A BEGINNING, A MIDDLE, AND A PROPER END
The Journey (con'd)
[one] [two] [four] [five] [six]
"Scorpion"
JANEWAY: But at what point is the risk too great? At what point do we come about and retreat to friendly territory? . . . I keep looking to all these captains--my comrades-in-arms. But the truth is--I'm alone.
CHAKOTAY: If that moment comes, we'll face it together, and we'll make the right decision. You're not alone, Kathryn.
JANEWAY: Three years ago I didn't even know your name. Today I can't imagine a day without you.
...
CHAKOTAY: How much is our safety worth? . . . We'd be giving an advantage to a race guilty of murdering billions. We'd be helping the Borg assimilate yet another species just to get ourselves back home. It's wrong! . . . [Y]our desire to get this crew home is blinding you to other options. I know you, Kathryn. Sometimes--you don't know when to step back.
JANEWAY: Do you trust me, Chakotay?
CHAKOTAY: That isn't the issue.
JANEWAY: Oh, but it is. Only yesterday, you were saying that we'd face this together--that you'd be at my side.
CHAKOTAY: I still have to tell you what I believe. I'm no good to you if I don't do that.
JANEWAY: I appreciate your insights, but the time for debate is over. I've made my decision. Now--do I have your support?
CHAKOTAY: You're the captain; I'm the first officer. I'll follow your orders. But that doesn't change my belief that we're making a fatal mistake.
JANEWAY: Then I guess I am alone, after all. . . .
...
JANEWAY: You never trusted me. You never believed this would work. You were just waiting for an opportunity to circumvent my orders.
CHAKOTAY: Trust had nothing to with it. I made a tactical decision. . . . They lied to us. The Borg started the war with Species 8472. . . . I was linked to a collective once--remember? I had a neuro-transceiver embedded in my spine. I know who we're dealing with. . . .
JANEWAY: . . . There are two wars going on. The one out there, and the one in here. We're losing both of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 51005.9:
. . . The captain says she respects the decision I made to go against her orders, and she hasn't put me on report, but--I wonder how long it will take for her to really forgive me. She tends to see every interaction in very personal terms. That does allow her to command great respect and loyalty from her crew, but it also sets her up for great disappointment when someone disagrees with her, or behaves counter to her expectations. She already has a lot of emotion invested in the Borg drone, for instance, despite the probability that she can't ever be fully rehabilitated--but maybe that new project will distract her from the lingering coolness between us.
I may have anticipated other temporary alliances a year and a half ago, but I never dreamed that our next one would be with the Borg, never dreamed that the next major conflict between the captain and myself would be a result of our dealings with an enemy common to every species in at least two quadrants--for all we know, in this entire galaxy and a few more besides. Looking back, we were both right, and we were both wrong. I was right that the Borg couldn't be trusted as allies, but the captain was right that it would be possible to make an alliance work to our advantage anyway. Along the way that alliance almost cost us our partnership; it's fitting that we had to compromise, to renew our own alliance, to survive it.
So often it's all or nothing with her, no middle path. If we don't attack the Borg head-on, it means we're giving up. Either we're one big happy family, or she's alone. I wonder if having survived this breach we'll be more or less likely to suffer another one. I can't say I mind being wrong in my assumption that allying with the Borg would be a fatal mistake. But I do mind being wrong when I assume my captain will give my opinions serious consideration. What if someday we suffer a breach we can't repair? I suppose I'd have to stop insisting that she isn't alone. I think deep down she likes believing she's alone. It makes her larger than life; it magnifies her victories and excuses her defeats; it allows her not to listen to her staff when we object to the chances she takes. Sometimes it seems she listens to me least of all. We're either of one mind, or at an impasse. All or nothing. When I tell her she isn't alone I'm not just supporting her, I'm also presenting her with a more realistic view of her situation. Sometimes she doesn't want to hear it, because it's easier to be alone, easier not to listen, especially to me--
"Computer--pause recording."
Now who was getting personal? He was usually much better able than this to keep his wounded feelings out of his log entries, much better able to be objective when presenting his side of an argument. But he obviously couldn't yet offer to posterity anything like a clear-headed analysis, so soon after the physical dangers and emotional storms of the past few days. In a day or two he'd try again. In a day or two he'd be able to step back. At the same time, however, he was well aware that it would always be personal between them. Always.
And that he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Computer--delete entry."
Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 51006.2:
. . . It's a great relief to me as well that Chakotay and I have reconciled. It's inevitable that the same strong will that makes him the challenging first officer I need should also cause occasional severe friction between us. This was our worst disagreement to date, and I confess I was badly shaken by it. I would be naive if I thought it would be our last. Though the depth of his commitment to this ship and crew--and this captain--is humbling, I must never forget that he holds opinions as strong as my own. Will we someday have a disagreement so extreme that he simply cannot yield? What choice would he make in such a case? Would he step down? If so, would he remain on the ship in some other capacity? It seems inconceivable that I should ever have hoped for such a development, and now I know that if that day should come I will fear for the safety of this ship as I never have before. A popular first officer in open conflict with the captain, providing a rallying point for any disaffected crewmen-- He would never encourage them, but he wouldn't need to for me to find myself in a gravely insecure position. Or he might, for the good of the ship, choose permanent exile, and then I and an untried first officer would face a crew who were terribly resentful that I had been the cause of his self-sacrifice. In fact they've already demonstrated how they feel about leaving anyone behind. The Maquis would be especially angry. Half of them would end up in the brig, and then some of their Starfleet friends would support them--
Am I paranoid to imagine these scenarios? I trust Chakotay as much as I have ever trusted anyone. I trust him with the lives of my crew. We are surely closer to each other than any captain and first officer have ever been, because out here, we're all we have. I take him more into my confidence than is usual; he disputes my decisions more freely, because he knows he is my most important counterweight. He is more to me than I ever imagined he could be. An irreparable breach between us would be--shattering.
On the other hand, maybe if my pact with the devil couldn't break us apart, nothing can.
********************
"Nemesis"
CHAKOTAY: . . . I hated the Kradin. I wanted to kill every one of them. . . . I wish it were as easy to stop hating as it was to start.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Want some company?" Janeway asked.
Neelix's kitchen was closed, but the mess hall replicators were available around the clock, and even at this hour a dozen or two crew members could usually be found talking or playing table games over post-midnight snacks. It was not at all common for Chakotay to be one of them.
"I'd love some," he replied, setting aside the padd displaying archaeological data from the planetary system they had been surveying during the preceding two days. "Grab a mug and have a seat--there's enough coffee in this pot even for you."
She poured and tasted. "It's pretty puny stuff, though. Ugh. I'm not sure I can let you get away with this, Commander."
"Well, I do want to get to sleep sometime before next week. I know why I'm up at this hour--what's your excuse?"
"Oh, I got caught up in an article on warp theory and let the time get away from me. Thought I'd take a stroll to relax. Aren't you proud of me?"
"For taking a stroll, yes. Not for getting excited about warp theory at two in the morning."
"One step at a time." She propped her chin on her folded hands. "I hear you've been prowling the corridors in the wee hours lately. You've got third shift quaking in their boots; they're beginning to think you don't trust them anymore."
"I--haven't been sleeping very well, and when I wake up I seem to need familiar faces around me. Friendly faces."
"Can't the Doctor help?" With the exception of Tuvok and the other Vulcans, Chakotay was the most unflappable person on the ship; but he was adrift now, preoccupied and quiet, his ever-present humor diminished. It was Neelix who had alerted her that the crew were beginning to comment.
"Oh, I'm well supplied with sedatives, but I don't like being dependent on them. I want to work through this on my own."
"You sound just like the Doctor, insisting on solving the problem from within. Personally, I have a deep and abiding faith in the hypospray." She studied him, remembering not only his visible wounds when Tuvok had brought him back to the ship, but also the haunted suspicion in eyes that were normally so amiable and kind, a sign of the psychological wounds that would take much longer to heal. A more sinister approach to conscription she could not imagine. "That the Vori should do this to any of my crew makes me deeply angry. That they should do it to you also makes me sick at heart. To see one of the gentlest souls I know turned into a killer--" She did not need to be brainwashed to wish she could somehow retaliate.
His eyes darkened with agitation. "But doesn't the tendency have to be inside you for the programming to bring it out? I know I was made to feel that the Kradin were beasts, but whatever the reason I did feel it. I still do, and now the opportunity to kill them, to make them pay, is gone." She shrank from his barely controlled ferocity; not even of the Cardassians who had destroyed his home and family did he speak with such loathing. "It's hard not to program the holodeck to serve up a few as targets--" At last he noted her stricken look; he unclenched his fists and drew a deep breath in an effort to regain something like his usual composure. "But it's getting better, really. I promise I won't torment third shift any longer."
"For now, I'll accept your assurances. But if it stops getting better, or gets worse, you are under orders to remember that the hypospray is your friend. You can't go without sleep any more than I can. Now surrender that coffee pot and go back to bed."
He shoved the half-empty pot across the table, his wry smile a welcome reminder of his resilience, a further assurance that in time he would be all right. "Aye-aye, Doctor."
********************
"Hunters"
TORRES: Chakotay, what is it?
CHAKOTAY: Something terrible has happened. I read that letter for an hour before I could accept it. Now I have to tell everyone else, and I'm not sure how to do it. --It's over, B'Elanna. There are no more Maquis.
...
CHAKOTAY: You haven't mentioned your letter. Who was it from?
JANEWAY: It was from Mark--the man I was engaged to. . . . About four months ago he married a woman who works with him. He's very happy.
CHAKOTAY: How do you feel about that?
JANEWAY: Well, I knew he'd eventually move on with his life. But there was such a finality to that letter.
...
JANEWAY: . . . I guess I didn't really expect him to wait for me, considering the circumstances. But it made me realize that I was using him as a safety net--you know?--as a way to avoid becoming involved with someone else.
CHAKOTAY: You don't have that safety net anymore.
JANEWAY: That's right. Then again, my life is far from uneventful here in the Delta Quadrant. It's not like I would have had a chance to pursue a relationship, even if I had realized I was alone.
CHAKOTAY: You're hardly alone. And to my way of thinking, there's still plenty of time.
JANEWAY: Plenty of time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Wasn't that a fine party last night? --Thanks." Janeway accepted the cup of coffee Chakotay handed her. "And we certainly needed it."
He joined her on the sofa. "It seems to have helped the crew."
"Most of them, anyway." She studied him over her mug. "You haven't said anything about your letter. --I heard what was in it. I'm sorry." It was characteristic of him that he had not so much as mentioned his own terrible loss while listening to her mourn for hers, which in comparison seemed almost insignificant.
He sat at the edge of the sofa, tense, hands cupped around his mug. "Doing what we were doing--you expect to lose people you know, people you care about. You even expect to lose a lot of them at once when a ship is destroyed in combat. Fifteen, twenty, thirty--gone in an instant. But thousands--" His voice was barely above a whisper. "And the Cardassians now have free run of the colonies--"
In his face she saw the death of hope, and tried to keep her voice from echoing it. "Maybe not. The Bajorans set a good example--you can bet there are local pockets of resistance--"
"After what happened to the Maquis? I doubt it. Most people are probably just putting their hopes in the Federation. Ironic, isn't it?"
"Can't have politics without irony. Do you still have relatives there?"
"My sister and her family live in Peru, but last I heard most of our cousins were still with the tribe."
"I'm glad you weren't."
"So am I. How can I not be? And yet I feel guilty for feeling that way, and I feel cheated of the opportunity to do what I could-- But I can't help them anymore, and I'm just going to have to live with that."
Her tone was suddenly brittle. "I'm sorry I didn't get you back in time to die in a hopeless cause."
Startled, he hastened to reassure her. "If you thought I meant that as a slap at you, you couldn't be more wrong."
She sipped her coffee to steady herself, and smiled to find that he had programmed her newest favorite blend into his office replicator. "I know you didn't. I didn't sleep much last night, and I'm cranky and taking it out on you." She looked away. "I--dreamed about Mark, for the first time in a long while. It wasn't a very pleasant dream, but I didn't want to leave it, because I didn't want to let him go." She turned back to him with a quavering smile. "Silly, isn't it?"
"Not at all."
It helped to know that she had dreamed of Mark. He was glad he hadn't dreamed of her, not after a day encompassing jubilation and sorrow, anxiety and danger and relief--encompassing astonished hope and then, once again, dismissal. As she closed the door on the part of her old life it had been hardest for her to relinquish, she had looked at him with an expression he hadn't seen since New Earth, and he was stirred, heart and body, by almost-forgotten longing. Almost. If they hadn't been interrupted-- But later she had closed the door of memory as well, if in fact she had ever really opened it. Consciously? He wasn't sure, and he wasn't going to ask that question now, when they were both emotionally vulnerable, still reeling from their respective shocks. After the inevitable reaction to such devastating disappointment as this, he could count on receiving duty transfer requests in the coming week from half the crew; the captain and first officer hardly needed to be suffering the same difficulty--for he was under no illusions that whatever might have developed from immediate need would have meant any permanent change in their relationship. When they could look forward only to further pain, her withdrawal, conscious or not, was ultimately wise; but he could admit to some envy of those who had been able to find even temporary solace in another's embrace.
"It just doesn't seem fair," she was saying, "that the only letters from home we might get for years--decades--should bring such awful news to so many of us. Mine wasn't the only 'Dear John,' you know. And why couldn't we hear from more of our loved ones? Why not my family, or yours? How many letters besides Tom's were lost? How many of our crew are wondering if parents or siblings or even children have died while they've been gone, just because they didn't hear from them?"
"We can be sure that hundreds more letters are pouring in to Starfleet even as we speak, from friends and relatives who just didn't get word in time. The communications office will save them and transmit them--"
"When we find another relay system? How likely is that?"
"Not very--but we'll find something else. Look how much we've accomplished already--"
"Ever the optimist." Her smile was not as forced as it would have been a short while before. "Wait a minute--I came in here to cheer you up." He smiled in return and refilled her mug. "How are the Maquis?"
He'd told the rest of them together, calling them to his quarters so they would have greater privacy. He was glad B'Elanna already knew, that he wasn't quite alone as he read to them the relevant portion of Sveda's letter and then stood silent before their impotent fury and grief. "A lot of anger, a lot of tears. Renewed feelings of helplessness and--" He hesitated, but she had to know. "--resentment." Her gaze dropped, but she quickly forced it upward again. "They're going to be on edge for a while."
"That's understandable. But I have a feeling they'll find more support and sympathy among their shipmates than they anticipate. They certainly have it from their captain. I hope you'll convey that to them."
"I will. They'll appreciate it. And the fact that they will should tell you how much you've won them over."
Surprise and gratitude brightened her expression, as she recognized that he was reminding her of what she had gained without for a moment denying what she had lost. Earlier she'd had reason to think about something else she had gained. Someone. She had let Mark go at last in the presence of a man whose eyes, whose bearing, whose voice had said, I'm here if you need me, if you want me--and if they hadn't been interrupted she might have yielded, might have taken one more step into his arms. But she knew perfectly well that physical contact with him at that moment would not have ended with a comforting hug, and for them to take that step even once would be to damage the professional wall between them perhaps beyond rebuilding. That was a risk she simply could not take. It would be unfair to him, to herself, and to the crew who depended on them. But it had hurt to let that go as well.
For a time he too sat in reflective silence, turning his mug around and around in his hands. He lifted his eyes briefly to the large tribal plaque on the wall. "You know--technically all those Maquis would have been my enemies right now."
A moment passed. "What would you have done?"
He met her gaze, but there was pain in his eyes. Remain in Starfleet--assuming the choice was his to make--and be ordered to fire upon his Maquis comrades, or rejoin the Maquis and fire upon comrades who had sworn a different oath? "I don't know." He had never made the choice in his mind, and now, for the worst imaginable reason, he would never have to make it in life. "What would you have done?"
"Mm-mm--no fair." But really she did not need to answer. Regardless of his choice, she would have done her duty, and he knew it. Though she would never have wished for this horrifying conclusion to that part of their story, she was greatly relieved that she and Chakotay would not find themselves on opposite sides of a bitter, deadly quarrel after working so long and hard to bridge the chasm between them.
He let her get away with evasion. "And it isn't truly over. When we get home all the Maquis will face trial-- Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be easier if we didn't get back--or only after I'm too old and feeble for it to matter." She gave his thigh a sympathetic pat, and he responded with a faintly rueful smile. "Don't worry--I don't really want that. But sometimes I wonder."
"Well," she said, her voice heavy with weariness despite two mugs of strong coffee, "unless that coded transmission contains a miracle, you might get your wish."
********************
"The Omega Directive"
CHAKOTAY: I always thought that Starfleet was run by duty-crazed bureaucrats, but I find it hard to believe that even they would order a captain to go on a suicide mission. This shuttle excursion is your idea, isn't it?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Do me a favor," Janeway said as Chakotay handed her a stack of report padds. "Promise you'll keep me from becoming one of those 'duty-crazed bureaucrats' you dislike so much."
"I'll certainly do my best to keep you from becoming a bureaucrat," he assured her, "but as for 'duty-crazed,' that battle was lost before I ever entered the fight." And with that Parthian shot he ducked out of the ready room before she could find anything to throw at him.
********************
"Unforgettable"
KELLIN: I came here because of you. I knew you wouldn't remember me, but I was sure we could regain the feelings we had before. . . . But now I'm not so sure. My being here puts the ship at risk. . . . So please be honest. If you feel nothing for me, just tell me, and I'll leave.
CHAKOTAY: Don't go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Good morning."
"I hope so."
Looking up, Janeway saw that Chakotay looked tense, maybe even a little pale. He was holding several sheets of folded paper. "What do you mean? Are you all right?"
"I was doing some housecleaning--"
"Yes, that's a very risky activity."
"It is sometimes in my quarters. Anyway, I found something I think you should see. I don't fully understand it myself, but--" He set the papers, still folded, before her on her desk. "It's a handwritten account of--something that might have happened on board ship a couple of months ago." He looked away, and then back. "I should warn you that it's--" His gaze dropped a little. "--personal. I considered doing a little judicious editing, but then it seemed best for you to know it all, to know just what we were dealing with. You can call me when you've finished it." He left the ready room without waiting for her leave to do so.
Frowning, she began to read, and by the third line understood why he hadn't wanted to hang around while she did. An incredible tale unfolded, of a woman who had told them all an incredible tale and of the man who had loved her--twice. What she had worried about a year before had evidently occurred: Chakotay's lover on board her ship, apparently to stay. The idea didn't trouble her as much now as it had then, but all the same, she wished she'd had foresight enough to put her own impressions to paper, wished she knew now how she'd felt then. He barely mentioned her in his account, and she couldn't help wondering whether she had been right to fear a consequent reserve between them, whether her reaction had mattered so little to him that he hadn't bothered to record it--but perhaps he was simply trying to tell as much of his and Kellin's story as he could before he remembered only disconnected moments and then none of it at all.
"Janeway to Chakotay."
His response was immediate and terse. "On my way."
When he walked in he was more obviously embarrassed than when he'd left, and she wished she'd given herself a few more minutes to decide what to say, for his embarrassment increased her own. She wondered if she had felt then as she did now, pleased for him but also bereft; wondered if he had looked then as he did now, awkward with a trace of quiet defiance--as if he thought she might object--and a little sad. She still wondered occasionally what sort of lover he would be--not simply in the physical act, but in the area of emotional intimacy. He was so very reserved--how far would he let a lover in? He would give and give, but how much would he accept in return? She knew everything about him but that. Kellin would have learned the answer, in time. He had not described intimate conversations or intimate behavior, but in what amounted to a letter to himself he had described his feelings, as if hoping to keep them alive. It had all been very new and strange, and he admitted that they had not made any permanent commitment to each other, but for that brief time he had loved her, and in these pages he declared that love without inhibition. "She wanted to stay," he wrote, "and that made me happy." It wasn't easy, even now, to know he could feel so much for another woman. Her discomfort, however, stemmed from more than the specific events and emotions he recounted. He was right--these were very personal revelations, and she would not have chosen to see them any more than he would have chosen to show them to her, had the potential danger to the ship not outweighed concern for any individual crew member's privacy. She felt as though she had read prematurely a document he'd intended her to find only after he could never learn how it affected her; as though she had somehow violated his trust.
In an effort to break their mutual tension, she voiced a lunatic comment that had popped into her head and refused to go away. "She doesn't strike me as your type."
He was startled into laughter, and then he drew a deep breath and relaxed a bit. "I don't suppose there's any reason to be embarrassed about this."
"No reason at all," she said, fiddling with the pages.
"I'm glad we're over it, then." Finally he sat down, but his back was a little stiffer than usual, and his fingers tapped against the arm of the chair. "Why do women always want to meddle with my mind?"
"Maybe they know that's the only way to control you. Maybe I should follow their example."
"Oh, that's very funny."
"I thought so." She smirked at him until he rolled his eyes and relaxed a little more. And then her smile faded. "I take it you don't remember any of this."
"Not a minute of it. You?"
"No bells ringing. Well--we'll have to test her story as much as we can--as we apparently did before. I have to say it does look like your handwriting--but then I don't see your handwriting all that often."
"It's mine. I wrote out a copy and had the computer analyze it--it's a match. And if that weren't enough, extra paper and the pen were still in the drawer." He propped his elbows on the chair arms and interlaced his fingers, all awkwardness temporarily erased in the face of a puzzle to be solved. "I've got Harry and Seven analyzing computer activity and Tuvok the weapons and transporter logs, cross-checking recorded energy expenditures against reserves. B'Elanna and Tom are cross-checking course and speed changes with engineering and helm readouts and power consumption. A combined engineering and security team is sweeping the shuttle bay for fuel residue, landing gear smudges, paint scratches--anything that doesn't match our records of recent visitors. And the Doctor's checking DNA traces in the guest quarters and in mine against his medical records. I told them they're searching for any indication that we might have lost a block of time. We should be able to find some hard evidence if we're looking for it. I just can't believe a computer virus could be that thorough."
She nodded her approval. "You've been busy." She lifted the pages a little from the desktop. "And you've actually left us something like a trail to follow. Offhand I can't think of anything else to test--" She sat back in her chair. "I feel as if I should express sympathy for your loss."
He shrugged. "I don't remember ever being with her. But--it's clear in that account that you were very supportive of--us. Thanks."
She said softly, "You'd be the same for me, if someone else made me happy." His half-smile managed to convey both affirmation and regret. "I know it wasn't easy for you to let me read this."
"It wasn't easy for me to read it. It isn't like a log entry that jogs your memory, and it isn't even like a dream you've made notes on--at least you can usually remember that you had the dream, even if you can't remember the details five minutes after you wake up. With this, I don't remember even having the dream. It's just fiction, a story I'd never read before this morning. It isn't me." He glanced at the pages stacked neatly on her desk. "That these people can erase from others' minds an experience this intense--I don't like it one bit."
"Neither do I. But you seem fine, the ship is fine, the crew is fine, we're on course and making good headway-- Unless any of that changes as a result of this--incident--I don't think we have any reason to be alarmed."
"I suppose not." He still looked uneasy.
"I'll enter your discovery into my log, but I wonder if it will stay there. That computer virus might still be in the system, looking for certain words and phrases."
"You can keep my handwritten--report, and key an entry to it. I've kept the copy I made--though I'm not really sure why."
"Well, it did happen--probably, anyway. And it was important enough to you that you wrote it all down. You don't want to throw that away."
"Even if I don't remember it? Well, maybe not." His quick sigh was tinged with frustration. "I suppose there's nothing to worry about as long as we're okay."
Without his conscious intent, his gaze caught and held hers. As long as we're okay. Not just the ship, but you and me. He wished he could shake off his lingering chagrin. Apparently being involved with someone else hadn't disconcerted him at the time, or he would have mentioned it. And it must not have disconcerted Kathryn overmuch or he would have mentioned that, too. Maybe what bothers me is that it didn't bother either of us.
"We're okay," she said, her voice a near-whisper. Not just the ship, but you and me.
He gave a nod, and after another moment stood and left her. The pages were still in her hands.
********************
"Night"
First Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 52082.3:
I haven't set eyes on Captain Janeway for three days. There hasn't been anything to report, and she's made it clear she doesn't want to be disturbed unless there's something that needs her attention. I've interpreted that order pretty loosely, informing her in person of new sensor readings I could easily route to her comm, just so I can get a glimpse of her, just so I can hold out a lifeline if she wants it--but she never does. She allows me through the door of her quarters, but she doesn't let me in. I've seen her in dark moods before, but I've never seen her like this--fighting just to keep going day after day, and losing the battle. She's always awake and dressed when I see her, always in uniform, but she looks--haggard. If she'd just talk to me, even to chew me out--that would be preferable to this isolation. The senior staff expect me to be able to work miracles with her, push a happy button somewhere, but I hate to tell them, it doesn't work that way, and constantly nagging at me doesn't help--
I know they're just worried. So am I--and not only about the captain. I really don't know how long we can survive this. The level of tension on board is rising by the hour. People aren't sleeping well, and that means they'll be prone to mistakes. I'm snapping at everybody, even Neelix--they'll probably want to lock me up in my quarters before long. We're going to have to learn some new coping mechanisms or we won't be able to handle any crisis that might develop. Sure, there are tranquilizers, but growing too dependent on medication is another way to invite mistakes. Besides, every hypospray uses power, and when we don't know where the ship's next infusion is coming from, when we don't know how much replicator power we'll eventually have to use for food, we need to conserve everywhere we can. I'm dreading the inevitable day I'll have to restrict holodeck access even more than I already have. Maybe I should take up the clarinet--Harry seems to be doing all right, one of the few. Captain Janeway could help, just by rejoining us. I sympathize with her, but--I can't help being angry with her as well. She's the captain--she doesn't have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity any more than I do--
No, that isn't fair. But she's got to snap out of this somehow. I've been putting off consulting with the Doctor about it, but I can't put it off much longer.
If she'd only just talk to me--
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CHAKOTAY: . . . You've picked a bad time to isolate yourself from the crew. This ship needs a captain, especially now.
JANEWAY: . . . I'm not sure I understand it myself. It started when we entered this--what does the crew call it?
CHAKOTAY: The Void.
JANEWAY: Charming. . . . Strange as it sounds, I almost long for the days when we were under constant attack. No time to stop and think about how we got stranded in the Delta Quadrant. . . . I decided to stay. I made that choice for everyone.
CHAKOTAY: We're alive and well. And we've gathered enough data about this quadrant to keep Starfleet scientists busy for decades. Our mission's been a success.
JANEWAY: The very same words I've been telling myself for the past four years. But then we hit this void, and I started to realize how empty those words sound.
CHAKOTAY: Kathryn--
JANEWAY: I made an error in judgment, Chakotay. It was short-sighted and it was selfish. And now all of us are paying for my mistake. . . .
...
JANEWAY: . . . I'll stay behind in a shuttlecraft and destroy the vortex. . . .
TORRES: Forget it. We're not gonna let you die out here.
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First Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 52087.1:
Captain Janeway seems to be getting back to her old self, and there aren't words to express my relief when I see her on the bridge every morning. I can captain this ship, but I don't want to take over because of her misguided self-sacrifice. I don't want to take her place knowing I let her make it. A time or two she's ordered me not to second-guess myself, and maybe this is why--she knows how far down it can lead. I can't give her an order, but I'll do everything I can to convince her that she is not alone, or at fault. Too often she takes the blame when she shouldn't; she's lectured me about that, too. Maybe I should record a few of those lectures and play them back for her when she's feeling guilty-- Well, she should be feeling a lot less alone these days. She has the support of her senior staff more openly than she's ever had it before--I think some of them are glad to know that she needs us as much as we need her. I suspect she wanted me to tell them what she was planning, or at least that she was glad I did--that deep down she wanted us to absolve her of that guilt. We did so willingly, and she seems to be showing a renewed determination.
Even so, I can't help wondering whether she's at risk of renewed depression if this journey goes on year after year, decade after decade. Maybe it was only the Void. We were all a little crazy inside its darkness, its loneliness. But what are my options if she falters again? Her mental state would have to actually put the ship in danger before I would consider forcing medical attention on her or relieving her of duty, but for the good of the crew I don't think I can ever allow her to seclude herself again, even if it costs me my position--or her friendship, which would be by far the higher price to pay.
Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 52087.3:
Today was another good day. Thank God I seem to be hanging on. Thank God for the stars. If we run into another region like the Void we're going to have to program fake stars into the viewscreen displays, no matter how much power it uses up-- I do have a history of depression, and that's a problem I really don't need out here. If there's a next time, at least I won't be caught by surprise. Chakotay probably should have pushed me a little harder, but he was pretty well worn out, doing his own job and much of mine as well, and dealing with jumpy nerves and fraying tempers all over the ship--he and Tuvok put more people in the brig in two months than they did in four years. Sheer exhaustion just took some of the fight out of him. Besides, the ship wasn't in danger, and when he couldn't rush me off to the Starfleet shrink tank if I really lost my marbles--well, I can't blame him for walking on eggs. And the Doctor is understandably reluctant to force psychotherapy on anyone, after his misdiagnosis of Seven's anxiety attacks indirectly caused a man's death.
But we're getting back to normal now. I'm getting back to normal. How did I get so lucky? How did I end up with so many friends determined to save me from myself?
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