Title: Creative Comfort
Series: Star Trek: Voyager
Author: Singing Violin
Rating: T
Summary: Kathryn's got a problem. Chakotay has a solution.
Disclaimer: I have borrowed the characters and the universe from Paramount.
Feedback: Yes please.
Archiving: Anywhere.
Author's Note: For Robyn, Gates, and Heartwings, with apologies for not delivering what they're waiting for (yet).
A wave of pain engulfed Kathryn, and instinctively, a hand went to her abdomen. She needed to move.
Carefully, she rose and began pacing around the bridge, taking note of her officers' activities, but not trusting herself to meddle, knowing that, as distracted as she was, she might overlook something obvious and appear the fool.
Suddenly, another bout of pain arrived, this time – possibly because of her erect posture – concomitant with dizziness. Before she knew it, she was falling, and her hand reached out towards the railing, but she was unable to catch herself, and landed flat on her back beside Ops, the pain surrounding her navel now matched by the stinging sensation in her spine.
Ensign Kim immediately knelt beside her and pressed two fingers against her neck. Mortified, she attempted to squirm away, but another hand – this one belonging to her first officer – pressed against her chest, preventing her from rising.
A third set of hands appeared in her field of vision, this one holding a tricorder, scanning over her body. She reached up and slapped it away, then pushed up against Chakotay's hand until she was in a sitting position.
"That's enough, Mister Paris," she snapped. "I'm fine."
Chakotay frowned. "With all due respect, Captain, you just collapsed. That's not the usual definition of 'fine'."
She glared at him. "I lost my footing," she tried, though all three men beside her looked unconvinced. She met each one of their eyes in turn.
Finally, she reached an arm towards Chakotay, and he obediently pulled her up, though she was nonplussed by the subtle use of his other hand to brace her, as if he expected her to fall again. "I'll be in my ready room," she announced, then disappeared through the doors before she could embarrass herself further.
Not twenty minutes later, the door chimed. "Come," she ordered, annoyed to have been disturbed. In truth, she hadn't been doing much – in fact had spent a good ten minutes curled up on the couch, shamelessly waiting for the pain to subside enough to be able to read reports, which was what she was doing now.
She looked up and her eyes met the holographic doctor's. A fluttering amid her already-uneasy insides alerted her to the probable reason for his visit, but she decided not to acknowledge it, hoping against hope that the rumors of her affliction had not pervaded the entire ship. "What can I do for you, Doctor?" she asked innocently.
The EMH looked disapprovingly at her. "It has come to my attention, Captain, that you have been feeling unwell. Lieutenant Paris told me he tried to scan you to find out what was wrong, after you fainted on the bridge, but that you pushed the tricorder away before he could get a reading."
Janeway matched his glare. "I didn't faint," she objected. "I never lost consciousness. I merely tripped, and I…"
Just at that moment, the pain decided to return full-force, and she halted abruptly as she paled and pressed a hand to her stomach.
"Captain!" the EMH cried, alarmed. Before she could object, he had already whipped out his tricorder and begun to scan her. His eyes grew wider, and when he finally looked up, she was staring back at him.
"So now you know," she told him. "And it's nothing to worry about."
The Doctor shook his head. "On the contrary, Captain; if it is affecting your ability to do your job, it is certainly something to worry about. Besides, you've got half the bridge crew practically panicked that their captain is dying."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me. Sometimes I like to forget that they're men."
"Besides," the hologram continued, "this has been fixable for centuries. I don't read any analgesics in your system. Why don't you just take something for it?"
"Because," she replied, "nothing works. And most of them upset my stomach. Besides, it's not usually this bad."
He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been ingesting anything unusual recently?"
"You mean besides Neelix's unidentifiable cooking?" she retorted.
TheD octor opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "There was only the planetside dinner with the Kintreshan minister, celebrating our trade agreement. The food was rather spicy. But surely there isn't any of it left in my system; it exited rather hastily, if I recall correctly. Sorry to be indelicate."
The Doctor smiled slightly. "No need to apologize, Captain. I'm your doctor. It is quite possible that the chemicals that caused your discomfort yesterday could also be contributing to your symptoms today. Your body surely absorbed quite a large amount, and the human system has been known to be particularly intolerant of certain alien substances."
Janeway groaned as her momentary relief escaped again at the memory of various strange dinners making their way through her system. "If you don't mind, Doctor, I'd rather you not talk about that."
"All right, Captain, but the problem remains. We simply can't have you fainting on the bridge and panicking the ensigns."
"I didn't – oh hell." Her hand returned to the area just below her navel and she failed to suppress a slight cringe. "What do you suggest?"
He snapped his tricorder shut. "First off, I'd like you to take the rest of the day off. The crew will do fine without you for a few hours. I'd also like you to experiment with various painkillers over the next couple of days; perhaps we can find – or develop – something that works for you."
Resigned as the pain assaulted her yet again, she waved a hand in the air. "Fine, Doctor. But if I have to take days off every month, I suspect the crew will catch on. Even the men."
The EMH sighed. "With all due respect, Captain, with your mood of late, I believe they already have an idea. I overheard something to the effect of, 'It's a miracle the Kintreshans agreed to the deal; I think they just wanted to get the captain off their planet as quickly as possible.'"
She raised an eyebrow as she reminded herself not to shoot the messenger. "I see," she responded. "Well, I suppose a few hours off won't hurt me, and hopefully we can find a solution before the rumor mill becomes any more productive."
The Doctor produced a hypospray. "Let's start with this," he offered, pressing it to her neck. "Report directly to your quarters, and let me know in about an hour how it's working."
"Fine," she responded unhappily, then exited with the Doctor onto the bridge. "Commander Chakotay," she ordered, "you have the bridge for the rest of the shift. Comm me if there's an emergency."
The Doctor glared at her in response to the last sentence, but she defied him with an angry glance, and wisely, he decided not to push his luck by objecting aloud.
Several hours later, the door to her quarters chimed. Not bothering to rise from the couch to greet the Doctor, she ordered her visitor to enter. However, when her eyes rose from the padd she was reading, they met not the EMH but her second-in-command.
Quickly, she attempted to rise, but for the second time that day, his hand stopped her.
"Please," he begged. "Don't get up. I only wanted to know how you were."
I'd be better if my first officer weren't treating me like a feeble old woman, she thought, but bit her tongue. "I'm fine," she replied instead. "The Doctor examined me; there's nothing to be worried about."
"Kathryn," he tried, sitting down next to her, heedless of her glare. "You were miserable on the bridge, even before you fell. And I noticed you've been pretty irritable the last few days. I was trying to keep the crewmen away from you, for fear they'd spontaneously combust if they got too close."
At that, she chuckled slightly. "It's been a bit stressful lately. I'm sorry; I'll try to be more careful."
He shook his head, opting for full disclosure. "It was like this before, just about thirty days ago. And again, sixty days ago. I may have a Y chromosome, but I think I know what's going on."
She sighed loudly and leaned back. "That's what the Doctor said. I mean, not that he has a Y chromosome, being a hologram and all, but that I shouldn't be so concerned with hiding it from the crew, because they already know." She sat up and looked Chakotay in the eye. "I have to say, I'm not so happy with that fact. I'd like to be able to run this ship without my crew seeing me as vulnerable to something so simple as – well, you know."
He took her hand in his, rubbing it gently. His eyes sparkled. "I, for one, am very glad that you're a woman. We all have weaknesses. We're human. And I'd love to be able to turn your little bug into a feature."
Both her eyebrows rose in tandem, so fast that they threatened to exit her skull and fly away. "What, exactly, are you suggesting?"
He smiled sweetly, flashing his dimples. "Well, there's a really great way of getting rid of that monthly thing," he told her. "At least, for a while…"
Her jaw dropped. "You can't possibly be suggesting…"
He sighed. "I'm serious, Kathryn. How old are you now? Forty-five? I know you wanted to have children eventually. If you wait until we get home, it might be too late. And the crew love Naomi. More children on this ship could have a very positive effect on the psychological well-being of the crew. The captain sets an example, so…"
"Is that your professional opinion, Commander?" she asked warily.
"Yes," he replied. "But not just that. You're practically a mother to this whole crew. You've earned the right to have one of your own. As your friend, I want you to be happy. I can't stand the thought of your growing old and grey, regretting the biggest lost opportunity of them all."
She sighed, horrified to even be considering his suggestion, but at the same time rather intrigued by the prospect. "What about morning sickness? I can't be humiliating myself by vomiting on the bridge."
"It's not much worse than fainting," Chakotay retorted.
"I didn't faint!" she protested, exasperated.
"Right. In any case, we don't even know you'll have morning sickness. And there are drugs for that too…"
She sighed. "Fine. What about labor and recovery? What if I needed a Caesarian? I'd be out of commission for four to six weeks."
"We can cover for you," he replied. "It's not as if you haven't been injured or ill before. We managed then, and we'll manage in the future."
"Breast-feeding?" she asked. "I can't be breast-feeding a child on-duty."
He frowned. "Why not? You're the captain; I say you can do what you want, as long as it doesn't interfere with the productivity of the crew. And having a small child around once in a while could really lift their spirits, making them more productive. And if you're uncomfortable with feeding him on the bridge, the ready room is private enough."
"Him, Commander? You're already deciding the gender of our yet-to-be-conceived child? And you're anti-female already! I knew this wasn't a good idea…" She moved to rise from the couch.
"Wait," he objected, gently pushing her back down. "It could be a girl. I was being arbitrary. I'm sorry. But did you say 'our child'? As in 'yours and mine'?"
She blinked. "I suppose I did. Perhaps I was being arbitrary as well."
He looked dejected, and slowly, a grin spread across her face. "All right, Commander, I'll consider your suggestion, on one condition."
He looked hopefully at her. "What condition?"
"If I do this, I want you to be the father."
His mouth expanded to mirror hers. "I was hoping you'd say that."
For a moment, neither of them spoke, as they just stared into each other's eyes.
Then her expression changed slightly. "There's something else."
He snickered. "I knew you couldn't stop at one condition."
She frowned at him, not nearly as annoyed as she wanted to be. "The crew doesn't get told unless we're successful. I'd rather not contribute any more to the rumor mill."
He nodded. "Okay."
Suddenly she cringed, and he eyed her with concern.
"The analgesic's wearing off," she explained. "That one lasted," she spoke as she checked her chronometer, "about ninety minutes."
"Here," he offered, gently easing her down until she lay across his lap. He then began rubbing the area below her belly button.
She closed her eyes. "That feels nice," she admitted. Soon, she found herself drifting off in response to his ministrations.
Suddenly, her communicator beeped, rousing her abruptly. "Captain Janeway here," she answered hastily.
"This is the Doctor," said the voice on the other end. "Since I haven't heard from you, I assume the latest medicine is working?"
"No," she told him, "it wore off a while ago." She looked up at the man who held her. "But I've found another solution, thanks to Commander Chakotay."
"An ancient tribal remedy?" the Doctor asked.
Chakotay bit his lip, trying not to laugh aloud.
"Something like that," Janeway answered coyly. "In any case, your services are no longer required."
"Aye, Captain. Doctor out."
"For now," Chakotay supplied after the link ended.
"We'll see," Janeway agreed. "But for now, keep doing what you're doing. I haven't felt this good at this time of month since – well, ever."
"Aye, Captain," he responded readily, and obeyed.