DISCLAIMER: I do not own Star Trek Voyager or any of its characters.
A/N: Hey all! Well, here we are. The final chapter! Thank you so, so much for reading and I hope you enjoy the ending to this fic. My apologies in advance - you'll know why when you reach the end of the chapter. I did have some notes for a possible sequel, but I'm not sure it's an idea I'll pursue because it's really complicated! But I hope to write some more stories for Voyager soon, and finish the series too! (I've only seen up to the end of Season 6, and, as I've just tested positive for Covid, I think I'll sit and watch a few episodes to cheer myself up). Anywho, please do read and review if you have the time. I would absolutely love to know what you think. As always, enjoy :) x
CHAPTER 6 - FAMILIAR
Dark specs flit over an expanse of grey. Voices murmur, faint, near, rising over a simmering pulse, a gentle hum that vibrates through the air to greet her. Someone is shaking her shoulder, another holding her hand. Little by little the veil lifts, and she finds herself sitting at the foot of her command chair, staring up at a mirage of faces marred with confusion and relief.
"Captain, can you hear us?"
A figure kneels before her, his words penetrating the grey, and her vision, wrought with disorientation, gradually begins to clear.
"Tuvok?"
She stares at him breathlessly, drinking in his calm demeanour, the subtle lifting of his brow. His dark eyes are gentle, soothing, and she realises with a great sense of emotion that he can see. Though why that thought surprises her is beyond her comprehension.
"Are you alright, Captain?"
The second tone ignites her senses and her gaze shifts to meet her First Officer's. It's his hand that encases hers, soft and warm and reassuring, watching her with an intensity that forces her to inhale sharply. His gaze is searching, scrutinising, gliding over the oceans of her soul.
"Yes," Janeway murmurs. "I think so."
A dull throbbing starts in her temple; she presses a hand to the strange tingling sensation that skitters along her cheekbone. There's an odd texture to the skin there, a rigid, unnerving smoothness that winds its way to the bridge of her jaw. Strangely familiar. A vague, impassable memory.
"I feel as if I've just woken from a long dream," she says. "Or perhaps a nightmare." Her mind is foggy, adrift, unusually lethargic. "What happened?"
"You fainted," a third voice replies, and through the bleariness of her vision she makes out a medical tricorder, its shape blending into the hand of Lieutenant Paris.
"You gave us quite a fright, Captain," Chakotay elaborates.
"There's a little bruising to your right cheek and you have a mild concussion," Tom continues, reading over the tricorder report. "Blood pressure and electrolyte levels are well below average. Probably best if we get you to Sickbay."
"No, no, I'm alright," Kathryn hears herself say, but the three officers are already helping her to her feet and she is grateful when Chakotay reaches under her arm to steady her.
The Bridge is peculiarly quiet. Various crew members talk in hushed tones amongst themselves: Ensigns Wildman and Goldat at the Science Station, Ensign Kim in his usual position at Operations, and at the computer console Lieutenants Fitzpatrick and Parsons run routine diagnostics.
A sickening nausea rises from deep in her chest as her gaze sweeps over them, jarred by the inconsistency of her mind. Relief converges with trepidity, a rush of broiling heat against alarming cold. Swallowing hard, the Captain raises her voice.
"What's the crew complement?"
Tuvok blinks imperceptibly, his left brow lifting in question. To her right Tom reaches for his tricorder, and silently passes the scanner over her.
"The crew?" Kathryn asks again, strengthening her wavering tone. "How many are there?"
"One hundred and fifty, Captain," Ensign Kim calls, his confusion equally if not more pronounced than the others.
She blinks at him.
"All accounted for?"
"All accounted for," Harry echoes.
A nod. A reassurance. An inexplicable doubt.
"Good."
She doesn't understand why it would be any different, why her heart clenches with grief and elation when she considers the crew members surrounding her. Chakotay moves closer, his voice lowered.
"Captain." He touches her arm lightly. "Perhaps we should get you to Sickbay."
"No," she waves him away, suppressing the well of unexpected emotion. "Really, Commander, I'm alright."
Sinking into her command chair, Kathryn lets her hands roam over the soft padding, feels the solidity of its frame, the strength and surety pressed into every crease and dent and battle-weary mark. The silent exchange between her First Officer and Chief of Security does not escape her notice, neither does the prominent void of absent memories that pushes itself to the forefront of her mind. Where there should be colour and light there is only a stark emptiness, a path without beginning. There is no trace of recognition, no certainty of place. Or of time.
"What's the stardate?"
Chakotay turns to look at her sharply, his hand hovering over the arm console.
"Captain?"
"The stardate," she murmurs softly, meeting his strained expression. "What is it?"
"51252.3." He blinks, hesitates, then leans closer. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"
Whatever answer she might have given is saved by the approaching of a vessel off the port bow, and the Captain turns to observe the dark expanse.
"On screen."
"They're hailing us."
"Open a channel."
The screen flickers to life, bringing with it the face of an alien race they have not encountered before. Another species in the vast unknown of the Delta Quadrant. Another potential ally. Another possible enemy.
"You've entered Krenim space. State your identity."
Something akin to a chill creeps up her spine, adrenaline flooding into her veins. Both a warning and an expectation, surprising in its potency. And yet her smile, neutral and ever-gracious, greets the alien that appears on the viewscreen with an easy civility.
"My name is Captain Janeway of the starship Voyager," she says. "We're just passing through, trying to get home."
"This region is in dispute," the Krenim Commandant replies shortly. "I suggest you avoid our territory.
She nods, exchanges a quick glance with her First Officer, his calm demeanour reflecting her decision.
"Thanks for the warning."
"Good journey," says the Commandant and the transmission ceases abruptly.
"Tom," Chakotay calls to the helm. "Plot a course around Krenim space."
"Aye, sir."
She stares for a while at the viewscreen, at the area of space lying directly before them. Unchartered and unexplored, comprising secrets and wonders they will never experience. But there's something about it, about the stars that gleam menacingly, that tells her this area of space should be avoided at all costs.
"Commander, you have the Bridge," Kathryn says, rising slowly from her chair. "I'll... be in Sickbay."
She's hardly moved four paces away when his voice reaches her, masking over his concern with an easy diversion.
"Permission to accompany you, Captain?"
He looks so eager she hasn't the heart to deny him.
"Granted," the Captain concedes, and gives a brief nod to the Tactical Station. "Tuvok, the Bridge is yours."
The turbolift journey takes longer than she anticipates, and she stares at the carpet with growing unease. Or perhaps it is only the close proximity of her First Officer, his tangible concern, that fills the passing seconds with nervous expectation.
"Captain..." Chakotay begins hesitantly. "Can I ask you something? When the Krenim suggested we avoid their territory you didn't hesitate to agree. Why is that?"
"I didn't think negotiating safe passage through a potentially volatile area of space was a justifiable risk," the Captain replies.
"That's never stopped us before," Chakotay frowns. "At least, it's never stopped us from trying." His head cocks to one side. "You've never been one to pass up the opportunity to secure an alliance."
"Perhaps not," Kathryn shrugs. "But over the years I've learnt that sometimes - not often, I admit, but on occasion - it's best to leave things be."
Chakotay nods in understanding.
"Choose your battles wisely."
She waits for him to follow her as she exits the turbolift, slowing her pace until he walks at her side. She does not tell him she can't remember the way to Sickbay, doesn't tell him of the disorientation growing within her mind.
"Somehow, I don't think the Krenim would have taken kindly to us negotiating passage through their space," Kathryn continues. "I'd like to think we've had enough unpleasant encounters over the years to know when it's time to retreat."
"There was one other thing," Chakotay says, his expression, for once, unreadable. "The Krenim. You looked like you'd seen a ghost."
"Maybe. There was something about him... like I knew him somehow."
Her steps halt. His too.
"You've seen them before?"
"No," Kathryn shakes her head, staring down the empty gangway - beyond, through countless mission logs and planetary reports. Nothing comes to mind, but the same unshakable feeling remains. "No, I don't think so."
Her silence only serves to reinforce his concern. His eyes harbour a million questions.
"You're staring, Commander."
Biting the inside of his cheek, Chakotay draws his gaze away.
"Sorry. It's just... I feel like I haven't seen you for a very long time. I can't explain it."
She is about to tell him she feels the same way when her hand slides into her uniform pocket and finds something there that does not belong.
"Kathryn?"
Fingers brush over the unknown, curling around smooth yet fractured edges. Her breath catches as she brings it out into the light, the weight familiar, comforting, settling in the palm of her hand like an anchor.
Chakotay draws nearer, inspecting the small, blackened object with an equal curiosity.
"What is it?" he asks.
Apprehension rises. A reminder of abstract memories she cannot yet touch. A phantasmal past she cannot remember.
Shaking her head, the Captain rubs away the soot to reveal two immobile clock hands.
Time forever suspended in motion.
"I don't know."