Title: Coping
Rating: T
Author: Singing Violin
Series: Star Trek: Voyager
Summary: Chakotay suspects something terrible has happened to the captain, and he wants to help, but when he tries, he only makes things worse. Very dark, but not graphic.
Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.
Author's Note (Chapter 3): Wow, I'm overwhelmed! So many follows, faves, and reviews! Thank you, all of you. I'm so appreciative to have you aboard for the ride. Also, huge thank you to Lia Harkness who looked over my first draft of this chapter and provided some valuable insight and direction. It's been rewritten since she saw it, so all errors are mine.

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It had been over a week since Captain Janeway had made any public appearance aboard Voyager. The crew was starting to talk, mostly in hushed whispers in the corridors and the mess hall, but occasionally in the form of questions directed squarely at the ship's first officer—and to his dismay, Commander Chakotay had no good answers to give.

After an arduous internal struggle, the commander had given up requesting an audience with the captain; he forced himself to acknowledge that she didn't want to see him, and that the best thing he could do for Kathryn was to leave her alone, as she herself had repeatedly requested and the ship's doctor and chief engineer had also urged. Reluctantly, he'd even accepted that she needed time to herself: to heal, or whatever she was doing. She still conveyed her orders, and answered reports, but without face-to-face communication—not even a video conference. He was left with not only his usual responsibilities, but the delegated parts of hers: any business that needed to be conducted in person, whether it be a visual check of Engineering, a casual survey of the mess hall to observe which crew members were becoming isolated—besides the captain, of course— or the resolution of a dispute among the crew. The commander was a patient man, but he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer without betraying his inner turmoil by doing something he'd regret.

And then she requested him, in her ready room. He wasn't sure exactly how she'd arrived, since nobody had seen her in the halls in days, and he was sure he'd have received word if someone had glimpsed her along the way, for it would have been an event worth mentioning. Curiosity overtook him; although his feet ached from double-duty bridge time and his neck was so tense, it felt as if it were about to snap in two, his legs carried him swiftly towards his destination.

As the doors swished shut, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. He found her on the couch, facing away from him: one leg crossed over the other, torso twisted towards the viewport, elbow on the back of the couch, chin resting in her hand. She didn't turn around as he entered and stood at attention before her.

However, she seemed to sense his presence, as she addressed him as soon as he became still. "I've decided you're right," she spoke quietly, contemplatively. "I'm not fit for duty, and you'll need to take over, immediately if possible."

He drew in a sharp breath; he'd been prepared neither for her resignation, nor the directness with which it was delivered. Clenching his hands into fists, he uttered the only word that came immediately to his mind. "No."

That got her attention. She turned around to face him, confusion and dismay etched into her countenance. "No?! Chakotay, this isn't a choice. I've been watching you; you're ready."

He sighed. "That may be, but I'm not willing."

"Fine," she conceded. "Then get me Tuvok. He'll make a fine captain."

"Get him yourself." He spoke as softly as she, but his intonation belied the steadiness of his voice, challenging her to rebuke him, to defy him, even to punish him...anything to prove she was still in command. Even her attempt at resignation had been delivered with the kind of authoritative finality that only a starship captain could provide. And only a fool would so blatantly refuse such an important order. Was he a fool? He was about to find out.

She raised a hand to her chest, but hesitated, hovering a few centimeters away from her communicator. "He'll be free to do with you what he pleases," she pointed out. "You're insubordinate. Are you prepared for brig time?"

The commander did not hesitate. "I'm sure whatever he has in mind for me will be logical. I can handle it."

He braced himself, but still she hesitated, dropping her hand back into her lap, her face morphing from anger to genuine puzzlement. There was silence for a moment, and finally she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Frustration and anger took hold within every bone in his body, overriding any consideration for tact he might otherwise have harbored. "Where shall I start?" he spat. "How about the fact that I never said you were unfit for duty? As I recall, you were the one who asked, and I gave my reply."

The anger in his eyes was matched, briefly, by fire in hers. "You had concerns. You approached me with them."

"And you shot me down," he reminded her. "And rightfully so. You're doing just fine as captain, no matter what personal issues you're attending to." Although he hoped he would show her what he could plainly see—that she was as competent as ever—saying the words reminded him that he was speaking to a wounded creature, and looking over at her, seeing the tears in her eyes even as her gaze rested on the door behind him, he realized he was pouring salt in those wounds. Immediately, he wrestled his rage down into the depths of his soul, his voice mellowing as he allowed sympathy to surface. "Now, if you need more time to attend to those personal issues, I'll understand. I'll do whatever you ask. But I'm not taking your job, not permanently. Not when I know you love it, and that the crew needs you."

She pursed her lips but did not speak for quite some time, apparently absorbing his tirade and processing it. He patiently awaited her reply, and finally it came: in the form of a low, cracking voice, barely a whisper. "What if I told you those things that you 'know' are no longer true—and perhaps, were never true?"

He sucked in breath, then chose his words carefully. "I suppose I'd have to respectfully disagree."

She looked up at him again, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for the first time since their last meeting in her ready room. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Exasperated, he opened his arms in a gesture of resignation. "Then educate me."

This time, when she turned away, lifting her legs up onto the couch and hugging her knees to her chest, the silence persisted until he could wait no longer. "Maybe you could start by telling me what was in that class I missed due to my unfortunate state of anatomy."

Once again, his weak attempt at humor was ignored, but she looked up sharply, clearly startled by his reference. "I should never have mentioned that. You caught me in a...moment of weakness." She punctuated her words with a half-hearted wave of her hand. "Forget I said it."

His fists clenched and unclenched as he attempted to cool his boiling blood, his filters once more obscured by proverbial steam. "So, women have to train to be taken advantage of, and aren't even allowed to admit they've been trained? Color me suspicious, but that sounds fishy to me."

Her voice was far calmer than he would have expected as she focused once again on a point behind his head. "As I said, you have no idea what you're talking about. You can't possibly understand."

"Try me," he challenged, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Her eyes went wide, and for a moment, he thought perhaps she was going to admit what had happened on that planet, or at least, give him a rundown of the syllabus. But her answer was resolute, an echo of his earlier response to her original request upon the commencement of this meeting. "No."

"Then I suppose I have no further business here," he answered quietly, dropping his arms once more to his sides and turning to leave, not waiting to be dismissed.

"You can't do this to the crew," she prodded to his back. "You'll get them all killed."

He spun back around and waited contemplatively before replying. "You haven't gotten them killed yet," he pointed out. "And you won't let that happen, not over your dead body."

She nodded, lowering her feet back to the ground and clasping her hands together in her lap, her voice dangerous, raspy, and low. "You're right. I'll call Tuvok. You're dismissed."

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a warning tone, repeating herself at a crescendo. "Dismissed!"

As he had hundreds of times before, he obeyed. But for the first time, as he left the ready room, he thought to himself: what have I done?

And as he sat in his chair on the bridge, he realized he'd forgotten to ask perhaps the most important question of all. Had the captain visited the Doctor, perhaps in his — her new form? Somehow, he suspected she had not. Or, if she had, she may have reprogrammed the hologram yet again.

Chakotay had some thinking to do, and he suspected he would soon have a plethora of time in which to do so.

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