Note: Laura goes dark. A variety of things in Real Life left me very sad this winter, so finishing the happy stories has been hard. Here's something a little dark. It's just where my mind went. More soon.

"Transience," part 1

These are things I know for certain:

1. In rational space, the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter is an irrational number.

2. If you imagine the three stars of Orion's Belt joining in a line to create a southeastward arrow, you can locate Sirius. Northwestward, Aldebaran.

3. Earth's sky is never so blue as the morning after a raging thunderstorm.

4. There is a resort on Risa where, for the right price, the staff will insist to outsiders that you are not there.

5. When you have a dog, you have a friend for life.

6. My mother's name is Gretchen, my sister's name is Phoebe, my father's name was Edward.

7. My name is Kathryn Janeway, and I am Captain of a starship lost in the Delta Quadrant.

When I wake up, these are among the things I know for certain. Facts and figures, concepts and connections.

And you. I know you. When I wake up, you are sitting in a chair beside my bed, elbows on knees, head bent low. I watch you breathe, and I although I know the rhythm of your breath well enough to hear the depth of your exhaustion, I do not know how I know this. Only that I know.

When I wake up, I call to you, softly. "Commander?"

You stare at me, your initial look of profound relief giving way to confusion and concern. You tilt your head to one side and I know your hair is grayer than I have ever seen it. "I'm glad you're awake," you say, and I know that these are not the first words that sprang to your lips.

I do not know why I know this. But I know.

"How long have I been out?"

You glance at a chrono on the wall. "About six hours."

"And how long have you been here?"

You smile grimly. "About six hours."

"Who is in charge of my ship, Commander?" Your jaw goes slack, but you say nothing. "Status report, Commander," I bark, and you rise slowly to stand at parade rest, your hands clasped behind your back.

"Tuvok has the Bridge," you say. "And we're maintaining course at best speed."

Standing like that, looming over my bedside, you seem taller and broader than I know you to be. "Course heading?"

You hesitate. "The course you ordered."

"What course?" When you do not answer, I try to push myself into a sitting position. My head swims with the effort. You dart forward and try to ease me — ease, not force, you are careful and gentle with me — back into the bed. I stare at your hands wrapped around my arms. "What course, Commander?"

"I think you should —" you begin, but then a third voice enters the room.

"You should have told us she was awake, Chakotay," the voice says. "We have been waiting." The person belonging to the voice steps into view. She is tall and fair and almost unutterably beautiful, and although she is smiling at me I know that I do not know her at all.

"Who are you?" I demand. Your hands try to settle me into the bed again. "No, stop. Let go of me, Commander." I struggle against you, and you relent just enough to let me turn and look up at the blonde again. "Who are you?"

The blonde does not answer. Another person enters the room behind her, a younger man I do recognize. "Ensign," I call to him, encouraged by his friendly smile. "Where is the EMH?"

Ensign Kim grins. "The Doc has Eddie right now, but since you're awake I'm sure he'll be in soon."

"Eddie? Who is Eddie?" I ask.

Ensign Kim's smile falters. "Eddie is your —"

"Don't, Harry," you say quickly. "Both of you, go get the Doc. Don't let anyone else in the room."

Eyes wide, Ensign Kim and the blonde woman nod. The blonde woman scurries to carry out your orders, but Ensign Kim hesitates. He forces a smile and places a hand on your shoulder. "I'll get Tom and B'Elanna for you, okay?"

"Thanks, Harry."

"No problem. And we'll send the Doc."

In an instant, you and I are alone in the room again. We stare at each other in tense and wary silence, and I know you, I know you as well as I know the names and locations of all the constellations visible in the summer sky over my childhood home.I know you. But I do not know why.

"Edward was my father's name," I whisper.

You nod. "Yes."

"My father is dead."

"Yes."

"Who is Eddie?" The sound you make in the back of your throat is profoundly sad. "Who is Eddie, Commander?"

You close your eyes and sink back into the chair at my bedside. "We should wait for the Doc."

"Why? What's going on? How did I get here?"

"Just wait for the Doc, Kathryn," you murmur.

I narrow my eyes at you. "I don't recall giving you permission to use my name, Commander."

You turn your face away from me as if I had slapped you and I know the remark has undone you just as surely as if I had slapped you. My heart wants to utter words of contrition and consolation, but my mind offers none and I struggle with this feeling of both knowing and not knowing you. Suddenly tired, I lie back into the bed. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because…" Again I fight to find the words. "Because I think I should be sorry for that."

"But you don't know why."

"No."

You swallow hard and nod just once in acknowledgment. I want you to look at me. I want you to say my name again even though I've never given you permission to use it, I want you to take my hand. I don't know why I want these things, but I know you well enough to know I can believe you if you tell me everything will be all right and I need to hear you say it. But you stay still and silent. I feel tears fill my eyes and scrub them away so you will not turn and see them fall.

The door hisses open and closed, and I peer up at the ship's EMH, who is waving a scanner over my skull. "Doctor," I say.

He glances at you. You nod. The Doctor smiles down at me. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused." I raise a hand to the side of my head, realizing only now that I am in pain. "And my head hurts."

"There's still some intracranial swelling," the Doc says. "What's the last thing you remember?"

I stare up at the ceiling. "Falling," I say. "Did I hit my head?"

In my peripheral vision, the Doc nods. "That's right. You were still conscious when Chakotay brought you here. Do you remember that?"

"No."

You and the Doc exchange a glance. "Do you remember where you were when you fell?"

"There were…stairs. They were slick. But I was carrying…something...when I slipped. So I couldn't catch myself." I turn to look at you. "I was in Engineering. You were there. We were both checking up on Lieutenant Torres. Weren't we?"

You shake your head.

"It wasn't in Engineering?"

"No," you say softly. "Do you remember what you were carrying?"

I close my eyes and try to visualize the scene, but I can't see anything but the two of us in Engineering. "No."

"Do you know the date?"

I blink up at the Doc. "I…no. I don't think I do."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Sickbay." I take a quick look around the room and notice something I hadn't before: A window in the wall to my right, and beyond it a square of blue sky. A bolt of fear runs up and down my spine. "Or…a hospital?"

The doc frowns. "Mister Kim said you weren't sure who Eddie was. Is that true?"

I look from the EMH back to you, only to find you staring at me intently. "Edward was my father's name, but I don't know anyone named Eddie," I say, and you turn away from me again, but not before I see the hope in your eyes turn to despair. "And my father is dead."

You slump forward in your chair, elbows on knees, face buried in your hands.

I know you.

I know your laugh, a low, rolling chuckle that you habitually hide from all but your closest friends. I know the way you tug on your ear or rub your chin when you're nervous. I know your walk and your sigh and your voice in the night.

"Chakotay," I plead. "Chakotay, look at me." You draw a deep breath and face me, and I know that the smile you give me is forced. "Chakotay, what's happened to me?"

"You had an accident," you say.

"Bad?"

"Bad enough."

"Why don't I remember what happened?"

You glance up at the Doc. "Transient global amnesia," he says.

"Amnesia?" I try to sit up in again, my head spins again, and this time the EMH gently lowers me back to the mattress. "From a fall?"

"It was a bad fall," the EMH says. "You apparently made no effort to protect yourself from the impact."

I frown at him, and then at you. "Because I was trying to protect what I was carrying."

You nod and look up at the EMH. "And she complained of a migraine this morning."

The EMH harrumphs at both of us. "Why didn't you call me?"

I shrug; I have no memory of having a migraine, nor of why I would complain to you about it.

"We were going to let you know at the checkup," you say.

"Whose checkup?" I ask.

You and the EMH stare at each other for a long moment. "Eddie's checkup," you finally say, and rise to pace across the room. You lean your shoulder against the window and stare blankly out into the blue sky. The EMH is reassuring me that my condition is surely temporary, that this particular type of amnesia can be caused by mild head trauma and exacerbated by migraines, and that my memories will gradually return over the course of the next few days. But I barely hear a word he is saying.

I can't take my eyes off of you.

I know you.

I know you deeply, intimately, thoroughly, joyfully.

I know you.

But I do not know how or why or when I came to know you, and I am suddenly terrified.

End of part 1