Disclaimer: Voyager belongs to Paramount, we playing our own game of chess…with their pieces

Disclaimer: Voyager belongs to Paramount, we playing our own game of chess…with their pieces.

Family Regained

By Manda (Mizuno Ami)

            Seeing her on the deck for the first time in months, knowing that it wasn't my imagination when I felt her hand in my own, grasped it with as much strength as I could muster without harm—I knew then that I could not let her go again, could not force our crew to suffer months again without her presence. Now that we had found her…we had brought to the ship what was missing.

            I had my moment alone with her before I knew it, when the Zingara deposited her unexpectedly, and she stood alone at the viewport to watch the distant flash of a light kick…her ship disappearing toward their home from which they'd been absent for so long. I knew the feeling, as did she.

            "A penny for your thoughts." She jumped, shoulder cape coming about with the graceful turn of her body and swishing gently downward across a deep plum turtleneck. Her eyes were doleful, blue depths speaking of more than I could ever know…giving me the feeling that I had missed so much that was crucial.

            "I'm afraid that a penny may not quite do it, Chakotay." Her voice was soft as well, melancolia and mourning blended to give it a soft tone I had rarely heard…and disliked ever to hear. She was strong, too strong to have a voice so weak, and to seem as unsure as she did at that moment. She had been the only woman among a shipful of men…women in their culture, from what I had gathered, were quiet…never allowed in space. Perhaps she had made one consolation—to survive.

            "Well, then…dinner." She hadn't eaten in a time, I was certain of that, and judging from her reaction to the technology in Sickbay, I was more than assured that replicators were a mere dream. I remember, once, being impressed by the sheer comfort of Voyager, when I sacrificed the Liberty…and when I had come onboard for the first moment. Light, sound, clean air…replicated food, medicine. When the Liberty died, I had become accustomed to these things. Looking at Kathryn…I could clearly remember a time when I wasn't.

            "I'm afraid I'm not up to dinner." She didn't look well, eyes downcast and expression pallid as she turned back to the viewport and placed her hands firmly upon the sill. Her hair was still uneven, crisp, broken strands swinging tunelessly over her right shoulder; her left being adorned by silken auburn locks. She'd complained about the pod, the journey…the indignation at discovering how difficult it was to find a haircut. I watched, knowing that her beautiful hair- and I did find it beautiful- would be shorn to a manageable length, to hide the battlescars that I know she may rather have kept.

            I stepped forward, resting my own hands upon the sill and watching the starlight play across her face. She was home again, alive again, finding her family to be alive and well and on their way after recovering what, to them, was well worth any detour, any sacrifice to be made.

            Their Captain.

            She'd found a deckhand in herself…but in her, we found our Kathryn.

-Fin-