Disclaimer: Not mine.
Note: Not that I'm as diehard a J/Cer as some, but I'd like to warn everyone that this is not entirely a C/7 fic. And not that C/7 isn't a huge major component either! I'm doing some of it from Janeway's POV for a reason. . . .
Chapter Two
"Look at me, Chakotay, please," she implored, trying to make him raise his brown eyes to her face.
They were in the hospital room, Seven unconscious and pale as death on the bed, her blonde hair spilling across the pillow in ripples. It pained Kathryn to look at her like that, though never on the same level as it hurt Chakotay. Seven was still beautiful, but a wan reflexion of her former self. Even what was left of her ocular implant seemed lacklustre.
The Captain had since chased everyone else from the room with meaningful glares and now sat in the chair across from Chakotay. He had stood in the doorway of the waiting area for several moments at first, saying nothing, and then had merely turned away again. Retreating. She clasped his nerveless hands in his, hoping to coax some reaction from him. Even tears were preferable to his dejected silence as he gazed at the floor.
It was the look in his eyes that truly made her want to cry . . . or maybe deal damage to something. His eyes were -had been- always so expressive, ready to convey all the small things he did not or would not voice. He could put whole conversations in those eyes, and she knew it better than anyone.
The silent words had always been directed at her. Even Seven didn't know the full of it.
But now those glorious eyes were downcast, expressing nothing but pure loss. Her heart ached for him. For both of them. The agony in the room was nearly palpable.
"Please, Chakotay," she begged. "Say something. Look at me. Whatever. I don't care. Tell me to go if you want . . . just-just something, please."
He lifted his head, his empty eyes coming to rest on her face. Even then he seemed to take in her image very carefully, as if she was something to be wary of. "It's my fault, Kathryn," he said flatly.
She wanted to deny that. She wanted to rail at him . . . scream at the top of her lungs that it was entirely out of his hands . . . which it was, but that was not what he wanted to hear from her. She knew that. She hadn't spent seven years almost constantly living within three metres of him to come out of it having learned nothing. So she said nothing of the sort, and shook her head slightly.
"She knew the risks."
He made a face, almost sneered at her. It wasn't a becoming expression. "Yes, she did. And so did I, for that matter. I should have listened to the Doctor. . . ."
"There was a chance she would come out of it . . . both of them would come out of it fine. There was always that chance. You knew that. You took it-"
"And look at her, Kathryn!" he exclaimed, almost leaping to his feet. "That's what chance has done for us!"
She didn't care that his fury was directed at her. As long as he directed it somewhere. At least, she could keep him from retreating into himself . . . the same could not be said for Seven. When she woke up, she would go silent and keep silent, bottling it up like always. She even hid from Chakotay, that Kathryn knew. Much like she herself had hidden.
Did hide.
"Yes, look at her!" she said fiercely. She wasn't going to back down from him. Not now. "She's alive, if pale, and still loves you even if she is unconscious. That's not what you wanted, not what any of us wanted, but count your blessings."
"Blessings?" he said incredulously. "Spirits, Kathryn, are your eyes closed? Ears plugged? You heard the Doctor. You heard all the doctors! She'll never fully recover from this and she'll never . . . be able . . ." He broke down then, anger joined by tears, which he needed.
She wept with him, crying the copious tears she had been holding in since first receiving his message. The worst of it was that she wept not so much for his wife or his dead child, but for him and his pain. Just him, like for a moment Seven meant nothing at all and it would be perfectly all right for her to just disappear, if such a thing would alleviate his suffering. Unworthy, heartless thoughts all. She hated that side of herself, but it was there, all the same.
They were like that for a few moments, not speaking, not even touching let alone embracing . . . just crying. He for fate, and she for him and that wretched fate. Were they all doomed to this somehow? When one goal, one hope was reached, one person made happy, something like this inevitably happened to someone else . . . it seemed inescapable. She hated it, and it had started with her orders to hunt down this man and bring him to justice.
Was this justice enough for them? Those spiteful powers that be . . . the ones that plagued her everywhere she went and plagued anyone and everyone she even remotely felt for? Even her mother, having lived to see her daughter home, was failing in her old age.
"She wanted children so badly, Kathryn," he breathed, voice ragged with emotion. "She couldn't even tell me how much it meant, but I could see it. I could see it in her eyes. And now . . . and now what? Now nothing. She's going to die, Kathryn."
"She is not," she objected immediately and strenuously, rising from the chair. She placed a hand on his shoulder and forced him to look at her. "She is not going to die, Chakotay. She's sick, yes. She will probably be weak all her life from this, but she's far too stubborn to quit now. I'd like to think that I at least taught her that. And I know you'll take care of her. Taking care of people is your strong suit, I know that."
"How do you know?" he demanded bitterly. "Obviously my strong suits don't lie in the areas you think they do."
"You're wrong."
"Why?"
"I'm alive, aren't I? I should honestly be dead a hundred times over, but I'm still here, aren't I? Because you -you- chose to stick by me like the stubborn, angry warrior you named yourself. And she's still with us. Can't that be something?"
"It is something . . . but the fact that she's alive shouldn't be in question."
"I agree, but that question is not your fault. Believe me, Chakotay. Trust me. You trusted me up until now, what's to stop you this time?"
"I know you can be wrong, Kathryn. I'm not as gullible as some of them. You're Human too. You can be wrong."
"Damn right I'm Human. But if that gives me the capacity to be wrong -and it does- doesn't that mean that you can be wrong too? Chakotay? Chakotay! Where the hell are you going?"
He was out the door almost before she got the question out. She didn't follow him. She'd probably intruded far enough for now, and Chakotay coveted his solitude at times. Now was likely one of those. Sighing, she dragged the chair to the side of Seven's bed and lifted the pale, chilled hand into her own, frowning.
Do you know how much he loves you? she thought towards the prone woman. Seven could not hear, but that didn't matter. Do you know how much this is killing him? Of course you do. You're more perceptive than you let on. A fact which makes me nervous at times, because you cover it so well. You were always relentless, Seven, Annika . . . you never backed down even when the Queen was breathing down your neck. I like to think you learned from me. Why didn't I learn from you? Why couldn't I accomplish what you did, and stare it all in the face?
She was slightly startled when Seven's hand stirred in hers. She knew the ex-drone was immersed in painkillers, somnolent ones at that. She couldn't wake up out of that. Not out of so much pain. Kathryn wiped her tears with her free hand, frowning. Seven was relentless within herself, but outwardly she would never own up to anything. She didn't need to be an empath or a psychologist to know that.
The problem was, Seven's closemouthed nature made it harder for everyone, especially Chakotay. His wife had more barriers in her than anyone Kathryn had ever met, including herself. Seven didn't hide behind protocol, she hid behind Seven. They were oddly congruent. Kathryn Janeway hid behind The Captain, Annika behind Seven of Nine. Yet the ex-drone had accomplished many things that she had not.
Her hand stirred again, and this time one blue eye cracked open, surveying her surroundings with quiet detachment, even while she visibly fought with the sedatives in her system. Seven sighed. "Where's-" she began in a thin voice.
"Shh! Go back to sleep. He just had to get out of here for a while. I think I may have drove him to it. I'm sorry."
Seven turned her head and looked at her solemnly. Kathryn felt her tighten her fingers. "Captain . . . no," she managed. She knew the small "no" was not meant for her. It was meant for what Seven knew was true when she realized where she was. "No . . ."
Tears came anew. "Oh, Seven, Seven, I'm so sorry . . . so sorry . . ." Kathryn said brokenly, nearly choking on the words. She couldn't manage a coherent sentence. For the second time she had ever witnessed, the other woman's brilliant blue eye filled.
"Where is the Doctor?" Seven asked, blurred eyes searching the austere room.
"He left. I chased him out too. I can get him for you. I can get Chakotay . . ."
"No," Seven said rather emphatically. "I don't . . ."
"You don't what?"
Seven squeezed her eyes shut. Tears escaped. "Want to see . . . empty eyes, Captain. You know."
She did. So Seven saw. Seven would. She was perceptive, always observing every small detail. That was a mixed blessing also, the woman's intelligence. She probably already knew what had happened. All of it. Too astute for her own good, at times.
It was a cowardly thought on her part, but if Seven knew, it was easier than having to tell her. Coward, Kathryn Janeway.
"I know," Seven murmured, echoing the thoughts of her former Captain. "I still have auditory implants. I heard them all . . ."
"I'm sorry, Seven."
"I know."
Don't we know, Annika Hansen? All three of us. We know.
***
Leave it to Kathryn to bring up the "angry warrior." She would, merciless woman. She knew every possible way to get to him, so swing him to her side. He was not interested. Not now. Yet like almost every time before, she had managed to instill some blind hope in him, that things would turn out.
Kathryn Janeway operated like she had good luck on her side. He knew better. Chakotay knew her well enough to know that things rarely turned out the way Captain Kathryn Janeway wanted them to. Of course by and large she got by, they all did, all had in the end. But now what? The Admiral's revelation ringing true, in some fashion?
He hadn't got any farther than the hallway outside the room, loath to be too far away in case something happened. Something invariably did. He had sat on the floor, finding he really wasn't up to standing. He ignored the doleful looks he received from the ever-growing group in the waiting area across from him. The Doctor, Harry, Naomi and Sam Wildman even Tuvok . . . everyone but the face he wanted to see. Damn Paris for carting B'Elanna off so quickly. He'd barely said his goodbyes, not even to his goddaughter. B'Elanna and Tom had some strange compulsion to hold on to all things Voyager, even naming their baby daughter K'Athra, the namesake obvious to anyone who hadn't been hiding under a rock for the last year.
B'Elanna would try the same tactics as Kathryn, only with considerably more swearing laced throughout. She often seemed to favour verbal abuse as comfort sometimes. He thought vaguely that maybe that was what he needed, instead of Kathryn's entreaties.
What he needed was obvious. He needed a wife whose immune faculties hadn't been demolished by years of what was comparable to physical abuse, he needed his children . . . two perfect boys who had never seen a second in daylight, two boys lost. Somewhere behind his torture he craved something, but he knew not what.
What had happened to the peace he had known? Voyager was an unlikely haven, but there it was. Those had been the best years of his life . . . and why? What had it given him? What was it he'd lost somewhere? It was not the ship itself, it was something . . . intangible . . .
The door cracked open, and Kathryn stuck her head out, auburn hair falling about her face. She looked mildly surprised to see him right beside the door. She looked down at him with serious eyes.
"She's awake."
He nearly fell over himself in his haste to rise, but rise he did, without incident and he nearly bowled the much slighter form of Kathryn over. He barely remembered moving, but he was suddenly at the other side of the bed, gripping Seven's hand in his. In better times, her strength had been comparable to his own, but her grip was weak, appallingly so.
"We should have listened to the Doctor," she said, some of the old, terse manner resurfacing.
Oh no, not now! Not now, Seven! Don't go Borg on me! I need you!
"We should have," he agreed. "But that doesn't matter right now. Seven . . . you know that we'll never be able to try again. You know that."
She nodded, solemnly, expressionlessly.
Don't retreat on me! Seven! Annika!
"That is . . . to be expected. I should not have attempted this a second time."
Seven, I asked you! Don't turn cold on me! Not again! Don't leave me alone with this!
He barely noticed when Kathryn slipped out, a terrible kind of understanding in her expression and she closed the door gently.
Kathryn had left the room . . . but she had not left him. That he knew.
To be continued.
***