A/N Sequel to my one-shot "In the Darkness." You can read this one individually, but the first one explains her history of why she's dealing with this, if you're interested. I'd always intended that to be a stand-alone story, but I guess when I get back to my own dark places, it's easy to let it out by projecting it onto Janeway. And because of how I'm feeling right now, and because I already established that friends can help to some extent but no relationship is going to magically cure the depression, I wanted to make this one a bit more J/C. The second chapter is almost entirely the same story, but from his perspective so you can see what he was thinking, and with an extra scene at the end. If you don't feel like reading the same dialogue with a different perspective, I suggest at least skipping down to the final scene of Chakotay's version. At least, if you have any interest in the really J/C stuff.
=/\=
The tub was leaking.
After a long day of captaining her ship, defending them against the attacking alien du jour, checking in on all the subsequent necessary repairs, keeping up with as many of the reports as she could, morosely walking through one corridor in particular that was dark and littered with debris not high enough priority for any teams to even get to it today, and checking in on the multitude of wounded in sickbay, all she'd wanted - needed, for the sake of some self-care to keep her from going back into the dark places she could feel herself spiraling toward - was a soak in a bubble bath. They were still facing three more days of significant repairs, assuming they didn't end up in another battle between now and then. So in the midst of that, was it so much to ask that in her brief downtime, she might soak away a few of the knots in her back?
But when she'd entered the bathroom, the tub was leaking.
She wasn't worried about water being wasted. The water would just drain into the reclamation unit, pass through it quickly since the essentially unused water wouldn't even require significant purifying, and then be back in the storage tanks ready for further use.
It was just that her ship was broken, and now when she thought she could relax, her tub was broken too. Sure, it'd still work. But it shouldn't be leaking. It shouldn't be broken.
Somehow, the sight of her bathtub faucet dripping was the particle that overloaded the warp core, as it were. She leaned back against the wall, pulling her towel and robe into a protective bundle at her chest, and slowly sank to the floor, not realizing that her eyes were also leaking until a drop landed on one finger. Somehow, the awareness of that drop was enough to open a torrential flood. She hugged the terrycloth anchor in her arms as sobs wracked her body.
Her communicator chirped. Chakotay to Janeway.
She couldn't stop sobbing long enough to answer. She didn't know why. She'd done it before, innumerable times. Pull herself together, give a crisp and clear answer, return to her darkness when no one could witness it. But the sobs refused to pause today.
Commander Chakotay to Captain Janeway, please respond.
She had to give an answer or he'd alert other people. She shifted just enough to tap her comm badge and said as clearly as she could, "Go." She could hear the break in her voice, but hoped that one syllable would be little enough for him to hear it too.
There was a pause, then Chakotay's voice came back, cautiously, clearly trying to speak in code, which meant that he was apparently not alone. Captain, is it dark there?
She leaned her head back against the wall, somewhere between relief and despair. He knew, just from a single word over the comm. He could tell. She always trusted him not to tell anyone else, but still hated feeling so vulnerable as for him to know when it was bad. But he already knew, so she took a deep breath, and in a slightly steadier (albeit not actually steady) voice, replied, "Yes. An overload."
I'll be right there.
"No, Commander, there are more important things to see to -" she started. But he didn't answer and she knew he'd already closed the channel.
She wanted to get up. Wanted to look better when he came in, convince him that he really should be doing other things. But it just felt like too much, and he was there before she'd mustered the strength. She heard the doors woosh open, then a pause. She had to assume he was looking around the outer room for her.
"Kathryn?" he called out.
She wanted to call, "Here," so he could come in and find her. She wanted to get up and stride out with a smile so he wouldn't worry. She wanted to sink into the floor and hide so he'd think she'd left the room entirely. But she just couldn't seem to do anything at all.
She heard his footsteps enter her bedroom, slowly. Cautiously, she thought. He was entering a more private part of her life, something he wouldn't typically do.
"Kathryn?" he called again softly.
She must've made a slight noise. She doubted he'd ever come in the bathroom without even knocking first if she hadn't made some noise that indicated she was in there. But suddenly there were his feet in her door frame. She lifted her head, trailing her eyes up his body to look into his face, tears still streaking her cheeks. She gave a slight shrug, then said with what she hoped was some mirth, "The tub was leaking."
Somehow, this sent her over the edge again, and she was sobbing anew, with self-deprecating laughter intermingled. She felt so stupid, yet she just couldn't stop crying about that ridiculous and intensely minor little drip.
He sat next to her, barely fitting between the sink and her position against the side of the tub. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him, his other hand stroking her hair. At first she stiffened, then she relaxed against him. Her bundle fell to the floor as she turned in to him, resting her hands against his chest so they were trapped between their bodies. She sobbed into the front of his shoulder, ignoring the awkward way that her body was splayed out at this point. It didn't matter. She just needed to draw as much comfort from him as she could.
After minutes or hours, she really couldn't say, her sobs finally subsided, and her little gasping whimpers as well. He whispered into her hair, "Have you talked to the doctor?"
She shook her head, not trusting her voice.
"Will you?"
She shook her head again.
He pulled back a little. "Kathryn." She turned her face up toward his, not quite looking at him but at least indicating acknowledgment. "I care about you too much to just leave you like this, I hope you know that."
She shrugged. "You're the first officer," she muttered, cringing at the croaking voice that came out of her dry throat. "If you feel you must speak to the CMO about the captain's state, that's your prerogative."
He put two fingers under her chin and gently tipped her head up just a little more, until she felt she had to raise her eyes to look into his. She didn't see judgment, nor did she expect to see any. But she didn't see pity either, or disgust, or any of the myriad of other things she felt she should see from him right now. Instead, she saw only care, concern and . . . maybe a little more?
"I didn't say that the first officer was concerned about the captain. When on duty, or called unexpectedly to duty, you invariably manage to push all this aside and perform your duties exceptionally. I said that I, Chakotay, care too much about you, Kathryn, to leave you like this. The doctor may need to adjust your medicine again, and I know that when you're in a really dark place like this it's hard for you to care if he does or not. So if you won't go to him, I will. Because I love you too much not to."
Her breath caught for just a moment. Love. Love as a friend? That must be what he meant. Then she looked away. It didn't matter which kind he meant. "You shouldn't. I'm not worth the pain and aggravation."
"You are."
She stared at the faucet. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"I'm not. I . . . I can't be." He said nothing, apparently waiting for her to continue as he hugged her a little tighter again, but she just watched the faucet. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Finally, when he still said nothing, she whispered, "In the . . . the good times . . . the ones when I can barely remember feeling like this . . . sometimes I think I could be. But the darkness always comes again. The doctor can't stop it from coming again. And you . . . no kind of love can stop it from coming again. It always returns."
"It doesn't matter."
She furrowed her brow a little, almost getting angry. "Of course it matters. You . . . Chakotay, you deserve someone who can give to you as much as you give to them. You deserve -" She stopped herself suddenly, clamping her mouth shut, realizing how close her words came to assuming exactly which kind of love he'd meant, and what he wanted to do about it.
He stroked a hair back from her face and rested his hand on her cheek, not applying any pressure to try to guide her to look at him, just touching her. "You give me more than you know. You give me everything. If giving you comfort when you need it is some small bit that I can return to you, I will do that."
She turned her eyes back to his, feeling her own grow wide as the implication of his words sank in.
"I love you," he said again, softly, and this time there was no mistaking exactly which way he meant it. "In whatever way you need or want me to, in whatever way you will let me, I will always love you."
She couldn't speak. She couldn't answer. She wanted to give herself to his love, but there was a lump in her throat, not from his words, but from the darkness. It extended down and enveloped her chest, blocking out the benefits of his words. She knew that she loved him too, had loved him for a very long time, but something cold and dark was swallowing up the love he poured into her. "How could you?" she finally asked softly. "How could you love someone with such darkness? How could you love me when I'm so . . . so broken?"
"You're not broken," he whispered. "But even if you were, I would love you broken, whole, or anything in between."
"Then aren't you going to kiss me?" Kathryn, the real Kathryn hidden deep inside, was at war with the darkness. Somehow, foolishly, with a romanticism that she hadn't allowed to the surface since sometime within the first year of their journey, she fleetingly thought that maybe if he kissed her the real Kathryn could vanquish the darkness. Like a fairy tale.
But he shook his head. "Not while you're like this. Not because I don't want to, but because I know it won't fix your pain, and I know you're reaching for any comfort you can have. But if you'll come with me to the doctor, let him adjust your medication, and then spend a little bit of time just talking to someone - me, the doctor, or Tuvok, unless you know someone who would be a better help - then once you're back to yourself I promise I will kiss you as much as you want. And if you still want me to kiss you then, when you're feeling better, then after that I will kiss you whenever you want, even if the darkness comes again. Deal?"
She smiled a little, even though it didn't seem to entirely match her internal feelings. "Deal."
He rose to his feet and offered her a hand, which she gladly accepted, unsure if she could even stand after sitting there so awkwardly for so long. On her way up, she braced her hand against the sink, and with the lean that came with that, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Ugh. It wouldn't do for the crew to see her walking the corridors like this. "Um, let me get cleaned up just a little before I go to sickbay."
He smiled back, looking much more genuine in his smile than she felt with her own. "Okay. I'll wait in the other room."
"Shouldn't you be returning to more important matters, Commander?" she asked, trying to sound light and calm even though she didn't feel it.
"There are no more important matters than you. But if you're referring to the repairs on the ship, Tuvok is overseeing everything and B'Elanna has it all under control. And before you ask, the doctor finished fixing up Ensign Baytart about twenty minutes before I came in here, and he was the last of the casualties, so he should have plenty of time for you. I'll see you there, and then it's up to you if you want me to stay or not."
She smiled a little again. He always took such good care of her. No matter what he said, she knew she didn't deserve him. "Okay. Just give me a minute."
He nodded and left the room. She washed her face, reapplied a little makeup to disguise the paleness and circles that were proof of her breakdown, and combed her hair. With a deep breath, she headed out, and found him waiting. He lifted one arm, and she looped hers through it, her heart beating a little faster. She wasn't okay yet, but at least she wasn't immune to his effect on her either.
Arm-in-arm they walked to sickbay. She didn't know it yet, but after the doctor ran some tests and adjusted her morning hypospray accordingly, she would return to her quarters to find the leak fixed, despite everything else that still needed repairs on her ship. And though she still wouldn't be all the way better yet, she would know that somehow, all together, knowingly or unknowingly, her Voyager family would see her through the darkness, and eventually, she would be okay again.