Seven
There was no way that Kathryn could remain idle after such a conversation. She went to bed, but instead of sleep she lay staring out at the stars, replaying a thousand moments in her head, a tidal wave of memory she had unknowingly stored for years somewhere in her subconscious and that now burst out, rushing at her one after the other until she could barely draw breath between them. Each carried with it an aspect of a simple message that tessellated into one complete whole: a recollection of the man that she had somehow forgotten amid the general sucking mire of their daily lives. It was too much, and so Kathryn Janeway did what she always did when all else failed her. She pulled on her uniform, and she went to work. Never mind that it was touching 0400 hours. On Voyager there was always something that needed the Captain's attention, whatever the time: it was the ship's worst quality, and also her saving grace.
Janeway passed across the bridge as unobtrusively as she could. Not for the first time, Kathryn wished there was a more direct way for her to access the ready room. On a night like this she would have preferred her passage through the ship to be invisible, but instead she was forced to smile and nod at various members of crew, surprised to see their Captain in duty mode instead of where she should have been – settled in her quarters fast asleep, reenergizing for the day ahead.
Kathryn was on her way to the replicator before the ready room doors had even hushed shut behind her, hesitating only slightly as she considered her options. She wanted coffee, but was that just foolishness at this time of the morning? On the other hand, was she really expecting to get any more rest before her own shift began in earnest? Unlikely.
"Coffee," she ordered. "Hot. Black."
She drank the first as she stood there and immediately ordered another before the caffeine had even hit her bloodstream. Then she crossed to her desk and slid behind it, pulling the pile of reports that had accumulated in the few hours of her absence towards her and beginning to read.
It was less than ten minutes later that the door chime sounded. Janeway looked up with a frown.
"Come."
Her acting first officer entered, one eyebrow raised in that way he had, an expression she had always found peculiarly emotive for a man who so prided himself on his ability to control his feelings.
"Tuvok," she acknowledged, attention returning to the PADD before her. "You're up early."
"As are you, Captain," he observed, coming to a standstill in front of her desk.
Janeway sighed and looked up at him again. "Not a coincidence, I take it?"
The eyebrow rose a little higher. "Commander Chakotay has a standard order in place. The first officer is to be notified when the Captain enters the ready room outside of her duty hours. Since I am currently fulfilling this role-"
"-you were the one to get the call," Janeway finished, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. Chakotay, she thought. How long has that order been standing? It's been a while since you appeared at my side with a drink of hot tea in your hand…
The thought clenched around her heart. Then his face as she had seen it so recently floated to her, his soft voice: Come here, Kathryn. Just get on a shuttle, and come-
She cleared her throat, reaching out to square the PADD on her desk.
"Well, thank you for your concern, Tuvok, but as you can see, I'm fine. Just catching up on these reports ahead of the day. Please – go back to your quarters. I'm sorry that you were disturbed."
Tuvok did not seem inclined to move, though his eyebrow had lowered. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his attention studiously trained just beyond her left shoulder, though Kathryn was wise to that game.
"Was there something else?"
Tuvok's gaze readjusted to meet hers. Somehow, despite the length of time they had known each other and her knowledge of his age and experience, Kathryn occasionally found herself surprised by the way he could read her so well, and without apparent effort. It was incongruous to find such quiet wisdom in so young a face. Still. She wasn't going to be blindsided by another awkward conversation. Not at 4am, thank you very much. This time it was she who raised the eyebrow, as well as her chin.
"Though I am currently acting as first officer, Captain, I am still overseeing the ship's security."
"I never doubted that you would, Tuvok."
"This, of course, includes the monitoring of communications, particularly any conducted with external sites."
Kathryn's eyes narrowed. "And?"
"It has come to my attention that there have been multiple instances of off-board communications recently."
She continued to look steadily up at him. "Have you been spying on me, Tuvok?"
"No, Captain. Once I ascertained the source and destination of these communications, I realised there was no cause for alarm."
"Well, thank goodness for that," she said, dryly.
"The source, destination and time of each communication is, of course, logged automatically, however."
Kathryn sighed, impatient. "What are you getting at, Tuvok?"
"When I received the notice that you were in your ready room, I checked the log. I thought perhaps that there would be a gap indicating that a communication had not taken place this evening. My reasoning was that such an absence could perhaps account for your presence at your desk at this hour."
She stared at the report in front of her again, wondering whether to simply dismiss Tuvok and get on with the blessed job in hand.
"There wasn't an absence," she said, instead.
"Indeed."
Kathryn pushed herself out of her chair, stalked to the replicator and requested more coffee. "Do you want tea?" she asked Tuvok, once the computer had complied.
"Thank you, Captain, but I do not intend to interrupt you long."
She turned away from the replicator but did not face him, heading instead for the windows. "What I am wondering, Tuvok, is your purpose in interrupting me at all. Somehow I don't think we've quite reached the crux of that yet. Have we, old friend?"
There was a pause. Kathryn sipped her coffee and waited him out. There is such space between stars, she thought, eyes tracing the paths between the pinpricks of light. So much time, so much distance. What a miracle we have learned to navigate it at all.
"You should know, Captain, that in recent months it has come to my attention that the relationship between the command team of this ship has been under considerable strain."
Kathryn looked down at the surface of her drink. "I suppose that monitoring is part of your duties as security chief too, is it?"
"Frankly, Captain – yes. It is."
She nodded, but still didn't look at him. "Your assessment is correct, of course."
"I was therefore… encouraged… to note that communication between you and Commander Chakotay appeared to be improving," Tuvok went on. "Albeit at a substantial remove."
Janeway did turn to face him then, one hand on her hip. "And now you're concerned that the command team has suffered some form of setback, is that it? Well, let me set your mind at rest, Tuvok. Commander Chakotay and I will operate as efficiently as a team as we always have. You won't have any cause for complaint or concern."
Tuvok regarded her quietly for a moment, as if collating his next words with even more care than usual.
"I have never once had cause for complaint in that regard," he said. "The command unit of this ship has been exemplary from the first, showing itself to be so even through the inevitable frictions that are to be expected during a journey of this nature and duration. What concern I have is for you, Captain. As my friend."
She stared at him for a moment. Then: "I'm not sure Commander Chakotay would believe that you had always considered him to be exemplary," she observed. "I'm not sure I believe it either, given certain incidents in our early years aboard this ship."
Tuvok inclined his head, acknowledging the point. "Then let me express it this way, Captain. It did not take long for my prejudices on a theoretical level to be overridden by the logic provided by practical experience of the man himself. It also did not take long for me to realise that had I been appointed your first officer, I could not have provided what Commander Chakotay so steadfastly offered you for so long."
Involuntarily, she felt her cheeks colour and gritted her teeth. "I don't know what you are implying, Tuvok, but let me assure you-"
"I do not mean to imply anything, Captain. I am merely stating a truth: in the situation we have aboard Voyager, a Vulcan first officer – I, myself - could not have provided you with the relationship that has developed between yourself and Commander Chakotay."
She looked away again, frowning. "We never had any form of relationship of the sort that you suggest. I made sure of that."
"With respect, Captain, that your relationship with Commander Chakotay has remained platonic for such a length of time is testament to your strength of character – but also a grave mistake."
Janeway made a sound in her throat, astonished and horrified in equal measure. "Tuvok, this conversation has gone far, far beyond the bounds of propriety. It is now also beginning to strain the edges of friendship."
"I hope you will forgive me, Captain," Tuvok said, "but there is no one else to tell you this. Commander Chakotay cannot himself and it is hard to see who else could be so blunt. As your friend, it therefore falls to me, however awkward it may be for both of us. Voyager is not on a standard mission. You are not in a standard command structure. Your devotion to duty is admirable, but damaging. I believe you may even be realising that yourself."
Kathryn shook her head. "I can't believe this is coming from you, of all people, Tuvok. If you were in my position-"
"If I were in your position, Captain, I would be a Vulcan in your position. You are human. Commander Chakotay is human. The majority of this crew is human."
"And that makes what difference to this situation? Does it make me less of a Captain? Does it make me less bound to put the lives of my crew first?"
"Human life is short," Tuvok said, simply. "It is short and fragile, Captain, and there is not one Admiral of the Fleet who would attribute blame for an attempt to live yours while you can. More importantly, you are a Captain who leads by example. You never ask your crew to do what you are unwilling to do yourself. That is admirable in the extreme, but it is a path that leads in both directions. The crew can see that their Captain is not living a full life, which is perhaps seen as a silent suggestion for them in turn."
Kathryn spun to face him. "I've never made any sign that I would be averse to crew pairing off. I've always acknowledged that it is inevitable. And look at Tom and B'Elanna. They have always had my full support."
"Quite so, Captain. And yet, there are still few couples aboard this ship, and still fewer marriages."
Kathryn gave a strangled laugh and clunked her empty mug down on the table. "Oh please, Tuvok, do add another ladle to the cauldron of my constantly bubbling guilt. It's not quite overflowing yet, after all. I can still fit in a few more boiling regrets."
There was a brief and bitter silence, in which Janeway turned her back on him, resting both hands on her hips.
"This is a moot point, anyway," she muttered. "Whatever there might have been between us once was crushed once and for all with the Equinox incident."
"Then what," Tuvok asked, "have the two of you found to talk about every night since he has been off-ship?"
Kathryn rubbed a hand over her face. "I don't know. It's almost as if… we've gone back, somehow. To the early days, when…" she trailed off and shook her head.
Tuvok let the silence settle for a moment. "With your permission, Captain, I would like to relate the recollection of an incident from my childhood."
Kathryn barked a short, wry laugh. "Why not?" she said. "It's not as if a story can have any damaging side effects can it?"
"When I was very young," Tuvok began, "my siblings and I would visit my grandparents. I know that my grandmother considered her greatest achievement, besides her progeny and their own children, to be her garden. She was renowned in her neighbourhood for the blooms she grew there."
Janeway crossed her arms with a frown. "I would have thought the Vulcan climate too harsh for many decorative plants."
"Precisely," Tuvok agreed. "Which of course made her successes all the more significant. There was one plant in particular that she had struggled for years to cultivate, a climbing bush whose flowers were reputed to be short-lived, beginning to fade as soon as they opened. I remember seeing her tending it on visits spanning years. It grew and spread, but it never flowered. Still my grandmother persevered. It took a decade of persistent cultivation to produce just a handful of buds. As an adult, now, it is possible for me to imagine the satisfaction that the small cluster must have provided to my grandmother."
"Even as a Vulcan, she must have experienced pride when she saw those flowers blooming," Kathryn said, wondering what on earth Tuvok's memory had to do with her situation.
Tuvok inclined his head. "I am sure she would have done, had she had the opportunity to see those flowers bloom," he said. "But she did not. Before they matured enough to open, a storm bore down upon the region in which my grandparents lived, said by our meteorologists to have been the worst in a generation. It tore through their garden, as destructive as fire. It ripped my grandmother's work to shreds. When the storm passed and she was able to examine the damage, she found all three of the plant's major trunks severed, the branches already wilting – and with it, the buds."
"Oh god," Kathryn said. "That's terrible. Your poor grandmother! All that work, all that care – to come so close, and then – gone, just like that…"
"It is the only time I have ever seen my grandmother express emotion," Tuvok said. "I believe, at that moment, she was the closest she ever came to collapse."
There was a pause. Kathryn frowned. "Tuvok," she said. "I don't really understand what the purpose of that story was."
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "The purpose of it, Captain, is to enable me to relate to you what happened the following year."
"Why? What happened?"
"At first," Tuvok went on, "my grandmother planned to discard the last of the plant, reasoning that it was dead and therefore its roots were taking up space needlessly. I surmise that she also did not want to be reminded, by its severed stumps, of where it had once been. But there was so much work to do to mend the garden, and perhaps, after all, she found it difficult to discard it completely, given the pride she had once had in it. She left the clearing of its remnants until last. Then, when she finally came to uproot it, she discovered a shoot. It was small: barely even there, bright green and sprouting straight from the earth. At first she was unsure whether the shoot belonged to the plant. She wondered whether it was simply a weed, making use of the space. Still, she determined to wait a while, to see. She gave it another chance.
"The plant grew and grew, more shoots joining the first, climbing so fast that they swiftly subsumed the dying branches. Then it budded. It produced blooms in such great quantities, in fact, that the flowers themselves outnumbered the leaves. Each time one died, another opened, over and over across a season far longer than she ever would have expected. The plant my grandmother had thought dead grew back so swiftly and so strong that it was more verdant than in any of the years that she had spent carefully tending to its every new shoot."
Kathryn hugged herself. "The storm," she said. "The storm tore out the dead wood. Allowed the plant to put energy into new shoots instead of maintaining ones that were past their usefulness. Those new branches bore flowers where the old ones could not."
"That is the conclusion my grandmother drew," Tuvok agreed.
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "You think that's what's happened to Chakotay and I? We've torn out the dead wood, and now in its place something fresh is growing?"
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "It is not for me to say, Captain. I was merely relating a story, one that it is perhaps possible to read as a cautionary tale. A suggestion that destruction can lead to renewal, if one has the fortitude to be patient enough – and the eyes to see where there might be growth that should not be ignored."
Kathryn nodded, lost in thought.
"I would suggest, Captain," Tuvok added, quietly, "that Commander Chakotay has both."
Kathryn looked at him sharply. "What makes you say that?"
The eyebrow. Always the eyebrow, rising as if it were a language in itself. "It was you who disconnected your last communication, Captain, not the Commander. If you had done so without regret, I suspect you would be asleep by now. As, indeed, you have been after every previous evening's conversation."
[TBC]
