Secrets and Truths
By Ralkana

Disclaimer ~ I don't own them; Paramount does. I think if I owned them, they'd have been much, much happier!

Comments and feedback to Ralkana47@yahoo.com would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

Rated NC-17 for explicit sex. Minors please click here to return to my story index to choose another story.

Author's Note ~ This is one of the first fics I wrote, and it has been sitting neglected on my hard drive for a very long time. With a little persuasion, I decided to spruce it up and share it.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

The cabin doors slid open, and she glided silently back into the shadows of his quarters, wanting to see him before he saw her.

"Good night, Harry," he called. "Have a good evening, and tell the Lieutenants Paris I said maybe next time."

The doors slid shut behind him, and then, in the privacy of his own space, he transformed. The charming smile disappeared, and his perfect posture slumped. He scrubbed a hand over his face and then raked it through his short hair, tousling the impeccable regulation coiffure. With a sigh, he tossed the padd he was carrying on the floor, and then, with another sigh, he picked it up and placed it on the table next to the door. He looks so... dejected; that's the only word that can describe him, she thought.

She recognized his dejection and his transformation -- they mirrored the circumstances of her own life in the confines of her cabin. On stage, however -- before their crew -- they were both perfect, happy officers leading full and steady lives. She was sick of it all. This has to end...

"Chakotay..."

At the sound of her voice, he whirled around, his alarm fading into his professional façade once he realized he was in no danger. His stature straightened and the smile reappeared, but she noticed that, like all of the smiles she'd seen on his face lately, it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Kathryn!" Then his smile was replaced by confusion. "This is... what are you doing in my quarters?"

She stepped out of the shadows, and his eyes widened at her appearance. She was wearing a simple sheath dress, and her feet were bare. This was definitely not an official visit from the captain.

He hadn't moved from the entry, and he didn't look like he was going to, so she stepped lightly toward him, stopping just before the point where professional distance faded into intimate closeness -- they'd had a long time to experiment and figure out just the right amount of space.

"I'm sorry for intruding into your private sanctum, Chakotay; I know I probably shouldn't have done so, but I really wanted to talk to you, and I... guess I wanted to catch you a little bit unprepared. Unfair of me, I know, but..."

He eyed her cautiously, with concern in his expressive features, and she continued before he could interrupt.

"It's just that... I'm so tired, Chakotay. I'm tired of having the crew bet on us. I'm tired of the speculation, and the gossip and the rumors. I'm tired of all the clumsy attempts to get us together, and I'm tired of the sulking that goes on for days all over this ship when those attempts fail."

His large hands were knotted into fists, and his eyes were blazing. She knew he was furious at her words, but that was because he hadn't discerned their true meaning yet. He can't have, she thought, because I haven't finished. He managed to get his mouth open this time, but she rolled right over him.

"I'm tired of acting like this is a normal command relationship. I'm tired of mouthing the proper Starfleet sentiments and protocols, and I'm tired of trying to force myself to believe that those ideas are right, that they have anything to do with our circumstances. I'm tired of having to smile cheerfully every time I notice a thriving new relationship on board this ship, instead of being able to rage and howl at the unfairness of it all. I'm tired of pretending that there's nothing more than friendship between us."

His eyes had closed sometime during her words, but they flew open when she moved swiftly forward and placed her head on his chest.

"Kathryn?"

His voice was strained and hoarse, and she knew that she wasn't doing this the right way, but she didn't know how to do it any other way, so, true to her nature, she just charged forward with it. She wrapped her arms around his solid form and had to fight not to sob at the feeling of even that littlest connection. Why have we denied ourselves this -- why have I denied us this -- for so long?

After several motionless seconds, his arms came up rather jerkily to close around her loosely, haltingly returning her embrace. She marveled that it could feel so right... and yet, so awkward at the same time. His body was bent at a strange angle, and his arms were tense, and it felt to her like the hug of an uncle for a favorite niece, instead of a hug between friends. It certainly wasn't an embrace between lovers.

She laughed, but it was a sharp, painful sound. "Look at us. We've called each other best friend for half a decade, and we don't even know how to hug each other!"

His voice was even more strained than before, and each word was fired in a tight, clipped manner.

"That's because I'm trying not to make this into more than a friendly hug."

She gazed up into his eyes, to gauge his expression and to show him the sincerity in hers. The muscle in his jaw was twitching with the tension, but the rest of his face was absolutely still. His eyes were guarded. There was a spark of hope in them, but it was tempered by extreme wariness.

"Don't you understand, Chakotay? I want this to be more than a friendly hug!"

He made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan, and his arms tightened around her as he firmly pressed his lower body into hers. She could suddenly tell how much the simple hug had affected him -- she could feel the evidence of his desire through their clothing, hot and hard against her stomach, and the sensation sent emotions reeling through her. Desire, certainly -- desire so intense it nearly overwhelmed her -- but also a thrill of triumph. It had been so long since she'd felt a man's arousal, and Chakotay's quick response reaffirmed her flagging belief in her own desirability.

He threaded his hands into her hair, and suddenly she felt his lips everywhere. On her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids and earlobes, her hair -- everywhere. Dazed, she barely registered that he was whispering something to her. In between soft kisses and heartfelt repetitions of her name, he was pleading for something.

"Kathryn... please... Kathryn... if you're going to stop this, please, stop it now... oh, Gods... Kathryn... please... if you don't stop this soon, I don't know how I'll be able to... Kathryn... please..."

She anchored her hands in his hair, reveling in the feel of it; it was so soft, even under whatever he used to tame it and keep it in place on duty -- she'd been longing to do this for so long. He groaned and moved his head against her touch, like a cat. The increasingly urgent tone of his murmuring finally got through to her, and she somehow managed to whisper back, between gasps. "I don't want it to stop..."

All at once, before the words were completely out of her mouth, she found herself pressed up against the bulkhead, his hips grinding into hers. With unerring instinct, his lips latched onto the sensitive spot under her earlobe, and his hands... oh God, his hands. She had thought his lips were everywhere, but his hands... They kneaded her shoulders, stroked her arms, caressed her collarbone. One slid across the fabric of her dress to softly cup her breast, and the heat of his thumb added delicious friction to her already taut nipple. She felt his lips curve against her skin in reaction to her gasps, and he increased the friction, causing her to buck against him. Oh, God, I am so close to the edge, and the man hasn't even done anything yet!

The other hand skated to her hip, sliding slowly over the curve. He stopped, and she could feel his quick intake of breath against her neck. It was her turn to smile. He ran his hand experimentally down her side again, before rearing back to study her face.

His eyes narrowed, and she could see suspicion and anticipation form simultaneously in them. The hand on her breast wandered its way down to the other hip, making her whimper and arch her chest at the loss of contact. He wrapped his hands in the soft fabric at her waist and yanked, hard. The thin straps snapped, and he let go. The dress whispered down her body to pool at her feet. His suspicions were confirmed; there was nothing underneath.

He stopped breathing as he gazed hungrily at her naked form, and his deep brown irises were nearly lost in the black depths of his desire. His mouth worked, opening and closing as he tried to speak, but nothing came out. He fell to his knees and whispered something in his native language, and she wondered if it was a prayer.

Chakotay ran his hands up and down her legs, tracing the curves, and she felt his breath, hot and quick, on her belly. She shivered in pleasure and anticipation. Then, before she realized what was happening, her leg was thrown over his shoulder and his mouth was on her, forceful and demanding. At the first touch of his lips on her, she cried out and arched into him, her hands slamming on the bulkhead on either side of her body, scrabbling desperately for purchase on the smooth walls.

He reveled in the sensations he was giving and receiving. He tried frantically to catalogue every moan and sigh and cry, and he ran his hands over as much of her skin as he could reach, never slowing the motions of his lips and tongue and teeth.

Within seconds, she'd flown up and over the edge, trying desperately to stifle her cries. The tiny part of her brain still functioning as captain recognized that they were up against the wall and right by the door and that any crewman walking in the corridor would know exactly what was going on in here.

He heard her sharp cry as her body went taut, quivering with pleasure, but he didn't stop -- he didn't even slow down. He was completely absorbed in giving pleasure to the woman he worshiped, and part of him was still cowering in confusion and fear that she would stop this, or that once it was over, she would never let it happen again. If that was the case, he wanted to give her as much as he could to remember this by, and he would worry later about how much it would break his heart.

His ministrations quickly turned her aftershocks into foreshocks, and she came again, even harder this time, unable to even attempt to keep quiet. She screamed out his name and her knees buckled, but he held her firmly while she rode out the waves of her climax. When she was relatively calm again he reverently placed her flat on the floor, nuzzling her everywhere while she regained her breath.

When she sighed his name, he looked up and grinned -- beautifully, wickedly, and it took away her newly recovered breath. He grazed his way down her stomach and his mouth again found her overly sensitized flesh. She cried out anew and shoved his head away from her. When he gazed up at her, trying to figure out her intentions, she smiled and gasped out, "No more... please... too soon... thank you..."

She desperately wanted to feel his skin against her own, and she tugged at his uniform, still too weak to properly do anything about it. With another smile, he swept her into his arms, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, and strode into his bedroom. He set her down tenderly on the bed, running his hands once more along her flushed body and enjoying the shivers and sighs that resulted.

His demeanor was solemn now, as he stripped away his own clothing. She watched him without speaking, but her eyes urged him to hurry. When his body was as bare as her own, he lay down next to her, barely touching her. His slow, measured movements were belied by the urgency evident in his body.

Kathryn gasped at the heat of his skin on her own. She wanted to study him, stroke him, commit every second -- every image -- of this to her memory, but she wanted him too badly to go slowly. She climbed atop him, and he groaned and thrust upward at the feeling of her heated center so close to his own. She pressed her chest against his own, kissing him deeply. It was the first real kiss they'd shared, other than the butterfly kisses he'd showered on her earlier, and it made them both dizzy with longing. His tongue plundered her mouth, thrusting in and out, mimicking the unconscious motions of his hips, and she ran her hands through his hair, tracing the lines of his tattoo, which she had committed to memory long, long ago. They drowned in the kiss, only pulling away when the lightheadedness they felt was due to the lack of oxygen rather than the desire rushing through them both.

Her hand encircled him, and he gasped at her touch, his hips thrusting forward as his head slammed back onto the bed. She stroked him several times, smoothing his own moisture into the soft skin. She relished the heaviness of him, the silky steel of his desire. She rubbed the tip of him over her slick folds, both of them crying out at the resulting sensations. He was murmuring something, over and over, and she realized that though she could hear him, she couldn't understand him. She would have to ask him later what it meant, but right now, all she wanted was for him to be deep inside her, filling her, completing her.

She pressed the head of him into her, and he stilled, his hands clenched and knotted in the blankets on either side of his body. She tried to go slowly -- he was big, bigger than any other man she'd ever been with, and it had been years since she had done this -- slowly lowering and raising herself over him, a little bit more each time. Then, he let out a choked sob and raised a trembling hand to caress her cheek, once again repeating his... mantra, and she couldn't wait. She slammed her hips down onto his, taking in all of him. She cried out at the sharp starburst of pain, and he yelled with her, feeling her pain as well as his pleasure. His hands found her hips and rested there; for a second, neither moved, and their ragged breathing was the only sound in the universe. Then, he choked out, "Can't... go... slow..."

"Then don't," she whispered, lifting and plunging herself down again to drive home her words.

He got the message. He thrust in and out quickly but steadily, his hands on her hips moving her in counterpoint to his own rhythm. Kathryn was startled to realize another orgasm was building within her. She'd meant this for him; she normally didn't come from just sex, especially after a good orgasm, and she couldn't remember ever having one that rivaled the two she'd just had.

Without warning, he rolled them over, towering over her, never stopping his movement. She locked her ankles around his hips, grabbing his ass, pulling him in even deeper. He increased the pace, slamming in and out of her, pinning her to the bed, and she searched his face, trying desperately to focus on this moment. His eyes were shut tight, his hair falling over them. His mouth was open, and his features were stretched taut with desire and concentration, suffused and glowing in the thin sheen of sweat that covered his body. He was absolutely beautiful. As she gazed, he mouthed her name, silently -- a prayer, a benediction, and if she hadn't been watching him, she would have missed it. The sudden, profound knowledge of the depth of his love for her washed over her and exploded through her.

She screamed his name, arching hard against him as her internal muscles clenched around him, milking him. His furious but steady pace faltered, and he lost his rhythm, driving himself ever deeper into her, her name becoming a primal scream as it left his lips. She felt the warmth and force of his seed as it exploded from him; she felt as if it were his life, his soul, merging with her, and the notion brought tears to her own eyes. He thrust several more times, as both of them rode out the aftershocks of their passion.

He collapsed on top of her, sucking in air, and though he was heavy, she didn't want him to move. She held out for as long as possible, but eventually she began to struggle, trying to regain her own breath. He sensed her movement and rolled them both to the side, not separating them, and she sighed in relief that there was no loss of contact. He rubbed his face in her hair, murmuring again, words in his own language interspersed with her name, and then she heard it clearly.

"I love you, so much. Gods, Kathryn, how I love you."

It was the first time he'd said it plainly to her, and she choked, sobbing into his chest. He pulled her face up to his, and she saw fear in his eyes.

"Kathryn? I love you. Kathryn... I love you. Please..."

She cried harder, wanting to answer him, needing to answer him, but unable to voice the words. She tried to show him that she loved him, holding him closer, clutching him to her, but he needed to hear the words, and she couldn't give them to him.

His face crumpled, and his eyes filled, but he didn't weep as he gathered her to him to cry herself out. His body was taut and his voice was miserable as he whispered, brokenly, one last time.

"I love you..."

They held each other as her crying lessened, and she felt his arms grow heavier around her as his exhaustion and euphoria -- and his grief -- caught up with him. His body relaxed as he slipped into a troubled sleep, and she buried her face in his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat and his even breathing.

Suddenly, she whispered, "I love you too," and her eyes widened in shock. She tensed as an internal battle raged within her. She longed to wake him and tell him, but she wasn't sure if she would be able to repeat it, and it would only make him feel worse if she woke him only to dash his dreams again. She settled back against him to feel him sleep; maybe that would help to clear up her thoughts and feelings.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Chakotay awoke gradually, disoriented. He was in his quarters, in his bed, but something was... then, he recognized the weight of Kathryn in his arms and felt her breath skim against his chest. As quickly as he could without waking her, and without looking at her, he moved out of her arms and off the bed, walking the few short steps to the viewport. He knew he couldn't look at her without completely breaking down, and though it was killing him to do so, he had to get away from her, even just a couple of meters away.

Pressing his forehead against the clear surface, he stared out at the stars, the stars that so firmly held his Kathryn's heart. With a sigh, he cursed his life, his ancestors, and all the Spirits for giving him what he wanted and then so cruelly twisting it away from him. Then, in the same breath, he thanked them for giving him as much as they had. He was so conflicted: grateful and angry, joyous and grieving. He hated Voyager and his uniform and the whole damn quadrant for everything they kept from him, and yet, without it all, he never would have met Kathryn, never would have found the inner peace he had. But now, when everything he wished for was so close and yet still so far from him, that peace was in peril. He wept, silently, motionlessly.

Kathryn was startled when she awoke alone in his bed, and she darted her gaze around his cabin until it found him, standing at the viewport. Her breath caught at the image before her and she gazed at him, drinking him in as she'd been too impatient to do the night before.

He was still and silent before the viewport, his smooth golden skin gilded with the silver of the stars at warp. Tall, broad, and sturdy, well-muscled but not chiseled, though he probably had been in his youth. Her hand rose off the bed of its own accord, reaching out toward the powerful muscles in his legs and back, but he was so still, so statue-like, and she bit her lip and lowered her hand. She had a strange feeling that if she touched him, he would be cool, like marble.

She tore her eyes away from him to look around his room. This bedroom really was his inner sanctum; though she'd closely examined his outer cabin yesterday before his arrival, she hadn't entered here. It was absolutely clean and orderly, nothing even a centimeter out of place. The bed had been perfectly, militarily made before last night's activities. She was slightly surprised -- somehow, she'd expected him to be a slob, probably because all of her other lovers had been -- but, thinking more about the man in question, she realized she shouldn't have been. Chakotay's body and mind were normally as calm and controlled as his cabin. But now...

There were only two points of chaos in this oasis of calm. The bed -- with her in it -- was a mess, and so was he.

Kathryn stared at him again. His body was wholly still -- too still, too tensed -- and his breathing was controlled, each breath short but even. All of his muscles were clenched, and his hands were pale where they gripped the edge of the viewport. She tried to think of another time when she'd seen him this agitated and failed. All this was affecting him as nothing else she'd seen had. Her angry warrior was definitely no longer at peace. God, Chakotay, I love you so much! I just hope I can tell you... I hope you understand. Please understand...

"Chakotay."

At the sound of her voice, he turned slowly around, making no effort to hide his nakedness or his tears. The openness of the action moved her to tears, and when she spoke again, her voice was husky with emotion.

"Chakotay, come back to bed, please."

Mistaking emotion for seduction, he grew angry. "Dammit, Kathryn, I can't! I can't just climb back in that bed and love you and make love to you, knowing that I have to let you leave it in a few hours. I don't know how you can do that, but I can't!"

"Who said anything about either of us leaving this bed?"

He stared at her, confused.

"We have to talk about this."

At that, understanding dawned on his face as his expression hooded over. Ah, this is familiar territory. He turned away, speaking to the viewport.

"No, Kathryn, we don't. I understand everything; nothing needs to be said. Let's not drag it out, please."

"Chakotay, please. Come here; come to me. We do need to talk about this, but not in the way you mean. Please. I need... I need to tell you a story."

Startled, he turned again to her, his eyes narrowed, suspecting her of mockery.

She laughed nervously. "I know, that's your line. But there is a story. It's not an ancient legend, and it's not about an angry warrior, or even a beautiful woman warrior. It's just about me. I'm not a storyteller, but it needs to be told."

Intrigued, he moved hesitantly closer. She shifted on the bed, making room for him, but instead he knelt beside the bed so that his eyes were level with hers. Very slowly, he extended a hand toward her, and she clasped it in her own, just as they had done so long ago. She took a deep, steadying breath.

"I have never been... I care... once... God, this is hard. I don't know where to start. I've never talked about this before, with anyone. Um, when I was sixteen, I was involved with an older boy, a man, I guess. He was nearly nineteen and my first serious beau. I loved him -- or I thought that I did -- and I had no problem telling him so."

Chakotay was startled to see a tear roll down her cheek, and with his free hand, he instinctively moved to wipe it away. She flinched slightly, and he retracted his hand swiftly, but she grabbed it with her free hand and returned it to her cheek, holding it there as she continued.

"He... um... he manipulated me. He used my admissions of love to pressure me into doing... more than I was ready for. A lot more," she whispered, closing her eyes as the memories assaulted her. "Ow, Chakotay, you're hurting me!" she added as his hand clenched around hers.

His grip slackened immediately. "Sorry," he whispered hoarsely, and she opened her eyes to see her pain mirrored in his dark gaze. She tried to smile, to reassure him, but her grin faltered, turning into more of a grimace.

"Understand, he never... physically forced me to do anything, but he was older and -- I thought -- wiser, and I thought he loved me, and I just didn't really know how to say no. And then, one day, I learned how. He finally told me that if I really loved him I would -- do something for him, and I realized that even if I loved him, I didn't love him that much, and I refused, vehemently. He got angry. And he left. And he never came back. And I couldn't really tell anybody why, and my friends all blamed me for screwing up such a perfect relationship, and I felt so... alone."

He stood suddenly, pulling his hands from her grasp and her face, and turned away from her, fists clenched.

"Chakotay?"

There was fear in her voice -- she was scared of what his reaction meant, and that tore at him anew. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous, the calmness of it belying the intensity of his words.

"Don't ever tell me his name, Kathryn. Because if you do, I swear, when we get back, I will find him, and I will... make him regret hurting you. So don't ever tell me..."

She grabbed his hand, turning him around to face her, noting the rage in his face.

"I... appreciate your ardor, but hatred won't do you any good. One of us hating him is enough. Besides, he was killed at Wolf 359. But that's not the end of the story." Her voice was clinical, and he could see how much she was fighting for self-control. He knelt again beside her, breathing deeply to release his rage.

"I had several boyfriends between... the first and Justin, but I never told any of them that I loved them. I didn't want to take a chance that they would use it against me, and I just didn't feel that strongly for any of them. With Justin, though, it was different. It took me a while, but eventually, I could say those three little words." She smiled, wistfully. "And he accepted and returned them, and we were happy. For a while."

The smile faded, and he could take her pain no longer. He climbed into the bed, wrapping himself around her, murmuring into her hair.

"After Justin died, I vowed never again to tell a man I loved him. It was just too painful, and bound to cause bad things to happen. I never told Mark I loved him, and he never asked why I didn't. It was just... understood. I could admit it to myself, in my head, but never aloud, never to him."

Chakotay was trying to shush her now, wanting her to know he understood. "Shh, Kathryn, it's okay. I understand now; you can stop. If I had known... I'm so sorry. I don't need -- "

She placed a hand on his mouth, quieting him instead.

"Let me finish. When I came here last night, I knew that I wanted to acknowledge what's between us, and I knew I wanted to begin a relationship. I just didn't expect for... the dynamics... to change so quickly. I couldn't resist you..." she said, with a shy smile into his chest. His body tensed, and she looked at him curiously, amazed to see alarm and fear in his eyes. She realized her mistake instantly.

"No, no, no. Not the same way that I couldn't resist him. This was a good inability to say no. It's just... you're irresistible, Mister. Especially these," she added, stroking his cheek where she knew his dimples would be, and her touch caused them to appear. "I mean, I was hoping for something... in case you couldn't tell by my attire, but I didn't expect anything like that. I think it was the most... intense experience I've ever had in my life.

"And then... afterwards, you were so sad, and I wanted so desperately to be able to tell you; I wanted to make the hurt in your eyes go away. I tried, but I just couldn't say it, and it broke my heart to see you so sad... but I'm so afraid that if I do, then something will -- " she took a deep breath, forcibly stopping that line of thought. "Then, after you fell asleep, I said it. Out loud. To myself. I was shocked."

He looked stunned and hopeful and wary and happy all at the same time, and she laughed. "I wanted to wake you up and tell you, but I wasn't sure if I'd be able to do it again. I still don't know if I can say it again, but I just wanted you to know why it's so difficult for me. It's not that I don't feel it -- "

Chakotay stopped her speech with a light kiss, pulling away to look into her eyes as soon as she stopped talking. Well, I suppose if this bed is a confessional today, it's my turn now...

"It's okay, Kathryn. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I don't need to hear the words; at least, I don't now. Last night, though... that was probably the most important and intense experience in my entire life, too, and I wanted so much to share my love with you, and you didn't answer me... and I was so scared. I was scared that you didn't feel what I felt, that this was just a one-time thing for you, that it was simply a stress release, or something like that, and then you started crying and I thought you regretted it, but you let me hold you, and you didn't leave, and -- "

This time her kiss stopped him, and it was a considerably deeper kiss than his had been. He was suddenly aware that he was in his bed, naked, with the woman he loved, who had just admitted -- in a roundabout and difficult way -- that she loved him. His body started to respond to the situation, and he felt her lips curve in a smile against his own. He pulled away, to look into her twinkling eyes.

"What's so funny?"

She laughed, and the sound thrilled through him, making him shiver. "You have no idea what a relief it is to know that I can still do that to a man! And so quickly!"

He growled, rubbing 'that' against her thigh. "You have no idea what you do to me, woman!" And he looked her up and down and said something she didn't understand. She recognized it as the same thing he'd said the day before, when he'd first torn her dress off her.

"What does that mean? I've heard you say it once before..."

He shrugged. "It's difficult to translate. Um, possibly, 'one who outshines the stars,' or maybe 'one who has more beauty than there are stars in the heavens.' Something like that... but it means more if it's untranslated. Can't really explain it."

She blushed, and Chakotay enjoyed the effect of the flood of color on her pale body. "Thank you," she said, half-laughing.

He looked at her seriously. "It's not a compliment. It's simply the truth."

Overcome, she kissed him, and they lost themselves in the sensations for a few minutes. When they had to break for air, she thought of something else.

"Chakotay?"

"Hmm?" he replied, more intent on exploring her neck with his lips.

"Mmm... wait. I want to ask you something. Mmm... hey... stop!" she forced out, chuckling, swatting at the top of his head. He raised his head, and she was assaulted by his dimples.

"Yes..." he prompted, laughing while she tried to focus on her previous thought.

"Last night, when we were... making love, there was something you kept repeating. Will you tell me what that means, too?"

His smile turned shy, and she thought about what an endearing look it was on him. Oh, he looks like he's about five years old when he does that! I bet he charmed everybody when he was little... An image of her holding a little boy that looked like him popped into her head, and she reluctantly banished it, trying to focus on him again. He softly said the word again, and she nodded.

"Yes, that one."

It was his turn to flush, and she enjoyed the effect just as much as he had. "Well, I guess you could call it a term of endearment, but it's really more than that. It's a title, I guess, or maybe... an honorific?"

"Okay," she said, nodding at him to continue.

"It means... 'holder of my heart, keeper of my spirit.'"

His eyes pleaded with her -- for what, she didn't quite know -- and suddenly, she knew what she was going to do.

"Say it again, please."

He did, and she repeated him, a bit clumsily. He chuckled in amusement, and it flustered her. She turned away from him, blushing, saying in a slightly accusing tone, "You're laughing at me."

He stopped laughing immediately, turning her around in his arms and placing a finger under her chin to tilt her head up to his.

"Kathryn, I would never laugh at you, especially when you're trying so hard to understand my feelings... and my heritage. It's just that... well, that's the version a man says to a woman, and it sounded... funny in your incredibly sexy, feminine voice."

She laughed with him this time. She ran a finger up and down his chest, looking coyly into his eyes. "Well then, Mister, teach me how to say it the right way."

He stared at her, his eyes slowly filling with tears. "You're serious..."

"Of course I am. After all, if I'm going to call you it quite loudly in the mess hall this morning right before I kiss you, I want to be sure I say it correctly, or I'll never hear the end of it."

When he still didn't answer her -- completely unable to -- she continued.

"I meant it yesterday, Chakotay. I'm tired of hiding. I want this all out in the open. I'm not too worried about the crew -- most of them have been cheering us on for years, and those who don't like it will just have to deal with it. And screw Nechayev, and the Admiralty, and Command. I love you too much to hide this any -- "

She stopped, realizing what she'd just said. She brought a hand up to her mouth and whispered, "Oh my God!"

Chakotay pulled her to him again, laughing softly, close to tears. She gave him a few minutes to regain some semblance of self-control, struggling with her own equilibrium. After a bit, she spoke again, and her voice was shaky.

"Well, that settles it, I guess. I... I love you, Chakotay! I really do. I love you. It's getting easier each time," she marveled.

He whispered directly into her ear. "And I love you, Kathryn Janeway."

She shivered. "Well..." she prompted.

He looked confused. "What?"

"Teach me how to say the proper form of that... title," she reminded.

"Oh, yes..."

He said it slowly and carefully, and she repeated it, practicing it several times until she felt comfortable with it. His heart sang louder with each repetition, and he thought it would burst when she sat up, took hold of both his hands, looked deep into his eyes, and said it perfectly. He answered her, and then drew her into a long, sensuous kiss.

After a couple of minutes, he broke away again, and there was mischief in his eyes.

"But Kathryn..."

"Hmm?"

"Not that I'm complaining, but if you call me that in the mess hall, no one will know what it means. For all they know, you could be cursing at me."

She sighed in mock exasperation. "Well, we'll just have to teach them what they mean. They're beautiful words, Chakotay, and our people deserve to know them, as long as they're not sacred or private?" she asked, questioning with a quirk of her eyebrow. When he smiled reassuringly, shaking his head, Kathryn continued.

"However, since they are the captain's and the first officer's terms of endearment, I don't think we'll have to worry about anyone else appropriating them. Which is good, because I love them, and I want them to be ours." She grinned. "Until we can teach them, can I call you 'my love'?"

He smiled, a beautiful, sunny, joyous smile, and her heart and her stomach flipped within her. "Absolutely!" he murmured, drawing her lips to his again. "But before we go to breakfast..."