Captain’s Personal Log. It’s one of those nights, when sleep is not an option. Most nights, there’s no particular reason, but tonight is an anniversary of sorts. Three years ago today, Voyager returned to New Earth to retrieve Chakotay and me from involuntary exile. Three years. We’re a long way from where we were then, in every possible sense.

When we first returned to Voyager, I think I harbored the hope that Chakotay and I might be the lucky ones to beat the odds and make a relationship between a captain and first officer work. I know better now. We don’t disagree with one another well, and we owe the crew more than leaders who can’t separate personal hurt from professional judgment. Maybe if we cared less about each other or the ship we could manage it, but…well, we’re only human, and the pressures on us in the Delta quadrant are too great.

But we have stayed friends. And over time, everyone has seemed to forget that there was even a possibility that we could have been anything more. Sometimes even me.

But there are times, in the dark of night when I cannot sleep, I daydream about a future in which we make it back to the Alpha quadrant and live happily ever after. If we make it back, if neither of us in involved with someone else, if we both still feel the same…who knows whether it can happen. But that’s the whole point of dreams, isn’t it?

Personal Log, supplemental. After my last entry, I went to the mess hall for a cup of coffee. It was almost deserted except for Chakotay. Our eyes met, and I felt certain that he was unable to sleep for the same reason as I. Why I should be so certain, I can’t say. We have not marked this occasion before, being busy with Borg and aliens and the like. And this year has been difficult. In some ways, we seem further apart than we were before New Earth. Maybe that’s why this anniversary feels so bittersweet.

I took my mug and went over to his table. He watched me as I sat, and it seemed to me that we both knew why we were there, and yet to speak of it would be somehow inappropriate. "So," I said awkwardly.

Then it came to me. Same poet, different poem "Here’s a hand, my trusty friend – and give a hand of thine."

He took my extended my hand and clasped it tightly. His expression was quizzical. "For Auld Lang Syne?"

"Not so very old long since," I said. We sat for a moment, uncomfortably aware of the few other people in the room and the sudden silence that had fallen. Perhaps no one was eavesdropping but we couldn’t take the chance. After a moment, he said in a casual tone, "I was wondering if you were still up. I’ve been debating whether it was too late to stop by." He reached behind his chair, and came up with a single tea rose from Kes’s garden and laid it on the table in front of me. A red rose.

He has not given me a red rose since we came back to the ship. As I looked at it, I thought again of our last night on New Earth, of the words he recited. I will come again, my love, though it were ten thousand mile.

For just an instant, I thought he had said the words out loud, and I looked up, startled. He had not spoken, of course, but I saw the same warmth in his eyes that had been there then, and he smiled. "Good night, Captain."

I watched him leave by the starboard door. Neelix hurried over, to see if I wanted anything else. "No, thank you." I picked up the rose, started to leave.

"That’s very nice," Neelix said. "Was there an occasion I missed?"

"No." I looked at the rose. Its outer petals were already starting to droop; it needed water. "No occasion. Good night, Neelix." I left by the port door.

Preceding story:  Though It Were 10,000 Mile

Sequel:  I Will Come Again, My Love

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