Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager, the characters, etc. belong to Paramount.
She Looked Away First
She looked away first. If anyone had been watching the scene unfolding before us, they undoubtedly would have seen her as cold, distant, the first one willing to walk away from what we had shared together on New Earth. In a voice that was oh so normal, oh so businesslike, she had called for beam up and then our little slice of paradise was fading from our eyes as the reality of Voyager swam back into existence. On the bridge she barked out orders and didn't once even turn my way. But neither did I turn hers. It was an unspoken agreement between us. Yes, ma'am, I'll get right to it.
Yes, if anyone had been watching that scene, they would have said she had a heart of stone, that she was emotionless.
But they wouldn't have seen what I have seen. They wouldn't know her as I do.
********
She had been stretched out comfortably in the grass at the edge of her garden, dribbling fingerfuls of dirt around the beginnings of Talaxian tomatoes, a look of contentment in her eyes that I had never seen there when we were aboard Voyager. I gently teased her about her gardening skills, and we laughed together. She had even leaned back into my knee as I knelt down next to her. Then I had brought her into the shelter to unveil my latest surprise. I loved seeing her eyes light up as I showed her the schematics of the boat I was planning to build, loved hearing the excitement in her voice as she suggested a camping trip (minus the bathtub).
It was a blissful moment of sharing, somewhat ordinary perhaps, but a representation of just how far we had come together. Our days were spent in companionable pursuits, and our life plans were now inextricably interwoven. We were all the other one had. And even more, that knowledge brought us joy and a peace that had been missing from both of our lives for so long.
And then we heard it. A slight crackle from across the room where Kathryn's commbadge lay dusty and half-forgotten.
"Tuvok to Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay." Static then silence.
We both froze for a moment that seemed much longer than it really was, and then Kathryn had the badge in her hand and was speaking into it.
"Captain, we have an antidote that we believe will cure you and the Commander. We will be within transporter range in approximately 30 hours. Tuvok out."
Shock. That's the only word I can use to describe what I knew was mirrored on both of our faces as we stared helplessly at one another. I saw the beginnings of tears begin to gloss in her blue eyes, and suddenly all I wanted to do was comfort her, even though my own heart was breaking. So I offered her a small, rueful smile.
It didn't work.
She backed away from me, her breathing rapid.
"I..I'm going for a walk," she choked out.
"Kathryn," I said, more loudly than I had intended. I went after her, but she stopped me.
"NO!" she half-yelled. "No." She said again, more quietly. Her hand was outstretched in an attempt to ward me off so I accepted her need to be alone and watched silently as she ran, ran far into the forest until I could no longer see or hear her anymore.
And then I sat down at the table, dropped my head into my hands, and cried.
************
I gave her an hour. I gave myself that hour, too. An hour to calm down, to attempt to contact my spirit guide (which for once I couldn't seem to do), an hour to prepare myself to be what I had always been for her since the first time we had met—her support, her rock, the only one she had to lean on when her own steps were uncertain.
And then I went after her, deep into the forest. I found her by the sound of her crying—Spirits, she was still crying. She was huddled underneath an overgrown tree beside one of the numerous tributaries of the river. Her knees were drawn up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. Her head was lowered, and her hair hung loose in tangles around her face, hiding it from view.
"Kathryn," I said as softly as I could.
She looked up at me, and I immediately wished she hadn't. Her eyes were twin pools of despair, and sorrow had ravaged her beautiful face. I had never seen her like this. I had never seen her lose control so utterly and irrevocably.
It scared me.
Kathryn Janeway was the strongest person I knew—yes, she usually maintained that strength by repressing her emotions behind a façade of tight control and duty, but the fact that she was even able to repress the enormity of those emotions was a tribute to her fortitude.
Yet then, in that moment, there was no control. No last vestiges of the woman I thought I had known so well. There had been times over the last three years—over the last three months—that I wished she would let herself go and let me bring her back. But I would never have wished such complete devastation upon one I loved as I loved this woman. My heart ached, a physical manifestation so potent that I gasped as the pain hit me squarely.
She had already buried her face back into her knees so I sat down beside her, my body nestled against hers, and laid a tentative hand on her back.
"Kathryn," I murmured again. She answered with a sob, and then she had flung herself into my arms, into my lap, and her face was buried in my chest as I held her and rocked her and could find nothing that brought her any degree of comfort.
After what seemed like hours, she finally spoke through her tears. And when she did, her sincerity, her desperation, made me cry again as well.
"Oh, Chakotay," she moaned. "I can't do this. I can't go back there. I don't want to go back to being the captain again. I don't want to go back to wearing the mask I wear everyday. I don't want to go back to a journey that will take the rest of our lives and maybe longer where I have to deny myself everything that makes me happy just so I can get the crew home. I know it's my fault they're stuck out here and so it's my responsibility to do everything I can to get them back but I don't think I can do it anymore. Before we came here, I didn't even know who I was anymore, except for the captain of the Starship Voyager. Kathryn was almost completely gone—I'd had to push her away to get through every day, to be the voice of optimism and hope on our journey. I had to push away everything she felt, everything she wanted because those things would only distract me from the task at hand. It's been like a punishment for my transgressions with the Caretaker's array. "
I pulled her away from my chest and forced her to look at me.
"Listen to me, Kathryn," I said firmly. But she was shaking her head and refusing to hear any words of comfort or reason. So I fell silent, thinking that maybe what she really needed was to get the words out, to put a voice to her emotions so that she could begin to accept what was happening and to begin the healing process.
"Tell me what you're thinking, sweetheart," I said finally. "Tell me everything."
"It's taken me almost the whole six weeks here to rediscover who I am, to remember who Kathryn is. To enjoy life again without looking over my shoulder and waiting for the other shoe to drop. I've been happy here with you, Chakotay, "she whispered. "Happier than…than I've ever been in my life…." Her voice trailed off as she dissolved into sobs again, wrapping her arms tightly around me and pressing her face into my neck.
"Oh, Kathryn." It was all I could think of to say.
**********
Needless to say, it was one of the hardest days of my life. And, I think, hers, too. We stayed out in the forest until the first dark tendrils of twilight were reaching through the trees and, even then, we took our time walking back to the shelter hand-in-hand.
Dinner was very quiet. Neither of us was really hungry but, as I reminded her, this would be the last time we could freely use the replicator without having to worry about rations. After we returned Voyager, it was back to Neelix and leola root. This elicited a tiny yet genuine smile from Kathryn, and she had snuggled a little closer to me on the couch, resting her hand lightly on my thigh. Although we didn't eat much, I wished the dinner could have lasted for all eternity. I knew once we were back on the ship, the opportunities to hold her, to comfort her, and just to be with her, would become practically nonexistent. I could have pressed to continue our relationship, despite our mutual decision, but I knew suddenly that she'd never be able to go back if any remnants of this time, this place, remained in her life. In that one way, she was too fragile. A hint of the joy would only leave her wanting more, hungry for what she had finally achieved here in the haven we called New Earth.
After dinner, we sat, watching the silent darkness through the tiny windows of the shelter. Her hand moved restlessly across mine as I stroked her hair and wound it through my exploring fingers. We were silent. There was nothing more that either of us could say. Finally, she picked her head up and moved toward the bedroom. I followed her and watched as she lay down, curled almost into fetal position, not at all the way she usually slept. And I knew, because I had watched her every night since we had gotten there.
I lay in my bed, sleepless, for a very long time, watching her shoulders and back rise and fall with her deep breaths. Then slowly I got up and walked over to her. I eased myself down on the bed behind her and pulled her against me, wrapping my arms around her. She responded immediately, snuggling deeper into me and securing my arms with her own. I smiled against her hair, kissing the top of her head gently, reveling in the woman that was mine, at least for the moment.
And then I knew without a doubt that there was something more I could say to her. Something that I hadn't actually said yet.
"I love you, Kathryn," I said against her ear. I knew she was sleeping but I had to tell her nonetheless.
And then she was bringing my hands up to her mouth and kissing them tenderly.
"I love you too, Chakotay," she said.
**********
And so, yes, when we were standing outside of the shelter waiting to beam up, she did look away first. But it was only because she wasn't strong enough to do anything else.