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Forget-Them-Not
By Gracie Kay
Part Three of Four
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The next morning, Neelix bustled around his mess hall, searching for the absolutely perfect ingredients. The news had just arrived that the captain was accepting visitors, and he did not intend to stop by empty-handed.
"Neelix."
The voice behind him was feminine but ice-cool, and he didn't have to look up to know exactly who was addressing him. "Oh, hello, Seven. And how are you this fine day?"
"I am well, thank-you. I wish to speak with you."
Seven of Nine wished to speak with him? He turned toward her and saw that her face looked rather troubled. "Why, certainly. What shall we discuss?"
As usual, Seven did not mince words. "I wish to . . . 'visit' the captain," she said, and he was certain that she was using a word she had heard from another crewmember. "But I am uncertain how to proceed. She does not know me. She will doubtless be suspicious of me."
"Why would she be suspicious?"
She arched her eyebrows as though the question were absurd. "I am Borg."
"Oh, I see. Well, according to Commander Chakotay, the captain has been studying the crew manifest for the last several days. She'll know who you are."
"That may be the problem. Starfleet captains do not trust the Borg."
Suddenly Neelix understood. "Seven, I think I know what the problem is here."
"Explain."
"You think that because Captain Janeway has forgotten some things--well, everything, where we're concerned--she is a different person. But she's not. She's still our captain, Seven. She's still Captain Janeway. If you earned her trust once before, don't you think you can do it again?"
Seven seemed to ponder that for a moment, then nodded. "I believe I understand."
Neelix nodded and smiled. "Good!" Then he leaned toward her, wondering even as he did why he was telling Seven of Nine. "Actually, I'm a little nervous myself."
She arched her eyebrows again. "Why is that?"
"Well, she's never seen a Talaxian before." He chuckled, then grew serious. "But really, I am a little worried, you know. See, I keep telling myself that she'll be all right, and I know she will, but . . . what if she's not? What'll happen to us? I know that Commander Chakotay is a fine commander, but . . . we need her." Somehow he felt better just voicing his fear, even though he doubted Seven would have much comfort to give.
But the woman who was becoming more human and less machine with every passing month surprised him. "Over the time I have known Captain Janeway, I have observed several things about her. One of them is her strength. She will recover, and if she does not, she will adapt."
Neelix huffed. "Well, I hope she doesn't have to 'adapt.' I hope she gets better, and I hope it's soon."
Seven surprised him again. "As do I."
She went with him when Neelix went to see the captain. She seemed to be genuinely pleased with his company as they walked down the corridor to Captain Janeway's quarters, although trying to make small talk with Seven was like trying to make a Vulcan smile. Finally, Neelix gave up and the rest of the walk was silent.
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After meeting people all day, Kathryn Janeway's head was in a whirl. It wasn't physically tiring, which showed that her body was nearly recovered from the injury; but it was certainly mentally tiring, trying to keep track of nearly a hundred faces and names. She most vividly remembered looking into the blue eyes of Admiral Paris's son, knowing that it was she who had given this boy--well, he was a man now--a second chance. He had made good use of that chance, although reading her log had revealed that he had made a few mistakes on his time aboard this ship.
He had greeted her warmly; then they were both silent a moment, until she said, "I knew your father." The unconscious use of past tense struck her a moment later, startling and unnerving her. What does that mean, "knew"? What are you thinking? She couldn't answer the questions of her own mind, but Paris didn't seem to notice her word choice as he chuckled a little.
"Yes, ma'am. I know."
She smiled, feeling heat on her cheeks. "Of course you do. I guess I feel as though you're all meeting me for the first time, when really I'm the one who's meeting you."
"Not a problem, Captain," he had said smoothly, with all the charm she knew he possessed--being a Paris.
His had been one of the more relaxed meetings. Janeway's chief engineer had come to see her as well, but the woman had been rather nervous. Somehow she couldn't see this high-strung, half-Klingon woman and Tom Paris together, but she knew that they were. Strange. And then there was the ex-Borg, Seven of Nine. Janeway still couldn't get over the woman's un-Starfleet suit, her machine-like presence that seemed to spell resistance. Hard to believe that she had formed a bond with this automaton-turned-individual, but if her logs were to be believed, she had. And, just for the record, Janeway thought to herself, she was determined to do it again. But it wouldn't be easy.
She sighed as she sat in her easy chair. It had been quite a day. Now the only one still present was the little, round alien called Neelix. She found that of all the members of the crew of the Voyager, it was easiest to talk to this native of the Delta Quadrant whose species she knew nothing about. It was he who had insisted she refer to him as "just Neelix, Captain," when she prefaced his name with "Mister." He was warm, friendly, buoyant. And very happy to see her.
Now that she thought about it, they had all been glad to speak with her, each in his or her own way. Even Seven of Nine had expressed her best wishes: "I look forward to your recovery." Not the usual "Get well soon," but the expression was appreciated nonetheless. She considered this crew and found herself more than simply impressed with their efficiency. They had all greeted one another in their comings and goings, almost more like a family than a crew. And she was their captain, the one who kept their family together. It was overwhelming.
Without warning, tears threatened, but she held them back. Then she saw that Neelix was studying her carefully.
"Is something wrong, Captain?"
She shook her head that it was nothing, then wondered if she should tell this little man who still reminded her of a teddy bear.
He seemed to read her mind. "Sometimes it helps to talk to someone, you know."
She did know, but . . . "I've never been much for confiding in people--except Tuvok."
"Not that you remember." The words were warm with affection. "You did name me your morale officer, right?"
She looked at him. "That's right, I did."
"Well, it looks like you could use some morale boosting right now." He sat opposite her on the little couch. "I'm listening."
"I . . ." Janeway wondered how to put it into words. "I'm just feeling mixed up, I guess. This is such a wonderful crew. I cherish the thought that they're mine . . . but at the same time, I'm angry. I've suddenly been handed the crew of my dreams--but we're in the middle of the Delta Quadrant, away from all the people I know and love, away from the Federation. And the five years I've had to get to know them all . . . I can't remember a day."
He reached out to pat her hand, and the gesture, though awkward, was strangely comforting. "That's a normal reaction. The important thing is that you don't give up. You'll remember us all eventually; I'm sure of it. And when you do, we'll mean more to you than we ever have before, and you'll be glad you never lost hope."
She found herself staring at him. "Neelix . . . I was hurt on the holodeck, wasn't I?"
"Mm-hm." He said it carelessly. Good; he wasn't anticipating her idea. "An experimentation of Mr. Paris's, I guess. He convinced you that you needed a break and his new program would be a great diversion."
"It's a . . . a dangerous program?"
"Well, by my standards it certainly is. But it wouldn't be if he hadn't played with the safety protocols." He chuckled. "Don't worry, Captain. I'm sure he's already deleted it."
The wheels in her mind were turning. "Oh, I'm not worried," she murmured absently.
He misinterpreted thoughtfulness for weariness. "I'd better leave you alone for now," he hastened, giving her an amiable little squint. "You get some rest, Captain."
She smiled at him gratefully. She had a lot to think over. "I will, I promise."
"Okay. I'll be back tomorrow." The door slid away for his exit, and Janeway watched him leave with a bitter taste in the back of her throat.
She stared at the door as it whispered closed again, and she felt the mask on her face begin to crack. It was a mask that said she was fine, that she knew everything would be all right, that she was unconcerned and handling all of this commendably. As Janeway sat there and stared at the closed door that disconnected her from the world on this sleek and beautiful starship, the world of dear people who all cared so much for one another--and for her--her mask splintered in a hundred tiny pieces and smashed to the deck. She wasn't fine. Everything wasn't all right, and it may never be again. She was worried, and she was afraid.
Before she knew it, she had started to cry. At first, the tears were two big drops that traced two paths of moisture down her face. Then more came, and more, until she hid her face in her hands and allowed herself to release all her emotions. The tears were not just for this courageous crew of people who were willing to accept her as their captain even when she was so vitally flawed; they were for the people she had not seen in five years, people her memories told her she had spoken with last month, last week . . . a few mere days ago. Her family, friends . . . Mark.
She had found his letter completely by accident while accessing her logs and other personal documents. It was dated less than two years ago. He had waited for her, kept believing she was alive, and then, when hope became the delusion of an idealist, he had resolved to get on with life. Of course, he had. She would not expect anything more or less from him. The anger she was feeling right now wasn't fair to him. But unlike Tuvok, she couldn't eradicate feelings based on their illogical origins. They were still part of her, welling up in her soul with all the severity that this traumatic turn of events lent them. She wasn't just crushed by the loneliness; she was shattered by the shock. Everything piled upon her at once, circumstances and emotions that, before this injury, she'd experienced over five long, calming, bracing years, sufficient time in which to adapt. As she released the tears that five years had both produced and, knowing herself, denied her, Kathryn wondered if she was strong enough for this.
Finally, she dried her eyes and forced herself to tackle this problem. Put away the sentiment and focus on the solution, she commanded herself. It wasn't Kathryn Janeway's style to sit around and wait for her dilemma to fix itself. Whatever had happened to change her in the last five years, that indomitable part of her would never vary, because she would not allow it to. She knew in that moment that she was strong enough for whatever was required, for one simple reason: she refused to be weak.
Tuvok would say I'm not being logical. The thought brought a small, bitter smile to her face. Well, maybe I'm not. But I can't live like this forever. If I'm meant to remember, maybe my memories just need a little help. And if I'm not . . . then this crew is better off without me.
She thought about getting some sleep and carrying out her scheme in the morning, but she knew there would be fewer people in the corridors at this time of night. Silently, Janeway left her quarters and followed a corridor to the holodecks. She hadn't been studying the specs of her ship for nothing; she not only knew her way there, but she knew which route was likely to be the least traveled.
Sure enough, she met no one on her way, and soon she stood in front of the doors to the holodeck. She looked through the index of available programs and found the one she was looking for. "Paris Three, Do-U-Dare." That had to be it. She activated it, stepped inside, and looked around for a long moment. Then she spoke. "Computer, disengage safety protocols."
"Warning: deactivating safety protocols presents extreme risk of injury."
She nodded, more to herself than to the computer. "Override."
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(to be continued . . . Feedback greatly appreciated! Hey, should I trademark that line or something? ;-)
