The Wrong Emotion

"How'd it go, old man?" Tom asked Chakotay over breakfast.

For the fifth time - not that he was counting - Chakotay regretted ever baring his soul to Tom Paris, ship's gossip. The Commander didn't bother to ask how he'd known about the date with Seven.

"Not well," he replied.

"I heard she has another Borg screw loose." Tom watched carefully for Chakotay's reaction.

He glared at the helmsman, as expected. "The Doctor talks too much. Tell him he'd be more likely to succeed if he quit pushing the issue."

"He's not going to appreciate that sort of advice from you." From his rival, Tom's tone said.

Chakotay knew the Doctor had been in a bad mood since his publishing difficulties; he certainly didn't want to annoy the hologram more. "That's why *you're* going to give it," he said.

Tom nodded his assent. "So what are *you* going to do, Commander?"

"I'm going to talk to the Captain, before this gets back to her through your channels." That was, the shipboard grapevine.

Tom wondered what, exactly, might get back to the Captain. He'd pushed too far for one morning, though - speaking of which, he might as well go bluff the Doctor now as later.

*****

You tell me what you think I'm feelin'
You know why I do what I do
Why should you listen to a word I'm sayin'
When it's already so clear to you?
You tell me 'bout my bad intentions
You doubt the very things I hold true
I can no longer live with your misconceptions
Baby all I can say to you, is

That ain't love
I believe you've got the wrong emotion
That ain't love
At least it doesn't feel like love to me
As long as I say what you wanna hear
Do what you wanna do, be who you want me to be
You think that's love,
Well baby that ain't love to me

*****

They were scheduled for a meeting that morning. To Janeway it was like a thousand other meetings, but to Chakotay, it was a turn in the road, though at first he wasn't sure which way he was turning. Had he ever known where they were headed? They'd seemed so close after the ship had been split into various time-zones - and then there was Jaffen. Maybe that had been the turn-off; maybe today was just another milestone on this new road.

Janeway was ready to dismiss him after the usual discussion of personnel and departmental reports, but Chakotay had one last order of business. She nodded for him to speak - every motion, every expression on her face was so familiar. If you amassed enough familiarity, enough facts, did that add up to love?

"It's about Seven of Nine."

That, of course, caught her interest. "I assume this is about her performance while Voyager was in the subspace munitions range."

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Chakotay said.

"She's been at her post since then. Don't be so hard on her."

He brushed off his own annoyance - did she have to interpret all concern as criticism, even when it came to her protege? - and said, "I'm worried about her. She lives in a cargo bay, she spends most of her free time tutoring Icheb and Naomi - what kind of a life does she have aboard Voyager, really?" He didn't mention her medical condition. Janeway didn't reply, so he went on. "She might as well still be Borg. I think she needs to experience the spiritual side of her humanity."

The Captain shook her head slowly. "I don't think Seven's the type to go looking for her animal guide."

"What about you?" Chakotay asked, in a sudden swerve to the other side of the road. "When was the last time you contacted your animal guide?"

"It's been a while," she admitted readily. "I guess I'm not the spiritual type, either."

"We could try it again sometime," he offered. Did he want to try again with Kathryn Janeway? Chakotay wasn't at all sure about that, but he felt he owed her the opportunity. "I'm free tonight."

Janeway, for her part, was surprised by this sudden assault. She preferred putting off these sorts of conversations indefinitely. It mattered very little to her whether or not she wanted to chase her spirit guide around a dreamscape; she had her duty to think of. Part of that duty involved maintaining a professional distance from her crew.

"Some other time," she answered.

"There may not be another time."

This conversation was getting more serious than she'd intended to allow any conversation with Chakotay to get. Janeway had only one answer to such questions, but this was neither the time nor the place for it. "Let's talk this over - say, over dinner tonight?" she offered.

Although he wasn't reassured, he accepted the invitation.

*****

We've got to talk it over sometime,
These feelings won't just disappear
I'm just gonna keep telling you what's on my mind
Even if it's not what you wanna hear
Oh right now your world and mine are such different places
Through yours I wander lost and confused
And I feel like I'm speaking in a different language
And the only words I haven't used, are

That ain't love
I believe you've got the wrong emotion
That ain't love
At least it doesn't feel like love to me
As long as I say what you wanna hear
Do what you wanna do, be who you want me to be
You think that's love,
Well baby that ain't love to me

*****

Her quarters, her territory. The entire ship was her territory - the bridge her workspace, the holodeck her living room. He was serving aboard the U.S.S. Kathryn Janeway. He sighed, pressed the door chime, and reported for duty.

Another replicated meal was spread on her table, like a hundred before it. Seven, he recalled, had cooked that late dinner in the mess hall, on their first and only date. He hadn't known at the time; Tom had pried the information out of Neelix after the fact. Now he owed her home-cooking - it would be a good excuse to coax the former drone out on another date. With an effort, he returned his attention to the woman at hand and complimented her on the arrangement.

"I felt like celebrating," Janeway explained. "We'll be home soon - I can feel it in my bones." Everyone was optimistic, now that Voyager had established real-time communications with Starfleet.

"Far be it from me to question captain's intuition," he said, feigning an enthusiasm to accompany hers, "but there's an ancient saying..."

"And that would be?"

"Trust in Allah but tie up your camels."

She laughed. "You're worse than Neelix sometimes."

He tried to smile at that; judging from her expression, he succeeded. For all Seven's blunt criticism, the former drone never belittled anyone. Fact without malice was Seven's approach; the woman before him, on the other hand, pushed and pulled on any lever she could reach.

Janeway might have agreed with his sentiments, except for the disapproval. She danced a careful dance with Chakotay, one that had been choreographed long before, when Tuvok had retrieved the two of them from New Earth. Teasing here, smiling there, the Captain was in rare form. Her partner, on the other hand, seemed distracted, stumbling over old, familiar steps. She tried to reinvigorate him with promises of blue-green Earth.

"Between us and Starfleet, we'll build a transwarp drive or find a wormhole home in no time." She set her own crew on a par with the best of Starfleet Research. "Once we're home, we'll all have time to pursue our personal interests. Seven and Icheb will be able to live normal lives," she added, recalling one of his concerns from their meeting earlier in the day.

She hadn't heard a word he'd said, so Chakotay proceeded to tie up the camels himself. "We won't get home instantaneously - not even B'Elanna is that fast." He could almost share her enthusiasm - almost. "We ought to plan for another year or two in the Delta Quadrant."

"What did you have in mind?" she asked lightly.

Chakotay let out a breath, suddenly annoyed at her flippant attitude, though she'd taken such plans for adjusting to the Delta Quadrant lightly, all along. "We should pay more attention to the shore leave schedules - the crew have been shortchanged there for a while now. Replicator rationing is a long-term inconvenience that we could work around, if we gave it a bit more thought." It would certainly be simpler than building a transwarp drive. "Also, Seven and Icheb don't have to live in a cargo bay. I'll arrange quarters for them."

"That isn't necessary."

"In my opinion, it is. The crew shouldn't have to spend the next forty years at yellow alert." Not just because the Captain enjoyed living that way, in any event. Nor could he spend another forty years, or four, waiting for his life to begin, though it was clear enough from her words that that was exactly what she expected him to do.

"Do as you like, Chakotay, but I'm telling you, we're almost home. I can feel it."

The odd thing was, he believed her. They were almost there, almost home, almost free, almost a couple. And he almost cared - almost.

"Thank you for dinner," he said, and stood to leave.

Another misstep, she thought, as she walked her guest to the door. He should have stayed and fenced with her in words, just a little longer, at least. He should have seemed more reluctant to go.

Chakotay was just moody, she told herself - he'd come around eventually. She couldn't expect the crew to have the stamina their Captain did. He was probably tired of the Delta Quadrant, and of duties like worrying over Icheb's socialization. Well, no matter, she thought. They could all get back to normal lives, once Voyager was home.

*****

You keep tellin' me, you know a place
Where your life would be better
You're makin' plans long-range
But I don't know how you expect to get there,
When you refuse to change

Oh baby - that ain't love
I believe you've got the wrong emotion
That ain't love
At least it doesn't feel like love to me
As long as I say what you wanna hear
Do what you wanna do, be who you want me to be
You think that's love,
Well baby that ain't love to me

*****

The end, but there's a sequel: Au Naturel.