Kathryn stands in front of the mirror, staring at her own image. It's been five days since their rescue, but in many ways it feels like she's still trapped on that damned cube. Her skin tone is sallow, and there are dark circles under her eyes. Her hair hangs in limp tangles, its colour a dull shade of copper rather than its usual brighter auburn. True, she looks better than she has, but that is nothing to write home about.
She pulls at the thin jersey she's wearing, exposing her collar bone and the spider-like scar that marks her skin. She's had her first dermal regeneration, and the skin looks red and irritated. She touches the mark carefully. It smarts. With all the extracted wires and tubules, she wonders if the ache she's experiencing is the equivalent of phantom limb pain. Spinal clamps and exo-plating, battery parts and copper coils.
Half human, half machine.
Is this what captaining Voyager is turning her into? Even without Borg implants?
She didn't consider the physical trauma of assimilation when the plan was devised. What was the point? The Doctor's inoculation was meant to protect their individuality; the rest of it was just machinery – parts that could be scrapped once the mission was completed.
She should have known better.
She strokes the newly formed scar again and shudders. She's never been one to put much emphasis on her own appearance, but she wants the Borg off her body.
Even if it is premature, like the Doctor keeps arguing.
It took some 'convincing' before he agreed to the dermal regeneration, just as it took a minor 'discussion' for him to remove the last of her cranial implants. He kept saying that the implants could hold a clue as to how the Queen had been able to make contact in the first place.
Kathryn had not agreed.
The ensuing stalemate was only for show, since the four pips belongs to her.
And now her body, at least, heals.
Chakotay hasn't voiced any of his usual protests at her disregard of the Doctor's medical judgement. Then again, she's hardly seen him since he visited her in sickbay three days ago. He's avoiding her. She wonders sometimes if the easy friendship they forged at the start of this journey has withered away completely – not just on the account of the epilogue to Unimatrix Zero, but because, little by little, the hardship of sharing command has chipped away at them and made them callous.
Made her callous.
Half human, half machine.
Maybe that's why Chakotay has been so angry with her. He hasn't told her flat out, but the fact that he can't look at her properly tells her all she needs to know. He's furious with her. He thinks she disregards her own life.
Does she?
Is he right?
The thought turns her stomach, and bites into her heart. She misses him. Misses the way she used to be with him. He is, by far, her most important relationship, and she thinks she may be squandering it away.
And for what?
She scoffs. She should have remained in sickbay. The joy of escaping has been short lived. Her quarters are too quiet, and solitude is not offering the respite she was hoping for. Her thoughts, in stark contrast, are too loud, buzzing around like little insects, and she can't swat them away when there's nothing around to distract her. She's left questioning the person she's become, and she's not sure she's comfortable with the answer. She sees flashes of her own image as a drone in her mind, and wonders how different she and the Queen really are. They're both rulers of their respective collectives, and Kathryn fears there isn't much of her humanity left after her six years in this quadrant.
In a move that's entirely too dramatic, Kathryn's closed fist connects forcefully with the mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Flexing her fingers, she watches as blood start to trickle from the abrasions covering her knuckles, and takes comfort in the pain the cuts have brought her.
Anything to make her feel...
...something.
Chakotay sits in his quarters, hoping to quell his demons and temper his rage after a day that hasn't brought them any closer to solving the Queen's agenda. In Kathryn's absence, he remains in charge, reporting to her only when necessary, and not indulging in small talk. He struggles to look at her and not see wires, tubules and a bald head. It turns his insides, and he wishes he could put his feelings into words that aren't filled with accusations and blame. She doesn't push the matter, a stubborn air about her as she silently refuses to apologise for Unimatrix Zero.
The last few days haven't been completely devoid of mercy. B'Elanna is back at work, and Chakotay visits engineering as often as he can. In contrast to his feelings towards Kathryn, he has an insistent need to see B'Elanna as often as he can. To say that she's getting annoyed with him is putting it mildly. Chakotay can't help it. Little sisters, biological or not, will do that to a man.
Tuvok remains in sickbay, his condition stable and improving with each passing day. Chakotay visits him, too, sitting with the Vulcan in silence, one spiritual being lending his strength to another. He isn't sure it helps, but it eases his conscience.
They've parked Voyager on a conveniently placed moon to complete their repairs. Korok and his complement of liberated drones are still with them and, although it's with some trepidation, Chakotay has ordered the crew to help them repair the sphere and the Doctor to see to their medical needs.
'It's what Kathryn would do,' he thinks, as he nurses his drink.
Everyday life is seeping back into their temporarily halted journey, but Chakotay isn't able to relax. His gut tells him that the danger hasn't passed. He can feel the undercurrent of it, but he's damned if he knows what to do about it.
Maybe it's himself he should worry about, not Kathryn.
As if on cue, the door chimes, and he knows it's her.
He releases a tired breath and grants her entry, watching her over the rim of his glass as she walks into the darkened room. She's in civilian clothing, which he appreciates. At least it means that she's not contesting her sick leave. Her balance is better, but she's still favouring her right leg, and he gestures towards the chair next to the couch with his drink.
An audible sigh escapes her. He doesn't know if it's in relief or exasperation, but she sits down and motions for the bourbon. The knuckles on her hand are freshly bruised, and he raises a questioning eyebrow. She doesn't explain, and motions for his drink again.
"This isn't synthelol," he says gruffly.
"And you're not my mother," Kathryn counters.
He chortles at that, and concedes to her wishes. "Where's your cortical monitor?" he asks, not overtly surprised to see that her neck isn't sporting the medical equipment.
She hesitates, her unease uncharacteristic. She sips at his drink.
"I removed it." She looks at him, daring him to tell her off.
"Why?" he asks, taking his glass away from her. He drains it, enjoys the slight burn in his throat, then fills it to the rim. He takes another swig, and hands the glass back to her.
"I..." trailing off, she searches for the right words. He waits, patience not his strongest suit these days, but knowing she can't be rushed. In the end, her own demons force the answer out of her. "I've had enough of technology for a while."
Ha can't help but challenge her. "You're taking an unnecessary chance."
"As always, according to you."
He can't object. This is what he's accused her of, and this, he supposes, is where his anger stems from – her insistent need for self-sacrifice and blatant disregard for her own welfare. It's closely followed by a niggling thought that questions if some of her command choices are unconsciously made because there's a fair chance she won't survive them.
Her chosen atonement for stranding them all to begin with.
"You have to forgive me at some point," she says.
"Forgive you for what?"
She looks at him, a pregnant pause between them. "For not being who you need me to be," she finally offers.
They're getting dangerously close to a subject they've avoided for years, and he doesn't know what to say. She's right and wrong in equal measures, but he doesn't see how either of them could have chosen differently.
When he doesn't answer, she finishes the drink, puts the empty glass on the table, and stands to leave.
She almost makes it to the door before he stops her. He's not sure of much, but he knows one thing – he can't let her go. Not like this, and not now. It will destroy their relationship completely, and it will be his fault. He can't lead his life without her in it, and he needs her to know how much she means to him.
Make her understand.
Desperation clings to him, coaxed forth by his line of thinking and feelings a first officer shouldn't have for his captain. All the things he wants to say to her.
All the things he can't.
His hand closes around her arm, keeping her in place. She starts to protest, but before she can say anything substantial, his mouth finds hers, and years of expertly crafted boundaries turns to dust.
TBC