A Dream About You
Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager, its characters, etc. are owned by Paramount.
Author's Note: This story is dedicated to Pilot-the-Truth, who recommended the song that inspired it.
Kathryn Janeway sat bolt upright in bed, the blood thundering in her ears, her hands still reaching out to shatter the elusive fragments of a dream that had ended far too late. Her breath came in spurts, heaving gasps that made her throat ache with the strain. Her eyes stung, too dry to have been weeping yet crying nonetheless.
All around her the darkness encroached, promising, threatening to pull her back into the oblivion. But she didn't see it, didn't feel its heartbeat. She only felt her own. Her eyes remained fixed on the last images forever burned into her pupils, even though she knew in her mind that it hadn't been real.
A dream. It had all been a dream.
And yet it hadn't. Surely the events she had just experienced had not occurred, at least not in her reality. But the truth of the matter was that their existences out here in the Delta Quadrant were deceptively too confident and agonizingly too frail. Those moments, those scenes that had played out, could become her reality without a moment's notice.
Some day, maybe next month, next week, tomorrow—she could have to stand and watch him die.
She had already watched their relationship die, alternately observed it be viciously crushed and intermittently dissipated until little remained of what once was, of what once had been felt. It was interesting—and altogether devastating—how all those little annoyances, stresses, confrontations that seemed all-important suddenly presented themselves as things of naught. Scrambled bits of minutiae that lacked any real significance. They had allowed themselves to be overshadowed by everything that meant nothing.
And if the truth be told, it was mostly her.
Kathryn threw off the twisted sheets and stood, wiping a hand across her face. Her breathing was hard, and she heard almost indistinguishable sounds escaping from her throat. She thought of how he had looked sprawled across that biobed—far too still and yet far too real. She remembered her frantic dash into Sickbay, the Doctor's barked commands. And then the silence. The quietude of knowing that it was over. She had practically tiptoed over to his bed, her hands straying out as if to touch him and then catching on her agony of doubt. She had caught his gaze, but his eyes had held none of their usual warmth when he looked at her. Rather, even in the last moments of his life, their depths had flickered with guardedness, resentment, and perhaps even a touch of contempt.
It was an image she feared she would never forget, one that chased her relentlessly as she half-raced down the corridors of the ship to the one place where she needed to be. It had been a long time since she had wandered down to Sickbay to keep her vigil. Although there had been no shortage of disastrous away missions, injuries, and other catastrophes to keep him bound to that place, others now kept the watch that she used to claim.
The past year had been a difficult one. Even for the Delta Quadrant. They had come through its hellish depths and emerged on the other side, very nearly unscathed. At least on the surface. But there were scars, wounds so deep, so soul-battering, that she was surprised that all of them were still walking around. A freakish swirl of battles, bad decisions, second guessing, and too many last-ditch escapes from total annihilation. It was wearing, in a way she hadn't even realized, hadn't even acknowledged.
Until now. Until she sat here, in Sickbay, watching over this man. Searching for the fluttering movements of his eyelashes as he dreamed things she might never understand. Following the lines drawn across his face that maybe hadn't been there when this had all begun.
Listening almost desperately, then catching and holding her own breath until she could easily match the rhythm of his.
"Hi," he mumbled, his voice scratchy from lack of use and sleep. Kathryn startled, unsure of how long she had simply sat there, watching and breathing in his very existence.
"Hi," she replied softly, reaching out to take his warm hand in hers.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing with concern, and Kathryn laughed.
"I'm fine," she said wryly. "How are you?" He considered for a moment.
"Tired. A little sore. But okay." His lips turned up in his familiar heart-melting smile.
"I was worried about you." She said the words easily, reaching out to touch his cheek. But then she froze, the gesture, the movement, the words, triggering the memory of her terror from only minutes before. She felt the warmth of his skin beneath her touch, felt his breath feathering across her arm. And she felt herself begin to tremble.
"Kathryn," he murmured, taking her hand in his own and bringing it down to his chest where she could feel the beat of his heart. "What's wrong?" She looked at him for a moment, unsure of whether to answer, not knowing exactly what she would say. What she would admit. But his eyes were warm, and the pulse in his wrist played against her own. So she swallowed hard, feeling confident and frail at the same time, just like they all were, and knowing that she had the power to redefine everything.
"I had a dream about you," she said and allowed the tears to fall.
The End