I'm pulled from sleep by a piercing yell. Recognize my own voice a split second before the searing white pain registers. Fine brandy staled by abrupt fear when she calls my name. My palms press into my forehead above useless eyes. Spring up into a sitting position. It doesn't help. Bend forward. Doesn't help. Twist sideways. Punch my hand into the headboard. Pain is my existence, punishment to my soul, and strips less-than-me of me. She holds my head to the side, the hiss of the hypospray sounding under my ear. Try not to fight against her, against any added intrusion into my agony.
Gradually, there is more a memory of pain than the stabbing murder of myself. I collapse back onto the pillow, damp hair sticking to my neck, beads of sweat on my forehead, down my chest. The weight of her on the mattress right behind me, her hand on my shoulder. My breathing is ragged. A low groan escapes unbidden. Weight shifts, slight rise of the mattress, water runs. A cool glass is pressed to my hand, but I can't grasp it yet. Steps retreating and returning. Weight now in front of me on the edge of the bed. Cool cloth presses to my forehead, pausing. The gentle touch of cloth to my cheek, my neck, then back to the skin above my bandages to run over my hair. I rasp a thank you and roll to my back.
The curse from her lips only mirrors my own thoughts. Slide of silk against my arm, skin against the back of my neck. She holds my head up to give me water. Another piece of me breaks. Helpless. She did see it, after all. The drink soothes my throat and drowns my heart.
I'm sorry. I know it's not my fault, but I'm still sorry. It was worse, but each day gets a little better. The doctors are doing everything they can. I know you want to help. Were you asleep? What were you reading? Ah, the interminable reports. I knew you didn't really take a month of leave. Smile for her. It's okay, really. What else are you going to do here besides look after me? Don't worry. I'm always hot after the headaches. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Alright, but you'll have to help me. It will be a little while before I can sit up without risking the pain again.
She rolls the sweat-dampened shirt up my back and chest. I raise my arms and gingerly lift my shoulders off the bed. So careful not to disturb the bandages. The skin doesn't hurt, only the nerves inside. I try to tell her, but she's no less gentle. Lie back. Cool cloth on my hot forehead, neck, and dull throbbing is beginning to fade. Always exhaustion afterward. I miss the feel of eyelids closing.
Silence. How long? My sleep is so erratic, there's no way to tell. Slick, cool, panic. Silk? She hasn't moved, still beside me on the bed. I realize her thigh is what I feel under my hand. Voice of waking.
I didn't mean to wake you. What time is it? 0500? Day 7. Did you sleep sitting up? You should have gone back to the cot. Or made me go to the cot. So you could rest, that's why. I know you were worried. I'm okay.
Silk disappears, and the bathroom door closes. I sit up, pleased to feel no headache. Small miracles are the only brightness in the darkness. I'm halfway to the rest of my life. This limbo between seeing and unseeing is a hell in itself. I can't hope too much for fear of crashing. I can't despair completely. Stuck somewhere in between waiting to meet me.
No, no pain. I would like some coffee, thank you. I can find the door. Return from the bathroom, realizing while in there I'm not wearing a shirt. My shirts are in the second drawer. Color? Whatever you think. My nephews have been picking out my clothes. I have no idea what pants I'm wearing. Gray? Good, I like the gray ones. Is the sun out yet? Just beginning sunrise. I feel my way down the bed and to the door. No, I'm not going outside. I just want some fresh air before the sun traps me in here for the day. You don't have to stay. Go out and see the colony. I know, I know. You came to be with me.
She guides me to the chair. I sit, and she lifts my hand to the coffee cup on the table. Scrape of chair on wood floor as she sits in the other seat. She places my hand on her shoulder so I can judge her distance. A soft breeze through the door. Warm coffee over my tongue and contented sigh from her as she drinks. I grin at the familiar sound. More familiar to me than any sound I've heard in five months. She shouldn't be here. I should have known I'd be glad she is.
Schedule? Breakfast whenever it comes. Shower and dress. Listen to books. Tell stories to my nephews, talk to my sister. Rest. I tire easily, especially when the headache comes. Another pointless visit from the doctors. Sometime is lunch and dinner, and snacks if I want. Sit outside after dark. You'll be bored to death by tomorrow. Shave? And haircut? Kathryn, I don't expect you to go that far. Chuckle. No, I'm not questioning your skills. I trust you with my life. I'm not so sure about a razor. Ah, the brandy sting of laughter is back. I'll show you where my things are later. If you screw it up, at least I can't see it. Ow!
We're still laughing when Sekaya calls an alert. They let me know when they're approaching. Hello, a knock, Uncle from the boys. I can hear the surprise in my sister's voice. My laughter and smile are things she hasn't seen from me in a week. Breakfast is early because the boys have school. Lunch is prepared and suspended until time for it. It's no trouble. Have to make lunch for the kids, anyway. Kathryn must have caught my smirk at her assurance she could make lunch. Her foot kicks mine under the table. She has no trouble judging the distance correctly.
The air is warming. Sekaya closes the door on the way out. Trapped for another day. Find the spoon, feel the bowl. Listen to the slide of her fork, a chuck of her cup on the table top. Try not to make a mess. I'm getting better. I wipe my chin with the napkin. Better, not perfect. I reach slowly to find my cup. To the right? Up? Thank you.
She stacks the dishes when we're finished, putting the cups on the replicator for recycling. Takes my arm to lead me to the bed. I'm supposed to learn the lay of the cot in the room, the narrower space. I'll be fine until she returns from the house. Reach for the water always kept on the nightstand. Too fast! The clink of the glass and splash of water on the floor. Damn! I stand up and carefully place my feet. Don't slip. Bathroom, towel, feel for the wall. Kneel and feel for the spill. Start wiping.
My cheeks redden when she returns and sees me on the floor. I spilled some water. No, I can do it. Yes, I'm sure. Keep wiping, feel for the splash. Sekaya insists on doing this when I spill something. I've tried to tell her there's no reason I can't do it. Hear her at the replicator. Smell fresh coffee and sunlight. Feel again. I think I got it. The table? Feel the top, find the spot, blot it up. Carry the towel back to the bathroom. Spread it over the rack. Sekaya will get it and my clothes later. Our clothes, rather. I have to get used to her being here. She let me clean up the mess. No one else has done that. It's another small miracle, or a confirmation of less-than-me that it makes me feel good. I'm not sure which.
I'm surprised at how quickly we become completely comfortable with each other in the small space of this shelter I built. We sit on the bed, recline against the headboard, and revisit memories of our time on Voyager. She reads to me, the fine brandy voice lighting the darkness. When her voice tires we listen to books together. She works on reports when I nap. My sister and the boys visit when they return from work and school. My nephews love Kathryn and crawl onto the bed with us to tell us about their day. I tell them stories and legends of our people.
When the soul-shattering headaches hit, she's there with the hypospray and a cool cloth. She holds me until I sleep again. Always there when I wake up again. I like waking up to the smell of sunlight. On the ninth day of my two-week wait, the cot is folded and leaned in the corner. We share the bed, and it feels as right as my own heartbeat. Perhaps less-than-me is a little more.
I thought so, anyway, until I slip and fall in the shower on the eleventh morning. Tip my head back too far. Darkness overbalances. Misjudge grabbing for the shelf. Head hits the wall as body slides to the floor. She's here in an instant. She turns off the water and wraps a towel over me where I'm crumpled. Searing pain through my head, and a growl echoing in the shower stall. She runs for the hypospray, presses it to my damp neck. The blow to my head makes this a particularly bad one. Damaged, useless, helpless, I writhe on the wet floor as the essence of my existence is ripped from my body.
Degree by degree, the agony is pushed away by the meds. I'm left gripping my throbbing forehead, utter blackness impossibly swirling. Weak. I'm pulled to her, my head guided to her lap. She's soaked sitting on the shower floor. Soft hands brush over my hair and soothe my temples. Somehow, the towel remains draped over my exposure. Small miracles.
My body finally uncurls, my muscles left trembling. She helps me sit against the wall and soon, I feel another towel drying me. I want to protest. Declare I'm not helpless. I am. I should have known. I retreat further into the darkness, resigning myself to being forced to be her less-than-Chakotay. My arm is picked up and wrapped over her shoulders. With her strength, I'm able to push myself to my feet and walk the few steps to the bed. The squeak of a drawer. Soft pants slip over my feet. Stand long enough to help pull them up before collapsing onto the bed. I hear the sounds of her wet clothing being removed, the slide of dry cloth. The weight of her beside me on the bed. I turn my aching head to her. I'm sorry. Yes, sleep. Her fingertips draw the throb from my soul as I descend into black.
Slowly wake. Senses return, except one, of course. It's still strange to wake up to darkness. Coffee and roses and sunlight ground me. I feel softness and realize my cheek is on her hip, my arm draped over her legs, her arm wrapped behind me. How long? Five hours is the longest I've slept in a while. A small headache, but not bad. Reports again, huh? Tea, I think.
I sit up slowly, waiting to see if the pain is going to get worse. It doesn't. I feel her positioning the pillow behind my back. Movement on the bed, the order from the replicator. A warm cup presses into my palm. She sits on the edge of the bed facing me, her small hand combing through my hair. I'm okay. I'm sorry. I know that's what you're here for. You shouldn't have to be. No, I'm not hungry yet. Maybe after the tea. The brandy slide catches. What's wrong? I didn't mean to scare you.
I feel for the bedside table and set the cup down. My hand reaches out toward her, and she presses it to her cheek. I can judge where she is by the touch. My other hand easily finds her shoulder and pulls her to me. Head lies on my chest. Arms wrap around my waist. I softly caress her hair, picturing shining auburn strands. I've been too trapped in my darkness to think that she might need comfort, too. I realize it isn't easy for her to see less-than-me. I should have known. Aching head eases as I surface from the black. She needs me.
The evening of day thirteen. I'm anxious tonight because tomorrow will bring the doctors and the removal of the bandages. Dinner is over. The sun has finally set. Yes, I would like to go outside now. Her arm in my hand as we descend the step to the chairs. Her knee against mine. Yes, I am nervous. Yes, we will face it together. I couldn't have gotten through the last week without you. Her small hand rests on my leg, and I wrap mine over it. I'm not sure how long we sit because I can't see time in my darkness. The night sounds of Dorvan and her touch soothe me.
My fatigue catches up to me, and we return inside. Our routine has become just that in the few short days she's been here. Me first. Brush my teeth, pull on the pajamas she picked out, wash my face. Feel my way to the bed. She makes sure I'm comfortable before taking her turn in the bathroom. Her weight settles beside me. I turn on my side away from her. I fall asleep to the smell of sunshine, and her slight movements as she reads. When I awake in what I must assume is the middle of the night, our backs are pressed together in the center of the bed. This night, I awake in pain. Not searing, not soul rending, but still a headache. I reach behind me and tap her hip. She immediately answers, and I have to wonder how much rest she has really been getting.
I'm sorry to wake you. My head is hurting. No, not severe, but still pain. I don't want to sit up for fear of making it worse. Her weight lifts, and my back cools where she had been. Footsteps on the other side of me. She sits in front of me and presses the hypospray to my neck. She feels my forehead. Warm, but not as hot as usual. Maybe this is a good sign. Worry is still evident in her voice. I take deep, regular breaths, hoping against hope that we have beat this one. The beginning throbbing eases again. I slide my arm over the bed until I feel her back clad in silk and let it rest against her. Thank you. No, I'm not thirsty. Her delicate fingers smooth my hair and my temples. I think I'm okay.
She lies down in front of me and curls her body into the curves of mine. I slip one arm under her neck and the other over her ribs. Too heavy? Good. I picture the auburn tresses lying just in front of me on my pillow. I press a kiss to her soft hair, and we drift off again.
My sleep is ended by a knock and the door opening. Sekaya halts her entry with a quiet apology. No, it's okay. What time is it? 0700? The boys are off to school, but my sister will stay until the doctors come at 9. I run my hand over Kathryn's hair. She stirs in my arms. I'm fine. Breakfast is here. We slept late this morning. Her apology is met by one from my sister. Warmth and smell of sunlight leave me. Rustle of her robe. I like the white one. I hear dishes being set on the table. I sit up against the headboard and rub my face. The sound of the bathroom door closing, then Sekaya's voice as she sits beside me. She asks about the hypospray on the nightstand. Headache, but not a bad one. Maybe they are getting better. No, Sekaya, not until I know if I'll see again. Because I'm less than the man she's known for almost eight years. I cannot tell her I love her until I know who I am going to be. Maybe she does, but maybe I'm not worthy of her love.
The bathroom door opening ends the painful conversation with my sister. I feel Sekaya's kiss on my cheek and hear the shelter door closing. I take my turn in the bathroom. Feel my way to the table. Let her place my hand on the coffee cup. I find the bowl and spoon easier than I used to. I scratch my chin at her words. Yes, I do need a shave. You can do it before I shower. 0900 is when Sekaya said they'll be here. I know. No matter what happens, we face it together. I put down my spoon and drop my head in my hands. Can't cry with eyes banded and sealed. In the darkness, I see my soul weeping for me. I should have known. If hope rises too high, despair only pulls the harder. Slide of her chair. Hands on my shoulders. I cling to her arms around my neck and concentrate on brandy whispers burning with light.