Retrospection
By Alex Voy
Rating: G
Disclaimer:
Paramount owns the copyright and all the characters. I make no profit, just enjoy writing about them.
Acknowledgements:
This story is set a few weeks after the mutiny during the episode 'Repression'. Contains brief references to the events of 'Counterpoint', 'Equinox', 'Fair Haven' and 'Disease'. It is the second of what is becoming a series of Janeway vignettes by other members of her crew. It deals with the emotional aftermath of the mutiny and is Chakotay's contribution to the series.
With thanks to Kelly for beta-reading this story with such patient thoroughness -- any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Retrospection
I still watch her. They say that old habits die hard, and after six years and all we've been through together, she's a difficult habit to break.
We're in the briefing room, discussing yet another spatial anomaly we are about to encounter. We sit around the table, all looking at her as she describes the nature of our latest problem. She speaks with eloquence, her familiar voice easily holding the attention of the eight people present. Well, seven of them, anyway.
I hear her words, but I'm not really listening to them. There's an edge to her voice now that wasn't there before: a hint of diamond, hard and brittle amid the familiar gravel.
I realise she has stopped speaking and is looking at me. They are all looking at me.
"Any suggestions, Commander?" she asks.
"I think we should be careful, run a lot more scans before we get too close." I trot out my familiar line. We used to joke about it: she ready to rush in and risk everything, while I urged restraint and caution. We no longer joke about it. We rarely joke at all now.
She looks at me with those smoked blue eyes that used to remind me of the violets my mother grew beneath her kitchen window. Now her eyes seem the colour of the sharp blue grey flints that littered the fields of Trebus. She holds my gaze for a long moment and then turns away. The set of her jaw tells me I have disappointed her yet again.
"Seven?" She turns to our resident ex-Borg, who never seems to disappoint her. Drives her to anger, frustration - distraction, even. But never disappointment.
Seven of Nine reels off a list of facts and figures about the anomaly. Captain Janeway listens intently, interrupting occasionally with a technical question.
I watch her again, noting the subtle changes that time and the Delta Quadrant have brought to her appearance. The slightly exaggerated crease from nose to mouth on one side, due no doubt to the crooked smile that so beguiled me in those early years. The beginnings of a furrow between her brows and the absence of the laughter lines that used to crease the corners of her eyes. She has lost weight, her face and figure now more angular, sharpened by the cares and hardships of command in this quadrant of space, so far from home.
She nods thoughtfully at something Seven of Nine has said. Her eyes travel around the faces at the table and finally come to rest on me. We look at one another for a brief moment before I drop my gaze. I can no longer bear to see what is in those eyes. They don't accuse. I could deal with that. If she blamed me for what has happened between us, I could fight her; argue my case as I did in those early years.
I know that I have failed her somehow, that I must share in the blame for what she has become. So many times I have looked back on our years together and wondered just where I began to go wrong. I don't think it was Riley. That could never have happened if things had been right between Kathryn and me. And there have been so many more disappointments since then. The time of the scorpion, when Seven of Nine joined us and I failed to carry out the Captain's wishes while I was in command. Kellin, whom none of us remembers, except for my written record to prove the truth of what happened.
And what of her lapses? That Devoran thug, Kashyk: was she ever taken in by his deceit? I'm not sure that she even knows herself. That she was powerfully attracted to him, we both know. How far she allowed that attraction to go, I've never discovered. No, that's not strictly true. The truth is I have never wanted to find out. I could have asked her. She would have told me in those days. It's too late now, anyway. Ancient history.
Then there was Fairhaven and Michael Sullivan. I think it was the comfort of touch that she craved. She's always needed physical contact with those around her. It's one of the things the crew loved about her: a gentle squeeze of the forearm, a casual pat on the shoulder. It was unconscious, a spontaneous gesture that was as much a part of her character as that defiant jutting of her chin when the odds were stacked against her. She doesn't touch people so much now. I can't remember the last time she put a hand on my chest and gave that crooked grin.
Seven has finished her report, and the Captain turns to Harry Kim.
"I want you to work closely with Seven on this one, Harry."
"Aye, Captain." He smiles and a faint flush touches his face as he turns to Seven.
Harry is another who has disappointed the Captain. He left it later than most of us, and I suppose the pain of his betrayal was all the harder for that. It shouldn't really have been any big deal. He fell in love, that's all. But when it came to the crunch, Harry chose his lover over his captain and that must have hurt. I think that moment was probably the defining instant when she realised that she couldn't really count on any of us. When the personal stakes were high enough, we were all capable of letting her down.
I think of what happened between Kathryn and me during the encounter with Equinox, and wonder how we had grown so far apart that she ordered me confined to quarters while I gave serious consideration to the idea of mutiny.
She is discussing with Tom Paris the possibilities of scouting the anomaly in the Delta Flyer.
"Wouldn't the Flyer be more able to withstand the gravitational flux around the perimeter?" She leans forward, her hands loosely clasped in front of her on the table.
I watch her fingers and remember the way they curled into a fist, her knuckles bone white against the black of her uniform, when I truly did mutiny while under the influence of Teero the Bajoran.
I remember the look on her face when she thought she was going to die: when she appealed to Tuvok for mercy and I ordered him to fire the phaser. I knew there was no charge in the phaser, of course: knew she was in no danger. But she didn't. I watched the reflex movement of her throat above the captain's pips as she swallowed, certain that this was how it was all going to end: a stupid, unnecessary death at the hands of her two best friends, just to prove a point.
Later, when the mutiny was over, and the command structure restored, I sat in her ready room and tried to explain my actions. She listened in silence, her face pale and haunted in the harsh lighting.
"How could you do it, Chakotay?" Her voice was low and strained.
"I wasn't in control of my actions." Even to me the words sounded lame and empty.
"You were in control of that little scene the last time we were in here." She indicated the room around us.
I couldn't meet her gaze. She was right; the whole thing about testing Tuvok's loyalty had been my idea. Nothing to do with Teero. It was just down to me.
"I'm sorry." There was nothing else I could say.
"You were my best friend and you let me believe you were going to kill me."
"Kathryn, please…"
"No! Don't you dare." I've never seen her so angry. Her eyes were almost black against the stark whiteness of her skin. Two bright spots of colour highlighted her cheekbones. "Don't you dare try to justify what you did." Her eyes glittered, and I knew that tears were very close to the surface.
I understood in that moment how nothing could ever be the same again between us. I think she may have forgiven me, but neither of us will ever be able to forget what I did.
I've thought about it often over the weeks since that day, and I find it difficult to believe I am capable of the cruelty I inflicted on her. She showed the courage I would expect of her in the circumstances, but although she did not die, something else did.
I could have prevented it. I could have saved what we had until the moment I allowed Tuvok to fire the phaser. That was the instant she lost her faith in me
No, who am I trying to fool? She didn't lose anything. I did it myself. I was solely responsible for destroying her faith.
Something else was destroyed, too. Over the years each setback, each betrayal by friends old or new -- each one chipped away at the façade she maintained for the crew. Since that day I took over the ship, there has been a new, brittle vulnerability about her. She knows now that she commands not as a right, but only on sufferance, only with the tacit consent of her crew. No matter that every one of us would die for her, that we all acknowledge only she could have got us this far through the Delta Quadrant. All this she knows, but it's not enough: it cannot negate the fact that I have taken her command once. And I could do it again at any time I choose.
I want her to know that no circumstance will ever be so dire that I would voluntarily take her ship from her again. But how can I expect her to trust me when I can no longer trust myself? As I watch her give a short final summary of the briefing, I know the thought of losing her command is never far from her mind.
She dismisses us, and I catch her eye as the others leave. Only a few weeks ago, she would have smiled and asked me to stay on to discuss the briefing in private. Now, she holds my gaze for a moment and then asks in a neutral tone:
"Was there something else, Commander?" The use of my rank hurts. She has rarely spoken my name since the mutiny.
A few weeks ago, I might have invited her to dinner or to share my time on the holodeck. Now I shake my head. "Nothing else, Captain. I'll check Seven's astrometric report for you."
She nods and turns away. As I leave the briefing room, she is gathering up her padds from the table. And she is alone once more.
END
By Alex Voy
Rating: G
Disclaimer:
Paramount owns the copyright and all the characters. I make no profit, just enjoy writing about them.
Acknowledgements:
This story is set a few weeks after the mutiny during the episode 'Repression'. Contains brief references to the events of 'Counterpoint', 'Equinox', 'Fair Haven' and 'Disease'. It is the second of what is becoming a series of Janeway vignettes by other members of her crew. It deals with the emotional aftermath of the mutiny and is Chakotay's contribution to the series.
With thanks to Kelly for beta-reading this story with such patient thoroughness -- any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Retrospection
We're in the briefing room, discussing yet another spatial anomaly we are about to encounter. We sit around the table, all looking at her as she describes the nature of our latest problem. She speaks with eloquence, her familiar voice easily holding the attention of the eight people present. Well, seven of them, anyway.
I hear her words, but I'm not really listening to them. There's an edge to her voice now that wasn't there before: a hint of diamond, hard and brittle amid the familiar gravel.
I realise she has stopped speaking and is looking at me. They are all looking at me.
"Any suggestions, Commander?" she asks.
"I think we should be careful, run a lot more scans before we get too close." I trot out my familiar line. We used to joke about it: she ready to rush in and risk everything, while I urged restraint and caution. We no longer joke about it. We rarely joke at all now.
She looks at me with those smoked blue eyes that used to remind me of the violets my mother grew beneath her kitchen window. Now her eyes seem the colour of the sharp blue grey flints that littered the fields of Trebus. She holds my gaze for a long moment and then turns away. The set of her jaw tells me I have disappointed her yet again.
"Seven?" She turns to our resident ex-Borg, who never seems to disappoint her. Drives her to anger, frustration - distraction, even. But never disappointment.
Seven of Nine reels off a list of facts and figures about the anomaly. Captain Janeway listens intently, interrupting occasionally with a technical question.
I watch her again, noting the subtle changes that time and the Delta Quadrant have brought to her appearance. The slightly exaggerated crease from nose to mouth on one side, due no doubt to the crooked smile that so beguiled me in those early years. The beginnings of a furrow between her brows and the absence of the laughter lines that used to crease the corners of her eyes. She has lost weight, her face and figure now more angular, sharpened by the cares and hardships of command in this quadrant of space, so far from home.
She nods thoughtfully at something Seven of Nine has said. Her eyes travel around the faces at the table and finally come to rest on me. We look at one another for a brief moment before I drop my gaze. I can no longer bear to see what is in those eyes. They don't accuse. I could deal with that. If she blamed me for what has happened between us, I could fight her; argue my case as I did in those early years.
I know that I have failed her somehow, that I must share in the blame for what she has become. So many times I have looked back on our years together and wondered just where I began to go wrong. I don't think it was Riley. That could never have happened if things had been right between Kathryn and me. And there have been so many more disappointments since then. The time of the scorpion, when Seven of Nine joined us and I failed to carry out the Captain's wishes while I was in command. Kellin, whom none of us remembers, except for my written record to prove the truth of what happened.
And what of her lapses? That Devoran thug, Kashyk: was she ever taken in by his deceit? I'm not sure that she even knows herself. That she was powerfully attracted to him, we both know. How far she allowed that attraction to go, I've never discovered. No, that's not strictly true. The truth is I have never wanted to find out. I could have asked her. She would have told me in those days. It's too late now, anyway. Ancient history.
Then there was Fairhaven and Michael Sullivan. I think it was the comfort of touch that she craved. She's always needed physical contact with those around her. It's one of the things the crew loved about her: a gentle squeeze of the forearm, a casual pat on the shoulder. It was unconscious, a spontaneous gesture that was as much a part of her character as that defiant jutting of her chin when the odds were stacked against her. She doesn't touch people so much now. I can't remember the last time she put a hand on my chest and gave that crooked grin.
Seven has finished her report, and the Captain turns to Harry Kim.
"I want you to work closely with Seven on this one, Harry."
"Aye, Captain." He smiles and a faint flush touches his face as he turns to Seven.
Harry is another who has disappointed the Captain. He left it later than most of us, and I suppose the pain of his betrayal was all the harder for that. It shouldn't really have been any big deal. He fell in love, that's all. But when it came to the crunch, Harry chose his lover over his captain and that must have hurt. I think that moment was probably the defining instant when she realised that she couldn't really count on any of us. When the personal stakes were high enough, we were all capable of letting her down.
I think of what happened between Kathryn and me during the encounter with Equinox, and wonder how we had grown so far apart that she ordered me confined to quarters while I gave serious consideration to the idea of mutiny.
She is discussing with Tom Paris the possibilities of scouting the anomaly in the Delta Flyer.
"Wouldn't the Flyer be more able to withstand the gravitational flux around the perimeter?" She leans forward, her hands loosely clasped in front of her on the table.
I watch her fingers and remember the way they curled into a fist, her knuckles bone white against the black of her uniform, when I truly did mutiny while under the influence of Teero the Bajoran.
I remember the look on her face when she thought she was going to die: when she appealed to Tuvok for mercy and I ordered him to fire the phaser. I knew there was no charge in the phaser, of course: knew she was in no danger. But she didn't. I watched the reflex movement of her throat above the captain's pips as she swallowed, certain that this was how it was all going to end: a stupid, unnecessary death at the hands of her two best friends, just to prove a point.
Later, when the mutiny was over, and the command structure restored, I sat in her ready room and tried to explain my actions. She listened in silence, her face pale and haunted in the harsh lighting.
"How could you do it, Chakotay?" Her voice was low and strained.
"I wasn't in control of my actions." Even to me the words sounded lame and empty.
"You were in control of that little scene the last time we were in here." She indicated the room around us.
I couldn't meet her gaze. She was right; the whole thing about testing Tuvok's loyalty had been my idea. Nothing to do with Teero. It was just down to me.
"I'm sorry." There was nothing else I could say.
"You were my best friend and you let me believe you were going to kill me."
"Kathryn, please…"
"No! Don't you dare." I've never seen her so angry. Her eyes were almost black against the stark whiteness of her skin. Two bright spots of colour highlighted her cheekbones. "Don't you dare try to justify what you did." Her eyes glittered, and I knew that tears were very close to the surface.
I understood in that moment how nothing could ever be the same again between us. I think she may have forgiven me, but neither of us will ever be able to forget what I did.
I've thought about it often over the weeks since that day, and I find it difficult to believe I am capable of the cruelty I inflicted on her. She showed the courage I would expect of her in the circumstances, but although she did not die, something else did.
I could have prevented it. I could have saved what we had until the moment I allowed Tuvok to fire the phaser. That was the instant she lost her faith in me
No, who am I trying to fool? She didn't lose anything. I did it myself. I was solely responsible for destroying her faith.
Something else was destroyed, too. Over the years each setback, each betrayal by friends old or new -- each one chipped away at the façade she maintained for the crew. Since that day I took over the ship, there has been a new, brittle vulnerability about her. She knows now that she commands not as a right, but only on sufferance, only with the tacit consent of her crew. No matter that every one of us would die for her, that we all acknowledge only she could have got us this far through the Delta Quadrant. All this she knows, but it's not enough: it cannot negate the fact that I have taken her command once. And I could do it again at any time I choose.
I want her to know that no circumstance will ever be so dire that I would voluntarily take her ship from her again. But how can I expect her to trust me when I can no longer trust myself? As I watch her give a short final summary of the briefing, I know the thought of losing her command is never far from her mind.
She dismisses us, and I catch her eye as the others leave. Only a few weeks ago, she would have smiled and asked me to stay on to discuss the briefing in private. Now, she holds my gaze for a moment and then asks in a neutral tone:
"Was there something else, Commander?" The use of my rank hurts. She has rarely spoken my name since the mutiny.
A few weeks ago, I might have invited her to dinner or to share my time on the holodeck. Now I shake my head. "Nothing else, Captain. I'll check Seven's astrometric report for you."
She nods and turns away. As I leave the briefing room, she is gathering up her padds from the table. And she is alone once more.