Work Text:
Caretaker
“There are somethings that never change,” Chakotay remarks as he looks down the corridor. The panels, the metal, even the ugly colored carpet has stayed the same. The only thing that changes are the people who walk past it, he silently adds, his brow arched as he covertly glances at the woman walking next to him.
“The major changes are the ones you can't see, the ones behind the walls. Compared to other ‘fleet ships, she's the newest kid on the block.” Despite their predicament and the various Fleeters running to one place or another, he notes that there is an edge of pride in her voice. “And also the fastest,” she boasts under a quirky half smile.
He remains quiet as she escorts him down an empty corridor, unsure of where she wants to go with this conversation. He doesn't want to beg for passage on her ship, but if he and his crew are to make it back to the Alpha Quadrant, then he is not dense enough to know that they will need to combine their efforts. He doesn't want to show his vulnerability when she already has a vice grip over his balls – figuratively speaking of course.
“Our crew complement of 142 went down to 126 when the Caretaker brought us here.” He tips his chin to see her jaw tense, her eyes like stone.
Her Starfleet crew would be able to survive – barely – if they were left to their own devices, however she needs us as much as we need them, he concludes. “We lost ten good people when the Caretaker brought us over.” The burden of loss is something he never liked in his position, but it was always part of the job you took. Starfleet made sure that those going through command knew the price one would pay when leading a vessel. There will always be casualties.
“If we are to make it home, then we will need to work together as one unit.”
He knows what she is implying, yet he questions it anyways, “One unit?”
He hears her taking a steady breath in through her nose. “As one Starfleet unit.”
“With the exception of Tuvok, no one else on my team will agree to that.” With the knowledge that those of his crew from various backgrounds had completed certain actions that are not favorable to a ‘fleeter’s eyes, the transition will be difficult. Not impossible, just incredibly difficult.
“You have command experience.”
Her quiet words catch him off guard. While he does have experience in a regimented command structure, that doesn't mean he is ready to put that red uniform back on. That uniform, nor the people who proudly wear it supported me or my people when the Cardassians continue to slaughter countless innocent lives.
She abruptly stops in front of a pair of doors. “These will be your temporary quarters. Once decisions are made and the dust has settled a bit, we will be accommodating you and your crew into more permanent quarters.” Her succinct words are punctuated when the door springs open. Expecting her to leave, he is surprised when she loses her strict appearance and she nervously bites down on her bottom lip. “Thank you for having my back on the bridge.” She stiffens her upper lip, however he can still see the vulnerability within her large eyes.
For some unknown reason, he has an overwhelming desire to draw her into a hug, to comfort her the way he wanted to be comforted when he had learned of his parent's death at the hands of the Cardassians. While she does a good job at hiding it, her spirit is broken or, at the very least, cracked. He doesn't know her, not personally, but he does know what it feels like to lose your connection to the ones you love in a split second. He clasps his hands behind his back. "I like to think that you would have done the same for me if our positions were reversed."
She doesn't give him platitudes or pity, just a small smile. "Have a good evening, Mr. Chakotay."
"It's just Chakotay." He extends a much needed olive branch in the form of a genuine smile. "Formalities are not needed. Chakotay will suffice."
"Very well." Lifting her chin, the rigor of her captain's shield returns to full force. "Have a good evening, Chakotay."
Nodding, he watches her walk away before shuffling into his own quarters. Unbuckling his vest, he sighs out loud as it slides off of his shoulders. The weight of everything leading up to this exact moment weighs heavily and, for the first time in a long time, he mentally acknowledges that he is exhausted.
Throwing his vest on one of the ugly, Starfleet issued chairs, he takes a look around. Standard. At least I'm not sharing bunkbeds with - What the hell?
He sees a simple box, white with no frills, sitting on a table. Stepping up to it, he opens the card first.
Dear Mr. Chakotay,
Inside is a token of peace between our two crews. At first, I'm sure you'll be angry, even wanting to throw it out of an airlock. (They are sealed by the way.) But, I would like for you to consider what is in this box as a way for both of our crews to come together and to work side-by-side with each other. I'm not ignorant to the fact that there will not be fights and scuffles, but with your acceptance, I am sure that others will follow with better confidence with both of us a united front. From what I have read, you are a good leader who demands structure and earns respect with respect. Starfleet will provide the structure and, in time, you will earn the respect from everyone you serve with – ‘fleeters and Maquis alike.
I await your answer,
Captain Kathryn Janeway
U.S.S. Voyager
Reading the card at least five times, he is delaying the inevitable of opening what he knows to find in the box. The adage, ‘you can take the boy out of Starfleet, but you can never take Starfleet out of the boy’ bounces about in his head. Taking a deep breath, he opens the box with slightly shaky fingers.
Bright and gaudy against the sterile box, is a Starfleet uniform. The same one I gladly left behind when my people were unjustly killed by the Cardassians. He runs the tips of his fingers along the stiff collar. But there are no Cardassians out here. Just my crew and her crew and our shared desires to survive.
Digging his fingers under the staunch uniform and lifting it out of the box, he is surprised at the heaviness of it with both, the dense material and the burden of the command color. Red. Funny enough, my favorite color.
A folded piece of paper flutters to the floor. Bending down to pick it up, he is surprised to see the curved and slightly messy letters of a handwritten note.
If you accept to be united with me, I will grant you the field commission of Commander. If you accept to be united with me, I will choose you to stand beside me as my First Officer. If you wish to not accept, then I will endeavor to accommodate your crew to the best of my ability.
Kathryn
More personal than the first one, he reads it again to better understand what is being said between the lines.
She needs me and it's as simple as that.
If their roles were reversed, he would ask her the same thing because, despite their differences of ideologies, none of that will help them get back to the Alpha System.
Glancing at the uniform, he finds it not as heavy as when he first picked it up. Throwing it on the table, he picks up the PADD that held the first note, he makes a quick list of names and their major area of strength.
Once he is finished, he calls out to the computer, “Location of Janeway.”
“Captain Janeway is in her quarters.”
Great, even the computer salutes her, he rolls his eyes. “Where are her quarters located?”
“Deck three, forward section.”
Gripping the thick uniform in one hand and the PADD in the other, he storms out and makes his way to the forward section. Taking what little time he has between their quarters, he thinks of what he is going to say to her. While they have a slight understanding with each other and an overwhelming need to survive, she is still a Starfleet officer through and through. They require a bit more pomp and circumstance. He knows that he won't get his way with everything but he will negotiate for his crew. They deserve it, especially those who are highly qualified. The Val Jean held a smaller compliment, but they were hand chosen by him because of their skills. I will not relegate them to the bottom of the totem pole just because they used their expertise for a worthier cause. He knows that if this partnership is to work, they have got to have an equal balance in all areas of the ship, senior officers included.
Stepping up to her door, he is about to press the chime when the door opens on its own accord. Looking down the corridor to find it empty, he takes a careful step in. "Captain Janeway?" Silence is the only sound that answers him. "Your door opened on its own accord." The door in question closes when he moves beyond the censor. Spying around the room, he notices that her quarters are sparse, yet slightly messy with items tossed about.
Just as he is about to call out her name again, something sparkly catches his eye. Stepping over a few pillows and shifting the PADD into his other hand, he bends down to dig out a glittery picture frame from underneath some soil from a potted plant that had fallen. Shaking off the dirt, he holds it under the light. A small smile tugs at his lips when he sees her making a silly face and hugging a young woman that looks like her.
“That's me and my sister.”
He nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears her voice from behind him. The picture frame slips from his fingers and lands on his bare foot. Thankfully the frame stays intact. Mumbling a few choice words that would make B’Elanna blush under his breath, he picks up the frame and turns towards her. There, he nearly lets it fall again.
Her hair is in a messy bun with strands of loose hair hanging down and plastered to her neck. She is only dressed in a cream colored silk robe that leaves very little to the imagination as it sticks to her wet body. The hem falls just short of the middle of her thigh, giving him exclusive access to the length of her sculpted legs. The only bit of cover she gives herself is her arms crossed against her chest.
“I, uhhh,” he stutters, “I tried to, uhhh, ring, but...” Swiftly turning around, he gingerly places the picture frame down and takes a moment to gather his thoughts before turning back to her. "I tried to ring, but the door opened on its own." He bites down on the side of his tongue to remind him to keep his eyes in check.
“I know. I heard you the first time. Our trip over here must have fried a few circuits." She rolls her eyes as she pushes herself towards him. "In all honesty, it's not very high on the repairs list.” Glancing at the red and black uniform clutched in his hand, she tips her head towards it and asks, “Do you have concerns you wish to discuss?”
“Yes." He closes the distance between them to hand her the PADD. "There are a few things I want to discuss before I accept.” She earns more respect from him when she actually takes the time to read his hastily written notes.
Lifting her brow, she affirms, “These are your non-negotiables?”
"If you want me to be a part of this crew, then my crew has to be integrated throughout the ship.” He takes a swift breath. “I have a good crew. They are smart in what they do. Just because they chose not to go to Starfleet Academy, does not mean they are not capable of extraordinary tasks and responsibilities.”
Folding the PADD against her chest, she straightens herself to bring her up to her full height. "I will never not consider them, especially if they qualify for the job, however I refuse to demote an officer just for the sake of putting someone else in that place. These people worked just as hard to get to the position they are at.”
After a moment, he nods his head. “Agreed," he sees her visibly relax, "to a certain extent. The field commissions for my crew should reflect their experience.”
Staring at him with her cool, calculated eyes, he doesn't back down. “We will play it fair here. All those who wish to stay on this ship will have to follow the Starfleet parameters and rules that come with the uniform that I expect them to wear. They will all receive a field rank based on their prior history on your ship as well their skill set. Just like everyone else, they will have to prove their worth by their workmanship and the way they carry themselves.” She takes a small breath. “Just like you, I run a tight ship and, although most of them will find it hard at first, I expect to be given the same respect they give to you.” Just as he is about to interrupt, she holds up one hand to stop him and adds, “In return, I will assure you that you and your crew will be given the same respect and courtesy.”
"A lot of my people will not put on that uniform without a fight.” A certain half Klingon woman comes to mind. “Some of my people only have hatred in their hearts for Starfleet and the Federation at their lack of commitment in regard to the Cardassians' violence towards peaceful races.”
“If they want to survive just long enough to make it back home, they will have to make concessions.” Although her shoulders are squared in defiance, he can see her bottom lip slightly tremble. “It isn't just your crew that will need to make concessions. We all need to work together as one if we are to make it home within our lifetime." She swallows hard. "I cannot help fix the hatred in their hearts, but I can assure you that the animosity over my decision to destroy the Caretaker's Array is not specified to one crew.” For the second time within the span of an hour, she bares her vulnerability to him. “If all of us are to survive, we have to depend on each other no matter which ship we came in.”
Again, a desire to envelope her into a comforting hug rushes through his veins. I need to be the person that I never had. He glances down at the uniform hanging over his arm. The situation that we are in isn't about justice anymore, it's about living to wake up one day closer to home, to loved ones. "Then I accept your offer to be your First Officer.”
He can see relief flooding through her features, to the point that she becomes slightly pale and sways a bit. Concerned, he lays his uniform over a chair and he rushes forward, the respectable distance between them becoming compatible and comfortable as he places his free hand on her shoulder. An electrical current, weak and undefined, flows between their touch. Glancing down at the source, his eyes catch the gleam of creamy skin that curves just below her robe. He had denied himself to look before when they were discussing his terms, but now, he can't look away.
Her eyes flick up, her fragile vulnerability dipping along her brow. “Will you mutiny against me?”
The quiver in her small voice causes him to tighten his hold on her shoulder. “Not for the sake of the Maquis.” He can feel her muscles relaxing under his palms. “If we are to survive, then we have to depend on each other. I will honorably keep my word.”
Silently nodding, she takes a step back allowing cool air to rush between them. “Here’s to our survival.”
Dropping his hand to his side, he instantly feels the numbness prickle along his finger tips at the loss of electricity. “Here's to finding our way back home.” Looking at his new uniform as silence permeates between them, he quips to fill the awkward void, “It seems they have made these uniforms thicker and itchier since I left.”
Stretching her lips into a smile, she quickly replies, "Well not everyone can pull off leather." His laughter fills her quarters. “We will discuss crew assignments tomorrow morning at 0900 in my Ready Room. Hopefully that will give you enough time to talk to your crew and to gauge who is on board.”
“I assure you, everyone will be on board,” he gives her a crooked smile that showcases his dimples. Just as he sees her dismissal on her lips, he tips his head and murmurs, “Goodnight, Captain.” Grabbing his uniform, he makes his way out of her quarters.