"Chakotay?" The voice tunnelled its way into his ear and brain, unwilling his eyes began to focus on the silhouette which filled the threshold, framed by light seeping in from the hallway. "Chakotay?" This time he succeeded putting a name to the voice, B'Elanna. Why was she here? His mental voice, rusty from lack of use asked, because these are her quarters, hers and Tom's and Miral's, answered the embattled voice of his inner reason. This realisation didn't cause any great change, his body didn't respond in any way and his mind rapidly dismissed her presence altogether. "Chakotay…you have to get up…today at least…" Part of him wanted to close his eyes to her, but he knew that wouldn't stop the torturous pain that was flourishing within him. Gradually his eyes lifted to meet hers, when they did a far away part of his consciousness told him that she wasn't going to let him be, the pathetic flash of a smile she gave him confirmed this and she lowered a bundle he hadn't noticed before by his feet at the other side of the couch. He watched listlessly as her lips and throat moved simultaneously as a gulp. "I brought your formal uniform… The Captain says its standard procedure for a funeral but I'm sure she'd…" His head jerked back suddenly, lifted off the couch's scratchy fabric, damp with tears shed under the blessed cover of darkness. She stepped back, seemingly startled by the abruptness of his movement, "I'll take it back…" she muttered hastily, almost to herself.
"Leave it." For a moment he wasn't sure if it was he himself who spoke the words but he'd felt his muscles move to produce the sound and there was no one else in the room, not that he would have been fully aware even if there was.
"Okay…" Her arm extended to touch his but she seemed to rethink at the last possible second and her hand hung in the air for a moment until she let it fall to her side. "Tom and I will come and get you okay?"
The expected nod came, slow and heavy, she nodded too but with briskness. Dimly he registered the doors closing behind her with their regular swish and he saw that as a cue to sit up. The supposedly metaphorical weight of grief made his movements slow and exhaustive but his hands, by the knowledge of ten years of habit alone, found the uniform and mechanically put it on. Finding himself standing in front of a floor length mirror, he clipped on the three plain gold studs which announced his position in this world with unsteady fingers as he gazed at his reflection. He'd never liked the uniform much, particularly the formal set, it seemed so pompous, so self-important, that was part of the reason he'd worn a tux for his wedding. Seven, on the other hand, had once told him she had thought he couldn't look any better than in his uniform…until she'd seen him without anything on. The memory fractured the fragile equilibrium he'd formed, suddenly his reflection changed, the uniform was soaked with blood, her blood. The next thing he was aware of there was a strangled tortured cry, the crack of breaking glass and pain surging up his nerves from his right hand. The reflection changed again, now fragmented into sections with the glass. His eyes travelled in morbid fascination down to his fist, the sharp chunks of glass embedded in the knuckles, the blood dripping steadily down to the carpet. Maybe he would just let it bleed; enjoy the distraction while it lasted…
Tom's shocked voice echoed loudly in his ears, though in reality it was soft with concern. "Chakotay, what the hell…" Turning his head to see Tom and B'Elanna's frightened eyes, a panicky thought ran through him, I'm going insane…why do I have to feel like this?
B'Elanna got over the shock first, wrenching her eyes away from the bloody fist and ruined mirror and putting her hand on Tom's arm. "We need to go…"
Tom came out of it and picked up a dermal regenerator from the dresser. "Right…" Chakotay gave him his hand allowing him to heal the injury without complaint; fighting back the frightened tears which made his entire body shake. They guided him out into the hall and Tom went to follow him but B'Elanna held him back, looking at him pleadingly.
"I'm worried Tom, the Doctor should give him something if he's hurting himself…"
"B'Elanna it was an outburst. I'm almost relieved to see it, he's been practically catatonic for two days and anyway the Doctor's hardly any better than him, he deactivated himself as soon as the autopsy was done…I had to talk him into attending the funeral…"
"Chakotay doesn't have the luxury of deactivating himself! You don't know Chakotay like I do, you see him as a pillar of reserve and control but he doesn't cope well with grief, when his father was murdered he joined the Maquis..."
"B'Elanna, he learned to cope with that and hopefully he'll learn to cope with losing Seven, he hasn't had time to even accept the fact that she's gone…"
"Have any of us?" asked B'Elanna bluntly.
The coffin sat in the centre of the Mess Hall, draped conspicuously in a Federation flag, four Ensigns standing guard but his mind seemed to distance its self from that scene in self preservation. Light unknown hands guided him firmly to a chair and he sank into it. His head throbbed, his eyes burned, the cruelly bright lights illuminating everything he wished to block out entirely. His peripheral senses heard the crew and their sympathetic whispers, the sobs emanating from Naomi Wildman. His eyes saw Icheb, his face half Borg stoicism and half child like vulnerability; tears leaving tracks on his cheeks and wounds in his soul, his hand went to his own face and felt the now familiar dampness.
The Captain stood at the podium, like a preacher to her flock. He, indifferent to the grief everyone else could hear, would later be unable to recall a word of what she said, the words washing painfully over him as the unstoppable tide of grief slammed into him again and again. The sharp cutting serenade of whistles pulled him out of his stupor for a moment to see the Captain folding the flag which had covered the coffin. Kathryn, you're kidding yourself if you think you truly brought her under the flag of the Federation in life, he thought with sudden clarity. She rebelled against it the whole way, I admired that, it attracted the Maquis in me, the part that wanted to reject all this…the supposed superiority of the Federation. Nothing about this is right; it can't just end this way…with being blown out of an airlock into space. "It was only chance that you didn't suck me out an airlock when you first met me Chakotay." The memory of her voice was so real he jumped, for a millisecond he thought she was beside him but the realisation of reality obliterated the split second of joy and was replaced by indescribable agony as he felt the ship jolt into warp, leaving her behind forever.
A/n: Please review.