Regret
Repercussions, Recriminations, Remorse, Reflections

2013 Kiwi Girrrl

Rated: T

Author's Note:

This story was originally posted as "Apologies". Although the basic outline of the story is still the same, I have extensively re-written it.

The woman standing before me is agitated; this is apparent to me only because she avoids making direct eye contact. I know this woman very well, for we have faced each other thus many times before. Her posture is rigid, Starfleet trained and ingrained but there is something almost imperceptible about the stance; something carefully practiced, almost as if she is just barely holding herself together. Her chin is raised slightly; showing her confident, if somewhat defiant nature. Only her eyes show any indication of what she may be thinking or feeling, and that is why she avoids meeting mine. I can understand her reluctance, I don't particularly want to make eye contact with her either; afraid of what she may see if I let my control slip. My emotions are still too raw, too close to the surface, from a meeting with Seven of Nine a short while ago.

I turn away from her briefly; pinching the bridge of my nose, I rub my fingertips quickly over my furrowed brow trying to erase the worry lines; and slip the infamous 'Captain Janeway' command mask into place. This is a technique I have used many times over the years since I earned my four pips. People have called me many things over the years; hard, heartless, even evil; when facing this persona. What they don't realise; and what I'm quite glad they don't understand is; the mask is the only way I have to safeguard my tender heart and not let my empathy for the person before me overwhelm me. It is a necessity to enable me to carry out my duties as Captain but more importantly; it is essential for my emotional survival; it is my only defense, my armour.

I would have thought after all these years, after all the confrontations with this particular person, she would be easier to deal with; she is not. But now that I have my mask in place, I feel sufficiently prepared to give this woman the worst dressing down of her career. I would strip her of her rank entirely if I could, I was that angry.

"You lied to me." The statement is succinct in its simplicity.

She says nothing in her defence; just shrugs off the accusation as if it is unimportant, irrelevant. In a way she is right, I can forgive her lying to me; she has lied to me on a regular basis over the last few years. She stares at me defiantly, meeting my eyes now; she also has a mask in place. It is the response I expected, we have danced this way many times before. But this opening statement had just been a formality, a build up to the reason we were here.

"You misled Seven." Another simple statement.

She glances away, unable to maintain eye contact under the directness of my gaze, the weight of my indignation. That's it Janeway, go straight for the jugular. No need to beat about the bush.

"I had to." She replies quietly but firmly. I can see she is still convinced she did the right thing.

"She trusted you." She flinched as my words hit their mark.

"She deserves a chance to have a close personal relationship, a romantic relationship, with someone who will be there for her, who isn't afraid to be with her. Can you honestly say she would have that with you?" She becomes more animated the more she has the courage to say in her defence. Her eyes meet mine again, defiant, stubborn.

This time it is my turn to look away from her. Her directness and willingness to point out my innermost secrets, is shocking and unexpected. If I was honest with myself, with her, I would tell her she was right. But whether or not Seven and I could have a romantic relationship is a non-issue while we are still on board Voyager and stranded in the Delta Quadrant. So I chose to ignore her question, burying it with my head in the sand. But this is not about what Captain Janeway wants, so I go on the offensive.

"For years you watched Seven while she became re-acquainted with humanity, with her emotions; grew as an individual, as a friend, as a woman. You stood on the sidelines while she formed friendships, relationships with members of the crew. You formed your own friendship of sorts with her. A friendship strong enough for her to come to you with a life-altering decision to make." I didn't let her interrupt, I was just warming up.

"She asked you, in good faith, if you knew of any reason why she and Chakotay shouldn't enter into a romantic relationship. You told her there had been a time, a very long time ago, when he may have had a relationship with you, if things had been different. But the relationship wasn't pursued and there are no romantic feelings between you now. That much was the truth." That point was easy to concede. But now I get to the crux of the matter.

Go on Captain, don't hold back to spare her feelings, she doesn't deserve leniency.

"But then you misled her, you didn't tell her everything. You kept the most important information to yourself. You didn't tell her you knew someone else who loved her more than he ever would. A person who has loved her, secretly, for years. She didn't have all the facts, she couldn't make an informed decision, so she chose him. She deserved to know the whole truth."

"And then you tried to tell me that it was for the best; for everyone involved."

My judgement of her is scathing, but as I deliver it my voice thickens with emotion.

"You don't deserve your rank, your position, your uniform. You're a coward."

With each admonition she appears to shrink a little more, until she is hardly recognisable as the woman who stood before me such a short time ago. She can no longer meet my gaze; for which I am thankful. My mask has slipped and the last thing I want is for her to see her pain reflected in my eyes.

"Do you have anything to say?" I ask in a calm quiet voice now that I have said my piece. She remains silent for several minutes before finally answering.

"I'm sorry." Her apology is a mere whisper. Her head is bowed, her spirit broken; a small sob echoes loudly in the quiet room. But somehow she finds the strength to meet my eyes once more; her eyes are full of pain and regret, as a tear falls over her cheek.

While I watch another tear joins the first and she starts to weep openly; a very rare occurrence. My command mask does not make me impervious to her obvious pain. I cannot remain unmoved as the weight of her remorse settles heavily on my heart.

I lean my forehead against hers, and our tears fall together; as I feel the cold, hard, unyielding surface of the mirror against my skin.

"...it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable."

Sydney J. Harris 1917-1986