DISCLAIMER: I do not own Star Trek Voyager or any of its characters.
A/N: Hey everyone. We're seven months into the crazy world that is Lockdown. Hope you're all safe and well. I couldn't resist writing this fic after watching the episode 'Scientific Method'. I recommend watching the episode before reading as certain references may make more sense. Note: I couldn't find a name for the Ensign who died on the Bridge so I took the liberty of naming her Warren. I got slightly carried away so this will be a multi-chaptered story. Please read and review if you have the time. Constructive criticism is welcome. As always, enjoy :) x
RHYTHM OF THE RIVER
- Chapter 1. Between One Wave and the Next -
"Tuvok to Janeway."
She sighs inaudibly, fingers coming to pinch the bridge of her nose in a feeble attempt to relieve the headache that has plagued her mind for the last ninety-six hours and counting.
Untucking her legs from beneath her, the Captain pushes an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. There's a shakiness to her movements that irritates the hell out of her, a trembling in her right hand that will not relent. Sleep remains unattainable. Time drags itself forward. And even the stars flitting past the viewport seem dimmer than usual.
In the quiet of her Ready Room the Captain has found little comfort, tucked away from prying eyes, the door locked to all but those who would dare enter.
"Yes?" Janeway replies at length.
He doesn't hesitate to answer.
"May I see you for a moment?"
Intuition tells her he's already standing on the other side of her Ready Room doors, his dark Vulcan eyes boring holes into the grey metal as if sheer willpower alone could open them. She sighs again, readies herself for the reprimand she knows will inevitably come, and rises stiffly to her feet. No doubt he will have much to say regarding her latest display of unorthodox behaviour.
"Enter."
He passes over the threshold without preamble, each step calculated and precise. She bristles as he moves toward her, emanating an aggravating calmness.
"Captain." He offers a PADD, regards her with an expressionless gaze. "The damage report as you requested."
She allows herself a small smile.
"As punctual as ever." She motions toward the desk, having no immediate intention of reading about the state of the ship. The urge to sit back down presses like a physical weight on her shoulders, demanding a response, draining the remainder of her energy. "Thank you, Tuvok."
It is a subtle dismissal.
He does not take it.
"The Doctor reports he has successfully removed at least seventy percent of the alien experiments from the crew thus far," he says, and she wonders if he knows she has already been informed of the fact. "I expect the ship will need significant recovery time."
A pull on her right temple. She folds her arms over her chest, forces herself into a natural stance observing the passing stars. His Vulcan unease is masterfully concealed, invisible to the untrained eye, but she knows how to read between the lines and the sideways remark on her own well-being does not escape her notice.
"You have not yet reported to Sickbay."
It's a question, she realises, and she turns to give him a wry smile.
"I'll live."
He does not seem convinced, and a well of anger rises from the pit of her stomach, tightening around her lungs. She feels incensed, like a ship without anchor, tossed carelessly between one wave and the next. His head cocks to one side.
"May I make a suggestion, Captain?"
"No."
The word leaps from her mouth before she can stop it, and she silently berates herself for her lack of control. Tuvok, however, remains unmoved.
"You require sleep."
She laughs, and the sound is almost frightening, ragged with disdain.
"Sleep," Janeway echoes, pressing a hand to her head, rubbing over the insistent throbbing she has come to reluctantly embrace. "I have gone far past the point of sleep, Tuvok."
She catches the lift of his brow, the question he imperceptibly pushes in her direction.
"I..." Her frustration withers, and a dark appal emerges to take its place. "I can't sleep until I know that every single one of those... those mutilations have gone."
The knot in her throat dislodges, and she breathes through the revulsion that races through her veins. He looks her directly in the eye. She holds his gaze, certain of at least one of her rambling thoughts.
"I want them off my ship."
Slowly, deliberately, Tuvok walks toward her, lips parted as if he were going to speak some sense, some unbidden logic, into a senseless situation. And then he turns to the replicator, types in a short command. Her eyes close, arms wrapping further around her waist.
"A little rest," he says over his shoulder, "would not go amiss."
She catches a breath, chews the inside of her cheek. The floor rolls beneath her boots and she is keenly aware of the dark specks dancing haphazardly over the carpet.
The Doctor's comprehensive observation of her condition had left little to the imagination. Visions of needles embedded in the epidermal layers of her skin continue to distort her waking thoughts, and in her maddened state she can easily envision the alien devices driving into her subcranial tissues. She runs a hand over her forehead, deeply unsettled by the knowledge that, in some dimension out of phase with their own, there are five obscenities nestled within her brain.
"How are you faring?"
The couch rises up to meet her as she sinks back into the void, to the place where she is neither Captain nor Kathryn, where her thoughts run wild with potent abandon.
"Fine," she hears herself reply automatically.
The couch dips as he lowers himself to sit beside her, maintaining a reasonable distance. Something warm and soothing emanates from the cup he sets down on the table, and he pushes it encouragingly across the white surface towards her. But she hasn't the stomach for it.
"Permission to speak freely, Captain?"
Janeway throws him a half-hearted glare.
"You seem distracted," the Vulcan observes. "More than usual, that is," he adds in a dry, almost reprimanding tone.
She inhales morosely, face half-hidden behind one hand as she traces the aching bone beneath her left brow. One look at his schooled features would tell her all she needs to know. How irresponsible and out of control her actions had truly been. How disappointed he must be in her.
"I nearly destroyed the ship, Tuvok," she confesses quietly.
"You took a gamble," the Vulcan counters matter-of-factly, "and won. I will admit I did not believe such an unconventional approach would resolve the situation, but it was, nevertheless, a surprisingly successful course of action."
"Considering the odds? Yes, it was," Janeway replies. "But I'm not so certain I would have made that same choice had my rationality been more agreeably inclined."
"You did what you believed to be right at the time," Tuvok says. "No one but you could have made that decision."
A palpable tension continues to gather, demanding to be released. She blinks at him seriously, toying with a dangerous question.
"What would you have done had you been in my position?"
"I cannot answer that."
"Can't, Tuvok?" Janeway frowns. "Or won't?"
He exhales, considering the repercussions of his response.
"Mistakes are often made when emotion is allowed to take precedence over logic." He takes a sip of his tea. "I do not believe you made a mistake."
She shakes her head, fingers digging into the spot between her brows. The rigid body of Ensign Warren flickers in her mind, a haunting image of another life lost. Another life she has failed to protect.
"I should have done more."
Irritability crawls over her skin, and as the Vulcan watches her, in his usual careful manner, she considers forcing him to leave her be. But she's tired of fighting, tired of battling with her own flammable aggression.
What she wouldn't give for a little of his Vulcan control.
"You said yourself that, had the experiments been allowed to continue, a small majority of the crew may have been subjected to fatal deformities," Tuvok continues passively. "The alternative," he reminds her, "was the crew's termination, regardless of the outcome."
A dull weight presses into her chest and her jaw tightens with unbridled anger at the memory. A darkened cell. The audacity of those words. The sudden, uncontrollable wrath that had disfigured her clarity of mind, swiftly followed by the frightening realisation that she was losing it. Piece by piece.
Janeway exhales heavily. She hadn't even found out where the Srivani had come from. How long they'd been on her ship.
"You are only human, Captain," Tuvok affirms. "I believe, given the circumstances, you have conducted yourself with extraordinary resilience and conviction. It is a credit to you that even under immense pressure and external influence the crew trusts in your judgement."
She shouldn't crave his affirmation, the reassurance he gives so freely, but she wants it, needs it, because it means, in spite of what she herself may think, that she is still the Captain. And she is still in control.
"I," he continues after a moment, "trust your judgement."
Her breath hitches, eyes sealed shut against the rising pain.
"Thank you, Tuvok."
She almost hears him smile.
"You are welcome, Captain."
He takes his cup, sips from it quietly.
"That being said, you surprised me today. As Tactical Officer it is my duty to anticipate every course of action you might choose to take. I would prefer it, in future, if-"
She holds up a hand to stop him, eyes crinkled with understanding.
"Don't worry, Tuvok. I don't intend on being quite so reckless in future." Her head falls into her hands, the pressure inside her mind building and spreading into every cavity, as if trying to prise open her skull. "Was there anything else?"
The teacup slides back onto the table.
"Would you like me to get you anything?"
"No."
"Given that you have refused to see the Doctor, may I suggest a sedative?"
"No." She springs to her feet, more than a little alarmed at the thought, and grasps for the handrail. Something to hold onto. Something tangible. "No, you absolutely may not."
Her temper is already dangerously close to the mark. Succumbing to it is an inevitability she hasn't the strength to avoid.
"Captain-"
"I am not going anywhere until every single member of my crew has been examined by the Doctor and cleared for duty."
"You require medical attention," Tuvok states, seemingly intent on steering her out of the room and she bats him away angrily, hands curling into fists at her sides.
"Don't handle me, Tuvok!"
There's an insolent tone to her voice she doesn't recognise, and the sound of it dissipates the irascibility creeping like a mist over her senses. A mist that has blinded her to reason. To rational thought. To logic.
A fragmented laugh escapes her throat; she clamps a hand over her mouth.
"Captain," Tuvok reiterates, his displeasure and disapproval evident in his choice of words. "I do not see how prolonging your suffering will benefit the-"
She falters slightly, and he is at her side in an instant, reaching to steady her. Nausea hits just beneath her ribs, black dots swarming like an angry hive somewhere above her desk.
"I-" She presses the back of her hand to her forehead. Another hour. Maybe two. She can survive that long. "I am not going to Sickbay," she mutters with a stubborn determination.
Tuvok raises a brow.
"That would be unwise, Captain."
"I know," she sighs, swaying uncertainly as her chin falls to her chest, eyes closed against an invisible onslaught. "I know, Tuvok, but I need to make sure that this is over. I need to know that they're safe."
The Vulcan nods slowly, coming to his own tacit conclusion.
"I will sit with you," he offers. "Until the Doctor calls you to Sickbay."
"Really, there's no need for-"
"You are over-tired, distressed and in pain," Tuvok states, interrupting her half-hearted outburst. "Furthermore, you are my Captain and you are my friend. It would be remiss of me not to offer you aid at this time."
She doesn't open her eyes, doesn't protest as he steps a little closer.
"Please, Tuvok," she murmurs quietly. "Don't make yourself uncomfortable on my account."
A hand comes to rest on her shoulder, gentle, an anchor to reality. She shrinks back, dread and anger begging her to step away, to resist his calm. And then her forehead meets the soft fabric of his uniform, and she breathes him in, a mix of subtle lemongrass and woody sage. She can hear his strong heartbeat, palpable, a steady drum against the pain piercing deep into her consciousness.
Cautiously, if not awkwardly, his arm reaches across the small of her back, cocooning her, shielding her. And she finds, despite everything, she is content to stay there in his half embrace, listening to the rhythm of his soul.