Add One to Infinity
by Christine
Rating: PG - 13
Disclaimer: Assimilate this, Paraborg!!!!
Acknowledgements: This story is inspired by an Episode of The X Files called "One Breath". If you've seen it, you'll know what I mean. If you haven't, it doesn't matter a whit. Also there's some major references to Jeri Taylor's Mosaic. Again, it really won't matter if you haven't read the book.
All might and glory to the Reverend Lin "Cookie" Booth for the power-beta from heaven.
Also dedicated to J/Cers everywhere (I may not be much of a romantic but I love siding with the underdogs) and Morrisey for reasons that will become painfully clear when you start reading
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"You were in my dream, you were driving circles around me" - Kristen Hersh Your Ghost
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"What the Hell is that?"
I remember screaming those words into the wind before the air was sucked out of my lungs and the sheer power of whatever it was whacked me in the face so hard I could have sworn I'd walked into a bulkhead. It was all black after that. Peaceful. Like being in that lucid state just before waking. The time when the dreams are most real.
Kathryn Janeway manages once again to surprise us. She's been thrown about by what we suspect is some kind of dust storm with winds strong enough to carry a severe density of particles (we were working on a name for it. Harry suggested a Macro-Tornado. Like a Tornado needed embellishment.) and she's still alive The Doctor scans her neural activity a multitude of times before diagnosing her as such, but the prognosis is positive, using the term in its simplest form. She breathes and registers brain activity. The Doctor informs us that the level of this activity is minimal.
She's sink or swim, make or break. Despite the Doctor's skill in neural pathology he informs me that the brain is still a sufficient mystery to warrant a great deal of confusion over its operations. There is no more that he can do, so we wait.
She lies there as if she's daring us one more time to discount her. I stand by her bedside and wonder what to tell the crew.
I don't weep.
I don't hold her hand.
I wonder if I should let her die alone and part of me thinks this might have been the way she wanted it.
"How does it work Daddy?"
I can't remember how old I am. Young. Six or Seven maybe? I want to know how the replicator works. It has occurred to my childish mind that atoms do no simply disappear and reappear without a scientific process involved. My father is please with my enquiring mind. He tells me that one day I will be a scientist.
Seven of Nine reviews the Doctor's scans. I'm not sure what she's hoping to find. If the Captain were dead she could use her nanoprobes to reverse the cellular necrosis, but the Captain is not dead and our former Borg is dumbfounded when faced with a patient that just can't seem to decide whether she wants to live or die.
She stands there with her brow furrowed going over and over the same piece of data, looking for something she thinks she has missed.
"The Captain's physiology is not consistent with my knowledge of human biology" she says. But she's not convinced. Seven finds it difficult to accept that the Borg have failed to assimilate an obviously vital piece of knowledge about the human species.
Seven of Nine is no Vulcan despite a tendencey to hold a similar view that Human emotion is illogical. The Captain's condition is causing her a great deal of anxiety although she refuses to admit it. Even to herself.
"A coma is not a simple medical condition, Seven" the Doctor tells her, "There is no physiological explanation for the patients refusal to die."
"Unacceptable!" Seven says and she runs the scan again. There's an urgencey to her movements and an obvious frustration with her findings. I suspect I should intervene to save her from unnecessary agitation, but I don't. I watch her perform the procedure again and again, amazed that the Captain instills this kind of irrationality in her.
She used to do that to me. I thumped her chest so hard once in a crazed attempt to restart her heart after a shuttle crash, I though the blow alone may have killled her. She knew too. She had some kind of encounter with a non-corporeal life-form that allowed her to witness my futile attempts to revive her. She saw me clinging her lifeless body to mine in anguish crying her name over and over.
She saw it and refused to acknowlege the depth of my feelings afterward.
For a while she was in love with a hologram.
I smiled and pretended I was pleased with her happiness. In truth I never really believed it. Those holograms feel so real, I wondered whether it was just the touch she craved. Or the illusion of it.
I remember B'Elanna and I created a holographic version of the Captain for a warp core breech simulation. We reproduced most of the senior crew including myself. We still use the simulation from time to time. Try to program different factors to the problem each time to keep the engineering crew on their toes.
I thought about touching her double once to see how she would react. I stood staring at her holographic self marveling that the computer had captured the way her chin juts out in defiance of the warp core's refusal to succomb to technical admonishment. Her hair was uncut the way it was when I first saw her and during the simulation it loosens to fall around her face in long shocks of red.
Gods, I couldn't even do it to the hologram.
I tell myself that the computer is just guessing. That it couldn't really simlulate the Captain's reactions to such an unexpected situation and even if it did, surely I could expect a large difference between the personality profile of the Captain then and the Captain three years later.
But the truth is there are some things I think I am better off not knowing.
My father receives an award. We are all lined up in the front row of the audience. Mother, Phoebe and me. Phoebe and I applaud loudly and cheer when our father's name is called but I notice that mother is less enthusiastic and she brings her hands together only twice. The second time she does not remove them but keeps them clasped in front of her. She is not smiling.
After the ceremony Phoebe and I are congratulated on our father's behalf and forced to endure endless remarks about how tall we are or how alike we look. There is a long line of men and women in red and black uniforms waiting to speak to my father and I am worried he will forget that we are here.
But eventually he joins us along with an older man also wearing red and black. This man bends over to stare at my face. I stare back, boldly. Father always said that a Starfleet Officer is not afraid of anything so I pretend that I am in Starfleet and that I am not afraid of this serious looking man.
"You must be Kathryn" he says "I've heard a great deal about you".
I don't know whether to answer him so I just stare straight back at him still pretending I'm a Starfleet Officer. Starfleet Officers only respond when questioned by a superior officer.
"How old are you?" he asks.
"Twelve, Sir" I answer. I notice his eyebrow raise slightly and my father grins at my mother.
"I bet you can't wait to join Starfleet just like your Daddy?"
"Yes Sir!" I agree enthusiastically. Nothing gives me more pleasure than imagining myself as a Starfleet Officer on a ship with my father.
The man straightens and smiles at my father. They talk for some time about things I don't understand. I watch my mother straighten Phoebe's jumpsuit which she has rolled up past her knees to keep herself amused.
Eventually the man shakes hands with my father and we are left alone as a family once more. My mother looks at my father and then back at me.
"She will join Starfleet, won't she?" she says to him and I notice she does not sound pleased at the prospect.
"Of course she will!!" my father says cheerfully and he shuffles us along to our waiting transport.
Kathryn Janeway's motionless body does no more than breathe yet it holds the fixated attention of the entire sickbay. Admittedly it is only the essential crew with medical expertise who have been allowed to remain. Tuvok and a security detail deter the rest of the anxious crew seeking word on the Captain's condition from entering sickbay. I realise that I must attend to this presently. Delays will be inevitable whilst the crew hangs in limbo waiting for word on the Captain. Some order must be maintained and I excuse myself from sickbay with this purpose in mind.
The Doctor halts my exit.
"One moment Commander" he says.
He approaches me and lowers his voice to a more personable tone. Despite the intimacy of whatever he wishes to say I note that Seven of Nine and Paris are listening. I don't discourage them. There is nothing the Doctor can say concerning the Captain that can not be overheard by the attendants in sickbay.
"Commander you may be aware that patients in a coma have been known to exist indefinitely in that state" he says, "however, her best chance of recovery is in the period immediately following the brain damage".
I nod waiting for him to get to the crux of the matter.
"Comatose patients have been known to respond to aural stimulation. Particularly from those close to them".
I look up to see the Doctor staring intently at me. I glance over at Paris who is also awaiting my response.
"Very well Doctor" I say "Ensign Paris, organise a roster of volunteers to speak to the Captain around the clock. You might like to start with yourself".
I turn and head for the exit when I am halted by the Doctor once again.
"Commander!"
I turn to see his exasperated look trained on myself. He catches up with me at the doorway.
"Commander Chakotay!" he says in tones that are this time too low to be heard by the rest of sickbay "as the closest person to the Captain on this ship I was hoping.... I was expecting that you would take this task upon yourself."
For someone whose emotions are simulated he seems to know a great deal about the manipulation of these characteristics in others.
I clasp my hands behind my back and assume my most commanding air. It's a Captain's prerogative to forego emotional bonds with the crew in favour of more objective leadership, although I can't say I've ever been a supporter of this view. I just never saw the need.
Until now.
"Thank you for your consideration Doctor" I say, "but my duties as Commanding Officer lay elsewhere".
And I leave.
I don't need to turn around to see that they're staring after me. That my actions shock them. I don't need to listen in on their conversation to know they will speak in concerned tones about my mental state.
Given the opportunity or faced with the accusation I would assure them that my mental faculties are intact and I have never felt more clear.
The bridge is quiet. Even when taking into account the fewer Officers than usual it is unusually silent. Harry is at Ops, Palmer is at the helm and Tactical is being manned by Ashworth who is replaced by Tuvok only minutes after my arrival.
It is somehow unsettling to experience the bridge this way. I glance around at Harry from whom I can usually expect a nervous enquiry or a misplaced comment but he is seemingly engrossed in his station.
No one looks at me.
"Harry?"
"Yes sir?" he answers.
"What can we expect in the next couple of days?"
I try to let my tone sound informal out of respect for their obvious concern about their Captain.
Maybe a little too informal. Harry's gaze lingers on me a full second before he answers. For a moment I read an accusation into that look but it passes before I have a chance to contemplate it fully.
"We can expect very little" Harry says "Not even a solar flare for the next fifty light years".
"Thank you Harry" I say, but there is no acknowledgment. His head is once more bent over his station, apparently absorbed in the 'very little' we are currently experiencing.
I stand. As the Captain until further notice I have the option of commanding from the Ready Room and although I have frowned upon the command style that removes itself from the crew at every available opportunity I am drawn to this removal as though it were a haven in a bleak storm.
Once inside the Ready Room I am reminded of Kathryn Janeway yet again. The room seems unable to expel her presence in the event of her absence and Harry's succinct manner on the bridge serves as a reminder of how much she impacts on the crew. On us all. Harry's an affable guy, and I could be developing a paranoia here, but I can't shake the feeling that he blames me for being in the Captain's chair whilst she's incapacitated.
And I can't help feeling he's not the only one. Even Tuvok is more curt than usual.
They seem to want me in here where I can't stop thinking about her. Where I can't look at the couch and not see her draped across it with that enigmatic smile on her face that confused the hell out of me for so many years. As if she's daring me to not care.
"So you think you can Captain the ship?" I hear her say. She continues to smile that alluring grin as she walks towards me. Does she walk like that in front of the rest of the crew? Does she snake her way over to Tuvok when she wants something from him?
She lays a hand over my heart as if counting its beat. She stares wickedly at me.
"Do you think you can do it without me?" she says.
I snap myself out of my reverie. I remember that it's been almost twenty four hours since the Captain's unconscious body was beamed aboard and I haven't eaten or slept since which perhaps explains the disturbing daydreams.
I order a meal from the replicator and pull up reports on the desk console. There are very few, considering that the ship has been on hold for the last day but it would seem that one or two sections are back to operational speed.
My father visits me at the Academy. It is late afternoon and I am midway through a paper. Dressed in the full finery of an Admiral my father is a sight to behold. I am certainly not the only cadet in Starfleet who has an Admiral for a father but I am perhaps alone in the degree of celebration my father has received.
My roommate shakes his hand nervously before exiting. She has a date. She has many dates. Or it just seems so compared to my hermit-like existence.
My father sinks into the regulation couch backed against our one free wall. He looks around him, and comments that the rooms seem to be larger than when he was a cadet.
I smile;
"Perhaps you just remember them being more cramped than they actually are" I say.
He looks at me hard. As if he's trying to solve the puzzle I present to him. I am conscious of being in my sweats rather than in uniform and It is obvious I haven't left my room today.
He clears his throat.
"So Kathryn how are you?" he says.
"I'm fine." I answer.
"How are your studies?"
"Good. I'm hoping for two firsts this semester".
He looks pleased for a moment and then his face turns sombre again.
"Kathryn have you eaten today?"
"Oh course", I indicate the replicator in the room.
"Have you used it?" he asks.
I think about the three cups of coffee I have ordered today. It could be four. Did I have toast this morning of was that yesterday? I am reminded of my stomach and it responds with a quiet growl. I realise that it's quite possible that I have not eaten today and I am momentarily at a loss to imagine how this could happen.
I must have been staring at my coffee mug for too long because he takes my silence as a 'no'.
"Your mother is worried about you Kathryn" he says, "she tells me you don't go out with your friends. She tells me you haven't even tried out for one of the Academy sporting teams".
He leans forward, clasping his hands together and looks me in the eye.
"You used to love sports Kathyn" he says.
I stare out the window of my room. From this vantage point I can see the Academy's Central Administration Tower casting its authoritative spectre across the enormous campus. Father will visit that tower when he has finished with me. He will visit friends, colleagues and possibly enquire into my achievements at the academy.
My father is wrong. I do get out. I get out everyday in the evening and jog around that ominous structure in the centre of the campus to remind myself that I will one day be lauded in those halls as he is.
"You'll be just like your father" they used to say to me.
"I bet you can't wait to join Starfleet just like your Daddy".
When I don't answer my father changes the subject. He tells me that he and mother are trying to encourage Phoebe to choose an art school in spite of her obvious lack of interest in an institution of any kind.
I nod and smile and laugh at their exasperation with my sister.
He doesn't fool me. He comes to me as the concerned father but he will leave as the man who is pleased he has a Starfleet daughter
Because when faced with one that isn't, he doesn't know what to do.
By the time the night shift is due to come on duty, three more sections have delivered reports including engineering which B'Elanna chooses to deliver in person. I don't question this. It's been custom for B'Elanna to visit the Bridge over the last six years. She doesn't feel like she gets the point across as effectively in the written form. No one argues with that.
She's very pleased with the Titanium ore that we extracted from the surface of the planet we just visited, in spite of the fact that it was home to the macro-tornado that nearly killed the Captain. There is a degree of frustration in her voice when she relates this. If irony were a tangible entity a Klingon would beat it to a pulp for its insolence.
"If it pleases the Commander" she says with a degree of mocking "'I'll be finishing my shift for tonight".
"Of course" I say and hand the PADD which I've been perusing back to her "Thank you, Lieutenant".
She looks at me sharply but doesn't comment on the formality.
"I'll be in sickbay if you need me" she says instead.
I look up at her, surprised. I'm not so stupid that I fail to comprehend the implication of her mentioning this to me, but I feign ignorance all the same.
"Are you unwell?" I ask.
She glares at me in the way only B'Elanna can glare. Like she's one mood away from baring her teeth.
"I'll be sitting with the Captain" she growls.
At this stage I figure I'm in for some kind of lecture or admonishment. Unfortunately I am too unacquainted with my position as the Commanding Officer of the ship, to remember that it is my prerogative to order B'Elanna the hell out of the Ready Room. Later I recall that is exactly what Captain Janeway would have done.
I throw myself into the ring despite the inevitability of a knockout.
"That's very compassionate of you, Lieutenant" I say.
She folds her arms in front of her as though she could restrain herself by this gesture alone.
"I performed a goddamn rock ritual for you Chakotay" she spits "the least I can do, any of us can do, is make idle chit chat with the Captain for an hour!".
I deadpan. Don't fight. Don't retaliate. You won't win.
"Just what is it you want to say B'Elanna?"
"That you should be there!" she says, "that it should be you at the Captain's side and not me, not any of us! If she's going to respond to anyone Chakotay it will be you!"
B'Elanna's one of the deluded. They think that because the Captain and I meet to discuss ship's affairs over a meal from time to time, our relationship must have taken a more serious turn by now.
The irony of it is that I once thought so to.
Two years is, however, a long time in the Delta Quadrant. Just ask the Ocampa.
"I think you have a misguided interpretation of my relationship with the Captain" I answer her quietly. And for a moment she doesn't respond. When she does she is more in control and her voice takes on an assertive tone that is quite unlike the B'Elanna Torres who punched out her engineering rival six years ago.
Klingon's are most aggressive when they're frightened. Not that you'll get them to admit that.
"Just which one of us is misguided Chakotay, because I'm not the one blinded by my own self pity".
And with that she storms out with her trail of Klingon indignance following her from the room. It empties the place so fast I could have sworn she'd taken the oxygen as well.
However, it's become difficult to breathe in here.
I head back to the sanctity of my room which is probably the only thing that remains unchanged since the Captain's indisposition. Its constancy is strangely surreal when compared to the disruption of the last day. I am almost tempted to move the furniture around.
The poetic irony of Captain Janeway being disabled by a tornado. She is a natural phenomena herself, wreaking havoc on us all.
Justin and I are to be married.
I try to remember how this happens but it seems like a blur of events from the first time he laid a derisive glare on my newly appointed Ensign shoulders to the time he tells me he can't make a life for himself without me. The marriage was inevitable and it seems like we are engaged before we can discuss its probability.
Suddenly he is at my home failing to impress my sister and causing my father to already count him amongst his offspring.
My mother just looks at our collective Starfleet uniforms lined up along the dining room table as though she can't decide whose funeral to plan for first.
Later my father and Justin exit to discuss Starfleet intelligence matters in private. I am too aware of the seriousness of their positions to feel excluded. Instead I absent mindedly stir my sugarless coffee and ponder Admiral Paris's advice to me not so long ago.
"I want you to consider command, Kathryn" he says.
Despite the fact that I am about to be married, I can't seem to forget these words or the excitement they instil in me.
Somehow I knew. I always knew.
As if I am twelve again I idly imagine myself walking on to the bridge, hearing the words "Captain on the Bridge!" as I enter.
It stirs me more than the thought of my impending marriage and the lifetime ahead with Justin that I am so looking forward to.
I factor the marriage into my fantasy. In a daring rescue mission my crew and I save Justin's reconnaissance vessel from a Cardassian ambush. Together we fool the Cardassians into thinking a fleet is approaching by using a holographic manipulation trick I have been giving some thought to.
"What are you smiling about?" Phoebe teases me out of my daydream.
"Not what you think" I tease back and smile mysteriously.
"You'd be surprised what I think" she says.
"Really?"
"Mmmmm" she says by way of assent "I don't think you're smiling about Justin, that's for sure".
The smile fades from my face and I am filled with curiosity.
"What makes you say that?" I ask.
"Kathryn Janeway would never get excited about something as mundane as marriage" she answers. She gets up to place her plate in the replicator for recycling. I watch her the whole time, not daring to speak, in case Phoebe Janeway, my sister who has somehow developed extraordinary insight, really does have all the answers.
She seems to think so. She turns to me once more. She is not smiling now and I can see concern cross her features. I suspect she has much she wishes to say but has lacked the opportunity for some time.
"Whatever you might think, Kathy, you're not your father's daughter" she says and she leans in a little closer so she can whisper.
"You're going to be so much better than him" and with that she lets her stare hang on my shocked face for a second longer before leaving me alone with my coffee.
For the first time in my life I consider the possibility that my father and fiancee may play very minor parts in my destiny.
The days drag by. The crew goes through the motions of running a starship to the best of their ability but there isn't any one on board who doesn't look a little disturbed. Like they're waiting for instructions before deciding what to feel.
The holodecks are full during our simulated nights as well as days. Sandrine's makes a reappearance. It seems that some old holodeck programmes never die.
We make communications first contact with an alien species who call themselves the Vaad . Their colony ship is scouting the region for a suitable M Class planet to settle on. They have formally requested we exchange astrometrical information on this sector.
I accept, anxious for the diversion.
I take a trip to Astrometrics. I consider whether or not to allow Seven to deal with our visiting Delta Quadrant natives directly. Certain situations make for the most unlikely Ambassadors but Seven always presents us with the additional worry that visitors will react negatively when faced with a former Borg. Particularly one that relates the experience in such a direct manner. There are very few species that can differentiate between matter of factness and pride.
I find Astrometrics empty and, strangely enough, it had not occurred to me that it might be. If Seven doesn't have to be anywhere else she will be in Astrometrics. It's a known constant.
But there has been very little that is constant lately.
"Computer locate Seven of Nine" I say to the empty Astrometrics lab.
"Seven of Nine is in Sickbay"
I feel a quick stab of anger at the knowledge that even Seven can't keep herself away from the unconscious Captain.
"Fine. Sickbay it is" I say out loud.
The room is quiet and only Seven of Nine and the Doctor are present to see me set foot inside for the first time in five days. The farthest corner of the room has been allocated to the Captain's repose so as not to be disturbed by any emergencies that might take place in the mean time.
I notice that Seven is reading from a PADD and I am struck by a strange curiousity to know what Seven likes to read.
"Anna Karenina" I hear the Doctor's voice as if he has read my thoughts, "Seven enjoys the Russian classics".
"Really?" I say.
"What can I do for you Commander?" the Doctor asks.
"I came to speak to Seven"
I don't look at his face but I know he is frowning.
"By all means" he says and he gestures for me to go on ahead.
I approach Seven who continues to read in spite of my presence. I shift my attention to the Captain who lies as though she is sleeping. She is captivating, still. She is more pale than usual giving her skin an ethereal glow and making her hair look astonishingly red.
I am reminded of the fairy tale, "Sleeping Beauty" and for a moment I understand the unearthly appeal of a princess who has been asleep for 100 years.
In some versions of the fairytale Sleeping Beauty claims to have dreamt of the prince before he wakes her.
I wonder who Kathryn Janeway dreams of.
"Seven I need you in Astrometrics" I say finally breaking the peace of the scene.
"Is it urgent, Commander?" she says.
Her response jolts me from my veneer of calm. Urgent? Seven's polite insubordination is unusually grating.
The Doctor springs to Seven's rescue.
"Seven has only ten more minutes with the Captain before Ensign Wildman takes over" he says, "What could possibly be so urgent that it can't wait until then?".
I suppress an urge to punch him. It's difficult not to feel this way about the Doctor's posturing especially when coupled with Seven's complete lack of respect for my authority. There is no questioning her loyalties when it comes to command.
I know neither of them would display such ignominy towards Captain Janeway.
For a moment I think I can see Sleeping Beauty smile.
"Seven you will report to Astrometrics now or spend the rest of the evening in the Brig!"
We used to think that nothing could phase Seven. Anyone armed with the knowledge of nine thousand and counting cultures surely can't be shocked by anything the crew of Voyager has to offer.
So I am, admittedly, set ill at ease by the way her mouth gawps open and her eyes bulge wide on hearing my demand.
Her reaction, however, is brief and before long she is on her feet, resuming a formal air and darkening the floodlit sickbay with her sullen demeanour.
She fixes me with a look that freezes oxygen then marches out of the room.
I give the Doctor a formal nod and back my way out after her before he can object.
It doesn't take long for the crew to pick up on the less than subtle differences between the Vaad culture and our own. Most notably the rigid hierarchy that exists between those with positions of authority and their subordinates. It presents a problem in that the Vaad refuse to deal with 7 of 9, not because of her Borg heritage, but because of the ambiguous nature of her position on Voyager. It becomes apparent that Epfer, our Vaad representative is something of a General, a title Paris bestows on him due to the long list of military credits that are mentioned to us by way on an introduction, hence he will not settle to be greeted by anyone less than the Captain of this vessel. I am momentarily tempted to allow him to be greeted by our unconscious Captain. If only to impress upon him the importance of arranging a meeting that is convenient rather than socially acceptable, but the Doctor would be an unbearable obstacle.
So I am bequeathed the dubious honour of chaperoning our guest and his aid to Astrometrics whilst Seven and Harry do the leg work.
The exchange proves to be a challenge of gargantuan proportions . The 'General' refuses to acknowledge Seven or Harry and expects myself and/ or his aid to act as intermediaries. It is instantly frustrating.
"Epfer these are two of Voyager's best scientists Seven of Nine and Ensign Harry Kim" I tell him. Seven nods by way of a greeting and Harry beams a "pleased to meet you".
Epfer surveys them with an icy look before turning to me.
"You may tell them I am grateful for their assistance" he says.
I pass on the information. Seven and Harry have been forewarned of the Vaad customs but it doesn't stop Harry from shooting me a questioning look whilst Seven raises an eyebrow. I groan inwardly. Relaying the astrometrical calculations is fated to be a long and arduous task.
Almost two hours later we conclude that the information has been successfully transferred to the General. The Vaad are all smiles and nods even if their pleasantries are only directed toward me. The General motions for his aid to accompany him in leaving.
It is at this point that the situation plummets inexplicably. In his eagerness to thank me the General fails to notice that he is set for a collision course with Harry Kim. Harry is too engaged in his conversation with Seven to notice the impending impact.
The collision is minor and Harry offers a "Oh please excuse me Epfer" but the General is outraged. His hand flies up to smack Harry clean in the face. The blow is slight and the General is not a big man but the sheer surprise of it sends Harry careering backwards into the astrometrics console. Seven rushes to his aid whilst I turn to see the General towering over Harry in seething rage.
"How dare you touch me!" he screams.
I don't think. I act.
In a breath I find myself hurling my full body weight against the General grabbing him by the collar and pushing him up against the bulkhead.
"You!" I am growling between clenched teeth, "you will treat my crew with the respect they deserve!".
The General's eyes bulge and he tries to speak. I shove his back against the wall again.
"Do you hear me?!" I rasp.
Harry tells me later that chaos erupted around me the moment I laid my hands on the General. Epfer's aid screamed at Seven to do something in an almost hysterical tone and Harry called for security. He and Seven attempted all the while to coax me into relinquishing my stranglehold on the General.
Strangely enough all I remember is the sound of my breath pushing its way past my clenched jaw, interrupting an otherwise silent moment.
Eventually I feel a strong hand on my shoulder. Despite my resistance it pulls me away from the General who is now barely coherent from the shock. I turn to face Tuvok and an audience of shocked onlookers.
For a moment no one speaks. No one has words.
Behind them, in the corner a lone figure rests against the lab wall, arms folded, smiling alluringly and shaking her head. I try to push past Tuvok to reach her but he effectively restrains me.
"It should be you" I yell at her, "it should have been you!".
Seven and Harry exchange worried glances and Tuvok casts a cautious eye towards the back of the room.
"Who are you talking to Commander?" he says in his typically toneless voice.
I look once again at the corner but the apparition has gone.
"The Captain" I say quietly.
The stillness becomes cloying. The six heartbeats in the room are vaguely audible whilst no one moves and no one speaks. I try to fathom the degree of what has just happened but it is already a distant memory, hardly seeming real.
"Please return to the Bridge Commander" Tuvok says evenly, "I will conduct our visitors safely from the ship".
And I do so if only because it marks a break in the frozen tableau of those present.
On the bridge, Paris is once again at the helm and Ashworth mans tactical. Tom nods a 'hello' and turns back to his console. I go to take the Captain's seat but something prevents me from sitting down in her place. I sit in my own seat. If anyone notices, no one comments.
In a few minutes, B'Elanna joins us on the Bridge. She tells me she wants to run a diagnostic on the long range scanners which is pretty routine although I detect a discomfort with the request. I put it down to the intensity of our last meeting.
When I look up momentarily I catch her and Tom exchanging facial expressions by way of communication. It seems unimportant so I let them play.
Later Tuvok returns to the Bridge.
"The Vaad have been transported off the ship, Commander" he tells me.
"Thank you Tuvok" I answer.
Moments pass and then the Doctor is on the Bridge and the atmosphere takes on a more ominous tone. He walks directly toward me and pauses looking decidedly uncomfortable.
Whatever it is, I choose to start it.
"What can I do for you Doctor?" I say.
"Commander Chakotay..." and then he stops and looks around the room as though he's struggling for words. I notice that everyone's attention is now directed at this interchange between the Doctor and myself. The Doctor notices too and straightens taking on a more official air.
"Commander Chakotay, it is my duty under Starfleet Regulation .......to declare you unfit for duty and to remove you from Command until further medical scrutiny".
I almost laugh, it's so ludicrous. The Doctor marching in here and declaring in all his pomposity that I am unfit for command.
The Doctor continues.
"You are confined to quarters for the time being and I strongly advise you to rest " he says.
I turn around and notice Tuvok at my side. His expression betrays nothing, but then when does it?
"What is he talking about" I ask him.
"Commander, the Doctor, myself and indeed the entire crew is concerned in regard to your mental state" he pauses to let that piece of information settle in, and then continues, "Ensign Ashworth will escort you to your quarters".
Nothing can be more serious than when it comes from a Vulcan but I'm still looking around for someone to explain the joke to me.
No one moves. Paris is still exchanging looks with B'Elanna but his face takes on a more grave expression. Ashworth stumbles apologetically to my side.
I eye Tuvok suspiciously.
"This is mutiny!" I say. What else could it be? I should have known that self satisfied bastard would never be led by me, by a Maquis.
Tuvok remains totally composed.
"On the contrary, Commander" he says "as soon as the Doctor deems you mentally fit to command, I will be pleased to resume my place as your First Officer".
I don't believe him. I don't believe any of this. I try to wade my way through a myriad of emotions bubbling to the surface of my veneer and none of it makes sense. None of it seems real.
A voice tells me that they never trusted me. Tuvok never trusted me. I know now what they are trying to do. I look to the one place I can hope for support.
"B'Elanna!" I reach for her only to find they have restrained me. What next? Chains?
"Be, can't you see what they are doing to us?"
She walks over to me quietly and lays a hand on my shoulder. She looks sad but she forces a smile to her face.
"It's OK" she whispers, "It's OK".
She turns to Tuvok.
"I'll take him to his quarters" she says and I let her lead me to the Turbolift. We go inside and the doors slide shut after us.
It's quite a ruse. I'm impressed that B'Elanna retains such subversive way of thinking after our long affiliation with Starfleet in the Delta Quadrant. Clearly we have managed a successful get away and raised little suspicion.
"Not bad" I compliment her, "Now what's the plan? We need to get word to the rest of the Maquis. We can hide in the holodeck until we come up with a way to retake the ship".
She turns to me wide-eyed, her mouth forming a small "o".
"Chakotay what are you talking about?" She says it slow like she's worried I won't understand the question.
"I know there are more of them than there are of us, but that's always been the case hasn't it? Remember Be?" I smile at her encouragingly. She just needs to remember. She just needs to be reassured.
The doors of the turbolift have opened and we are now facing Deck 12. I step out into the corridor but B'Elanna remains in the Turbolift, motionless. Her hand is raised and she taps her combadge uncertainly.
"Torres to sickbay. Doctor I need you here right away" she says.
Her eyes never leave my face, and for a moment I think I can see tears in them. She steps out into the corridor and faces me.
"What are you doing, B'Elanna?" I demand, "what's going on?"
"Chakotay, you're not well" she answers steadfast.
The Doctor materialises next to us deeming the situation serious enough to warrant a site to site transport. I notice the hypospray in his right hand.
"B'Elanna, don't let them do this!!!" I scream. I throw myself backwards away from the Doctor and the hypospray. The surprise of my weight thrown suddenly from one side to the other forces me to miss my footing and I stumble helplessly to the floor. B'Elanna is instantly on her knees beside me.
"Kahless!! Are you hurt?" her brow furrows with concern. She looks questioningly at the Doctor who bends toward me with the hypospray in hand. I hear myself scream but the spray finds its way to my neck and I hear it hiss into my system. Around me the corridor blurs into a mass of colour. I can barely make out the Doctor and B'Elanna hovering over me as my lids begin to droop, too weak to remain open.
And then I notice a third figure leaning over me. Her red hair becomes the most lurid colour in my vision remaining clear whilst everything else dissolves into a darkness.
I try to speak but my tongue refuses to comply.
"All....... because.....of...you" I manage to blurt out before my eyes close and I become wrapped in the dark.
I wake up in a white room unsure of how I got here. The first thing I notice is the cold. I raise myself to a seated position and rub my hands up and down my arms. I notice I'm wearing my starfleet uniform, the blue-green of a Science Officer.
It seems odd. Strangely out of place, somehow.
Something cold and wet lands on my cheek. My hand raises to brush it away and I study its residue on my fingers. It's water. I look up to see a dark sky and I realise that I am not in a white room at all. I am surrounded by snow.
That I have stepped out willingly in such conditions seems implausible, and yet I have no alternative explanation as to how I got here.
I try to bring myself to a standing position when I notice the pain in my leg. It cuts through me like a knife slicing through my thigh and I cry out in pain. I roll over to place pressure on my other leg. It seems unaffected and supports my weight.
Slowly and carefully I bring myself to a standing position. My leg, obviously broken, can take none of my weight and I am forced to teeter on one leg whilst I survey my surrounds.
Only twenty metres away I notice a large portion of wreckage slowly being coated by the snow. I conclude that I have crashed although I remember nothing of being in a ship.
I realise that I must reach the wreckage in order to determine these answers. But how? There is no question of my walking the distance and I wince at the thought of dragging myself through the wet snow.
In the end I attempt a compromise and position myself in a half crawling/ half dragging positions that allows my leg to tail behind me. I wryly imagine that the cold will freeze my broken leg before it becomes too painful.
I begin the slow and arduous process of forcing myself to push through the snow with the cold stinging my bare hands and the soft pressure of the ground against my broken leg jarring like a metal spike being driven into my thigh. Each metre seems like one hundred and I have barely covered a quarter of the distance before I am compelled to pause and regain my breath.
Like a mad fool I press on until the wreckage looms large in my field of vision and I am almost close enough to touch it. I rub my hands against my still warm stomach in an attempt to regenerate feeling in them long enough to finish my journey.
And then something familiar about the wreckage catches my attention.
A transporter unit. I strain my eyes trying to see through the thin veil of snow that has enveloped the wreckage making detail difficult to determine.
Further examination reveals that power has been rerouted from all available power supplies to the transporter unit. For a moment I am incredulous at the seemingly impossible lengths someone has gone to in order to divert extra power to the unit, and then a slow, dark realisation seeps in.
My head turns sharply to peer into the density of the snow. At first I can make out nothing but a blur of snow and then my eyes adjust to the glaring whiteness long enough to make out a large area of cracked ice less than thirty metres away.
A roaring starts in my stomach and then makes its way to my lungs and throat and then I am screaming uncontrollably.
Eventually the scream subsides into a choking, sobbing noise and I sink down into the snow taking comfort in the biting cold against my cheeks.
My father and Justin are dead because I couldn't save them. Kathryn Janeway, the bright star of her Academy graduating class, the one deemed most likely to shine in the ranks of Starfleet, failed to perform a miracle when it was most needed.
Instead of attempting to fathom the depth of my pain I sink into the icy surface and close my eyes. I will myself to die with them and I let the cold cover me like a blanket.
I am unaware how long I lay like that, but it occurs to me after some time that I am not dead. In fact I'm not even cold. I open my eyes and raise my head to see the snow falling harder than before but now it is tinged with a strange glistening light that makes it sparkle as it falls. It is beautiful and surreal.
I raise myself into a seating position and I notice there is no longer any pain in my leg. In fact, I am able to shift myself into a standing position without the slightest discomfort.
I contemplate the possibility that I am indeed dead. My scientific reasoning wrestles with the images before me in order to make some sense of what has happened.
And then I notice a figure coming towards me through the snow. At first it is nothing more than a moving shadow but as it comes closer I notice greater detail. First the red of a Starfleet uniform and secondly the features of a face that is as dear to me as it is familiar.
It is my father.
When I wake the first thing I notice is the sound of someone humming. I try to recall the tune but although it seems familiar I fail to remember its title.
I open my eyes. The ceiling is a cold grey with subdued lighting. I turn my head slightly to the left and I can see a figure moving about the room whilst the humming continues.
I lean up on one elbow. I am in sickbay. The Doctor is humming to as he goes about his usual ministrations. For once it is a comforting sound.
"What are you singing?" I ask. My voice chokes a little and I notice I am quite dry. I wonder how long I have been asleep for.
The Doctor comes toward me, smiling.
"Ah Commander!" he says cheerfully "Good morning!"
"Is it?" I ask.
"Actually no" the Doctor frowns "You've been asleep for nearly fifteen hours. The time is 0300".
I nod rubbing the back of my neck to try and pry away the kink that has settled there. It occurs to me that there might be a reason why I have been asleep in sickbay rather than in my own bed. I struggle to remember how I got here. My last memory is of the Doctor with a hypospray.
They drugged me.
And then I remember the Vaad, the General, the Doctor with a voice full of regret informing me that I was unfit for duty and the look on B'Elanna's face as I tried to incite a Maquis rebellion.
"How are you feeling Commander?" the Doctor asks as he runs a medical tricorder along the length of my body.
"I've been better" I answer.
Uninvited another image forces its way to the forefront of my memory. That of Kathryn Janeway laid out, motionless on a biobed. I turn to look at the far corner of the room and notice she is still there, giving us no reason to believe she had any intention of being anywhere else.
The Doctor notices my gaze.
"I'm afraid there has been no change in the Captain's condition" he says, with remorse.
I nod, again. I look up at the Doctor.
"So how am I?" I ask.
"Well rested" he answers, "which can only be an improvement".
"You relieved me of duty" I say quietly. He gives a wry smile, almost apologetic.
"I'm afraid you left me no choice, Commander" he says gravely, "You were not yourself".
"No, I wasn't"
He puts the tricorder away and then looks at me for a moment. He takes a breath before speaking. An odd habit for a hologram.
"Commander, on occasion I have had cause to be concerned for the mental state of nearly every crew member aboard this ship" he says, "You, Commander are one of the few exceptions".
He continues in a monologue somehow hoping to explain something that has defied logic for at least the last six years, the apparent stability of Voyager's First Officer in the face of the extreme adversity.
"It may be attributable to your spiritually, Commander or possibly a result of your vast experience in conflict that has seen you through darker times on our travels, but you have been and icon of strength and stability for us all, until now".
He pauses and looks at me as if he is expecting me to interject. I don't. Instead I watch him, intriuged, waiting for the revelation he seems to be building up to.
Noting my lack of participation he moves on.
"I am, as you know, well versed in certain elements of your culture, particularly those that pertain to medicines and methods of healing however," and he pauses to let a frustrated frown cross his features, "however, management of stress and distress is often a private undertaking. There's an old joke about a light bulb.."
"A light bulb?"
"Early electrical lighting relied on a thin filament of wire in a glass globe that needed to be changed once the filament had burnt out...".
I fail to make the connection. He notices and rolls his eyes skyward.
"The point is that I can't make you deal with whatever it is you need to deal with" he says, "But I can suggest as your physician, Commander, that you do so as soon as possible".
The Doctor's photonic matrix has the indelible quality of being able to add a low hum to any serious conversation he has the necessity to undertake. It is curiously effective.
"Commander Chakotay" he says, "when was the last time you used your akoonah?"
I spring out of the dull hypnosis I had settled into during the Doctor's monologue. My thoughts fly out of sickbay, down the corridor and up the turbolift to my awaiting quarters where my medicine bundle and akoonah lie untouched since......since a time I can't recall.
I think about using them once again and I feel a rising trepidation at the thought of delving into the muddy fields of my emotions. Where to start? And obversely, where to finish? The Vision Quest is a ritualised representation of unasked questions and possible answers and it occurs to me that I have not questioned much lately, because I have not wished for answers.
I ease myself off the biobed and into a standing position.
"Am I free to go?" I ask him.
"You are" he says, "but I'm afraid I am unable to return you to duty as yet Commander and I would like you to confine your activities to rest and non-strenuous recreation for at least the next two days, and that means no boxing!"
He finishes with a stern look and I nod obediently.
"I understand" I say.
I move to leave sickbay but a thought catches me just before I can take a step outside.
"Doctor" I call after him and he turns around, "what was that tune you were humming earlier?".
He smiles congenially, keen to expound on his musical knowledge.
"Po Kare Kare Ana" he says, "a traditional song of the Maoris of New Zealand, of farewells and an anticipated return".
I smile back. I wave in thanks as I exit sickbay. I know the tune. I hum it softly to myself as I pace the corridors back to my quarters.
I am still humming as I take a shower. The dreamy tune of a faraway land and a culture practically forgotten fills my head and drowns out thoughts of the last few days. I think about how far away Earth is and how far the never ending journeys of the Maori fishermen must have seemed.
Far, far from the bones of their people.....
After showering I change into civvies. I order a meal from the replicator not expecting to satiate the substantial hunger I have amassed whilst asleep in sickbay but hoping for at least a partially adequate meal. I find that I am famished and the food is virtually swallowed whole. I have barely contemplated the damage I am doing to my digestive system when I catch sight of the akoonah resting on the small table in the centre of the room. I reach for it but pause in the moment before grasping it. I shake myself in an effort to jolt the apprehension from my brain. It doesn't work. Inherent in the fear of my akoonah is the knowledge that a Vision Quest may contain a resolution to the ongoing mystery of Kathryn Janeway. That I might see in my vision just how to deal with her intermediary state between life and death and that I might know that my grief is no more important to her than Tuvok's or Seven's, or any of the rest of the crew.
I take the akoonah gingerly in my hands. The akoonah is not a computer. The answers are never so simple as a mathematical equation designed to produce a result.
With this in mind I seat myself on the floor and place the akoonah before me. I rest my hand on the pad and incite the spirits to hear my questions in the way my ancestors have done countless times before me.
I open my eyes to find myself standing on a devastated land. I know it instantly. An eerie loneliness stretches out along with the burned land in three directions. Only behind me are there green hills. Sole reminders of what was once a beautiful and thriving colony called Trebus.
"It's so desolate!" I hear a voice say. I turn around and see her seated on a rock staring out at the scorched horizon.
Despite a propensity for Vision Quests to invoke images of loved ones and significant persons in the lives of the subject, I find myself unsettled by this reproduction of Kathryn Janeway in mine. Oddly enough, she has been absent from previous quests.
"What are you doing here?" I ask her.
She squints at me and covers her eyes to avoid the glare from the setting sun. She smiles reproducing the ubiquitous allure of my previous uninvited visions. I contemplate that I am fated to see her looming thus whenever I close my eyes and the thought disturbs me greatly.
"You tell me" she says.
I nod sagely. My quest, my visions. I brought her here.
"I always wanted her to see this" I say out loud.
She stands up and folds her arms across her uniform. She tilts her head to one side invoking a coquettish, mischievous air. I am astounded that I have reproduced her so faithfully.
"Why?" she says.
"Because this is me" I tell her, "because this is where I began".
"Where I began again" I add as further elaboration.
"It must have been beautiful" she says.
"It was" I say.
We stand there and watch the sun go down across a featureless skyline. She doesn't move. Neither of us does.
I wonder if my lesson is instead a reprieve, a relief from all the rejection and loss I have garnered from her in the past.
I open my eyes and I am once again in my quarters. I glance at the chronometer. Only fifteen minutes have passed. The experience has been short by conventional standards but perhaps it is to be expected after such a lengthy absence from the ritual.
Or perhaps the Spirits have very little to say.
In a swift motion I am on my feet and headed for the door. Barefoot, I retrace my steps back through the corridors I had only recently hummed my way through, in the direction of Sickbay.
It is just as I left it only I notice the Doctor is not in his office. I think that it is possible he is deactivated until I hear a lone voice coming from the far corner of sickbay.
".... You wouldn't have believed your eyes, Captain. I thought B'elanna was going to take Seven apart with her teeth! But she steadied herself and said 'it could have happened to anyone'. There wasn't a person there whose mouth didn't drop to the floor...."
The Doctor sits on a stool by the Captain's bedside. His monologue continues into an account of digestive problems incurred by the crew after Neelix's latest experiment with inter-cultural cuisine.
Rooted to the spot, I am momentarily spellbound by the poignancy of the lonely hologram finding an unrelenting audience in Kathryn Janeway's unconscious presence.
I become aware that the voice has stopped and I notice that the Doctor is now looking at me with an expectant expression.
"Commander Chakotay" he says "are you all right?"
I nod, "I'm fine Doctor I just...... I thought I might sit with the Captain for a while".
His concern turns to surprise and then to pleasure.
"Of course" he beams and leaps up from his perch, "If you need me, you know where to find me" and with that the air crackles around him and he disappears. I stare momentarily at the space he has just vacated and then slide onto the seat by the bed.
I turn my attention to Kathryn Janeway who is stretched out in all her funereal glory on a biobed. A cortical monitor is the only aberration from an otherwise peaceful image of a beautiful woman sleeping.
She is truly heartbreaking, seeing her like this. Like a monument. A memorial statue.
And to me, she is another puzzle I can't solve. An enigma who would laugh and call me foolish if I ever suggested this description to her face.
Or maybe that's just how it goes when I play it out in my head.
I find I am holding her hand. Surprisingly it is not cold. Not icy as I somehow expected it to be. I entangle my fingers in hers marvelling at how easily she complies with this intimacy. I am half expecting to see her to open her eyes and yank her hand away .
I sit like that, for a time. I don't know how long. Sickbay maintains a surreal stillness as if recognising the sanctity of the moment. I notice the slight rise and fall of Kathryn Janeway's chest reassuring all that she lives if only to let air in and out of her lungs.
Even unconscious she leaves me speechless. I try to formulate sentences in my head but somehow I just can't settle on the right words. I want to say the right thing. To say everything that has needed to be said even if I have only the vaguest reassurance that she will hear anything I say.
Because, whether she lives or dies I may never have this chance again.
"You were in my Vision Quest" I tell her, vaguely aware of how empty my voice sounds echoing off the sickbay walls, "I haven't been on one for a while........ I guess I haven't really been interested in finding out too much about myself lately."
"We were on Trebus looking over the devastation of my home and the place where I grew up....." I pause. I notice that a tear has shamelessly started its way down the side of my face and I brush it away lest even the comatose Janeway bare witness to my crying.
"The sun was going down and... you looked beautiful."
"I wanted to ask the Spirits about you and why I don't know what to be around you," I take a long breath. I can't stop the tears now as they form a torrent down my cheeks, "but the only thing I knew when we stood there on Trebus, was how much I wanted you to see it".
I lay my forehead against our joined hands and sob quietly. Oblivious, Kathryn Janeway continues to respirate in a slow and mournful rhythm. For a moment we are timeless and without end.
"Please come back to me" I whisper into the void but only the silence responds.
Before I can shout, scream, think or speak I am running across the ice towards my father. The feeling of elation carries me forward so fast I have flung myself into his open arms before I can register surprise or shock at his appearance.
Eventually I pull back and questions fill my head.
"Daddy is that really you" I ask.
"Yes Kathryn, my Goldenbird" he reaches out to touch my hair and he runs a reassuring hand along the side of my face, "it's really me".
I look for the spot where the ice had swallowed up our craft but it has mysteriously vanished. The whiteness of the snow is now so prevalent that dimensions recognisable only moments ago are no longer discernible. The evidence before me suggests a strange and alarming conclusion.
"Am I dead?" I ask incredulous.
He shakes his head and smiles.
"No" he says "but you're a little lost".
Lost? I am overcome with the strange sensation I had experienced earlier that there is something askew about these images. That somehow nothing is quite in the right place.
"Where am I? " I try to keep the slight quiver from my voice. Something awful has happened and I can't put my finger on it.
My father's presence is reassuring and yet I know he is dead. That he died on this planet with my fiance, Justin, both of them sinking to an icy grave.
He died a long time ago.
I recall a long period of mourning for him. I sleep during the day and cry all night. My sister, in frustration pulls the covers from my bed and admonishes me for my lack of fight. I go back into Command training. I meet Mark. Like adding one to infinity, everytime I think I have remembered my life to date a memory surfaces that is later than the last, until I remember a long, sleek, new ship and an encounter with an Alien being that bares devastating results.
I remember a planet with extraordinary surface meteoric patterns.
We were staggering the crew's transports in fits and bursts laboriously trying to comply with the freakish weather fluctuations. I was the last to leave. I ordered Commander Chakotay to not attempt to beam Ensign Loik and myself to Voyager in one transport as the pattern would surely be much stronger if we went one at a time.
He didn't challenge the decision.
For a moment, just the briefest moment, I was aware that was unusual.
The apparition of my father waits for me to sort through the memories as calmly as he once waited for me to finish my dinner before taking me to task over something I had done at school.
"What happened?" I ask him, finally.
And then all around me the lights brightens until it is blinding and I am forced to shield my eyes. When I open them again I am standing in Voyager's sickbay.
The room is remarkably still except for a low voice coming from the corner. I follow the sound until I can make out Chakotay's form seated next to a figure on a biobed. I am strangely compelled towards the scene, and even before I am close enough to see the features of the person on the biobed I have a foreboding knowledge of her identity.
Still the sight of my face, pale and weak against the stark contrast of my red hair makes me gasp. Instinctively I look to Chakotay to see if he has noticed. He doesn't move.
I look around. Where is the Doctor? Why won't I wake up? What's wrong with me?
"Do you understand, Kathryn?" I hear a voice say, and once again the apparition of my father is before me.
Suddenly I feel very weak. My eyelids feel heavy and It takes all the power within me to keep from falling down.
I understand that I am dying.
Slowly my strength will dissipate from my body in sickbay as it leaves me now in this strange form I have encompassed momentarily.
I am too tired to prevent it.
"Kathryn!" the image of my father speaks again, "you have to choose Kathryn. It doesn't have to end here!".
His voice has become faint but I detect a frantic note to his words.
My vision starts to blur.
"I'm........sorry, Daddy" I whisper without the strength to speak.
"I can take you with me. I can end you pain" he says, "but is that what you want?"
"Yes... no.......I can't......"
I sink to the floor until I am on my knees. I can't think or feel and I try desperately to hold on to words, sounds, images, anything that will pull me back from this momentum carrying me towards the inevitable.
And then in the silence I become faintly aware of another voice.
"Please come back to me, Kathryn" it says.
Chakotay!
His voice chokes with emotion as he implores me once again to wake up. I strain my eyes to see him amidst the blurred images of the fast disappearing sickbay. His head is bent and he is crying into my hand.
My God, I can't leave him!
"Daddy?" I look up to distinguish the image of my father from the amalgam of shapes before me.
"You can do it, Kathryn" he says "Just open your eyes".
I strain against the blurred images and muffled sounds. Against the weights on my eyelids baring them down and the force of the ground which seems to drag me to it.
I just have to open my eyes.
I realise that I may have fallen asleep. I open my eyes and notice Kathryn's hand is wet from my tears. I brush them off gently and lift my head to survey sickbay.
It's just as I left it. Nothing has changed.
I look at Kathryn's motionless body once more and I notice the weirdest thing.
Her eyelids drop slightly as if they had been partially opened. I stare in amazement trying to still the creeping excitement that has stirred in me, loathe to be disappointed once more.
And then her eyelids lift again.
She peers out through half lowered lids and she opens her mouth to let a tiny breath of air through.
"Activate Emergency Medical Hologram" I yell frantically. The Doctor is immediately at my side.
"What is it?" he says, forgetting his standard greeting in his excitement. He takes one look at the Captain's partially open eyes and reaches for the Cortical Monitor.
"She's conscious!" he says, and even the hologram can't keep the joy out of his voice.
Kathryn Janeway murmurs intelligibly. I lean in closer to hear her while my heart thumps wildly against my ribcage.
"I.....can't .....leave ......you" she forces each word out with great effort and manages to smile slightly when she has accomplished her feat. I take her hand again and let the tears fall unabated down my face.
"Thank you" is all I can say.
When she has recovered a good portion of her strength we move her to her quarters. She immediately contracts cabin fever and we are forced to once again roster visits to keep her entertained.
The crew is, of course, elated with her recovery. The Doctor had immediately notified Tuvok of the Captain's condition and the stoic Vulcan broadcast the news to the entire ship.
"Attention all hands. It is my duty to inform you that the Captain has regained consciousness and is steadily recuperating".
I've never heard a Vulcan sound more cheerful.
Despite her profession of attachment in sickbay we safely skirt the topic for many days afterward. Instead we cling to its existence, taking comfort in knowing that it is there.
I notice, however, a glow in her eyes when she sees me. She discards her Captain persona and lets herself fall into a vulnerability that is unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.
I let my presence reassure her as hers reassures me. It becomes and unspoken bond of dependability, acknowledging our need in the silence between us.
Eventually, there is a moment when she holds my look longer than usual and a she lets a fear show in her eyes. It passes presently but that she shares it with me, that she wishes for me to witness it, is enough for me to take her into my arms and grasp her so tightly that we hold our breaths lest the slightest movement break our seal.
Later in the Captain's chair once again I recall a time before Voyager's first mission when Tuvok and I were sent on a reconnaissance mission to the Dorvan system border with Cardassia. In an attempt to familiarise Tuvok with the Maquis fervour we visited many settlements and colonies in this system speaking to refugees from colonies that had been attacked by Cardassia and colonists who's refusal to leave represented the crux of the conflict.
We visited the former colony of Trebus.
The haunting desolate and devastated countryside moves even Tuvok who comments that surely Starfleet has been misled with regards to the Cardassian activity in this area.
We had both hung our heads that day when we returned to our transport vessel. We reminded ourselves that we were hunting down terrorists but every now and then the ghosts of the scorched earth of Trebus would rise to torment us from the security of our positions.
Often I would see a look in Chakotay's eyes that I could not quantify and I would think of that desolate place and how the misery of its memory must disturb him in ways I could not imagine.
I sometimes wonder, if Chakotay had been on Trebus when the Cardassians attacked, who I might be stranded in the Delta Quadrant with and I begin to think that maybe all things happen for a reason.
And then again, maybe we're just lucky in life that no experience is so isolated that we need endure it alone.
Fini
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