn't have to go through the humiliating experience of waiting for you mentor to get acquainted with your case while you're right there to witness it first hand. Then again, Collin is being mentored by prof. Jenkins; the old and dusty, _I-believe-I-have-Insight-into-all-things-vague-because-my-socks-don't-match_, ethics professor who was always running late and had the irritable habit of changing topics mid-sentence. My best friend was doomed to endless discussions about the theoretical meaning of moral propositions and how their truth values (if any) may be determined.

With a smirk I shake my head to rid myself of the thought about poor Collin and remind myself of my luck. I was chosen by admiral Janeway. The hotshot admiral who's probably squeezing me in her busy schedule that includes making peace treaties with hostile aliens on the Starfleet border and fancy fundraises for groundbreaking research. My communications address may very well be filed in the same address file as holodeck stars, top athletes or even the president.

Long days and long nights I had spent on that research proposal. Every assumption, every calculation, every hypothesis and every reference I have checked and checked again. And again. Now, however, I felt as though I ought to be ashamed of myself for making her face this (undoubtedly) amateuristic work. The work I had been so proud of before now resembled a mere doodle on an architects drawing table; it's a nice effort and it may even show potential, but couldn't possibly be considered for use in this inept stage. For a moment I feel the urge to stand up, grab the padd out of her hands and tell her I'll come back and try again later.

I take another sip of my questionable drink and feel my hands grow damp as I try to encourage myself 'Don't panic. It's a good piece. And if it's not I might as well go down with my head held high.' So I straighten my shoulders en look straight at her as the chronometer keeps ticking in defiance.

Finally she looks up with a content look on her face. "Like I said; thorough and precise". For a moment I wonder if she's satisfied about her own being right, or about the quality of my work, but I decide to take any compliment I can get.

I let out my breath, which I hadn't even realized I was holding, and I can't suppress an appreciative smile.

"Too bad it's flawed." She says, as if she continues in line with the previously stated.

I blink. "..I'm sorry?"

"Everything you state is coherent, logical and in line with every piece of data available in Starfleets databases."

I raise my eyebrows at her. I feel as though I'm stuck in a holodeck program of which all probability-parameters have been shut down and now anything can happen.

I try to clarify things by explaining the basic idea of my thesis "I know that all evidence available proves that Omega molecules can supposedly be stabilized if a delicate balance of subatomic pulls is maintained. The truth is that not a single ship has ever had the opportunity to thoroughly scan it. I, therefore…"

"I agree." She says. With her hand palms openly held up as if to consolidate her case "According to all available literature the alignment of Omega molecules is a mere theoretical possibility. Starfleet is not able to create it, or just to observe it for that matter, and even if we could we simply wouldn't be able to preserve it."

She's explaining to me what I already know; "You state that the Omega molecule can only exist in theory, but never in practice, due to the heavy pull of the polar-covalent-bond every single omega-particle would have to have with it's surrounding molecules-"

"…collapsing them, causing a chain reaction and a possible energy surge that could tear through subspace. All factors and values that would be needed to align Omega into the perfect molecule are endlessly complex and unpredictable. Starfleet is nowhere near that kind of technological advancement. We'd end up with a catastrophe instead of with perfection. It's simply not possible. Not to mention unethical." I finished her sentence as my enthusiasm exceeded my sense of protocol.

For a moment that enthusiasm had even exceeded my trepidation, but now that I realize I had spoken before my turn, my tension comes back full throttle and I could swear my chair is going through a measurable growth spurt.

She looks at me in silence, untouched by my presumptuousness.

"I don't know _how_ it's possible. But it _is_ possible."

The 'Omega particle' had just recently entered the public domain. It was pulled from the realm of legends and telltales and into the world of physics as it became known as a mysterious, but also a very dangerous, particle not to be handled by unqualified hands. As it so often is with matters that would excite the masses, the secret was unfolded by deadline-driven journalists looking for their next scoop. They had been following a lead thrown at them by some overeager Starfleet officer who had thought himself to be above the law, and was now suffering the consequences on in penal colony in some distant sector.

Omega was now considered to be the Holy Grail within the controllable-universe-paradigm that seemed to grow in popularity as exploration and technological advancement leaped forward in large, hurried paces unable to be kept up with. The challenges, mysteries and boundaries could never be wild, dangerous or seemingly impossible enough or hoards of people would be eager to challenge them. Omega, being the newest arrival, was a welcome distraction from everyday life and news concerning it was immensely popular.

After a short pause I was told about Janeways run-in with Omega while still in the Delta quadrant. Aboard her ship, the molecule had started to align (what exactly had caused the alignment was still a mystery to her), but apparently one of her crewmembers who had been fascinated by the perfection of Omega had actually witnessed Omega in its completed form.

"You will read voyagers files and you will get familiar with the raw data of the happening to which I have gained the sole right. You will get in contact with Seven of Nine, the crewmember who was so passionately involved, and whose contact information I will give to you. You will rewrite you proposal, starting from scratch, and I expect your first draft by the end of this month."

I'm dumbfounded. "If that would even be possible, my grading professor… the commission of…-"

She holds up her hand. "We will publish a ground breaking article. We will tell scholars throughout this quadrant of ultimate perfection and how we already know more of it than the Borg themselves."

In reaction to my disbelief she added "You want me to be your mentor? I say we write one hell of a thesis and let you graduate with a bang."

My lips form an uneasy smile. I think I may be in over my head. Who does she think I am? I am at the tip of my now immense chair. "I would have no literature to refer to..."

She shrugs. "Refer to me…"

I have my protest ready "That's not exactly conform the rules of.."

"…anyone says anything, send them to me. I'll handle them. Listen, if you're not interested in this project, I have little over 1600 students who are more than willing to take your place."

"No, I'll do it, I'm on it." I hear myself say. What am I thinking, I can't do this.

She smiled, content with her achievement. "That's what I thought."

A high pitched beep sounds along with a tiny light that starts flashing on the workstation on her desk. Janeway pushes a button and demands "Yes?".

"It's Jenkins ma'am" a voice replies.

"Send him in."

"Now," She stands up. I'm somewhat overwhelmed for I was under the impression that we where just getting started, where she is already putting an end to our meeting.

"I'm afraid I have a previous engagement. I will sent you Sevens contactinfo and all the datafiles you'll need, along with some contextual findings."

She was now standing next to me with one hand on my shoulder, guiding me to the door. "Listen, I'm sure-"

She was interrupted by the door chime. "Enter." As soon as the door opened a man came hurrying in.

Telling by the pips on his collar and by the expression on his face, he was a Captain with some serious troubles on his mind.

"Jenkins" She greets him, "-news already?"

I'm a little disappointed that her attention has completely shifted to this hurrying newcomer, for I was under the impression that she was about to say something comforting. Something that was supposed to ease my mind about the predicament I found myself in.

"Diplomat Borglünd has failed to convince the Primark of the humanitarian nature of the mission. All evacuation ships must therefore undergo tedious inspections. All medical supplies are currently being…-"

Jenkins report is cut short as the doors close behind me and I find myself in the long corridor outside her office. Still dumbfounded at how different this meeting had been compared to how I had played it out in my mind.

Unwilling, I slowly walk over the thick red carpet toward the turbolift and past Janeways assistant who is lost in her work and doesn't take notice of me.

I pause in front of her. Hoping, for some reason, that she will give me the words of comfort that Janeway would have given me, but had neglected to do so thanks to Captain Hurry.

Realizing how silly this hope is I step into the turbolift and push the buttons that correspond with my destination.

The soft hum of the lift offers a gentle transition from the surreal world I just came from and my own normal, everyday reality.

My reality; where chairs don't grow as you sit down in them and clocks don't tick to scare you off.

I tell myself that next time I will be more assertive. I will deliver work that is so good that she will have no choice but to believe in my project. Next time I'll be even better prepared. Next time I will show backbone.

I step out of the turbolift. Eager to tell Collin of my experience and of the intriguing mission I find myself embarking on. Eager to get started.

**Janeways POV:**

As Jenkins is still barking details at me (as deliciously down to business as I can always expect him to be) the severity of the situation downs on me yet again and for a moment I loose myself in a motherly feeling of care as I think of Daniel and what I ask of him.

Jenkins words pass me by as I look at the door that Daniel has just stepped out through, and at the drink he's barely touched.

He's probably wrapping his mind around what I just told him. He's probably already checking his message box for my data, eager to get started. I remember how naïve and innocent he had looked sitting in front of me. His only worry being whether or not I was positive about his work.

He doesn't have a clue as to what I'm getting him in to. He has no idea of what he's about to face in a new reality filled with political schemes, fraud, lies and most of all violence and danger. If only he'd known that I was contemplating putting him trough all this or whether to just tell him to get the hell out of my office. He'd be devastated, there's no doubt about that, but he'd be better off.

The situation seems unfair; everything he's has ever known will either change or go up in air. Daniel however, naïve and unknowing as he is, is eager to take part in it.

And it's all just because I tell him to.

I try to return my attention towards Jenkins and focus on the matter at hand, still overly conscious about my every action, but reassuring myself of the dire need. I can't help but feel deeply disturbed about what the future may hold for Daniel if he isn't up to the task. A task the poor boy can't even begin to fathom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"...so why are we in Nepal?"

Janeway had been reading the latest updates Jenkins had send as a mug of coffee stood cold and forgotten on the table in front of her. She had been so engorged that she hadn't heard him walk up behind her.

His question snapped her back to reality and she looked up at him.

He seemed huge in comparison to the ancient little coffeehouse where she had arranged for them to meet. Almost like a father who was clumsily looking for his child in some children's climbing structure, desperately trying to fit his oversized limbs through foam forests, slides and cargo nets.

The little detached building in the middle of Taumadhi square was entirely made of ancient bricks and Newari-carved wood, which gave it a cozy and authentic touch. Janeway had picked a seat on the balcony which went round the establishment and was so narrow that besides a walking path for waiters, there was only room for a small table with two chairs facing each other.

Sitting back to back with the next customer strangely formed a sense of intimacy since everyone was somewhat leaning over their table in an attempt to respect their neighbors' privacy. The scene of adults scooched together like this had reminded Janeway of giddy teenagers sharing secrets that weren't meant for ears others than those in front of them.

Although her seat offered a view of the square and it's ancient buildings, the balcony was in the shadow and felt somewhat secluded; both in thanks to a large overhanging roof.

It was a dry, hot afternoon, and the square beneath them had reminded her of an ants nest filled with salesmen, tourists, children running around en groups of women sharing the latest gossip. The high, overshadowed terrace offered an oasis of tranquility; away from the chaos.

"Because it's far enough from San Francisco but not so far that I would have to explain my absence." She stated in response to his playful inquiry.

"Besides" she continued while standing up "I figured an archeologist like you would appreciate a beautiful surrounding like Bhaktapur."

Her warm smile and genuine hug were reciprocated in a way that betrayed the intimacy that existed between them. An ignorant bystander would have mistaken the meeting for a carefree lunch between two old friends, catching up.

As he sat down in front of her, his demeanor changed however; "Is it beautiful? I hadn't noticed."

Over the years she had learned to read his face like an open book. A mere twitch in the corner of his mouth, or a slight raise of his eyebrow (detectable only by carefully set measuring equipment) never went by unnoticed. The warmth she had recognized in his smile had already made way for a look of exhaustion.

"Chakotay..." She reached over the small wooden table to hold his hand.

"Tell me you have good news." The uncertainty in his eyes made her wish she could oblige him.

"I do, but it never comes without its counterpart."

He raised his eyebrows.

"…bad news." She explained.

**Chakotays POV**

As she explained to me that Starfleets admiralty considered their newly formed friendship with the Romulans too vulnerable a relation to interfere within their space I couldn't help but notice that she had a button missing. Her white, linen blouse was casually rolled up at the sleeves and a little curly string was frantically begging for attention at about the height of her collar bone.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" She was looking at me with concern. "I've exhausted all the official channels. The war is just too fresh in everyone's memory. They won't risk it."

Confused, she follows the path of my stare and I quickly tear my eyes off her blouse and gaze over the square with its supposed beauty.

"The Romulans are that adamant, are they?"

"Well, frankly, I think if it wasn't for the Romulans, Starfleet still wouldn't punch trough on behalf of the Cardassian primark. He's set on salvaging his cargo and he's not about to step down. "

She's interrupted by a waiter "Good afternoon! -would you like something to drink? -if you like I can bring you our menu; today's special is a spicy chicken curry with basmati rice and naan-bread." Without looking up from his handheld the skinny boy was already entering some info (our table number?) and his well-practiced waterfall of words gave the impression that he wasn't planning on lingering at our table for very long.

Kathryn, never letting anyone rush her, takes her time in placing our order.

She always takes the lead in trivial things such as ordering meals since she's so used to being in command. It's become second nature. I remember one time when Paris had made arrangements for dinner to celebrate the end of a period full of voyager-debriefings. We had all been eager to leave the tiresome bureaucrats for what they were and move on. As Kathryn had stepped out of her taxi it hadn't occurred to her to pay the pilot or even to close the hatch behind her. The angry pilot had had to come to our dining table to collect his fee and told her that '_you Starfleet brass are all the same'_. Anyone who knew her though knew better than to mistake habit for arrogance.

"I would like one coffee, black, and one herbal tea. You can take this one, it's gone cold." She turns to me as she asks "Would you like something to eat? You look like you could use a decent meal."

It strikes me that after years of fussing over her eating habits she finally gets to return the favor.

I decide to indulge her and tell the waiter to bring whatever it was he just recommended.

The vertical line between her eyebrows disappears as she's obviously relieved at my willingness to eat. "Don't let this get the best of you, Chakotay, even though it must be difficult not to, being right in the middle of it."

For days on end I had hardly slept and all my actions were done on automatic pilot. I felt as though I had been running on end and was now on my final sprint. The last couple of hundred meters where the muscles in my legs started to fill with acid and my surroundings passed by in slow motion as oxygen was in short supply and adrenaline was all I had left.

Detached from the world around me, everything I did was without emotion and out of rational necessity. I guess it's a short-term failsafe built in my brain, saving the emotional repercussions for later.

"Knowing that you're out here fighting the fight keeps us all going." I try to lift her spirits "So what was the good news?"

"I've been able to obtain the exclusive legal rights to all our data concerning Omega." I can't suppress a chuckle as the pride of this accomplishment is apparent on her face.

"That must have been a challenge."

"You have no idea! It took ages of lobbying. But I knew when to stand on my feet and when to get down on my knees and I got it done."

Still gloating she accepts the drinks as the waiter puts them down in front of us. I wonder if job requirements for these waiters included having a BMI below 18 since maneuvering on these narrow paths while holding dishes and beverages required not only skill but also slender hips.

"How did you ever come up with this place?"

She dismisses my question with a quick shrug. "I now have the rights for a period of ten years and the clause about not putting it to ill use is about as thick as the bible."

"I'm sure." still unconvinced of my appreciation, she keeps assuring me of the incredible lengths she's had to go trough. I enjoy being convinced and having her full and undivided attention so I withhold my appraisal for a while.

I'm glad I came to this coffeehouse. The fact that it had the size of a dollhouse only made it more suiting for a meeting with Kathryn who seemed to fit perfectly in these surroundings. It came as a shock to me just how much I welcomed this little get away with her, away from the exhausting sufferings back in Romulan space.

Earlier, when I had come running up to the balcony of the coffeehouse and as I was apologizing for bumping into the first table that had been surprisingly close to the stairs, I had already been looking for her.

My slow-motion, adrenaline rushed world had come to a sudden halt at the moment I turned a corner and found her lost in some reading, neglecting to drink her coffee.

A load fell off my shoulders and I was thankful for the one and only distraction I could allow myself to indulge in at this precarious time; Kathryn Janeway, hair down and out of uniform.

Seeing her, working diligently and overflowing with good intentions, I had felt a rush of guilt getting a hold of me. I knew she'd been working around the clock, putting her precious career at risk, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was a bad influence. I know that she would have given this her everything, regardless of my intervention, but would she also have strayed _off_ the Starfleet path if it hadn't been for me?

Letting her struggle for my praise any longer suddenly seems cruel.

"I don't know if I can say this without sounding condescending, but I'm proud of you Kathryn. You're obviously very influential and you know how to put it to good use. You really pulled trough."

Satisfied with my compliments she sits back and looks at me with content.

"So what's his name?" I know it's a touchy subject.

She sighs and averts her eyes. "Daniel." In a pathetic attempt she pretends the square has completely caught her attention with its pompous ruins and activity that could tip that of a beehive. "His name is Daniel."

**Daniels POV**

"_Basta!_ We can't make exceptions, youngman, it wouldn't be long before the next poor soul came knocking at our door!"

Just as the attendant of the hovercraft wanted to close the door in my face, a banner of the Madrid soccer team on the wall behind him caught my attention. I had forgotten the name of the club but that wasn't going to keep me from getting on this transport so I decided to try and get the attendants goodwill.

"My little boy just won his first soccer match by scoring the deciding goal. He hated that I wasn't able to be there for the game but when I got his message 10 minutes ago I decided to try for the last transport after all."

The door paused midway and I decide to try a different approach "It's today's last transport; you won't have to deal with delays for the rest of the day."

The tall attendant, who was wearing a mustache like no one had since Victorian times, sighed and I realized he just needed one final nudge.

"His name is Eric, he'd be so grateful; having a dad in Starfleet means quality time with his old man is scarce." I pause and as I'm padding my pockets and check the zippers of my bag I add "I'm sure I have a picture here somewhere…"

Convinced by my bluff but unwilling to wait for my search he opens the door and steps out. "..._madre madonna_…" He mumbles to himself as he pushes some buttons and the craft immediately winds down until no more engine sounds are to be heard. A hatch opens and I'm free to step aboard.

"You tell that boy of yours to keep up the good stuff; those thick Starfleet skulls of yours couldn't head a ball if it came right at you!" I foolishly nod in agreement. "And don't think you can ever get away with this again!"

"No, no, I won't, thank you! You're doing us a huge favor! Thank you!" I yell over my shoulder as I run towards the craft that's already reinitializing engines for take off.

Once inside, I ignore the accusing looks of fellow passengers and I decide to pick a seat on the other end of the vehicle. Relieved, and tired from running to the transit station, I sit down in front of a girl who's chewing gum and looks at me with veined disinterest. She wears too much make up, probably in a failed attempt to look older, and won't hide the fact that she watches me closely as I open my laptop and start working.

My meeting with Janeway was two weeks ago and I've been drowning in my work ever since; trying to juggle my research with my regular classes and desperately failing in my attempts to not let it interfere with my social life and good night's sleep.

The list of people to interview was never-ending and the amount of data that I had to consume in record time was ridiculous. Not to mention complex. I had been staring at these values for hours and hours but I felt as though I was just starting to comprehend the basics.

Janeway had assured me that she didn't expect me to come up with the key to the alignment of Omega. After all, highly qualified scholars and fleet officers couldn't figure out what was needed to keep the perfect balance. She 'merely' expected me to work out a theory and hypothesize from there.

My mind wanders as I think of my father. I had just visited my hometown for the first time since my Omega-obsession because my father had demanded I'd celebrate my birthday back home. I'd been too late as a meeting with Seven had taken longer than expected. Once home I had found my father sleeping in his fauteuil with an uncut birthday cake on the table, a silly birthdayhat on his head and a wrapped present on his lab. The sight broke my heart.

Ever since my mother had died a long time ago my father had done everything he could to maintain family life. When I left for the academy I vowed to always come home for every birthday and Christmas since I knew my father would do his best to turn his house into a welcoming home. It didn't matter that it was just for the two of us, he would always make a huge effort. I loved him for it but I also felt guilty as I considered an effort not to disappoint him.

With the guests gone, and the moon already in the sky, my father was overjoyed as I woke him. He told me he had given up hope of my coming and how our family and friends had been incredibly proud that I was working with no other than admiral Janeway. We talked for a long time and I welcomed his reassuring words as I told him how uncertain I was about my ability and how overwhelmed I was by the work that had to be done. His fatherly logic had felt like a warm blanket even though it consisted of empty phrases and pointless truths ranging from '_she didn't choose you for no reason', _to_ 'she's been a cadet herself, she knows your predicament'_.

After I had said my goodbyes I realized that I had to catch the last transport if I was going to make my appointment with Seven tomorrow. I'm sure there would be dire consequences if I canceled. Seven was a strict supervisor and her opinion of me, I'm sure, would affect that of Janeway. For a moment nothing had seemed as important as getting on that transport. It was as if my whole thesis depended on it. Beating myself up over running late, I ran to make it to the transit station in time, which I almost didn't.

Looking out the viewport I realize the hovercraft has already left Spain, my place of birth, as I could make out the ocean in the small area that was lit up by the crafts lights. I start making myself comfortable in preparation for the next hour, which I will spend going over yet more data, but an incoming message alert catches my eye.

I carefully read the words as my mouth goes dry and I feel drops of sweat forming on my forehead.

I read the message again as my mind slowly starts to take in the words: _'Daniel Arias…hereby summoned…Starfleet Intelligence…criminal court…face charges…flight risk…secrecy…Janeway'_.

I was to report at Starfleet intelligence first thing tomorrow, bringing all the data I had concerning my research. I was not to speak of this to anyone, especially not admiral Janeway. If I was not to follow these precise orders I could be charged with obstruction of justice.

I pushed my thump on the designated print-reader to verify that I had received and read the message. There was no going back now, I had to show up. But I had nothing to hide did I? What could this be about? I knew nothing about Janeway, so why would they want to question me about her? Or was this about me?

I desperately start to think of information I could have that might be of interest but I can't come up with anything about either the admiral or myself. Perhaps this was standard procedure for anyone who took an interest in Omega?

The look on my face must have been an intense one since the girl with too much make up on stood and went to sit with people on the far end of the vehicle.

Besides being intimidated by this strange turn of events, I have to admit to myself that I'm quite intrigued and I resist the urge to hail Collin to hear his opinion on the matter.

Tonight was going to be another sleepless night. But this time it wasn't because of my work. I now had something even more pressing to occupy my mind with.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

As soon as the turboliftdoors hushed open to clear her path, the admiral entered the large room in an adamant step. Her assistant was seated behind a desk facing the lift and opened her mouth to offer an obligatory _'goodmorning'_ along with a dry update of messages and points of agenda. She was interrupted in this daily routine by a man who jumped up from the sofa on Janeway's right hand side of the room.

"Chakotay…" Janeway was visibly stunned to see him "I thought you'd be back on Dorvan II by now."

Janeway dropped some padds on her assistant's desk, who welcomed them with a tired look. Giving up her attempt to update the admiral she immediately started scrolling down the first one, all the while making notes on her workstation.

"I had to see you again."

Ignoring his attempt at making a connection Janeway turned to her left and started heading down the corridor towards her office.

"Well, you shouldn't have come."

Not about to be let down Chakotay followed her down the carpeted hallway. As he crossed pictures of Voyagers crew and Kathryn shaking hands with all sorts of respected officials he knew full well that all he was going to find in her office was a cold shoulder and that the intimacy he had enjoyed earlier had been left behind in a coffeehouse in Nepal.

**Chakotays POV**

I followed her in her office where she had already taken the seat behind her desk; her slender hands were going over her workstation like the ball in a pinball machine.

"Altering profile…" a computers voice stated.

She was still wearing her coat and the rain had made her shoulders, hair and face wet.

I stand in the middle of the room, not sure of how I should approach her.

"We just do what we always do, Kathryn, we stick to the plan and we'll see it through."

No reaction.

"Profile altered" Even the computer seems to disregard me.

She stands up and heads towards a bookcase that covers the whole right wall of the office; still seemingly ignoring me.

"We've been in situations like this before…-"

She is halfway across the room and mere feet away from me as she snaps; "We have _not_ been in situations like this before!" Her hands had formed fists as she hissed the words at me. "It's Starfleet we're dealing with here, there's no going back; no home we still get to go to if it all goes up in flames."

Taken aback by her fierceness, I'm glad to see she pulls herself together. She holds her hands horizontally with her palms facing the floor, as if to calm herself down, and inhales slowly. She shifts her attention away from me and continues with what she was doing.

As she grabs a game of chess from the bookcase that's built around the main viewscreen, she walks past me again and puts the game down on the table in the seating area where it is now in plain sight. I know the meaning of this seemingly futile action and watch her as she fusses over the board with her back toward me.

This is probably my last chance to speak to her in what could be quite a while and I feel something burning at the tip of my tongue. I silently curse the unforgiving clock as it seems determined to remind me of what I've already lost; moments that I should have made better use of. With every second passing by, my time is slipping through my fingers much like melting butter, unable to be returned to its original form.

Finished with her frantic redecorating she stands up and walks back to her desk. Not taking the time to sit down she bends over her workstation and enters some new commands.

Finally satisfied, she stands, leans on one hip and places a hand on her side, leaving her coat to hang open and reveal her matching uniform.

Her free hand pensively caresses her chin while she makes sure she hasn't forgotten anything.

My presence interrupts her chain of thought and she lifts her eyebrows accusingly. She does it to intimidate me but she should know better. I easily recognize every trick she has to validate her protective shield and they've all lost their effect on me. She lowers her head and looking at me from under her eyebrows she somewhat reminds me of a hawk.

She walks around her desk in a slow, menacing way as she starts speaking in a low voice.

"Daniel has probably told Starfleet intelligence everything he knows by now. Gears are turning. This place will soon be crowded with investigative officials, forensics and computer annalists. Patras still hasn't sent the coordinates and there's no way of knowing if Daniel will pull through." She's now standing in front of me and wants to give a fearless impression as her face is inches away. Her eyes never waver from mine.

"Do what we always do? Stick with the plan? Then tell me this Chakotay"

She inhales and I shift my weight from one leg to another, patiently waiting for what's to come.

"The plan was…" Her pupils move to the upper right corners of her eyes to convince me of the fact that she's digging in her memory.

"…and please correct me if I'm wrong…" which of course she doesn't mean.

"You staying far away from me so you wouldn't be associated with this…" she lifts her left hand until it's in mid air and I know it will move slightly up and down on the rhythm of her speech in an attempt to give her words some extra weight.

"…giving you the opportunity to nudge Daniel in the right direction after I'm gone." She acts puzzled for a while.

"I don't believe I was informed of you changing the plan to come here after all." Looking straight at me again she pretends to double check "I wasn't informed, was I?"

I look down and let out a sigh.

"Which, if we do indeed do what we always do that is, should be standard procedure, should it not?" She lifts her shoulders and shakes her head in short, quick moves. I'm now supposed to believe that she's completely baffled at my immensely unpredictable behavior.

"We can't afford social visits Chakotay." She turns her back from me and expects me to say my goodbyes.

Her overly practiced mannerisms didn't do the trick though. After all, I know that every hand gesture and eye movement functions as a building block for the wall she so carefully constructs whenever she's stressed, worried, angry or worst of all; scared. The more mannerisms I see, the more I become convinced of her despair.

I don't indulge her and cut straight to the point. "It's okay to be nervous Kathryn, I'd be worried if you wouldn't be."

Acknowledging that I had burst through her wall, leaving her nothing to hide behind, she pinches the bridge of her nose and starts pacing the room. Her voice returned to its erratic and slightly out of control tone "What is it that you want from me Chakotay?"

I let out a sigh.

"What?"

A short pause.

"Well?"

She halts and I inhale, ready to answer, but before I can, she adds "And please don't give me some fable or legend. I couldn't possibly bring up the patience."

I rub my eyes as we both know that that one remark gets to me more than her whole repertoire of cocky manners. I shake it off. She wants to insult me, or even pick a fight, just so she won't have to deal with me.

"I know you thought that once you would be home everything would be different. It hurts seeing you so disappointed in life."

"What's thát got to do with anythi—" she's surprised at the cracking of her own voice and her eyes now have the bright shimmer only tears can cause. She stands several meters from me and raises her chin in defiance.

I choose my words carefully.

"Once this is all over we can all start living our lives again. We can do whatever it was we were doing before the Caretaker made a mess of things."

She seems tired of playing games to and finally gives me a straight answer; "I don't know, Chakotay, I can't even remember that life."

She pauses as she tries to recollect, but eventually pulls the corners of her mouth down and shakes her head.

"I think I'll always feel the need to serve a greater cause. Besides, what would I do? Get a civilian job? Buy a house on the countryside? Built the perfect sandcastle? It all seems so pointless."

"I don't mean to burst your bubble, but it seems to me like being an admiral isn't exactly giving you fulfillment either."

I swallow as I collect 5 seconds of courage and say what I came here to say "Besides," I tug my ear "…our friendship has gone as far as it could within the boundaries imposed by our command, with those restrictions gone, we could see if there's more between us."

"… more between us." She repeats. It's not a question. She's just checking if she's understood correctly as I've just broken a huge taboo.

Her eyes slowly wander downwards and linger at my feet.

"Listen…" she starts…still looking at my feet.

I interrupt her because I don't want to pressure her, or perhaps because I'm afraid of what she was about to say.

"Like I said, you can live your own life now that you're home. What role I have in it is up to you but if we let other things intervene it's because we let it, not because we have to endure it."

I see she hasn't considered this before and as I hear myself say the words I realize that I hadn't either. We no longer have to endure anything. We can make our own choices now.

For a moment I think of my graduation from Starfleet academy and the party my parents had organized.

Festivities in our home always evolved according to the same pattern: as my mother and my aunts would pack leftovers from home made delicacies that could feed us and three orphanages for a week, my father would invite the men out to the front porch for a pipe with Ballantines (or the occasional home made brew that my uncle would bring and could be considered a fire hazard).

They would have endless discussions, the usual subject was Starfleet and how it focused too much on advancement and progress and therefore neglected heritage and tradition. -Either that or the finely shaped behind of Nakoma; the local owner of an incent-store, who could never understand why the previous owner (an old lady with gout) couldn't keep the business running with all these nice gentlemen in town who couldn't seem to get enough of her incents.

Excitement would heighten as the Ballentines grew low and I had always kept my distance of this ritual.

My graduation night had been different. My father had told the men to smoke their pipe in the backyard (since my mother couldn't much appreciate the smell in her curtains), and asked _me_ to join him on the porch.

He started with "Today you have gone trough Starfleet's equivalent of the rite to becoming a man, and therefore I hope that you will let me perform _my_ rite of welcoming ones son into adulthood. I wish to tell you what it means to be a man, Chakotay." With an alcohol induced slur he started to explain "You're entering a world in which everything has its counterpart; rights will come with responsibilities, pleasure with work, indulgence with measure, freedom with law and love with needs. It's important that you will find your place on each of these spectrums and, by doing so, find peace of mind since any form of excess, and you can take this from your old man, will eventually bring chaos to your mind." I had feared that his preach would last as long as his bottle would and his difficulty in pronouncing the words provided his wisdom with a sarcastic undertone. What had always stuck by me however was his final piece of advice "You are a free man, Chakotay, and therefore you have no excuse for not letting your life overflow with love and joy. Fear not regret, rather allow yourself to make mistakes as wisdom will join old age, and old age, my boy, will be yours before you know it."

Wisdom of the old often falls deaf on stubbornness of the young, and stubborn I was.

Now that I was standing in front of Kathryn with my heart in my hands and my courage in my toes I see the worth of his words like never before and I share my version of them with her.

"I came, as a friend, with an offer and a request. I came now because I may not have the chance to tell you this later, but most of all, I came to tell you that you should _think_ about what you want from your life; only you can fill it with love and happiness and you have no excuses anymore since you can be free of command if only you _choose_ to be."

She looks at me almost as if she didn't hear a word of what I had just said. Stripped from her usual confidence, and still wet from the rain, her coat suddenly gave an oversized impression.

The moment lasts and I realize that her chronometer is incredibly loud. How can she work with such incessant ticking?

"Well" She says finally "…it looks like I'll soon have plénty of time to think about it."

I did what I came here for. No regrets; my father could be proud. I decide to finally let her be and give her the space she needs to do what must be done. I take her in, one last time, as I silently say my goodbye.

Pulling up my coat in preparation for the rain I head out the door and into the corridor, knowing full well that the image of her, soaking wet, drops on the carpet and stripped of her safety walls, will hold off my sleep for many nights to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Unable to keep his patience, Daniel didn't bother with the chime and forcefully banged the door. The loud rain that came pouring down in gallons at a time deprived him of the dramatic bangs he had been hoping for; it didn't matter though; he knew his blasts of anger had had the desired effect as a distorted figure on the other side of the glass stained door came approaching in a fast pace.

"You set me up!" he shouts in utter disappointment as she opens the door.

Without saying a word Janeway stepped aside and held out her arm gesturing for him to enter the apartment.

"Six hours and fifty-three minutes." He barged passed her, through a small hallway and into an open living area.

"Six hours and fifty-three minutes." Daniel turns and points his finger at Janeway, who, at his amazement, seems overly preoccupied by the wet footprints he's leaving on her carpet.

"I'm sure you wonder what it is I'm talking about…?"

His voice is loud and he starts pacing the room with large steps.

"Is it today's marathon-record? Could it be the average waiting time at the Academy's student helpdesk? Is it perhaps how long I was questioned in a room with nothing but a halogen lamp burning on my retina and a tiny metal chair that's, just in case you're interested to know, left a still visible imprint on my butt?"

His eyes are unadjusted to the darkness in the room and in his frenzied pacing he bumps into furniture; almost knocking over a lamp.

"Because _that's_ a bingo!" He stands still in the middle of the room and expects his revelation to make an impact on her.

She calmly sits down in a large lounge chair, crosses her legs and picks up the drink that she had left on the nearby coffee table.

This reaction, or rather the lack thereof, adds to the confusion that was already tormenting Daniels brain. Desperately trying to make sense of things, he continues his pacing but now in a way only a disheveled science professor would; shut off from the world around him, talking to himself, obsessing over the interpretation of axioms as some complex theorem keeps eluding him.

In his attempt to find clarity he returns to the basics; almost as if he tries to remember where he'd last seen a lost key; "Based on your data I've established that the electronegativities within the Omega molecule can be balanced to a value near zero by counter electronic pulses of a very precise strength. The pulls omitted within the Omega structure will be isolated in the internal covalent bonds and electrons from surrounding atoms will no longer suffer attraction; preventing the chain reaction." For a moment he exits the fast train that is his thought process and looks at Janeway to see if she agrees so far.

She nods slowly and seems unimpressed.

"Ever since this discovery, my focus had been on the counter pulses; I wanted to figure out the needed strength and duration of the pulses, but it was almost as if the data tried to deliberately mislead me..."

This pikes Janeway's attention.

"…different particles had different values. I even considered some sort of rotating force that jumped from atom to atom…"

He makes large gestures with his hands as if he was inside a gigantic Omega molecule.

"… enforcing atomic bonds at the very moment they were about to collapse before jumping to the next…"

Daniel makes an actual jump while Janeway still follows his chaotic movements as if she's closely watching a tennis match, with her eyes rapidly moving from one side of the field to the other.

"…and then it happens..."

As he stands still for a short moment, and his eyes have finally adjusted to the dimly lit room Daniel notices the presence of a tall dark man standing near a window in a corner of the room. "Who's he?" He asks to no one in particular.

Daniel however has no time to further consider it and his litany continues.

"…my interrogator asks me how analysis from my data suggests that countering pulses could enforce alignment, where earlier data, scarce as it may be, showed that countering electric pulses would completely disintegrate the polar-covalent-bonds; dissolving the complex Omega molecule."

He swiftly turned to Janeway "I had never even compared my data, or rather _your_ data, to that of other scientists."

"Because they're classified" Janeway fills in the blank.

"Yes, and by the way, why aren't yours?" Daniel asks.

His hand makes a waving gesture as if to dismiss this matter to be dealt with at a later time, his current line of thought was too precious to be cut short.

"I'm faced with a mystery…" For a while his obsessive reasoning reminds Janeway of the Doctor. "_My data_ is showing _me_, what earlier data _wasn't_ showing scientists before me; yet they were _far_ more qualified than I am!"

"It's called scientific progress, Daniel" she adds resolute.

"Right, yes …right."

A pause

"…Of course."

Still not done he takes up his pacing and continues "Then this guy asks me about Seven, about you, about when we first met…"

He's completely lost in thought as he mindlessly grabs Janeway's drink from her hands and takes a sip. As he recognizes the dry flavored taste from their first meeting he spits a mouthful of it back in the glass; "What is this stuff, anyway?" Daniel returns the glass to her and Janeway's disgusted look at the beverage, that's now turned bubbly with his spit, is lost on him.

He walks away from her as he muses "...They showed me footage of you arguing with someone in your office. They kept asking pointless questions about my friend Collin and my dad, about my previous research and even about what I had had for breakfast. They where constantly misinterpreting my words, completely changing their meaning, up to the point where I was so confused_ I_ even thought my answers were lacking credibility."

He turned to her again "They showed me pictures of several Klingons and of some Cardassian Primark. They asked if I knew a Doctor with no name and they kept hammering on about some Patras. Who is that guy anyway?"

Not giving Janeway a chance to answer he continues.

"But do you know what struck me the most? They asked me about a man I had interviewed over a commline in an attempt to collect information for my thesis. I remember he was very excited, '_glad to hear Starfleet is looking at Omega in a different way'_ he had said. He told me he had built an Omega containment chamber that was based on the idea of countering electronic pulses. My interrogators had intercepted the conversation and they let me listen to the whole audiofile."

Daniel speaks in a softer voice as he says "I felt ridiculously stupid as they asked me: '_you find a new, groundbreaking way to contain Omega… then this stranger shows up who has already built you the machine; ready for use, and this doesn't strike you as odd?'_ I tried to explain to them that my analysis was in an early stage, that the idea of counterpulses hadn't even crossed my mind yet! For a moment I feared they were going to sue me for plagiarism as I might've stolen this mans idea!"

He gets down on one knee so he's at eyelevel with Janeway who is still sitting down.

"It was obvious what they were insinuating."

Hope was in his eyes as tension rises.

"I decided to come and ask you myself…"

As he slowly leaned in he whispered: "…am I writing a thesis, or am I building a weapon of mass destruction?"

**Daniels POV**

I await her answer as she as she treats her drink to a disgusted look. She finds it revolting to? Why does she drink it then? This day is full of mysteries.

She sighs and rolls her right shoulder as if she's bracing herself for what's to come. She raises her head with her eyes closed and opens them shortly after, ready to face me.

"No."

It's short. It's clear. It's a relief.

"You are not building a weapon. You are building an energy source."

She puts her glass on the coffeetable and folds her hands in her lab.

"I hope you're not one of those dandies that know all about the affairs of holo-stars but never watch a decent newsvid."

I'm puzzled at its relevance. "No, I watch the news."

"Then you'll know that a mining freighter recently exploded in close vicinity to human colonies within Romulan space."

Desperate for clarity I'm hanging on her every word. Her lips are like the pixels of a viewscreen that's about to reveal winning lottery numbers; watched intently and with anticipation. "Yes, I've heard"

"The Dorvan-colonies are in dire need of evacuation as a huge cloud of Theta is closing in on them; it's already having horrible effects on the colonists' health and immediate action is paramount."

I nod in understanding.

"The Romulans allow Starfleet to evacuate but only if we get rid of all the Theta-garbage within their space, and herein lies the tricky part; the freighter belonged to a Cardassian Primark who is in desperate need of that cargo since 13% of Cardassia's economy depends on it, however, the cost and complexity of the salvaging operation his beyond his means."

"Then why doesn't Starfleet do it for him?"

"Because, Daniel, Theta is on the Alliance list of illegal energy supplies; if Starfleet would just hand over this amount of theta to the Cardassians there would be dire consequences for the Fleet's position within the Alliance."

I understand the predicament.

"So where does Omega come in? And what do I have to do with any of this?"

"Omega could be an alternative source of energy for Cardassia, it's too new to be on the Alliance's list, you see. If we give the Primark Omega, the theta-cargo will have lost its value and Starfleet is free to clean up the garbage _and_ save the colonists."

"I see."

"You, Daniel, are my failsafe." She continues. "As you may understand by now, Starfleet is in the dark about this deal. I operate on my own and I'm very likely to go to jail for this. In fact, Starfleet Intelligence is searching my office as we speak."

"…they can't get to _you_ though; Daniel, _you_ can finish the deal with the Primark and save thousands of lives."

I let the situation sink in. I suddenly realize how tired I am. Not to mention wet and cold.

"Two things I don't understand." I say. "Why me? Why not, I don't know, Seven?"

"Because you can get away with it Daniel, you don't yet have the codified responsibilities every member of Starfleet has, therefore you are not legally accountable for this like a graduated Starfleet ensign would be. You were working under my authorization, and for a civilian, or a student like yourself, that's enough to not get charged. I knew Starfleet Intelligence would catch me sooner or later, and that they'd likely put every possible accomplice into custody. I needed someone outside their grasp and who was eager to assist me. Also, you have the skill and knowledge to do research that I couldn't be seen doing as I'd attract too much attention. You really were the perfect candidate, Daniel."

I feel somewhat violated as she assesses my value in such rational terms. It feels cold and premeditated.

I stand up and look down on her.

"One last thing, admiral: what if I want no part in your little game. Why would I want to hand over the most dangerous data we have when I'm not able to oversee the consequences?"

"Because I'm ordering you to."

"You just said it yourself, admiral; this is an illegal deal. You're not acting as a Starfleet official; you're acting as a natural person, a criminal no less."

"Then do it because it will save lives; thousands of them."

"Who's to know what will cause bigger damage? The Cardassians can't work with this kind of thing. Even if they _could_ synthesize Omega, they couldn't use it properly."

Janeway stays calm, but keeps trying to convince me "You know that, and I know that, but the Primark doesn't. They're planning on a series of trial and error based experiments to come up with the right pulse-strenght—"

I interrupt her "That's like looking for a needle in a haystack!"

I sit down considering the dilemma I'm faced with; "They'll have destroyed whole regions of space before they'd even get near the correct values."

I consider my words. "And then if they would, I don't know if that'd be such a good thing."

I shake my head and stand up.

"It's dangerous information; it could change the balance of power in this whole quadrant. I think you've lost your perspective."

I pause.

"When we first met you said I should remain true to myself, that my stubbornness was actually the reason you chose me. Watch as I'm about to give you your money's worth, admiral."

I head for the door and without looking back I can tell Janeway abruptly stands up as she says to my back;

"I'm playing chess, Daniel, and you're nothing but a mere pawn in my game."

She emphasizes every word and I don't know if the shivers down my spine are caused by my wet clothes or by the hostile hiss in her voice.

"…don't mistake yourself for a king."

**Janeways POV**

As Tuvok steps out of the dark and moves to sit next me, he observes; "The boy asks the right questions, what he lacks is patience to listen to the answers."

I smile. "For a moment there I thought he saw right through me."

Tuvok, impressed by Daniels wit, asks me "Have you considered telling him about the data?"

"…definitely not." I say. "The Primark knows of my upstanding record and good reputation; he's suspicious and doesn't trust me. According to him there's not enough at stake for me to be making illegal deals."

I feel a headache coming up and I press my temples in a futile attempt to relieve myself of the pain.

"If Daniel would know the data is falsified, his act could lose its credibility….and besides; the Primark probably has his apartment more wired than Sevens alcove."

Tuvok slightly raises his right eyebrow in concurrence and as we stare at the window, and into the night, I realize I will soon have to miss my oldest friend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Daniels POV**

"Is it okay if I crash here tonight? I went for a drink with my father's shuttle but master _Guinness_ tells me I'm no longer fit to fly". With a smile that covers half his shaved head my friend Collin stands hanging against my doorpost. "Sure, come in." I check the chronometer and find it's 5am. "Leave me some breakfast." I add as he immediately heads toward my replicator to indulge in his after-alcohol-binge.

"I thought I would have to share your couch tonight as some tall Vulcan just delivered this at your doorstep." Still sleepdrunk I look at the package he casually throws on the counter. It's from Janeway. Quickly, I open it and find a chess piece inside. While shaking the box upside down to make sure I hadn't missed any other content, I look at the white King in my hand.

It had been a week since my late night visit at her apartment; a week minus a day since she had been arrested. The severity of the charges was only exceeded by the media-hype the arrest had caused since it had been a public one. Reporters had been present and pictures of Janeway in handcuffs had overruled all this weeks newscasts.

"He said you'd know its meaning. Pretty shitty gift if you ask me; with her income she could at least get you a complete game." He's granting me only half of his attention as his focus shifts to what he considers to be a more interesting subject "I think I should hail Sarah."

"No, you really shouldn't." Intrigued by the package I start digging in my memory.

"It's odd…" sitting down on a barstool I put the wooden King in front of me on the counter. "She said I was the pawn in her game…._not_ to be mistaken with the king."

"That's it, I'm hailing Sarah." Multitasking between his food and his communicator his less then sober brain has no room left for me.

I lift up the piece and look at it from all angles. On the bottom of it, it holds a handwritten address; it's from her office. Without wasting another second I get up and put on a half long coat over my dark, somewhat representable pajamas. Shocked, Collin looks up from his Belgian waffle; with his mouth full and covered in powdered sugar he puts away the device he was tinkering with and he shouts "Hey, wait for me! Where are we going?"

-/\-

Once arrived at our destination I'm surprised to find she's altered the user profile of her office to include me; the computer greets me, lights jump on and her workstation activates.

I immediately start looking for my next clue and my eyes soon find what I'm looking for; a pawn in the middle of a chessboard. It's the only piece that's out of place.

I feel adrenaline rushing trough my veins. She's trying to tell me something, I'm sure.

Collin is having the time of his life and he got right into character as I had made up a story to convince the doorman at the main entrance to let us enter the building. "He's not here yet?" Collin had exclaimed in annoyance as I told the old guard we had an appointment with a communications operative of the building to repair some defect. I convinced him of the fact that reinitializing the systems could take a while and that waiting for the operative would mean that all the top floor officials would eventually be kept from their work as well. Afraid to be held responsible he let us in, assuring himself that the built in security systems of the complex kept us from doing any harm. After he checked our identification he even shared his donuts with us (or rather with Collin) and gave us an _I-won't-tell-if-you-won't_ wink.

"This has got to be worth at least hundreds of credits!" Collin was going through precious items in her bookcase and he now holds Voyagers plaque, all bumped and burned, in front of his chest. "Impressive, eey?" He puts it back next to the bust of an ancient soldier that he treats to a pinch in the nose.

I find that the pawn also contains handwriting at the bottom; this time it's a number. I move to the desk so I can sit down and think but I'm confronted with an old enemy; the chair, now looking deceivingly small and harmless. I alter course and sit in hers. "Yeah that's right," Collin comments on my lack of respect "…after all that nonsense you _should _sit in her chair." Chewing on what must be his third donut he puts a handful of Starfleet issue pens in his pocket and joins me behind her desk. "So what are we looking for, exactly?"

The moment we had stepped into the office, the workstation had automatically started up a program that would open a commlink if you entered a commfrequency. "Do you have a code?" Collin asks.

"Starfleet has searched this office. She's left the code in a way that only I would find." I enter the number I found on the pawn followed by the coordinates the pawn had occupied on the board.

Nothing.

I do the same only I start with the pawns coordinates.

This is how old, western bank robbers must've felt as they cracked the safe as I'm elated to find the program responds and opens a direct link with an unknown source.

"Janeway," I hear a slightly distorted voice "…is that you?"

Taken off guard I reply "It's Daniel…her failsafe".

Collin looks at me confused as I cringe at my ridiculous response. "_Failsafe?_" he whispers.

I feel as though we're young boys again, making prank calls.

"I see." The male voice states. "If I send you the coordinates now, you will come to make the exchange?" It's a question, but it sounds more like a statement.

My mind is utterly blank so I look at Collin for some input. He lifts his shoulders. "We'll meet you there." He says.

Shaking my head frantically all I can manage to say in a somewhat steady voice is "Daniel out."

"You're welcome." Collin clarifies; "…now you have time to think whether you'll show up or not."

Shortly after, a message pops up containing coordinates and flight specifications.

Satisfied with himself he adds "We should call my mum, she'll go berserk if she sees my call originates from headquaters."

Shaking my head I sigh and sit back in the admiral's chair. A loud ticking remembers me of the clocks presence "Well there _i_s one thing I _am_ sure of right now". I pull out the battery of the clock and throw it in the bin.

Collin is flabbergasted as I head for the door. "What's that about?" He looks at me with one hand directed at the disregarded clock. "I'm just getting even." He looks at the clock once more and yells "What, she broke your clock to?" He runs after me, and joins me in the turbolift.

The doors shut with a hiss and I know I have a lot to think about.

**Chackotays POV**

After five months of detention I await her outside a parole therapists building.

As Daniel had delivered the data concerning Omega, the Cardassian primark had kept his word and sent Starfleet message that salvaging- and humanitarian missions could commence.

Journalists were all over the development of these events since no one understood what had made the Primark change his mind so suddenly, it wasn't until Tuvok had given a press statement on a global network however, that made the mediafrenzy spiral out of control.

He had explained how Janeway had fabricated data concerning Omega to show that an engineering project of some highly esteemed Cardassian scientist proved correct. She tricked him into believing that extracting unbelievable quantities of megajoules would only cost a minimal effort. The whole project had been a joke, of course, which Starfleet's scientists had realized years ago, and the Cardassian scientist was nowhere near controlling Omega. As science and politics are two very unrelated things on Cardassia however, the Primark had eagerly mistaken it for the truth. He had given up the freighter within hours after receiving Daniels work.

Kathryn hadn't been off the hook as Starfleet's ties with Cardassia had worsened and the already poor relationship was now void of its last trust. She was honorably discharged as, though saving many lives, her actions had caused her credibility as an admiral to be non-existent.

As she was kept from the outside world, counting down the days until she'd be released had been the only constructive thing I'd been able to do since I had left Dorvan.

Dorvan, the planet cluster that had already been decimated by Cardassians in a previous war, was under intense environmental work. I felt drawn to these works since my homeplanet, Dorvan V, had also been destroyed in the earlier war Cardassa and, unable to resort to constructive countermeasures at the time (and finally joining the Maquis), I found that being able to make a difference this time had a therapeutic affect. Thankfully, Starfleet's experts were of the opinion that the planets ecosystems, that my ancestors had felt such a strong connection with, could be sustained and colonists would be able to return to their green, lush planets within decades.

As she finally comes walking out of the large oak doors with a light tred, her eyes search the crowded stairs that lead up to building; until they lock with mine that is.

Free as a bird, she jogs diagonally down the large steps at the bottom of which I await her.

"Chakotay…" She folds one arm around my neck and with her free hand she squeezes my arm.

"It's _good_ to see you."

Journalists who, like me, awaited her, gather around her and a security detail pulls her towards a shuttle that will take her to Starfleet headquarters. They'll want to keep her close so she won't make them look bad again. Being the public figure she now is, she carries quite some weight and I'm sure a circus of admirals, spokesmen, headhunters and reporters awaits her; all jumping at the chance to get some of her time.

"Don't be a stranger." I tell her with a smile as she's pulled away from me.

Several layers of journalists, all packed together, are already between us. "I'll contact you soon." She yells and stands on the tip of her toes to make eye contact. Before she reaches the craft she's already out of my sight.

As I had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs, the hours had felt like days, and my short moment with her, that had just fleeted by, made a blink of an eye last long in comparison.

I guess time really is relative.

I put my hands in my pockets and turn the other way. I enjoy the warm rays of sunlight on my face as I walk down the street and I wonder how long 'soon' will last.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Chackotay's POV**

The name of the café is _'The Talk'_, and I can't imagine a more suiting characterization for our rendez-vous.

As I push aside some magazine's that lay scattered on my table a tall waiter with an egg-shaped head comes to take my order; "I understand admiral Janeway will be joining you shortly?" He puts a hand on his chest as he realizes his own mistake "I'm so sorry sir, I guess I should say _Ms._ Janeway now, shouldn't I?"

The title seems inapplicable to Kathryn.

"I guess you should." I notice he holds a menu and realize he'll expect me to go through it if I do indeed decide to order. Reluctant to tear my eyes from the window view and instead focus them on a seemingly pointless activity like choosing a drink, I decide to dismiss him; "I'll order once she's here". We share a friendly nod and as he leaves me alone with my magazines I wonder if my anticipation is heightened by the fact that I can see Kathryn's building from where I'm sitting.

Unwilling to stare at the street outside like some overly-eager wreck in anticipation to see her approach, I tab my fingers on the oak table and look around the café.

'The Talk' is a popular establishment among Starfleet officials and academy students since it's ambiance offers the perfect setting for either a private, laden conversation, or a breezy tête-à-tête. The walls are painted in a dark teal and find their contrast in the oak furniture and floor; all warm colors that complement the otherwise modern feel of the café. Behind the bar, there's a large, glass whine cellar that forms the centre of the room and goes up to the second floor. My eye is caught by a wallpiece of woven copper and I make a mental note to visit this place more often.

It's about 2100 hours and traffic is rushing by only several feet from my window. The hectic lights of hovercrafts, commercial train lines and traffic controlling mechanisms are a large contrast to the calmness inside. It is only when the entrance hisses open that the outside world comes pouring in with its loud noises and interferes with a jazzy voice that, much like melting caramel, lingers on the slow rhythm of the cello tones that resonate throughout the café.

Suddenly, I see her on the other side of the street; rushing because she's slightly late. I want to stand up and yell out to her, but I realize in time that my cry couldn't possibly reach her ears.

Since she's no longer bound to her uniform, she now wears a black pantsuit with a pink scarf that, along with her hair, is caught up in the harsh gusts of oceanwind that are so common to San Francisco. As one hand desperately tries to win back the control over both hair and scarf, the other is pushing in a cross-over command at a traffic pole; both seem futile attempts since traffic is raging and the wind is adamant.

She sees her chance and crosses the first lane.

For a moment it's as if everything around me fades away. The magazines, the egg-shaped head of the waiter, the woven copper, the glass whine cellar, the caramel-like jazz music; they had all been so present before, back when I was nervous en my senses were sharpened. Now, as she stands and waits on the middle of the road, the image of her strikes me and my world is no longer subject to the laws of physics.

The dusk forms a contrast with the yellow and orange traffic lights and my brain won't tell me if it's due to the the polarization of the windows, or to the Doppler effect that all these colors blur with her waving hair and pink scarf; the scarf that continues to be more loyal to the wind then to Kathryns neck.

A string of hair lingers on her mouth as she looks the her left and right. I'm sure she does it quickly for she seems eager to cross the road, but in my lawless world her every movement is slow and interwoven with the dozens of faded colors around her. I'm humbled by the thought that no woman may ever have looked more beautiful to me; and she's merely crossing a road, unaware of my gaze.

Reality comes seeping back into my consciousness as Kathryn looks back to where she came from. A man, communicator in hand, is shouting at her. Telling off his impatient handgestures he seems to urge her to come with him.

Ever since I had told her that _she_, and no one else, had the ability to shape her own life; to make sure it included happiness and love; ever since that moment, I had wondered what role I could fulfill in that life. I had even wondered if I could ever settle for friendship, or whether it would be easier to just dissapear from her life; move somewhere else, whatever it would take to get away; to forget about her.

It is said that once one receives an answer to his question, more questions will arise. I find that when there is no answer at all, and instead many scenarios are to be faced with, questions are far more numerous as endless possibilities will linger in your head; forcing your mind to go in circles until you're back at your first question, the one question that it all comes down to; could she love me?

I feel as though I am the witness of a turning point in both our lives; hers and mine. Come to me, Kathryn. Look at me, find my eyes and the assurance they offer.

I know she's torn between two paths. Starfleet's path will offer her a tough life, but one in which she can redeem her endless guilt, the guilt that's free of ratio and logic. This path will consume her, but she'd let it, knowing full well that some day there will only be melancholy and the shell of the woman she once was; that she once could've been.

The other path, my path, is one of love, friends and family. A path that offers warmth and the comfort of a home but where she will also have to learn how to live with peace and let everything she once was come to rest. The path where she would have to stand still and face her every decision, trauma and memory.

To anyone else the path of love would seem the simple one, the obvious one to take, for Kathryn however it is an incomprehensible challenge, and a risk.

One is unwilling and unable to compromise with the other and Kathryn, my beautiful, color-surrounded Kathryn is left in the middle; left to choose.

She stands still between the two lanes and as she looks over her shoulder, towards the café, with her face framed by the pink scarf and her waving, auburn hair, I know I'm losing my connection with her.

I'm loosing the fight.

It's not fair; I don't get to stand at the side of the road, yelling and begging her to cross over to my side, to remind her of who she is and what we've been through together.

It wouldn't matter; the cards are turned, the dices are rolled.

She's made her decision.

She steps on the road, but not the one that leads to me.

As she looks back one more time, I can't make out her face for the crafts, trains and lights take over the colorscheme and auburn and pink are nowhere to be found in it.

The tones of the cello slowly take their entry in my world again as the waiter cheerfully approaches. "I guess the admiral is running a little late? Oh my, here I go agai—" He playfully touched my shoulder as he made the akward mess up for the second time but he's cut short as he sees I'm not partaking in his pleasantries this time.

I turn to him and tell us both; "…she's not coming."

-/\-

Unwilling to startle him by yelling out to him, Kathryn Janeway stepped on the dock and turned down the volume of the music.

"Hello, Chakotay."

He crawled from under a bulkhead of his boat and stood to see her. For a moment he felt betrayed by the radio that had so easily given in to her, but he couldn't help but smile as he saw her in a white knee lenght dress, with her head tilted to the right and one arm above her head so her hand could shade her eyes from the bright sun. She stood firmly on her high heels and had one hand on her hip.

"…so why are we in Croatia?" She gave him a radiant smile, almost as if she'd completely forgotten she'd stood him up just the day before and that she'd been under the impression that it was at this dock, and at this moment, that they'd had supposed to have met all along.

He threw off his gloves and started looking for nothing in a toolbox. "I didn't expect to see you here, Kathryn."

Recognizing his straightforwardness she decided to be blunt as well "I wanted to contact you for not showing up, but I decided I'd better do in person."

He sighed "You don't need to apologize or explain yourself, Kathryn." As he turned to her and steadied himself against the back of the boat. "I don't appreciate that you didn't show up, but I guess it was your choice." He looked her straight in the eyes so she couldn't deny what he was referring to. He had realised that yesterday was her decision day; and a decision was made.

"They're keeping me quite busy you know." She defended herself. "I may not be an admiral anymore but I've been asked to join several think-thanks and I'm led to believe I could have quite the political career."

"I'm sure." Was the dry response she got.

Not satisfied with his answer she likked her lips and took a sigh. Tired of looking directly toward the sun she clumsily stepped aboard and steadied herself on the railing directly in front of him. "I thought about what you said." She folded her arms. "…about me taking charge in my own life." She lifted her finger as she continued "It's not like I never took charge of my life, I've always made my own decisions, conscious decisons, mind you. You know me too well to mistake me for peoples-pleaser; _I_ do what _I_ feel needs to be done."

"Of course." He said. "I'm glad you have that clarity." He tugged his ear and didn't let her respond. "I'm sure you'll reach great heights in you career, Kathryn. It wouldn't be for me, I'd rather stick to my boat." He smiled at her as he said the words but her face grew serious as she understood his meaning; he wished her a good life, but wasn't planning to stand on the sideline.

She searches for the right words, cursing herself for not finding any better she unfolds her arms.

"I turned them all down, Chakotay." Still looking at him a waterfall of words escapes her mouth.

"I was on my way to the café but I was called back. An important away mission needed immediate assistance; they wanted my input on what would the best course of action, I simply couldn't stay away."

She didn't apologize. She had chosen her words carefully.

"I know that there will always be something, Chakotay, whether it's an away-mission or a Cardassian Primark, there will always be something, and I don't know if that's a bad thing."

She stood up and came walking to him until she was close enough to touch his chest with her hand.

"I do know that it's a bad thing if it would keep me from you."

She didn't pause to await his reaction, for she felt she had to paint the complete picture before he could make a well-informed decision.

"I will never become the wife that makes dinner, or walks the dog three times a day. I'll always bring up political discussions and study quantum-mechanics. You would have to live with a busy, stubborn and strategic woman who's always late for social things and hardly has any privacy. I will always leave on the lights as I fall asleep while reading reports, there is no living with me before I've had my morning coffee, the proper use of a vacuum cleaner is and always will remain a mystery to me and I just cannot seem to properly appreciate the practical use of meditation." She had accentuated each point of argument with a tap of her index- and middlefinger on his chest.

Searching for the right words to continue she averted her eyes from his and shifted them to her hand which she lay flat on his torso. Her eyes where softened by the time they found his again and her eyebrows formed a slight arch as she spoke on.

"I want to tell you that I can change all those things; I would desperately try if it made you happy, but I also know that if I deny myself all that, it wouldn't be very different than joining Starfleet and that all we'd do is fight."

She looked at him intently so he would understand the severity of her message. "…all we'd do is fight, Chakotay."

As he looks away to let her words sink in, he takes her hand off his chest and turns towards the sea. "See that?" He positioned himself behind her and pointed in the distance. "If you sail in that direction for about an hour, you're in Venice."

She never took her eyes off his face "…Chakotay, do you unders— "

He interrupts her as he continures "…I plan to make trips with this boat; around the meditteraneann first. It'll be a nice getaway from daily life, even if it'll just be a few weeks a year. I haven't come up with a name for her yet, but I'm sure it'll come to me."

Allthough she's still puzzled at his musings she follows his hand as he names the places where he's planning to visit. "…Corsica, Tunisia, Alexandria, Cyprus…". She finds the fantasy a welcome distraction and wants to drown in the warm blanket it offers.

He leaned with his hands against the railing; closing her in. He had her cornered; she stood checkmate.

As he moved his mouth to her ear he whispered "…care to join me?"

She looked at the sea, the boat, the warm sun that was about to set, and finally to his confident, slightly smirking face. The realization dawned that not only her body stood cornered as she felt her reason being overruled by the simplicity of her want.

"That depends"

She said.

"Fancy a fight?"

-/\-

He took a pause as he adjusted his cap and put one booted foot on his shovel.

"Will you look at that?"

Leaning on the handle, he scratched his white beard and put some chewing tobacco in his mouth. He took a moment to watch a boat set off towards the sunset.

"The time we set off to Venice with a woman in our arms is long gone, my friend." His fellow worker behind him commented.

"That may be." As he took his shovel and continued his work he added with a wink. "…but the sight never tires."

**-/\-**

**Final note;**

To everyone who stuck by me throughout this story, thank you so much! I love getting feedback, the bad, because I've already gotten some great pointers, and the good because...well…I think that's obvious. XD

After having read quite a lot of stories I decided to give it a try myself and I must admit that I had _totally_ underestimated it. Trying to put in words how I see and feel things and trying to stay true to the characters _(that's a tough one!),_ it's all proven to be quite a challenge. Also, the amount of time it takes (kudo's to all you writers with dozens of (much longer) stories!) is something I had no idea of. Finally; writing in English comes very awkward to me since it's not my mother tongue. I've been staring at sentences 'till my eyes grew tired and staying consequent in time and perspective is something I still don't feel I've managed (and thank you 'Word' for checking my spelling:P).

I'd like to give a big apology for the storyline. Making it consistent proved difficult and, even though it all seems clear in my head, apparently it's still quite a vague story to keep up with while reading. I'm so sorry!

Anyway, thanks again. This has been *great* fun for me!

I don't know if I'll write again since my vacation is over (and seriously I had no idea of how much time this takes).

But hey…who knows ;)

PS: I almost didn't include the second boat-part and just left them sad and alone. I decided to throw it in after all since the sugar hearted among us need their occasional sugar-rush _(*ahum me, me!*),_ and because there's enough gloominess in the world without us adding up to it in fiction. I'd like to think I did the right thing ;).

PPS: The Nepali coffeehouse is real and _omg_ do yourself a favor and put it on your bucketlist!


End file.
