Three days had elapsed since the shuttle crash. Three days since he'd stood by in disbelief as the Doctor had pronounced his corporeal body dead in sickbay.
The memorial service was scheduled for the following day.
He hadn't slept. It seemed he no longer needed to.
For three days and three nights he had wandered through the ship, accompanied by the spirit of his father.
In the immediate aftermath of his death, following Kes's revelation that she'd felt his presence and believed his consciousness to be trapped somewhere - perhaps as it had been when he had been disembodied once before in the first year of their journey - he had seen the crew working relentlessly to try and find any shred of evidence at all to support her conviction.
Kathryn had attacked the task with a driven energy, applying all of her considerable skill as a scientist to the search for answers.
The first two days had seen her maintain a fiercely optimistic outlook as to the possibility of success. She had barely slept during this time, working until exhaustion had brought her literally to her knees and Tuvok or Tom Paris had insisted she go to her quarters.
Chakotay had watched as she'd continued to work in her quarters long after they'd believed her to be sleeping, reviewing again and again all the data they had accumulated, in search of anything they might have overlooked.
The first night, she hadn't changed into her nightgown, but had just taken off her jacket, kicked off her boots, and taken the PADDs to bed with her to continue her work, not bothering to climb under the covers. He had sat on her bed next to her reading what data he could, trying to keep his hopes alive of finding a way back. The spirit of his father settled himself on the floor, leaning back against the bulkhead that separated her room from Chakotay's empty quarters.
When Kathryn had finally succumbed to her body's demands for rest and had closed her eyes and laid her head back to sleep for a few hours amidst the scattered PADDs, Chakotay had carried on working through all that he could access of the data.
The second night had followed a similar pattern, although her state of exhaustion had been more evident. He had been unable to stop himself from trying to stroke her hair when she finally lay sleeping next to him with her face pressed into a pillow.
After three days of fruitless endeavour the crew's hopes of finding evidence to substantiate Kes's theory had gradually faded. His own hopes faded with them. He could see as well as they could that there was nothing to suggest the situation was the same as it had been when he had been disembodied before. But of more significance to him than the lack of evidence was the fact that he didn't feel the same. He couldn't influence people, couldn't share their consciousness as he had before. In fact there was nothing about this that felt the same.
And then there was his father.
He had no explanation as to how he found himself accompanied by this being who had introduced himself as the spirit of his late father. Everything about him was right. He looked, spoke, felt like Kolopak. Chakotay had not been able to think up an explanation for this situation that was any more convincing than the one this being had offered.
As he had observed the crew gradually begin to accept they were not going to find his disembodied consciousness this time, he had felt as if his life force was slowly bleeding out through a wound he could not locate.
At the end of this, the third day, the crew had finally agreed to abandon the search.
Harry Kim and B'Elanna had struggled to accept the captain's decision and had argued for more time. Tom Paris had sat silently during that briefing, acceptance of the inevitable written almost as clearly on his face as it had been on Tuvok's. Chakotay had thought it strange to see them so allied, since he had seen these two men react in such different ways in the immediate aftermath of the shuttle crash.
He had wished he had still been solid enough in form to bang his head against the wall when he had been witness to Tuvok's completely inadequate attempts, or rather non-attempts, to comfort the captain three days earlier.
XXX
Three days earlier...
When the Doctor finally pronounced Chakotay's body dead, Kathryn walked out of sickbay before the Doctor or Kes could speak with her, and made her way directly to her ready room. Chakotay followed her, rode in the turbo lift beside her, agitated and unable to stand still, his mind racing as he struggled to make sense of what was happening to him. She stood rigid, staring straight ahead.
When they exited the lift, Tuvok watched her cross the bridge. He only followed her into her ready room when Tom Paris turned right round at the helm and stared at him pointedly. Tuvok had looked across to find a similarly expectant expression on Harry Kim's face. Chakotay then followed Tuvok in. What he saw made him wish he had stayed outside.
Kathryn was sitting on the sofa in the raised area of the room. She was unnaturally still and seemed to be just sitting, head lowered, hands gripping her knees. As Tuvok approached the steps up to the raised section, she looked up at him and her expression halted his advance.
"He's dead."
"Captain, I... "
For once the Vulcan seemed unable to complete a sentence; in any case she continued before he had the chance.
"The crew needs to be told." Her voice was still clear, belying the tears that had begun to spill out over her cheeks.
"Of course, Captain. I will do so. The loss of the Commander will weigh heavily on the crew. Undoubtedly the Doctor will offer counselling to all those deeply affected by these events."
She stood up, as if there was something she needed to do, but then paused and faltered. Resting one hand on her hip, she raised the other hand to her forehead, then covered her mouth with it. In the wake of the acknowledgement of the facts, now that she had spoken those words out loud, it was as if she were trying to decide how to move forward from this point in time.
As Chakotay watched her he thought he had rarely seen anyone so desperately in need of human contact as she was in that moment. She was in need of someone to offer themselves as a physical anchor, to help her regain her purchase on this unexpected present; but Tuvok just stood there distant and immobile, looking up at her.
Chakotay was well aware it wasn't customary for Vulcans to involve themselves in physical displays of affection or support, but he was furious nonetheless. Beyond furious. Tuvok had lived among humans long enough to know that there were times when they needed physical comfort. His captain was in need and yet he offered her nothing of himself. It seemed that those few solemn words were all he had. He turned and silently withdrew from her ready room, to carry out her orders no doubt. Chakotay slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand and swore.
He was left alone with her as she floundered. It was pure torture. He found himself standing right next to her trying to touch her, even though he already knew it was impossible. Speaking to her, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.
A few moments later when Tom Paris came in, immediately after Tuvok had made his announcement to the crew presumably, Chakotay had never been so glad to see him; and seconds later, never more grateful to him for his humanity. She was still standing, both hands gripping the rail that separated the two levels of the room now, her head bowed and her body motionless.
Tom walked straight up the steps to her. She looked up and turned, letting go of the rail, and he simply gathered her to him without hesitation and said, "I'm so sorry," as he enveloped her slight frame in an embrace.
She clung to him for what seemed like an eternity to Chakotay, before she eventually pulled away. She and Tom then sat down on the sofa and remained there together for quite some time. Within minutes, she regained her composure enough to begin to tell him about what had happened.
Chakotay followed them out when they finally emerged from the ready room. As they crossed the bridge, Harry Kim also saw what Tuvok did not, and hugged Kathryn immediately, despite his obvious nervousness about embracing the woman he was still so much in awe of.
Before Kathryn got any further, Kes appeared on the bridge, followed shortly afterwards by the entity claiming to be the spirit of Kolopak, Chakotay's late father, and then everything changed.
Kes looked directly at Chakotay as she stepped off the turbo lift, and seemed to be able to sense his presence for a fraction of a second. She wasted no time in trying to convince the others of what she believed she had experienced. From that point on the senior team found themselves pulling together with an unparalleled focus to try and find evidence to substantiate Kes's theory that Chakotay was still alive somehow.
Chakotay found himself thrown further and further into confusion. Kes claimed she had sensed his presence, but despite everything he tried from that point on - and for hours on end he tried every single thing he could think of - she didn't seem to be able to sense him again.
The being who introduced himself as the spirit of his father, explained patiently to Chakotay that Kes's telepathic abilities had allowed her to sense his presence, but only because she had been with him not long after his death. It was too late now. Even as little as three or four hours after his death, Kolopak assured him it could not happen again. He said that it was only a matter of time now before Chakotay left the living behind and joined the spirits of his ancestors. Kolopak was there to ease this transition, so his son would have no fear of what was to come.
After trying again and again throughout the morning of the second day, Chakotay finally accepted that he was no longer able to make Kes aware of his presence. He left her, to shadow Kathryn much of the time, the spirit of his dead father shadowing him. He also found himself seeking out B'Elanna, Mike Ayala, and Tom Paris. He realised that he had come to consider this once brash young man as a friend. He watched as Tom kept B'Elanna company, silently offering her support with his continued presence, in much the same way as he knew he himself would have done, were their positions reversed.
Tom sat with her while she attempted to enter a vision quest to seek out Chakotay in the spirit world. B'Elanna had tried to send Paris away twice, but he had persisted, and she had eventually relented and allowed him to stay. Not once did he say or do anything that might imply that he doubted her chances of success; he helped her in every way he could. Chakotay knew how hard it must have been for B'Elanna to try and open herself up to this sort of spiritual experience again. He felt a rush of affection for her as he watched her struggling to centre herself enough to find the state of calm relaxation necessary for initiating the quest. It was hard for him to watch her move through self-recrimination to despondency as she finally admitted defeat and abandoned her attempts.
Chakotay had felt numb as he had witnessed the briefing for the senior staff late that afternoon, during which B'Elanna and Harry had struggled so. At the end of the discussion, Kathryn had said that the time had come to call off the search and to accept that Chakotay was dead. She had announced that there would be a memorial service the following day.
On the evening of the third day Chakotay had watched Mike Ayala weep silently, as his friend had sat alone in the corner of the mess hall in front of a meal he wasn't eating. He felt his heart drag as he realised his name would be added to the long list of friends and family this man had already lost.
As the third day blurred into the fourth, Chakotay had found himself following Kathryn exclusively, watching again as she slept, unable to tear himself away even when he knew propriety demanded he allow her some privacy. It would have taken more strength than he had left not to watch her. In any case, by this point the growing acceptance of his own condition meant that he had begun to feel exempt from the mores governing the living.
The spirit of his father said little, often sitting with his eyes closed in what seemed like a meditative state. He seemed little inclined to initiate debate about his claims concerning Chakotay's condition. He had stated what would happen and seemed content to wait for his son's acceptance. If it was true that it was only a matter of time before Chakotay joined the spirit world himself, then Chakotay could no longer bear to lose even a minute of the remaining time he could spend in the presence of his friend and captain.
Now that he was beginning to accept that his life was over, he realised the enormity of the mistake it had been, never to tell her directly how he felt. There was nowhere to hide from that realisation now, no reason to hide from it anymore, nothing to distract him. Concerns like the need to hold fast to Starfleet protocols seemed completely inconsequential, ridiculous even now, balanced against the truth and the weight of his feelings. He'd accepted years ago that his life could end abruptly. He'd been well aware that joining the Maquis wasn't exactly likely to increase his life expectancy, and his prominent role in away missions in the Delta Quadrant hadn't done much to improve those odds. What he hadn't expected, however, was to find himself with hours and hours to reflect upon the choices he'd made in his life as it came to a close.
As he had watched her struggle to stay in control and lead the crew through these dark days, he found he regretted so much about the past few months.
On the third night he discovered he could no longer bear to sit next to her on her bed as she slept. Now that he was beginning to accept he would soon be leaving her, the level of anxiety the paradox of her untouchable proximity inspired in him was too great. He knew he needed to start to let her go but he still didn't know how. He thought it might help if he were to sit on the floor instead, so he sat legs stretched out in from of him, shoulder to shoulder with his father.
Looking across at her as she slept in her bed, he found himself counting all the different ways he could have argued for a change in their relationship after the time they had spent alone together on the planet in Videan space. Now he found he would give anything to have that time again, so he could at least try to convince her to acknowledge openly what had begun to unfold between them. He regretted that he had died without ever knowing what she felt for him. He regretted his decision not to insist she have that conversation with him, even if she hadn't wanted to. If he had insisted, then she would have known beyond any doubt exactly how much she was loved. He knew now that he should have given her the gift of that certain knowledge. It would have been something. He felt absurdly guilty for dying and leaving her alone.
Regret was a destructive emotion, and it ate away at him from the inside out. The irrational guilt just compounded things. He would gladly have traded this particular torment for the more familiar emotions of anger or the desire for revenge that had consumed him in earlier years.
Gradually, as the fourth day dawned he discovered there was a certain peace to be found in his growing acceptance of the fact that his life was over. His failure to tell her plainly how he felt was one of the few things still causing him anguish.
As he sat on the floor with his back against the wall of the bulkhead adjoining his own quarters, tears slid unnoticed down his face. His father sat beside him saying nothing, simply waiting.
