Four

The days following were long and painful, a blur of frantic repairs and muted grief. Janeway lurched through them all, a ball of raw, pulsing pain buried beneath her shoulder blades. She tried to hide it as best she could. She pushed it as deep as possible. There was no time for grief. The rest of her crew needed her and anyway, what right did she have to look for solace? In any case, there was none to be had.

When she slept – if she slept – she heard his voice. It came at her, over and over, like an incomplete mantra. Sometimes, if she exerted herself, she could make out words.

Kathryn – please… Kathryn – don't…

When she woke, her face was always wet with tears. She often had the sense that she was not alone – that he was there, somewhere, in the now permanent darkness of her quarters, though she could not see him.

And then she did.

His voice was still echoing in her mind as she opened her eyes to find Chakotay sitting beside her on the bed, as large as life. He was out of uniform, wearing the clothes he'd had on the first time they had met. Somehow she felt that was fitting, though he didn't seem as intense as he had back then. He seemed… at peace, which was strange to her considering the violent mode of his death and the fact that he was looking down upon the woman who had ordered his end.

Janeway simply looked at him for a moment, tears still on her face. She was afraid to reach out to him. She did not want him to prove insubstantial to her touch. Because she knew he couldn't be here. Not really. Whatever this was – whatever he was – it could only be in her head.

"Chakotay," she whispered. "Please – what? Don't – what? I can't hear you properly."

He smiled, one of those smiles that used to make her heart clench with something close to joy but now, in his dead state, further served to fill her with sorrow.

"Please don't suffer," he said, his warm voice soft, familiar – a balm to the sores she bore so deeply. "Kathryn, there's no need for you to suffer. Death comes to us all. It's not so bad. In fact, it's the opposite. No more pain. No more uncertainty."

"I wish there had been a way-"

"There's no need."

Kathryn moved to sit, holding the sheets to her chest and pulling her knees up, moving until the two of them were mere inches apart. She breathed him in, trying to catch his scent, but it wasn't there. Of course it wasn't. Her fingers itched to reach out, to trace the lines of his ancestors, but still she held back.

"You'll see me again, Kathryn. On the other side."

"Will I?"

"Yes. It's what my people have always believed and I wanted you to know that it's true. To make things easier."

"I can't imagine why you would want to see me at all. Not after-"

He smiled. "You have nothing to blame yourself for."

She shut her eyes. It wasn't true, but to believe it for a moment meant everything. For a second, she allowed herself to drift. To contemplate willingly letting go to step into oblivion and the peace of no longer having to handle the weight that was on her shoulders. For a moment, it was intoxicating. Yet she had more to think of than simply herself.

"There is so much to do. I wish you were here," she whispered, opening her eyes again.

His eyes broke from her gaze to trace the outline of her face. He was smiling slightly. "Still determined, even in the face of complete impossibility?"

"While the crew is still alive – there is hope. Isn't there?"

His eyes wandered back to meet hers again. In their depths she read a truth she didn't want to know.

"I can't kill them all," she whispered, her heart breaking anew as fresh tears pricked at her eyes. "Please don't tell me I kill them all. I'll fight with everything I have to save them. Until my last breath."

He leaned forward. For a confused moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She shivered, but the anticipation turned into another wave of pain and guilt.

He couldn't kiss her. He wasn't here.

He was dead.

"There is nothing to fear," he whispered, in her ear. "I'm here to tell you that what is ahead is better than what is now. Please don't suffer, Kathryn. There is no need for it."

"I can't just give up, Chakotay. If you ever knew me at all, you know that."

He leaned back, his expression sad. "Maybe that's the difference between us. You have blind faith in yourself. I had blind faith in… you. I still do."

Her heart clenched, and she blinked away more tears. In the millisecond that her eyes were closed, he had gone.

"I don't know what it was, Doctor, which is why I'd like you to run some scans." She was walking to keep up with him as he moved through sickbay. He had so much to do now and spent even less time offline.

The EMH sighed impatiently as he cycled through data on a PADD in front of him, checking off more of their dwindling supplies and moving on again. "Scans for what, exactly, Captain?"

Janeway stopped, tired of moving, tired of arguing. "I don't know, Doctor. Your superior officer has just told you she's had a conversation with a dead crewmember. What do you suggest the scans would be for?"

The hologram stopped and turned to face her, looking at her fully for the first time since she'd entered sickbay. A second later he nodded and gestured her towards one of the few biobeds that remained unoccupied. "You're right, Captain," he said. "I apologise. Please, have a seat."

She did as she was told but the Doctor did not begin to examine her. Instead, he spoke to her in a low voice so that the rest of the room could not overhear.

"Captain," he said, gently. "Stress of the levels you – the whole crew – have been subjected to over the past days can produce all manner of effects. This, coupled with your grief over the Commander's death…"

She looked away, focussing on an imaginary point on the ceiling. "You think I'm just – overwrought?"

The EMH paused, silently suggesting that the word was an understatement. "What do you think it is, Captain? This apparition of Commander Chakotay?"

Janeway shook her head and looked down at her hands. "I don't know. I don't… as a rule, I'm not one to…" she sighed. "I don't believe in ghosts, Doctor. I'm a scientist. But this – this was so real. As real as I felt myself to be during the near-death experience I suffered myself, years ago..." She stopped, looking up at the EMH with a frown. "Doctor… You don't think there's a possibility that…"

The Doctor raised a tricorder to her temple, opening it to check the readings once it had swept across her cranium. After a moment he shook his head and lowered his hand. "The only brain activity I am detecting is yours, Captain."

She nodded, clasping her hands in her lap. "He was there," she said, quietly, after a moment, "as close to me as you are, and…" she cut herself off again, swallowing hard. "I hear his voice. When I sleep. Pleading with me. Begging me."

"To do what?"

"I never hear that part."

"He didn't tell you? This… apparition?"

"Yes. He told me that he didn't want me to suffer. That there was no need. It sounded as if he wanted me to accept death. Not just for me, but for all of the crew. Because what was on the other side was better, and because what we have now is so painful." She paused, blinking. "He was always more spiritual than I am, but still…"

The Doctor smiled. "Well, Captain. I have to say that I don't believe in ghosts, either. But I do believe in the hidden depths of the human mind."

"What do you mean?"

"What you experienced… was your own subconscious. It is anathema for you to accept that Voyager and her crew have reached the end of their journey. It is in your nature to refute that eventuality, even in the face of overwhelming odds. But somewhere in your mind," he leaned even closer, glancing around at his other patients to make sure no one would hear, "perhaps you are beginning to tell yourself the truth. To accept our situation."

Janeway leaned back, studying the hologram's face. "I will never 'accept' our situation, Doctor. We – the lucky ones – are still alive. And while we are alive, there is still hope. Never forget that."

The Doctor smiled and nodded. "And that is why you are the best captain I have ever served with."

"I, Doctor, am the only captain you've ever served with."

He turned away with a small smile. "I can give you a light sedative to aid your sleep."

For a second, Janeway almost baulked at the suggestion. Chakotay's voice was the last echo of him she had. She didn't want to let it go, that voice in her dreams that she couldn't quite hear well enough, just as she couldn't let go of the nagging sensation that there was something in his words that she needed to hear – something that his 'ghost' had not told her. And yet – if it let her rest, if it let her focus… maybe she could still pull Voyager out of this well of misery? All it would take was a passing friendly freighter. All it would take was one stroke of luck… and a captain of sound mind.

Janeway slipped from the biobed, determination suffusing her veins. They weren't done yet. While they were alive, there was hope. And she was still alive.

The ship lurched suddenly, throwing her back against the biobed, its edge impacting sharply with her hipbone. The emergency lighting dimmed even further, flickering as it threw sickbay's inmates into silhouettes before stabilising.

The Captain ran to the wall, thumbing the manual communications terminal. It was all they had left.

"Janeway to Bridge, report."

"Hull breaches on decks six and seven, Captain," Tuvok told her. "We are evacuating, but-"

She didn't hear the rest. She was already out of the sickbay doors.

[TBC]