To Feel So Much
Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager, its characters, etc. belong to Paramount.
Sickbay was deserted when Chakotay finally made it down to see her. The battle with the Borg ship had caused extensive damage to all of Voyager's systems, and he had spent countless hours organizing repair teams and schedules, trying to balance available personnel with the torn ship's limited resources. His head ached, and he had been trying to ignore the slight trembling of his body that only worsened as the day wore on. He was fatigued, both physically and emotionally, but there was more. He wanted to see her.
He needed to see her.
The lights had been dimmed, and the three patients were sleeping peacefully. Kathryn's bed was the closest to the door, and he walked swiftly over to her, his eyes taking in the minutest detail of the woman lying quietly there. Her face was so pale she almost appeared ghostly, lips colorless against ashen skin. Her brilliant auburn hair hung limp and lifeless.
He pulled a chair up to the edge of her bed and sat down, his thoughts turning to the day she had gone over to the Borg. He had watched her leave for dangerous encounters before. Heck, he had accompanied her on many of them. He had come too close to losing her countless times over the years. She had even died in his arms on that planet after the shuttle crash.
But never before had he watched her walk off the bridge into a mission that was almost certain death.
And when she had reached out to hold his hand on the bridge—her fear finally penetrating even her consummate captain's mask—it took everything in him not to lock her in the brig until she regained her senses and called it all off. Earlier that day in her Ready Room, he had begged her not to go. Begged her. He didn't know if he had ever begged for anything in his life, but she had brought him to it. Part of him hated her for it, hated that she made him feel so much.
There were some moments when it was just too much for him to bear.
Without warning, the tears came. For a moment, he was surprised by the harsh sound in the still room until he realized it was him, the agony of his soul given breath to speak its sorrow aloud. He tried to stop the onslaught, but it flooded right past his best intentions, and he finally decided that perhaps it was best just to let it out. She was sleeping and would never know how much she had grieved his soul. He buried his face in his hands and let himself sob.
When he heard her voice, it seemed to merely flow with his own wildly coursing thoughts, and it was several seconds before he realized that she had softly spoken his name.
"Chakotay," she whispered again. He looked up into her eyes and didn't know what to say.
"I'm sorry, Kathryn," he finally said hoarsely. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Chakotay, come here." Her voice was soft. She held her arms out to him, but he hesitated, not knowing how much discomfort she was still experiencing. The last thing he wanted to do was increase her pain with his.
"Please." The single, pleading word pierced his heart, and he moved closer. She reached out and pulled his face down to her chest, cradling his head in her arms. She stroked his hair tenderly, endlessly. When she finally moved to gently trace his tattoo, his breath caught in his throat, and he moaned, a sound caught somewhere between pain and joy.
He heard Kathryn catch her breath and tighten her embrace. "It's okay," she murmured. "I'm right here. I'm fine."
The words detonated in his heart, and he simply exploded.
"No, you are not fine!" he yelled, yanking himself from Kathryn's arms and slamming his chair backwards. He stood, breathing hard, fists clenched at his sides. "You were assimilated by the Borg! Nothing about that is fine, Kathryn!" Sobs tore from his chest, and he no longer cared about being quiet or about anything but telling her—for once—exactly how he felt.
"Chakotay," she murmured, struggling to sit up, her eyes guilt-filled. But he shook his head, attempting to steady his breathing and failing, still choking on his emotions.
He looked steadily into her eyes, and when he spoke, his words were barely audible.
"I hate you for doing this to me, Kathryn," he said, not wanting to hurt her but saying the words anyway.
He stepped back, his hand over his mouth, and then half-ran out the doors of Sickbay.
She flinched but her whispered words were calm. "I know."