My eyes feel lidded; drooping millimeter by millimeter as I vaguely listen to the Doctor's tirade. Sometimes and in some ways he is so much like I envision Dante's Beatrice, young and untainted. Though his physical body displays the characteristics of a fully-grown man, he is still so much like a child. In true fact, he was only 'born' 5 years ago and it was a birth made of necessity. I imagine that Lewis Zimmerman could not have planned for his creation to have such broad panoply of experiences, talents, and a bustling personality. Not one of us, scientist or engineer, could have predicted that what we consider to be computer circuitry could have 'evolved' so much. These growing pains that he is experiencing will pass, I tell myself as my fever stirs.
Over the years, the past 5 in particular, I have trained my physical body. I have pushed it past barriers that I didn't even think possible. I have been cut, assimilated, starved, sleep deprived. Yet here I am, lulled into a fitful sleep on an empty holodeck. The doctor grabs my foot and I instinctively reach for a phaser – my guard never down. "Go" he tells me, "I'll be here in the morning". Grudgingly I agree with him, as I stumble to my quarters intent on falling into a fitful sleep.
Sleep. Sleep is something that most consider to be a necessity. I see it as a luxury. In truth, I hate sleep. My crewmembers, even Chakotay sometimes, are convinced that I don't sleep because I'm too busy – too worried for the crew. They think I pace my quarters and the sparsely populated lower decks every night dreaming up new tactics and new scenarios to get us home. But that's not the whole truth. I don't sleep because I don't want to dream.
To some, dreaming opens a whole new world of possibility. This new world is full of magic and wonder where the natural laws and common sense do not apply. My dreams, though, are different. My dreams are all too real. Who ever is in charge of the universe has a crude sense of humour when it comes to Kathryn Janeway. When REM sleep descends upon me, my mind is full of images of things that I have lost, things I can't have. When we were first stranded in the Delta Quadrant, my dreams brought me to my family home in Indiana. I would run through the cornfields, put on my boots and trudge through the earth to feed the cows, chase the chickens through the yard, play fetch with Molly, eat Sunday dinner with my family… But I would always wake up, back in the Delta Quadrant with more memories of what I couldn't have.
Over the years, my dreams changed and now the scenario is fairly consistent. Since New Earth, my dreams have brought me to the same wonderful place: I'm sitting in a rocking chair with intricate designs on the arms. In front of me a glass door is open, letting in the morning light and a cool breeze that sways the opaque white curtain to and fro. The room smells fresh, but warm. I look down. Then, as if coming into full consciousness, I feel a light weight in my arms. I feel a smile on my face as I look at the bundle propped against my breast. Her eyes are deep brown, almost black – the same colour as her hair. She stirs only slightly as her eyes dart around the room, coming to rest on something or someone just behind my shoulder. Babies don't smile intentionally, not when they are as young as she is, but still she smiles. Tiny dimples form at the corners of her mouth and she makes a delightful sound. I look over in the direction of her gaze and I see him.
I've seen him once without his shirt – when we were on New Earth. I didn't mean to – I wasn't trying to be inappropriate, but it just happened. He didn't realize that I was staring – silently memorizing his shape: broad shoulders, strong abdominals – not cut, but heavy and masculine – a true boxers form. But there he is, wearing nothing but deep dimples and a pair of loose white linen pants that bustle in the breeze, looking at us with obsidian eyes full of the most love I've ever seen. And then, I wake up with tears in my eyes and silently go over every reason why that dream will never come to fruition. So, now you see why I can't allow myself to sleep – why I can't allow myself to dream and be tempted by things that I want but will never have.
Tonight though, against all better judgment and contrary to my finely honed control – I succumb to exhaustion, illness, and sleep.
09:30 hours Bridge
Harry Kim looked up from his console, apparently late to the "it's 09:30 hours, where is the captain?" game of eye tag that the rest of the crew happened to be involved in.
Chakotay tentatively tapped his combadge. There were no scheduled oversights of any department for this morning. According to Tuvok, Harry, the Doctor, and B'Elanna's reports all departments were operating at peak efficiency. This stretch of space was proving to be peaceful – a welcome distraction from the last few weeks.
"Chakotay to Janeway" No response. His brow started to furrow and worry lines set in. Worrying about Kathryn was never far from his mind and he couldn't imagine a day when it ever would be. "Bridge to Janeway" Again No response. "Computer locate Captain Janeway". The cool tones of the computer immediately responded, "Captain Janeway is in her quarters". Muttering started around the bridge. Chakotay looked up, worry written all over his face, "Tuvok, you have the bridge" as he ran up the stairs three by three and ran into the open turbolift doors. "Aye Sir".
