Disclaimer: They can have the ship, the basic characters and most of the technobabble, but if
Paramount ever tried to say they came up with this, I'd beat them. Soundly. (By the way, the song
lyrics belong to Lifehouse and whoever owns them)
Chapter Fifteen
If shame had a face, I think it would kind of look like me.
If it had a home, would it be in my eyes? Would you believe me?
If I said I am tired of this, now here we go, now one more time,
I tried to climb your steps
I tried to chase you down
I tried to see how low I could get to down to the ground
I tried to earn my way,
I tried to change this mind
You better believe I tried to beat this
When will this end?
It goes on and on, over and over and over again
Keep spinning around, I know it wont stop, till I step down from this for good
I never thought I'd end up here
I never thought I'd be standing where I am
I guess I kind of thought it would be easier than this, I guess I was wrong
Now one more time, this is a sick cycle carousel, this is a sick cycle, yeah
***
He had that strange urge to go beat his head on the wall, maybe it would block this out.
Sure, the Captain had been at the hospital . . . but not for her own reason. She hadn't worked up
the guts to go speak to them, in at the little room across the hall. Of course, she'd never admit
such a weakness, but he saw it. Maybe she thought that if she didn't see, it wouldn't happen.
Everyone harboured that childish impulse sometimes.
If one did not see her doing it, maybe Seven would not die.
B'Elanna, once again, was confusing him. Tom wasn't sure if she was angry or sad or hurt
or all those . . . she stared at the Captain like she'd turned as blue as a Bolian, flexing her hands
into fists and audibly grinding her teeth. As they did sometimes, her facial muscles twitched,
drawing her lower eyelids up spasmodically and making her temples jump. That could mean many
things. She might be about to demolish the room . . . or maybe just cry.
His wife made no pretense of mistaking her dislike for Seven as complete indifference.
She'd be stubborn about it, but she cared, and didn't want to see anything happen to Seven of
Nine either. No one did.
Certainly not him.
He had always liked Seven, in a roundabout way. She had always seemed like she could
use a few people in her corner, even if she would refute that to the bitter end.
The problem was, this was the bitter end. Very bitter.
"Oh . . . shit," B'Elanna said, actually bumping the side of her head on the doorframe as he
would have liked to. "How long does she . . . ?"
"I don't know," the Captain said, sounding slightly hoarse. She looked tired where she sat,
the strain showing in how she pinched the bridge of her nose occasionally and squinted her eyes
shut. He doubted that she had slept. That was a constant thing. In times of crisis, she wouldn't
take care of herself unless told to, and sometimes not even then.
There was really only one person whose opinion had much worth to her, and he was not
there.
Very, very tired. He'd never seen her so worn. That was wrong. Some obscure thing that
was part hero-worship, part respect for the Captain and part respect for the woman made him
think automatically that it was wrong to see her like this. Kathryn Janeway was indestructible, that
part of him said. Some part of him felt embarrassed to see her so tired, unkempt and gravid . . .
like he was catching her in her underwear or something. This was not a part of her that was meant
to be shown, he didn't think.
Conversely, it made him feel that much more . . . fond of her. In that circuitous familial
way, like she was a big sister or something. He wanted to hug her, tell her a joke . . . anything to
get that look out of her eyes. Where was the Morale Officer when you needed him?
She wrung her hands a little, and then ran one through her unbrushed, auburn hair. "I
haven't talked with them . . . or with the Doctor. But I gather not long. I . . . she told me about a
week ago that this would happen. I didn't want to believe her."
Oh damn, he had known some hell would come down like this. He'd known it. Why hadn't
he said something to Chakotay, the day of that little party? Hell whom it hurt. It was better than
this. Anything was.
The end result would be hell on all of them. He had thought that in reference to the babies,
not a death he hadn't even dreamed of. And still . . . they were Seven's children -well mostly-
and what now? The Captain would be left to take care of them and pick Chakotay up of the
floor? For all his apparent endurance in other times, Chakotay had proved surprisingly easy to
break. Too vulnerable to what happened to Seven, or the Captain. He knew the feeling. He'd die
if anything ever happened to B'Elanna or K'Athra.
Yes, the end result was . . . Hell in the real sense. They were in it.
Seven would likely tell them all to adapt. That was her version of "shut up and suck it up."
"So there's just . . . nothing they can do?" B'Elanna demanded, this time sounding angry.
"No."
His wife swore in Klingon. The few oaths he recognized were decidedly harsh. She
slammed a fist on the door with a loud thud. Once she had recovered from her little paroxysm, it
could be seen that she was crying. B'Elanna wiped furiously at her eyes, growling at nothing and
everything. "Oh, why? What did she ever do to . . . shit." She found that she could not stop her
tears.
K'Athra, who sat next to the Captain, began to cry also in response to her mother's
weeping. Tom could barely contain himself as he watched them.
B'Elanna abruptly launched herself out into the hallway, and straight into a surprised
Chakotay, wrapping him in what had to be a crushing embrace and sobbing unabashedly into his
shoulder.
She didn't cry. She never cried.
She was crying.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, but lost it when he saw the Captain -Kathryn- draw
his sobbing daughter into her arms, crying herself. He couldn't take it. He looked heavenward
with watering eyes, almost a prayer for strength.
B'Elanna managed to peel herself off her long time friend and allow him into the waiting
area. Chakotay drew a hand across his face, his eyes unerringly finding the Captain, who was still
weeping into K'Athra's dark hair.
K'Athra had since stopped crying herself, but surprisingly did not try to escape the
Captain's grasp. She merely looked up with confused eyes, and reached up to touch the Captain's
face.
"Cries," K'Athra said, in that cooing baby tone. "'On't cry, Aun Kath."
That just drew another sob out of her, and Tom almost echoed it.
Chakotay drew a long breath where he stood. "I need to talk to you, Kathryn," he said in a
low voice. He looked apologetically at B'Elanna. "Do . . . you guys mind?"
"No," B'Elanna said immediately, collecting K'Athra. "C'mon, Tom."
He nodded his assent and followed her out. He didn't want to be in a room with those two
at a time like this. Too much emotion, even for him. He refused to think about it. This was no
time for speculation. He blinked, and tears ran from the corners of his eyes.
***
She itched to do something, say something that could help. She ached to embrace him, to
tell him that it would be all right, even though she knew that wasn't true. She ached in other
ways. There was steady pinching feeling at the base of her back, probably from sitting forward for
so long. Her eyes stung with lost sleep and tears. She thought maybe her ankles were swelling.
One could never be sure.
Chakotay wanted to talk, again. She had had enough of the talking, for once in her life. All
talking seemed to serve lately was to bring more bad news. She still wanted a coffee.
She spoke first, belaying him. "B'Elanna's going to have another baby," she stated,
smiling wanly for him. No, not all bad news, she supposed.
He blinked in surprise. "Really?" He glanced back towards the door she had left earlier.
"Wow. I'm . . . happy for them."
She tried the smile again, but she felt it come out all wrong, a bitter twist of her lips. That
was how she felt, after all. Years of careful practice at hiding her emotions seemed for naught
right then.
Ice cold captains . . . who am I fooling? Certainly not Chakotay. He's been on to me all
along.
"Not long now before I give you your own," she murmured. If twinging muscles mean
anything. Why did I do this again?
Seven.
"I . . . I hope Seven can . . . I'm sorry. I don't think I can say it," she admitted, frowning
down at the somewhat wide expanse of shirt she wore.
"You hope she will hold out long enough to see the babies," he said for her, his tone so
subdued she might not have heard him at any other time.
"Yes. That's what I . . . I'm sorry, Chakotay. I should have told you. I'm sorry."
He passed a hand over his eyes and then through his hair. "It wasn't your fault. She didn't
want you to, so you didn't. There's nothing wrong with that."
"But maybe if you had known you could have convinced her to-"
"That's why she didn't tell me," he interrupted. "Because I would have tried. She never
wants to depend on anyone . . . though I think she may have made an admission awhile ago." He
made a face that she couldn't read. Odd. She thought she knew all his expressions.
She felt her brows knit together. "What are we going to do, Chakotay?"
"What?"
"About the babies? Will they live with me, or with you or will we-? I don't know what to
do. I wasn't preparing for this. I was going to be a surrogate, I was going to . . . to help Seven
take care of them, not take care of them myself. I don't have anything they need. I haven't got a
place for- or any- I didn't- What are we going to do? I was going to be Aunt Kathryn again, not
Mom."
He shook his head. "I don't know. You are their mother, Kathryn. We'll . . . adapt, I
guess."
"If I ever hear that word again I am going to-"
"Don't," he said, hearing her voice rise. "No, Kathryn."
She recoiled slightly. No, Kathryn . . . but with no amusement or smile. It was nothing like
all the times before yet . . . that love. God, he loved her. If she'd never known it before, she knew
it now. What was he thinking? His wife was in there dying, and her protégée.
She exhaled forcefully, pressing a hand to her aching back. "No . . . I guess not. I still
don't know what to do." Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes again. "Goddamn it! This wasn't
supposed to happen! Not like this! Damn her! If she had never said that Seven was going to die,
would she-"
"Who?" he asked suddenly. "Who said that?"
"The Admiral, damn her. She said that on our way home that Seven would be injured on
some godforsaken away mission that I sent her on and by the time we got her back she- She was
going to die in your arms, her husband's arms, and you would never . . . Ohhhh, shit. What is this?
Wasn't this enough to change that somehow, or was I only delaying the inevitable?"
Chakotay reached a hand out to her, which she clasped gratefully in a vicelike grip,
weeping.
"Fate, Kathryn, isn't really something I thought you believed in."
"I don't . . . but-but hell . . . Why couldn't it have changed? I thought I was preventing it,
sparing Seven, those twenty-two crew members and . . . and you. You were going to die a broken
man, and I couldn't take it. I can't take it. I promised Seven I would stay, but you . . . you have
to stay to. Don't die with her. Please?"
He looked taken aback by her outburst, but he didn't release her hand. In fact he returned
her grip, his eyes shining with tears. "Do you . . . Is that what you want?"
"Yes, God, yes. If you don't, I'll die with both of you. What about the babies? The girl
doesn't even have a name for Christ's sake . . . Seven, she has to name her. At least that, even if
she. Ah . . . why didn't it change? Was getting home sooner just a stopgap measure? It seems that
no matter what I do, it's going to happen . . ."
Chakotay gazed at her with such a gentle look that she nearly fell into more pieces than
she already had. "I won't let you turn into the Admiral. I talked with her . . . she was bitter and
cynical and everything you're not. I don't care what I have to do, I won't let you to that."
She sobbed. "Chakotay . . . Chakotay, I . . . I love you. Oh God, I love you."
"Do you have any idea," he said roughly. "How long I've-"
She cried out, snatching her hand away from his and pressing them to the small of her
back gasping. No longer a dull ache, a sharp pain! Too sharp!
Oh, what now . . . Shit, no! Not now!
She felt, rather than heard two dull pops and felt the warm, almost hot fluid rush out of
her. A spasm rippled through her, and she watched, almost detached, as an echoing movement
played along her abdomen, like the twins were kicking. That wasn't it though.
"Ooof," she said, leaning forward. Hardly eloquent, but it suited how she felt.
Chakotay looked like he was going to pass out. "Now?" he choked, panicked.
"Ow! Hell yes now! Help me stand up," she commanded, throwing all her well-trained
emphasis into the order. He stood stalk still, staring at her like he'd never seen her before this.
"Chakotay!"
He jolted into action, helping her stand up. It wasn't that hard, she was mobile but-
"Owwwww!"
"Where's the Doctor?" Chakotay demanded softly, almost like a prayer that the hologram
would appear.
"Ah . . . come on, Chakotay. I'm all right. Don't go to pieces on me," she said, reaching
up and making him turn his head to look at her instead of the door. "Just walk with me. You
don't have to carry me the whole way, or anything. This could take a while and -shit. Okay!
Maybe not so long!" She felt her knees shake and buckle as every muscle in her abdomen seized.
Maybe he would have to carry her.
He looked down at her, his expression nothing short of worshipful. "Kathryn, you-"
"Don't start! This is not the time!" And she meant it. He looked like he wanted to kiss her,
and for once her muddled mind determined that that was not what she wanted right now. She
wanted painkillers and her Doctor. She was not going to do this in the waiting area.
Forcefully, she shrugged him off of her. "I can go faster without you, you big lout. You go
tell Seven what's happening. And maybe go stick your head in a puddle. It'll wake you up if
nothing else."
"But I-"
"Just go, you idiot. Aw, shiiiiit. Ow. That hurts."
"Kathryn-"
"Go!"
To be continued
***