Kathryn Janeway moved restlessly about her quarters. It was the end of what had unquestionably been a difficult week: not for the ship, not for the Captain, but for Kathryn- and the difficulties had gone from the sublime to the gorblimey, to quote one of Tom Paris' more startling sayings.
Chakotay and Seven had finally tied the knot a few days ago, with all the attendant and expected festivities, and of course the Captain could not hold herself apart. Then there was the fact that tomorrow- in only two hours time, when the clock would strike the first minute of this year's 20th May- would be her forty-ninth birthday. Finally, to top the whole thing off, Kathryn's rations had virtually vanished, leaving her coffee-less and correspondingly more miserable than she might otherwise have been.
With a final glare at the annoying and uncooperative replicatior, Kathryn sank with a sigh into her favourite armchair. Her caffeine-deprived fingers tapped the arms feverishly, and her eyes scanned the room looking for something- anything!- to take her mind off the trials and tribulations of the past seven days.
After a moment, she caught sight of a familiar binding, and rose to retrieve the book, a wistful smile on her lips. This collection of poetry through the centuries had been a gift from Chakotay, last year. Kathryn did not expect a similar offering this year, whilst her friend and First Officer was occupied with his new young wife, and she settled once more into her chair, her fingers tracing the fine engraving in the leatherwork.
Unsure of what to read, she began to flick idly through the pages, letting her eye rove through the glimpsed lines with practiced ease. She knew that something would jump out at her, appeal to her emotional and mental state, and thus her subconscious mind would make the most appropriate selection.
Her attention was caught and held by a line that resonated, almost painfully:
Since from myself, my other self I turn.
Curious, she turned back to the page and smoothed it out. Oddly, the poem was entitled Lines on Monsieur's Departure, but Kathryn ignored that, going straight to the actual work itself.
I grieve, yet dare not show my discontent,
I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate.
Kathryn winced. Whilst perhaps slightly overdramatic, the gist of the lines was true for her as for the probably long-dead author. There was no point in self-deception. Whilst she was genuinely happy for the unexpected happiness discovered by her First Officer and protégée, for herself… she grieved. There was no other word for it. Somewhere within herself she had cherished a barely acknowledged hope that sometime, someday, she Chakotay would find each other as man and woman, as they had so nearly done all those years ago on New Earth.
Now it would never happen; Kathryn knew that the years and the responsibility of captaining Voyager had taken a terrible toll of her- and Chakotay- and their relationship had more than once nearly been a casualty of the exigencies of life in the Delta Quadrant. Their bond had survived, but over the past two years the frisson of possible romance had been replaced with the solidity of friendship. Kathryn was grateful to have that much at least, but it was still a loss…
She tried to tell herself that it did not mean that she was unlovable, but now and then as she watched her crew pairing up and starting families- the conclusion seemed unavoidable.
Almost reluctantly, she returned to the poem.
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute, yet inwardly do prate.
That's certainly true tonight, she thought wryly, before focusing on the words that had first caught her attention.
I am, and not. I freeze and yet I burn,
Since from myself, my other self I turn.
She shivered. She knew, none better, that her own humanity, her identity as a woman and not a figurehead, had been one of the casualties of these years. Who was this author, she wondered, who could encapsulate her thoughts so exactly? She glanced at the bottom of the page, and her eyebrows went up at the name.
Kathryn's own interest in history was incidental, but even so, any study of the Earth's 'Western' history still included the name of Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England. Best known as the 'Virgin Queen', Kathryn remembered, her thoughts not untinged with irony. She herself was no virgin, but in the eyes of her crew, she might as well be- now. She wondered if the same had been true for Elizabeth of England.
The next lines were equally apt, and tears came to Kathryn's eyes as she read them, empathising as she did with the loneliness and awesome responsibility that had been their inspiration.
My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, does what I have done…
I wonder if I'm that schizophrenic, she thought bitterly. Compelled, she moved towards her computer terminal and retrieved all database records pertaining to Tudor, Elizabeth, 1533-1603; Queen of England, 1558-1603, and read them eagerly.
Finally she sat back, struck anew by the parallels in their situations. The title of Lines proclaimed the poem to be a farewell to Elizabeth's last serious suitor, the French Duc d'Alencon, otherwise known as 'Frog.'
That could well be: Kathryn noted that, at the time of writing, Elizabeth had only been a couple of years younger than she herself was now. In bidding farewell to him, Elizabeth had also bid farewell to any prospect of marriage and motherhood- she would instead reconcile with her shadow, becoming, in the words of a twentieth century historian, a virgin mother, maiden queen: in short, a goddess.
That, too, was something she could empathise with- in resigning Chakotay to Seven of Nine, Kathryn was almost certainly giving up her own hopes in that direction, and accepting her own 'shadow in the sun.' Of course, for her it was complicated by the fact that her would-be lover's wife was her own surrogate daughter…
And even there a parallel could be seen. Shortly before Elizabeth embarked on her desperate and short lived unofficial betrothal to the Duc, the Queen's childhood friend and rumoured paramour had married, secretly, one Lettice Knollys.
Lettice, the computer informed Kathryn, was ten years the Queen's junior, of the same physical type- a fact that caused the Captain to laugh, wryly, at the notion of applying that particular analogy to her own situation- and Elizabeth's cousin once removed on her mother's side. Kathryn was almost tempted to believe that the poem was aimed at the darkly handsome Dudley and not the stunted and foppish French prince.
Elizabeth's reaction to Robert Dudley's marriage to Lettice was undeniably dramatic. She had threatened to throw the man into the Tower, threatened to send him to the block- and in an age of near absolute monarchical power, such threats were very real. Kathryn amused herself for a moment by conjuring scenarios where she threatened to send either Seven or Chakotay out an airlock. In the Delta Quadrant, her own power, like Elizabeth's, could seem total.
Yet it was not. Just as Kathryn knew that her senior staff- probably Tuvok- would pre-empt such a move by their Captain, so had Elizabeth's own council. Finally, the distraught Queen had been persuaded to compromise by banishing both Dudley- or the Earl of Leicester, as he had become- and his Countess from Court. In the case of the former, the banishment was temporary. For the latter, it was permanent. Not a solution Kathryn herself could impose, even if she wanted to…although she was certain that B'Elanna, at least, would not greatly object if she chose to leave Seven at a convenient planet.
Ironically cheered by her dark thoughts, Kathryn left the computer and returned to her book by way of the replicator- which deigned to present her with coffee, this time. Thus fortified, she allowed her eyes to return to the page, her fingers caressing the texture, both rough and smooth.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.
Kathryn exhaled a shuddering breath. 'Too familiar care', indeed. How many times had Chakotay's concern for her wellbeing- both silent and voiced- prompted her to wish to discard her beliefs and her protocols? Eventually, he'd given up, but she still saw that same 'familiar care' in his dark eyes.
There was no point in denying things. He loved her. She loved him. True, the years had twisted that love away from the anticipation of romantic love; tinged it bittersweetly with regret for the road not taken- but it remained.
Kathryn found herself hoping, urgently, that Seven did not realise the depth of the love that existed between her mentor and her husband. Then again, the Captain mused, Seven might very well know- and decide it mattered nothing. The younger woman's trust was naively absolute- and yet perfectly justified, for had not Kathryn struggled, as Elizabeth had, to 'rid him' from her heart.
History said that Elizabeth had succeeded in that with the 'Monsieur' of the poem's title- but failed with Leicester. Queen and courtier had remained intensely close friends for the rest of their lives, enough that Leicester's sudden death had sent the Queen into a downward spiral of depression.
Kathryn knew with bleak honesty that that was true of her also, and contemplated putting the book away. This poem was too insightful, too sharp, too painful. She could not endure this now, when she was already so raw.
Yet Kathryn Janeway was nothing if not determined, and she had only a few more lines to go.
Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love e'er meant.
Unexpectedly, Kathryn found herself grinning. The computer had informed her that Elizabeth's 'gentler passion'- if it could be called that!- had ultimately been Leicester's stepson, the Earl of Essex. A man young enough to be Elizabeth's son, and even, by the manners of the age, her grandson.
Kathryn entertained herself for a moment, thinking how Harry Kim would respond to a similar relationship with her. She imagined he'd doubt her sanity, perhaps run for the nearest airlock- and yet- Harry, too, was lonely. Unlike Tom and B'Elanna, he'd never managed to accept that this home for the indefinite future was on Voyager. He'd never stopped longing for his parents, and she was certain he still thought of Libby, even though he had not been faithful to her. They'd always had a special bond, she and Harry, from the moment he'd stood stiffly before her and she'd told him to relax before he sprained something. Now there was real affection between them.
Perhaps drawing closer to Harry was not so impossible after all.
Elizabeth's attempt to 'find some sweet content' had ended badly. Essex had gone to the block for a futile rebellion, and his sovereign had followed him to the grave two years later.
Kathryn tried to imagine Harry staging a mutiny against her, and failed. She shivered; mutiny was still a dirty word on Voyager, only a couple of months after Teero's subversion of Tuvok and the Maquis. Harry was more likely to die in her defence…
Giving herself a shake, Kathryn snapped the book shut.
"Get a grip, Kate!" she muttered as she rose- staggered, rather- to her feet. Her eyes felt sore with restrained tears, and her throat ached. A splash of cold water would help, she decided.
In the bathroom she stared at her reflection for a long time. Eight years in the Delta Quadrant were marked indelibly in her face- in the gauntness of her cheekbones, the line of her jaw, the crease between her brows. A pang shot through her as she thought of Seven- young, blonde, buxom, intelligent. Even human, now. In the past year it seemed to Kathryn that Seven had blossomed, become more human, as her Captain faded into the background..
Kathryn sank onto the toilet seat, her legs suddenly losing their strength, and placed her hands over her eyes. Perhaps, she thought as silent tears leeched- yes, leeched- from her, perhaps it is time to grieve.
Dimly, she became aware of a chirp.
She lifted her head.
It sounded again, and its meaning permeated her dazed brain. The door chime.
"Computer, who is at the door?"
Commander Chakotay is outside Captain Janeway's quarters
For a moment, Kathryn panicked. She wouldn't answer. She couldn't. Not now, not looking like this..
The door chime sounded a third time.
Kathryn stood frozen.
Chakotay to Janeway
Kathryn took a deep breath, and to her amazement, her voice sounded almost normal. "Janeway, here. How may I help you, Commander?"
Kathryn, I'm outside the door. Let me in!
She contemplated saying no. She considered sending him back to his new young wife.
She couldn't do it. She needed his friendship; needed this 'sweet content'. She released the lock on the door.
Chakotay stepped in, his dark eyes flickering across her quarters, absorbing everything. Finally, they came to rest on her.
She stood like rock in the middle on the room, allowing his eyes to scan her.
"Kathryn?"
He approached, and she realised his hands were behind his back.
She tried a smile. "Good evening, Chakotay. Would you like a drink? Tea?"
Before he could answer, she crossed to the replicator and ordered his herbal tea, and her coffee. If her hand shook a little as she gave the cup to him, she ignored it, and he had the wisdom to do likewise. She still had not looked at him.
A flash of pink caught her eye, and she looked up. He was holding a rose. Not just any rose: a peace rose.
"What's this?" She winced at the sound of her voice, a quiet rasp.
The old-fashioned clock chimed loudly for midnight, and Chakotay's dimple appeared. "Happy birthday, Kathryn," he said, and leaned to kiss her on the cheek.
Numbly, she placed a hand where his lips had been. Her eyes met his.
He took her hands in his, drawing one from her cheek. "Kathryn?"
"I didn't think you'd come this year," she whispered.
"Don't I always come?"
"Yes, but this year-"
"Seven knows I'm here," he told her tenderly- with love, she realised. "In fact, she told me to come."
Kathryn stared.
Chakotay grinned for a moment. "No need to look so surprised, Kathryn. Your drone is human now, remember? She's learnt how to love."
Kathryn flinched.
Chakotay's hands tightened over hers. "She's learned that from all of us, Kathryn, but especially from you." He released on hand and reached for the rose. Then he closed her fingers around it. "Roses are the ancient symbol for love and friendship, Kathryn. Take this, and the love that comes with it. From all of us. Come with me to the mess hall tonight. Your crew wants to show you 'how to have a party' as Tom says."
For the first time, Kathryn smiled. "Yes, and he'll take great pleasure in reminding me of my increasing age while he's at it!"
Chakotay returned her smile. "Of course, but think of the fun you'll have deflating him at the pool table!"
Kathryn's smile broadened. She twirled the rose in her fingers, lifting it to her nose so she could breathe the scent. "Someone has to keep him in line."
"Nobody does it better than you, Kathryn."
"That's my job, I'm-"
"The Captain," he finished for her, and they both laughed.
He pulled her into a close embrace and she clung to him, accepting, finally, that this was the reality of their relationship. It had never been more; never less, either. All she had lost was a nebulous hope for a future time that could very well never come. For now, she had a living, evolving, complex friendship with this man.
Held against him, with her ear pressed to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, Kathryn smiled. To live single while on Voyager was her own choice, after all. This love that surrounded her- from the man who held her; the woman who had sent him to her this evening; the crew who plotted a party for her- this would be her 'sweet content.'
Rather to her surprise, Kathryn found it was enough.
She was not alone.
-fin.