Chapter Text
The chime signaling Chakotay’s return broke the silence filling my quarters.
We had walked from the holodeck to my quarters, I resisting the urge to ask him about Seska the entire way. But even if he knew her reasons, whatever had caused her to look at me with such obvious hatred would have to remain a mystery. Despite my curiosity, unless whatever was going on with her—or perhaps between them—started to affect ship’s business, it was none of mine.
“I’m glad you accepted Harry’s invitation,” Chakotay had said as we’d stepped into the ‘lift on deck six.
Immediately on the defensive, I’d asked, “Who says he invited me?”
“Deck three,” he’d ordered and looked over at me pointedly. “Would you have come if he hadn’t?”
I’d sighed in surrender and conceded, “No.”
“Like I said.”
He’d waited for me to exit the ‘lift before following a step behind. I knew that he hadn’t put Ensign Kim up to it, but the fact that we’d arrived together, would have made it clear who’d invited me to the holodeck. I actually thought it sweet, if not out of place, that Kim had thought to include me.
When we’d reached my door, Chakotay had said that he’d be right back and ducked into his own quarters.
“Come in,” I called and turned from where I was contemplating what to order from the replicator. “I was just going to…” I started as he entered my quarters delicately, shy and unsure. An invitation to the Captain’s quarters, even one so casual as this, was always considered an enviable privilege, and I found it endearing that Chakotay still considered it such. Apprehension was such a rare emotion from Chakotay, it was charming when it showed.
He held up his medicine bundle, indicating where he’d gone.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, interrupting my own thoughts. “I made my own.”
His face brightened, like a new star, eyes wide and lips tilted up. “Really?”
“Yes.” I returned his smile and went to get the little bundle of silk from where I’d left it on my night stand. “Er, well at least I think I did,” I amended as I walked, raising my voice slightly so he could hear me. “I might not have done it right.”
“There’s no wrong way to make a jish,” he called from the living room.
When I came back into the room, he was standing by my reading chair, medicine bundle tucked under one arm, a book held out in the other. He looked up with a teasing smile. “Looking to your peers for inspiration?”
I was confused until I saw that he was holding my copy of The Odyssey, and the sight of it rendered me immobile. I hadn’t picked up that book since before the Delta Quadrant. It must have gotten mixed up when I was putting things away yesterday.
“No. Just something I was reading before we set out.” I plucked the book from his hands as I walked passed. Mark’s class must be finished with it by now; I hadn’t made it passed book one. And to think, I’d been looking forward to a quiz when we got home. The irony of it all was sharp and poignant. “Though it seems prophetic now, doesn’t it?” I tossed the offending book into the replicator, pressed the recycle controls, and watched as it disintegrated into a million simmering energy molecules to now be put to better use than haunting me with my choices.
“The way I remember it, Odysseus makes it home,” Chakotay said with stiff levity.
A hundred caustic remarks came to mind, but I swallowed them all. Instead, I turned and forced a bitter smile. “Yes, I suppose he did. In the end.”
Chakotay looked a little stricken, but he masked it quickly with his own wistful smile.
“Shall we, Commander?” I indicated the sitting area with a tilt of my head.
“Yes.”
We sat cross-legged on the floor around my coffee table and I set the wad of silk on the table and haltingly unwrapped it.
What if it’s not good enough?
When I bared the items, I sat back and left them to his scrutiny. His hand reached out and hovered over the combadge for a moment before moving to pick up the ring. I think he wanted to ask me about the combadge but decided against it at the last moment. He would have recognized the old style. And the fact that I had it with me on Voyager, and put it into my medicine bundle…he could intuit that it had belonged to someone close to me. No one living kept their old combadges for sentiment. At this point in our relationship, the ring was the safer bet.
“The man in the picture?” he asked.
“Mark,” I said, proud that I hadn’t choked on his name.
“You never wear it,” he stated flatly.
“No.” While simple rings weren’t expressly forbidden by regulations, wearing a ring on duty could kill me if I wasn’t careful. Some married engineers wore a soft, non-conductive ring. Most never even bothered. Planet-side, it was more common. In either case, I was too quick to put my hands into the guts of my ship to risk not remembering to take it off before plunging into circuits and relays.
“You never talk about him.”
And who would I talk about him with?
Chakotay and I were hardly friends. Friendly? Yes. But only so much as coworkers had to be. We had never spent so much time together off-duty before, and we were hardly close enough to talk about our personal lives. Plus, it wasn’t like he’d talked about Seska with me. The only person on the ship who knew about Mark at all was Tuvok, and even he knew very little about our relationship. Vulcans don’t do small talk, although Tuvok endures more than a minor amount from me.
After the accident with my father and fiancé, I learned well the value of privacy.
“Startfleet prodigy loses father and fiancé in shuttle accident.”
“Young lieutenant sole survivor of Starfleet shuttle crash.”
“Admiral Janeway dead in tragic shuttle accident, daughter sole survivor.”
If survivor’s guilt hadn’t kept me in bed for months, the headlines would have.
It was a tragedy for the ages:
A young, newly-engaged lieutenant accompanies her lauded admiral father and her handsome Ranger fiancé on a test flight. Something goes wrong; the shuttle crashes into the ice, fractured, and the lieutenant is thrown from the wreckage. The cockpit is sinking. The other two are trapped inside, unconscious. There’s a piece of wreckage with a console near her, but she’s gravely injured. She crawls to it, dragging her useless legs through the snow. She activates the console, but it’s losing power, disconnected as it is. She can make the transport, but there’s only enough power for one person. Who does she choose to save? Mind foggy and vision blurry, she tries to increase the power, but there’s nothing to draw from. She frantically tries to stop the power drain until she can find another source in the debris, connect them, and maybe get enough power to transport both people. But she can’t stop it. The console continues to lose power. She has ten seconds to make her choice, then ten more to lock on and complete the transport before it loses power completely.
Who does she save?
It takes her twenty seconds to choose her fiancé, but by then, it’s too late—her indecision has killed them both.
For weeks, every news outlet, tabloid, and social commentary site in the Federation talked of nothing else but the poor, sad lieutenant. Images from the funeral and the hospital taken without consent, my public service record, my withdrawal from public life, all of it was published for public scrutiny, every public detail of the crash offered up for speculation. The poor, sad lieutenant. She must be so heartbroken, grief-stricken, traumatized, brave for soldiering on.
They hadn’t a damn clue.
My story was optioned by at least one publishing house—that I know of (I promptly told them to go to hell). I am not sure how many my mother drove off before that. It was the loss of the Stargazer which finally drew the jackals away. No reporter could resist a Starfleet court martial.
After that, my personal life became not necessarily a secret at work, but rather something I consciously avoided whenever possible, especially after making captain. In Starfleet, the ranks are tight and the tongues are loose, and on a starship, gossip is a contact sport where the Captain could win you the match.
“No,” I sighed heavily. Then I offered, “I may never see him again.” It wasn’t exactly a profound admission, but it’s what I could give him.
The ring in his hand glinted in the starlight. He set it carefully back down on the silk. “I hope that you do.” Slowly he unwrapped his own medicine bundle and placed the akoona before me. “You keep this one. I’ll replicate another. However, once you assemble a medicine bundle, you must use it.”
My brow wrinkled in confusion.
“A jish is a living object. It’s spirit requires use and exercise. Locked away, it will wither and die.”
I nodded, not really believing what he said but politely acknowledging that he did. “What do I do?” I couldn’t possibly replicate the chant he’d done the other day. I can say without arrogance that I possess a great many talents, both natural and learned: foreign languages is not one of them.
Like the last time, he picked up my hand gently and placed it on the akoonah, his rougher skin dragging acutely along my own as he drew away. “Just place your hand on the akoonah and clear your mind. Focus on that peaceful place. Close your eyes…”
I did.
“…and focus on your breath. Feel it coursing through you…” His voice grew distant, like a fading echo in the deep.
When I opened my eyes, I was on the same beach as last time. The Friesian was standing on a small grassy dune, the soft breeze billowing his mane and tail.
“Hello again,” I greeted him.
He stood there watching me for a moment before he trotted down to where I stood on the beach.
Suddenly the wind picked up with a frightening howl, and the sky darkened to a deep grey. Waves crashed larger and louder on to the beach, so hard I felt their force reverberate in my chest. Spooked, the horse shrieked and ran away. He only made it a few paces before he skidded to a stop and turned, racing back towards me at a full gallop. Just as I was about to jump out of the way, he swerved to my left. With frightened squeals, he circled me, sand flying up from under his heavy hooves.
“What’s going on?” I had to yell to hear myself over the wind and the waves and the frightened horse. “What is it?”
The wind ripped my hair from its bun and the long tresses blew across my face. After one more circle, the horse tore away. Abruptly, he reared up with another shriek before crashing down on his front hooves. Through my hair and the stallion’s dancing legs, I could just make out something moving in the sand. When he reared up again, I could see it was a snake, fangs lashing at the larger animal’s legs. The horse danced away and squealed as it stomped with both front hooves again and again.
Finally, the Friesian quieted and stilled, breathing hard. Tentatively, I approached. I could see he was trembling slightly in the aftermath of his exertion. He nuzzled my hand before his soft lips traveled up my arm and he sniffed and nuzzled my ear. I reached one hand up to pat his damp neck and looked down at his feet. There, lying crushed in the sand, were the bloody remains of a snake, covered in the grey scales of a Cardassian.