8. Chakotay´s POV
The memory of that period saddens me.
Perhaps it´s because everything had seemed to be set in stone.
The weeks had become indistinguishable from one another due to tiresome courthearings and endless inquiries. One day would flow into the next while Starfleet´s supervisory board, under strict supervision of the conscientious chairman Van Traa, would batter the vulnerable concept that was our innocence and morality. Like wielding a sledgehammer, Van Traa and his myriad of counselors had tried to disarm us and had relentlessly pounded on our most precious asset; our clarity of mind and the knowledge that our actions in the Deltaquadrant had been justified. We had often questioned and reevaluated our actions while on Voyager. We had done what we could, what we had deemed just, and what was humanly possible with the information and instruments we were given. I was convinced of that. The scrutiny of Starfleets critics however had proven to be more than she could handle.
Her selfdoubt had turned into a consuming certainty of failure. With every enumerating counselor, closely watched by us: the crewmembers who had been spared an excruciating scrutiny of this extend, we had seen her lose weight, color and passion. Her grey collar lay loose around her throat as if it too had submitted to the unceasing downpull, rather then to her decline in pounds. Eyes that had previouly hosted an electrifying spark had reduced to a mere pilot light. Even the strong contrasts between different tones of auburn had faded from her beautiful hair.
We knew it wasn't the counsellors that burdened her so severely, but rather her selfblame en morbid selfsacrifice; the achilles heel to her psyche.
Unable to decide over our own fate; time and circumstances fell upon us and kept rolling like an unstoppable boulder that comes thundering down a cliff. A cliff off which we all desperately tried to cling, in dire need of the unity and optimism we had experienced before disembarking. Our fingers were slipping though, as the irreversability of the damage became more difficult to deny with every enumeration that we witnessed, and with every week our captain, our front woman, was visibly withering away.
I look at her as she sits on the side of the bed. With her bare back turned towards me, she leans foward, elbows on upperlegs, leaving her arched back displaying leftovers from life and markings that her efforts to keep us all safe had resulted in. Her skin is draped loosely on the knuckles of her vertibrae that run down her back like a tired military line of survivors, unwillingly reporting for duty after an enduring battle. Just below her shoulderblades they are paralleled by a thin borg implant that had proven to do more good than harm and had been with her since her assimilation into the vast collective. Under her leftarm I see an alien brandmark that I recognise as the employeenumber the Quarrans had given her. The middle of her lower back holds a small, round scar that ties her forever to every Voyager crewmember since the Caretaker had drilled our spines in search of a medicin; a scar Sevens back was free of.
"This was a bad idea." Her voice is stoic and speaks in past tense. She must've sensed I was awake, I hadn't yet spoken or moved.
"You have a good chance at happiness..." she continues "...and your so desired peace of mind." There is no blame or anger in her words, I could get up and leave if I so wished and she wouldn't hold it against me. "You should go while you still have that chance." Her fingers play with dry tips of badly nurtured hair. She no longer straightens it but the curls that should have flourished are bound by greasiness and disregard. "She won't hear of this from me." She concludes beaten. I know the pronounciaion of Sevens name at this moment would taste like bile in her mouth.
I roll over and put a warm hand on her cold back. She shivers slighlty and tenses under my touch.
"I'm not going anywhere, Kathryn."
She turns to face me but I'm spared the defeated eyes I so clearly remember.
In stead I find myself looking at the vibrant face of my beautiful daughter. She is the clear resemblance of my wife; an altruist, a loyal, hard worker and a somewhat introverted perfectionist. She shares my brown eyes and Kathryns full hair.
"Are you awake, daddy?" She asks as she shakes my elbow slightly. Edwards feet are on my lap and we had both fallen asleep as we awaited our next transport.
"Someone's trying to reach you." Layla holds up my communicator and a clear beep alerts me of the lightened up symbol in the centre of the screen.
"Thank you," I tap the symbol and an unfamilar voice speaks up. "Chakotay! There you are, this is Frank Tabor from next door. Is everything okay over there?"
"What?" I ask in confusion. His voice is too cheerful for my still awakening mind. "Why wouldn't it be?" Layla had already returned to her game and I sit up to process what my neighbour is telling me. I hardly know the man. What could he possibly want?
"I thought I'd just check in to make sure everything's allright, you know?" Frank chuckled, somewhat embarrassed by his previous deliberation, as if his concern were exaggerated and utterly unnecessary.
Worried to be an incovenience he quickly gets to the point "It's just, there's some woman climbing down your conservatory and I don't think it's Kathryn."
