The characters are owned by Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended.
Thank you again to my beta, who waited for me. Apologies to my readers for the length of time between updates. I write when I can, but I write for you. It is your interest and reviews that keep me going when I am able. A sincere thank you for all the reviews you have left for me to let me know you want more.
Chakotay sat on the floor, cradling the open jewelry box and caressing the plastic ring within. As he fingered it, he imagined slipping it onto the finger of his beloved, even as bitter tears, fueled by her rejection, dripped forth from his eyes, a warm rain that somehow had yet to wet the precious object in his hands.
She couldn't have possibly meant what she said. She doesn't hate me. She's never hated me, and never will. It's not possible…is it?
He sighed heavily, wondering from where the impetus for such harsh words had emanated. Consultation from his spirit guide had only revealed what he already known – that, like a wounded animal, she was angry, scared, and fighting instinctively for her survival. But who had so wounded her? Was it, perhaps, all in her mind, a hallucination brought on by the disease?
Somehow, he didn't think so. He'd known her to hallucinate before…long ago, when they were still on Voyager. Her hallucinations, while often frightening, would never have victimized her in that way. It simply wasn't something she would consider, consciously or subconsciously…unless it had actually happened.
Oh gods, has she been attacked? Had she been violated before I even met her? Could such a strong, independent woman possibly fall victim to such a savage crime? Could she have hidden that from me for all these years?
He didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't think of another explanation.
Just then, his communicator beeped. The voice on the other end was curt, almost smug. "You might want to know, Captain, that our patient is dead."
Chakotay's breath caught in his throat. No…it's not possible. She can't…oh spirits…
"Acknowledged," he croaked, before rising hastily, the velvet box in his hand falling, forgotten, onto the floor. He ran towards her room.
He wanted to delay, to deny what he had heard, to chalk it up to a bad dream. He'd fallen asleep, and the EMH would come to wake him up any moment.
But precious moments passed and nobody appeared to rouse him from his slumber. Curiosity and urgency boiled up within him and pressed him to open the door, to enter, to witness forthwith the horror inside the sterile room.
The sight before him confirmed the ugly words transmitted to him minutes earlier. There she lay, more peaceful than he had seen her in years…possibly ever. He ran to her side. She was pale…so pale. White, almost…as a ghost. And, like a ghost, she haunted him…
He couldn't think. He couldn't allow this to be real. His mouth opened, but barely a squeak emanated from his throat. Finally, he found his voice. "What…happened?"
"She committed suicide," answered the doctor coldly. "We had her unrestrained, at your request, and she replicated cyanide and ingested it. It's for the best."
For the best? You've got to be kidding! Of course she was suffering, but there was still hope, and even she knew that! She would never take her own life…no matter what…
…unless she harbored some sort of valuable secret they would be able to somehow extract without her permission if she lived. However, if this were the case, why hadn't they tried before? Was her dementia preventing them from uncovering what lay dormant in her mind? Upon the discovery of an effective medicine, were they finally able to find out what they needed to know? Did she realize this, and take her own life at the first opportunity so as to prevent them from pursuing what they sought?
Who the heck was she protecting, then? Did it have something to do with the genocide for which she was rumored to be responsible?
Tears flowed freely down his face as he realized he might never know…would never be able to help her. If he'd known, he would have…
…done what, exactly? Protected her? She didn't allow you to protect her even when she was sane. She insisted upon putting herself in danger, time and again, despite your every objection. More than once, you offered to share her burdens, and she refused. She was so stubborn…had her recklessness actually resulted in the mass extermination of a sentient people? Was that the secret she had died to protect? Was there someone else involved, someone who had not yet been accused?
The doctor looked at him sadly, pity in his eyes. "Would you like some time alone with her?" he asked, and the offer took the captain by surprise. Why would they offer me this kindness, now?
He nodded mutely, not even considering the possibility of a trap. He was no threat to them, and neither was the dead body on the table. When the doctors had exited the room, he attempted to clear his head.
What would she do, if it were I lying in repose before her eyes?
The answer came to him quickly. She wouldn't give up on me…and I can't give up on her.
Immediately, he tapped his communicator, requesting a secure channel.
"Doctor here," he heard.
"She's dead," he managed to reply. "Cyanide poisoning. Is there anything we can do? Can you revive her?"
Seconds later he felt the tingling of a transporter beam, and found himself in a grassy field, the body of his beloved on the ground at his feet. Across from him knelt the holographic doctor, who began scanning the body and pressing hyposprays against her neck.
Chakotay lowered himself to the doctor's level, careful not to interfere. He reached out a hand and brushed it across her forehead. The doctors had kept her hair short these last few months, and he missed the way it used to fall across her shoulders, gracefully framing her timeless beauty.
As he worked, the doctor issued a word of warning. "Please, Captain, don't get your hopes up. She'd been dead several minutes, at least, before you called me. Even if we can revive her, there may be too much brain damage. She may never speak again."
Chakotay nodded. "Thank you for trying," he acknowledged. "She wouldn't give up on one of us."
"Indeed," answered the photonic, as his program accessed memories of the countless times in which she had aided him, often at her own expense. She'd been at his side during much of his growth process from medical program to certified sentient being. He owed it to her not to let her expire without a fight.
Unbidden, the captain's most fearful thought emanated forth from his mind and exited through his lips. "Do you think it's possible she killed herself?" he asked.
The doctor frowned but did not pause in his ministrations. "Of course it is possible, but given the behavior of her doctors of late, it's more likely they assassinated her and made it look like suicide."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Chakotay responded. "Yes, of course. That makes more sense. The replicators in hospitals don't usually make things like cyanide, do they?"
"Well, actually," the doctor answered, "there are medical uses for cyanide, so in fact, hospital replicators would be able to produce it. But, most likely, not in a private room. Of course, our patient was knowledgeable enough to modify a replicator to produce pretty much anything, if it could be replicated at all."
"Of course she was," the captain mumbled. Always too smart for her own good, always second-guessing everyone else and going forward without regard for her own welfare. Too often she had used her expertise to put herself in danger under the pretense of protecting everyone else. Is it possible she's had a death wish as long as I've known her? Could she secretly have been hoping to become a tragic hero long ago?
Chakotay shook his head, as if that would rid him of the disturbing thoughts running through his mind. Nevertheless, again those thoughts took flight as sound into the air. "Maybe we should just let her die in peace," he found himself admitting as he resigned himself to her fate.
Only then did the doctor pause to look up and into his eyes. "Too late, Captain, I've got a pulse and she's breathing. And, as I've taken the Hippocratic Oath, I can do no harm; I must do everything in my power to keep her alive from this point forward, and to aid her recovery."
His heart jumped for joy, and he found himself reaching over the sleeping woman and bringing the photonic doctor into a tight embrace, and awkwardly, the hologram returned the hug. "Thank you," he sobbed, more tears – though now of joy – falling onto the doctor's shoulder.
Then, reluctantly, he released the doctor and placed his hand upon the woman's arm. "Thank you," he addressed her, even though he doubted she could hear or understand his words, "for coming back to me."