Broken Fences
By Eydie Munroe
Disclaimer: The cast, crew, writers and probably caterers on Star Trek: Voyager belong to Paramount and/or CBS. I don't know why – it's not like they play with them anymore. Hmmm…maybe there's some room for negotiation here…?
Author's Note: This was written for VAMB'S 2014 Secret Summer Exchange. The request from Mizvoy: "I would like story that is an addition to the episode 'Good Shepherd.' It should focus on the J and C friendship/relationship and can be from J or C's perspective or from someone from the senior staff or lower decks."
Thanks as always to the amazing Hester for the beta. Enjoy!
Kathryn:
I've woken up in this position far too many times in my life – consciousness just coming back to me while someone hovers over me with a worried expression. It started with Mom, and sometimes Dad, when I was sick or had hurt myself in some ill-advised childhood adventure. Then the last time, after Tau Ceti, I woke up to Mom's tearful eyes and trembling chin, my groggy mind watching her do everything in her power to hold it together as she clutched my hand and stiltingly told me that Daddy and Justin were gone – explaining that Starfleet had retrieved what was left of our ship, and that there had been no hope of resuscitating them. Even with her husband gone, she was soldiering on, making sure that I was being supported as I learned the horrible truth.
The last few years though, it's been two others that I usually find in these situations. One is the EMH, a hologram who could annoy the stars out of the sky if he tried hard enough. The other is the face coming in blurry focus before me now. In the past, it would almost be frantic with worry as to whether or not I'd wake up, but today the concern only shows in his eyes, his features schooled perfectly into resolute control. Sometimes I wonder if Chakotay stands there, wishing for me to pull through just because he's hoping like hell he'd never have to inherit my job. But even after these months since the Equinox, where we've struggled to find our footing again, I know better. He may not care about me like he used to, but if he didn't at all, he wouldn't be here.
His form is still fuzzy until my eyes involuntarily flutter, and he becomes clearer. Then I suddenly remember why I'm here. My flight or fight response kicks in, and I sit up to look for my team. "My crew!"
"Easy," he tells me, his hand on the back of my arm to keep me steady. Then he informs me that they're all there, sleeping, and that Voyager found us unconscious and floating above the gas giant. As he fills me in and then asks me what happened, there's a certain amount of disinterest in his face.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, I tell him, "The good shepherd went after some lost sheep, and ran into a wolf."
His expression doesn't change. "Did she find them?"
Memories of my time with those three misfits flood back to me, and even with all the frustration that came with them, so did a certain amount of pride in that they eventually managed to pull together in the end. As my gaze falls on Harren's sleeping form I know that, at least in the short term, I stirred something in them that had previously been ignored. "I think she did," I murmur, feeling just a little bit better knowing they're safe.
Chakotay:
As I gaze down at her, it occurs to me that she's delusional. Not because of any lingering aftereffect of her injuries, but because she really does think that she's magically reached them after B'Elanna, the Doctor, and even I haven't been able to make any progress with them in the last five years. And it's not as if she'd never heard of them before – I know I've mentioned them to Kathryn more than once – but only when Seven of Nine and her smug little efficiency analysis brought them to the captain's attention did she finally listen.
I hate that Borg some days.
It certainly didn't help afterward that Kathryn slapped down my suggestion of relieving Tal, Harren and Telfer of duty, her comment about them not being Borg drones particularly stinging. It's not like I made that suggestion lightly, but in my capacity as the personnel manager around here, I thought that maybe it was for the best. And it has certainly made me skeptical of her blind ambition of 'bringing them into the fold', knowing that it was spurred by a naiveté that comes from her lack of interaction with them, and the fact that I probably have shielded her from the majority of their daily issues.
I wonder what's changed between us. I used to be head over heels in love with her, and when we'd find ourselves in this situation, there'd be a wave of relief that would wash over me when she'd finally open her eyes. But today the only relief I feel is that, for at least one more day, I won't have to lead this crew home.
And that scares the hell out of me.
Kathryn turns back to face me again, her expression puzzled. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I lie quickly – easily – not wanting to reveal my melancholy mood. With sincerity I don't feel, I tell her, "I'm just glad you're alright."
She smiles at me. "Thanks."
All I want to do is get out of here. My attitude must be worse than I thought. "Get some rest," I say, giving her a nod before I head out into the corridor. I pause once I'm out of earshot, heaving a heavy sigh. I can't let this feeling get the better of me.
Kathryn:
I watch him go, and I'm confused. He's very aloof, and that's not I would associate with him lately. Something tells me that if I hadn't ended up in Sickbay, I wouldn't have seen him at all today.
"Ah, Captain!" The EMH comes into my field of vision, a chipper smile on his face. "How are you feeling?"
My eyes slide closed a moment as I take stock of my body. "I've got a headache the size of a warp core, but I'm alright." I then ask the question he expects. "When can I get out of here?"
His eyes roll, and for a moment I wonder just why his creator added that feature to his programming. "It astounds me that that's always the first question you ask," he snipes as he reaches for a hypospray.
It makes me smile. It's only when he gets overly kind that I know something is really wrong. "I've got a ship to run," I tell him in a tone that I know will irritate him further. It's a strange game we play.
"Yes, well you can let the commander run it for a little longer." He injects analgesic into my neck, then runs the detachable scanner from his tricorder over me. "You sustained a severe concussion and partial asphyxiation due to microfractures that the Flyer sustained. We nearly lost you because while you'd held your own when you first arrived here, your circulatory system seemed to collapse just as soon as I stabilized your crewmates. A near-death experience earns you at least another twelve hours in my Sickbay for observation."
Oh goody. "That will give me a chance to catch up on my reports."
The Doctor snaps the tricorder shut and glares down at me. "No, it will give you a chance to sleep – something that you do entirely too little of." Then his expression softens. "Let the rest of us take care of things for a while," he tells me before he walks away.
Before he's even gone, my eyes feel heavy. I can't help but wonder if the painkiller was laced with a sedative. Or maybe it's just age and my abused body catching up with me and overriding my usual will to overpower infirmity. But as I fall asleep, I can't help but see Chakotay's face, and the indifference I saw there bothers me.