The Delta Flyer slowly drifted away, cargo containers floating merrily behind. Kathryn Janeway's heavy sigh broke through the veil of silence shrouding her quarters since a gleeful Mr. and Mrs. Paris had departed minutes earlier. Janeway stood staring out the window, watching them go.
Chakotay's hands closed warmly upon her shoulders. "Kathryn? Are you all right?"
She looked up into his concerned gaze. "Yes," she said softly. "Just thinking."
He squeezed her shoulders gently. "Ah. The kids are growing up, and Mom is feeling abandoned."
Surprise flashed in her eyes, then she smiled. "I was going to say no, but..." She shrugged. "That pretty much summed it up." Her eyes twinkled with humor. "Dad."
He chuckled, dimples flashing. "Okay, I guess I had that coming." His eyes shifted from hers to glance out the window. The Flyer was merely a dot in the distance. "I think we raised a pretty good group of kids, though. And we didn't even have to deal with diapers."
Kathryn laughed, then reached up and covered one of his hands with hers. "Except Naomi's. But she grew out of them pretty fast."
They stood there for a time, quietly and companionably. Then Kathryn sighed again, and felt Chakotay's tremble of laughter behind her. "Sorry," she said with a small smile. "I'm feeling nostalgic. I love weddings. I just wish Tom and B'Elanna could have waited a day so we could have had a more, hell, I don't know... traditional ceremony, I guess. This felt more like a shotgun wedding."
Chakotay slipped his arms around Kathryn's waist and gave her a quick hug. "It was what they wanted, Kathryn. Sometimes, love just can't wait."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could pull them back. He waited for the inevitable withdrawal from Kathryn, but she simply remained as she was. To his surprise, her hands came to rest upon his against her stomach. "Sometimes it can't," she agreed softly. "Love is surprisingly flexible in that way, I guess," she continued. "Sometimes it demands instant gratification, and sometimes it has to wait for the right moment, whenever that may be."
Chakotay's heart was pounding. "Unpredictable," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.
She turned slowly in his arms, then rested her hands upon his chest. She could feel his heart beating, nearly as fast as her own. She smiled her familiar, lopsided smile and looked up into his warm, dark eyes. "Very unpredictable," she whispered.
They moved as one, his head lowering just as hers lifted. Their lips brushed once, tentatively, then met again. The shock, the relief, of allowing themselves this first indulgence faded away as the kiss heated and deepened, the passage of time marked only by the ticking of Kathryn's grandfather clock.
They withdrew slowly, gradually, before relaxing into a loose hug. Kathryn's head rested against one broad shoulder. Her breathing, and his, was shaky and uneven. "That was..." Her voice trailed off.
"It was," he agreed, his voice a low rumble.
Her hand moved slowly, absently, along his spine. "I was going to say it was the result of wedding emotionalism, but..."
He reached up and smoothed her hair back, then kissed the top of her head. "But that wasn't it," he finished. She looked up and met his gaze. Her eyes were still glazed slightly with arousal, but were now also tinged with worry. "Kathryn, don't panic. I'm not asking for another wedding ceremony. Can't we just let this be a moment between two adults who love each other but have other needs that supercede their own?"
Relief flooded through her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Thank you," she whispered. Her hand was warm and gentle as it cupped his cheek, and her lips were soft as they brushed his own.
She turned again, and they resumed their vigil at the window, peacefully waiting, content in each other's arms.
The children were growing up, but Mom and Dad would always leave a light on to welcome them home.