Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What are we doing for your birthday, Kathryn?”

“I beg your pardon?” Janeway blinks, glancing away from the stars flashing by on the central viewscreen and meeting Chakotay’s eyes. She replays the question in her head. “My birthday?”

“It’s May 18^th. Two days from now, you’ll be forty-three no longer.”

“Oh. Yes.” She glances back to the helm. Tom Paris is scratching the nape of his neck. Today is May 18^th? “Time flies.”

“I assume you’d like something quiet after… all that’s been going on,” Chakotay says, his voice as low as during any other of their personal conversations near the end of a long shift. “I blocked off two hours on the holodeck for Friday night. A picnic dinner, a classical concert…just say the word.”

“I think I’ve had my fill of music appreciation for a while,” she mutters before she can stop herself. Chakotay smiles, taking the words as a dry quip at a certain Devore agent’s expense, and so she forces a smile as well.

“Whatever you’d like, just let us know.”

Whatever I’d like? I’d like to go one fucking week without watching someone I love be infected with alien parasites or Borg multiple personalities or try to destroy themselves out of grief. I’d like to curl up in bed without worrying I’ll have to get up the next morning and demote my helmsman, or kiss a double agent, or prevent an invasion from another dimension that oh, fun fact, I helped bring about in the first place. Hell, I’d like to go to bed knowing that in two hours I won’t startle awake, certain we’re trapped back in the middle of a starless night.

She takes a gulp of air, hiding the sigh with what she hopes is an appreciative smile. Friday nights are a popular holodeck time, for obvious reasons. Chakotay must have scheduled the block weeks in advance, or called in a few favors, or both. “Thank you, Chakotay. I certainly will.” Mustering a mischievous grin.

What would I like for my birthday? I’d like no crises and fifteen hours of sleep.

For a moment, she pictures herself simply telling him with a casual smile, “Oh, I don’t think I really want to do anything this year.” But only pictures it.

On top of Neelix’s cake and the ubiquitous lunchtime celebration for anyone who doesn’t expressly decline, circles of close colleagues perennially snag the holodeck to celebrate the natal day of one of their own, and the senior staff is no exception. They’ve had some form of celebration, whether an explosive party or a simple dinner, for every birthday for the last five years. Even if a ship-wide calamity takes up the day itself, a little something is always scheduled in afterwards.

Declining a celebration would be A Thing.

The turbolift doors slide open behind her, the tromp of feet announcing the beginning of shift change. She glances enviously at Tuvok, the only member of the bridge crew with a successful five-year birthday celebration avoidance streak, as he cedes his place to Ensign Parks, then frowns slightly. What’s Parks doing here? Shouldn’t beta shift tactical be Lieutenant—

Oh. Yes. Lieutenant Swartz is dead.

“I’ll be in my ready room if you want me, Commander.” Chakotay smiles acknowledgement as he heads towards the lift, barely glancing her way.

At Janeway’s desk, report PADDs swim out of focus in front of her eyes, exhaustion battling stifled panic. I need to get these done. I need to get these done. What’s wrong with me? 

She stands, pacing back and forth, trying to focus only on the hum of the warp core beneath her feet. Words are rising in her throat, but there isn’t anyone to hear them, and though she runs through a mental list of crewmates she might find to listen, a second later she shakes her head furiously, appalled with herself even for considering it. Everyone trapped on this boat has spent more than enough of their time and energy being forced to deal with my stupid, pointless implosion in the Void. Everyone on this stranded ship is suffering more than enough thanks to the Delta Quadrant itself. I have no right to ask them to give the useless, selfish woman who stranded them here a pat on the head because she can’t deal with her problems herself. No right at all.

“Computer, begin recording.”

Janeway takes a shuddering breath, suddenly unable to begin now that someone, in a manner of speaking, is listening. Then suddenly she remembers the conversation on the bridge, a wave of nausea rising through her at the mental image of a birthday cake shimmering with pink frosting.

“Mark, it’s this birthday. It’s this stupid birthday. I can handle being Captain, but I swear to God I can’t handle this fucking birthday.” She sinks down on the ready room settee. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this…I just…there isn’t anyone else. It’s not fair to them. Everyone on Voyager has their own problems, we all have the ship’s problems, and, at the end of the day, I damn well caused all of it. I can’t go to them weak and whining now. I can’t go crying to Chakotay when he already spent two months covering for me. When I've finally convinced him not to worry, when he didn't even have a chance to pause for breath before he had to go and help B'Elanna too, when he's finally starting to relax... I can't go to him, and I can't go to Tuvok. I can't scare them again."

She closes her eyes. "They stopped me, Mark. They stopped me from going off to die and that should have been the happy ending, right? We’re all together, heading home, and they already stuck their necks out once to save me. And I…I’m so grateful…I am. But the crises keep coming and coming and coming and even when I have a moment to catch my breath I just…can’t…shake it.”

Whatever it is. Not depression--even if some of the symptoms match, she'd know if she actually had depression--and obviously it's nothing as severe as post-traumatic stress like poor Seven. Just the guilt and the grief and the exhaustion and the nausea and the terrible weight, a heaviness that drags at her limbs as a voice in her head reminds her over and over that, really, this is exactly what she deserves.

After all, it’s all her fault.

“The thought that I'll have to go down to the holodeck and pretend to be happy just makes me feel like bugs are crawling over my skin." She sighs and shakes her head, invisible to the computer, and chuckles slightly. "That was...overdramatic phrasing. I just...it's ironic, that I've been steeling myself against so many catastrophes, and now I have to steel myself against something that's supposed to be pleasant." Staring out the viewport, she muses, ”I wonder if I said I was ill, would anyone buy it? Of course they wouldn't. You're being a coward, Kathryn."

She glances at the terminal on her desk. "But you wouldn't like me to say such a thing about myself, Mark. Not that it matters. I'm going to delete this anyway. God," she whispers, tears suddenly stinging her eyes, "I just wish we were home. I just...I wish I could wake up one morning and find out that the last five years were all just a bad dream. Because...Mark, even if we run smack into a wormhole and get home tomorrow...all that's happened won't be undone. Not everyone will make it home." She closes her eyes. "Every way this crew has suffered and died...that's on me, Mark. There are crewman who are never getting home and it's all my fault. All of it."

The black grief rises through her, flooding her chest and squeezing her throat, and she grips the sides of the couch tightly, bracing herself against the tide. "I just want to undo this. Undo this."

Chapter Text

The morning before her forty-fourth birthday, Kathryn Janeway wakes well-rested and walking on air. Pulling on her uniform jacket, she winces at the memory of yesterday’s meltdown in her ready room. What the hell was wrong with me? She sighs, setting off in the direction of the mess hall. Did I just need one final stupid breakdown now that we're out of the Void? Well, thank god that's all over with, then.

“Another year through the light of the stars tomorrow, eh, Captain?” Harry Kim asks as he the mess hall enters, a hint of mischief in his grin.

“Indeed, Ensign,” she returns drily, catching Seven of Nine’s curious look just as Chakotay pages her over her combadge. Voyager tradition. I’ll explain later, she mouths as she turns to head for the bridge. 

***

It’s been a good morning. They spent a little under an hour making first contact with an alien species who wanted nothing to do with the alien starship passing through their territory, but weren’t hostile, or, for that matter, even particularly rude. It’s the most interesting thing that’s happened all week, and the most pleasant first contact they’ve had in months.

So why is she hunched over her desk, sick exhaustion pulling down on her limbs at the same time as her pulse races?

Janeway closes her eyes, massaging her face with her hand. How the hell am I supposed to keep myself going and keep this ship safe when I can go from fine to zero for no reason at all?

She clenches her fists, nails biting into her palms. Calm down, Kathryn. Snap out of it. Now! Something about the way the alien signed off, something about the way Chakotay glanced down at his hands, maybe just a thought passing through her own useless skull, and she was remembering the Doctor treating her leg in sickbay, and, at her insistence, telling her the names of the crewmen killed by the Hirogen. But not a flashback. Nothing as horrible and straightforward as Seven’s post-traumatic stress. Just a memory, rising up to claim her and wrap her in guilt and grief.

The ready room door chimes.

Wincing, Janeway straightens in her chair. “Come in. Oh, Seven, your report! Thank you, you can leave it there.”

As Seven turns to leave, she sinks back into herself, shoulders curling, drawing a ragged breath. The bell rang and I was sure it was Kashyk, what the hell is wrong with…

“Captain Janeway?”

Oh, hell. Seven isn’t gone after all. Instead of heading the rest of the way out the door, the former drone has paused midstride, and, to Janeway’s dismay, turns and walks back towards the desk, the doors shutting themselves again in her wake.

“Captain Janeway, you are in extreme emotional distress.”

She looks up. “I’m fine, Seven.”

“You are distressed over the upcoming anniversary of your birth.”

She forces a laugh. “No, Seven. I’m not the vain type, I promise you that.”

“Your emotional distress is severe.” Seven stays planted where she is, staring down at Janeway. Janeway stays seated, refusing to rise to her feet and invite further confrontation.

“Seven. I’m not in distress. If anything, I’m…” She glances out the viewport. “I’ve been looking forward to turning forty-four for several years now.” True enough. She has been. She used to be. "Forty-four is a good year. It's a tribonacci number. See, you'll like this, Seven—did you ever play the doubling game when you were little? Double a number, double it again, as far as you could when you were bored? The Fibonacci numbers are similar to that, but instead, you add the two prior numbers to get the next in the sequence. One and one are two, one and two are three... So the tribonacci numbers are like that, but they'd be the tripling game. Zero and zero and one are one, zero, one and one are two, one, one and two are four--"

"One, two and four are seven." Seven inclines her head. "The Collective has assimilated human mathematicians. I am well aware of this concept."

Though she knows some crewmembers might take Seven's comment as an abrasive brush-off, even at her lowest ebb Janeway recognizes it to be nothing of the kind. She chuckles. "Then you understand why I'm looking forward to being forty-four, Seven. It's a good number."

"I understand that you are attempting to mask your emotional distress with the type of diversion that you believe will hold my attention. You are in severe emotional distress, Captain Janeway."

Janeway closes her eyes for a moment. It feels like her thoughts are swirling away, scattering like the letters of the PADDs she's tried to focus on over the last half a year. After a moment, shame rises up out of the tangled melee to grab hold of her mind. Seven, I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around. What's wrong with me?

"Seven, don't worry about me. I'm just a little tired."

"Captain, I am a former drone, not an infant. I am capable of recognizing that you are suffering a dangerous level of emotional distress, and I value you enough to desire that you find a way to resolve your distress," Seven repeats, her voice rising.

"Seven, I—I appreciate your concern,” Janeway says softly. “There is nothing dangerous about emotional distress. Sadness comes and it will go. There is no need for you to be worried about me, and I’m sorry that you are.”

"When I was in significant emotional distress, you personally provided emotional support for me, and asked the Doctor to provide medical support and diagnosis."

"Seven, I'm perfectly fine, and it isn't your responsibility nor your place to turn me over to the EMH over nothing." Janeway keeps her voice low and steely, glaring into the former drone’s eyes.

"I agree," says Seven simply. "I am not qualified to assist you as a medical professional. And I am not a friend with whom you share your emotional distress. However, I am qualified to assess your incapacitation without being deterred human feelings of embarrassment on your behalf. I will contact someone who is also qualified to fulfill this function, as well as the function of close friendship."

"Seven, I am ordering you not to sic the Doctor on me." Now Janeway leaps to her feet, leveling a glare at Seven of Nine, who turns to walk calmly from the ready room. "Seven!"

"I will not communicate anything to the Doctor."

"I don't care who you're going to tell, I am ordering you as your Captain not to--to go running around with made-up problems! Seven! I'm--"

Seven turns once, almost at the door.

"I will not comply."

"Seven, you--" The doors slide shut behind her. Janeway clenches her fists, then wheels, making for her desk. Whatever chaos Seven decides to stir up with the Doctor, Chakotay, or anyone else, the only thing Janeway can do is show them that Seven is overreacting and that she, their captain, is doing absolutely fine.

*** 

But it isn't the Doctor or her first officer who appears barely more than ten minutes later.

"Captain."

"Tuvok." Normally she would invite him to sit down, but she feels frozen, caught under a spotlight.

“Seven of Nine said that she believed you might benefit from my immediate presence.”

“Seven of Nine is overreacting. On multiple levels. I don’t need anything from you, and I’m sorry she rousted you out.”

“Captain.” Tuvok sits without waiting for her permission, getting his eyes on a level with hers instead of towering over her. “You have only recently resumed your duties as captain of this vessel, and the last months have been…eventful. It is eminently understandable that you may not, as humans say, be firing on all cylinders.” He surveys her with his customary inscrutable expression.

“Tuvok, I have been fulfilling my duties as captain these past few months. I’m—inexpressibly sorry that I, that I abandoned all of you while we were stuck in the Void, but recently—”

“I believe you misunderstand me. I am here, not as your second officer, but as your friend.”

“And I appreciate that, Tuvok. But I’m doing all right. You saved me, remember?” She smiles tightly. “The entire bridge crew stopped me going off into the Void. You rescued me. I’m here.”

He is silent for a moment. “It is illogical to assume that one moment of support from those who care for you will erase years of walking with guilt as your constant companion.”

“Tuvok, I’m fine—”

She stops abruptly, caught up in sharp moment of déjà vu, remembering standing in sickbay, looking at B’Elanna with an expression she suddenly feels certain was the twin of the non-expression gracing Tuvok’s Vulcan features now. Remembers the frustration she felt, seeing easily past B’Elanna’s stonewalling and denial, but unable to do anything to reach past it and help the suffering woman inside.

“I’m not doing very well, Tuvok,” she says quietly, after a long silence. The words hang in the air, as though they are as surprised at having been spoken as Janeway was surprised to hear them come from her mouth. Straightening in her chair, she adds hastily, “But you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve got things under control. I just need to…”

Tuvok gives her a look. “While I have been pleased to see a decrease in your personally reckless decisions since we exited the Void, to a thoughtful observer, you do not appear well-rested or emotionally content. In the past, such a situation has only led to further reckless actions on your part.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tuvok,” she snaps. “Maybe taking a shuttle into the Void was unnecessary. But if I put myself at risk, it’s only to protect this ship and this crew--”

“There was a time when that was the case,” Tuvok says softly. “In our early years in this quadrant, you accompanied away teams only when there was a clear need for your presence. Your manual launch of a photon torpedo to defeat Henry Starling was necessary to save billions of lives. Even though you could have ordered a crewman to fulfill that responsibility, there was an innate emotional logic to risking yourself in their stead. Though I never have liked to see you place yourself at risk, I can recognize when you do so for noble purpose. But as time went on, your risks have lost logic, purpose, and reason. When we became trapped in the dream world, you walked into an explosion that would have killed you had your hunch been incorrect, for no useful purpose at all. I have watched you move from taking risks only to protect your crew, to taking risks that only might take you away from them."

Janeway stares at him in silentce, furiously thinking over her decisions over the last four years. Tuvok is imagining a pattern where none exists. Isn't he?

"Based on your past decisions, Seven of Nine was correct in deeming your current emotional distress ‘dangerous.’” He gazes at her for a moment, then says slowly and quietly, “I do not wish to lose an irreplaceable friend.”

The words hit Janeway like a punch. She feels her eyes widen, then well with tears, the silence following his pronouncements sucking their air from her lungs. “You’re not going to lose me, Tuvok,” she whispers.

For a moment their eyes bore into each other. Then, for the first time since their conversation began, he looks away from her as he speaks.

“I have seen the guilt that followed you daily from the moment you destroyed the Caretaker’s array.” Staring across the room at the desk, then the replicator. “Now, I bear my own regrets for not stepping in sooner to try to ease the burden I saw bearing down on a valued friend. I believed, or chose to believe, that your distress would decrease over time. I alone on this vessel knew of the sorrows that had touched your life in our own quadrant of the galaxy, and had witnessed you endanger your own safety in search of redemption long before either of us set foot in this one. It was illogical of me to assess that the pain you carry with you would do anything other than increase in our current predicament. I bear responsibility for my own equivocation.”

“Oh, Tuvok.” Janeway feels the tears welling in her eyes spill over. “You have—you have nothing to be ashamed of. There was nothing you could have done.”

“Such personal regret is illogical, and will not help the situation at hand,” he agrees. “However, I disagree that there is nothing I could have done to ameliorate your situation. Seven of Nine alerted me—not another member of this crew—to your distress for a specific reason, which she voiced to me with customary directness and uncharacteristic eloquence. The guilt and other forces battling for control of your mind feed on emotional confusion and illogical thought processes. I am your friend, and in addition, like all my people, I have spent my life training to untangle and eschew emotions and illogical thought processes. Perhaps your distress will be eased by logical discussion of its source.”

In silence, he rises and walks to the replicator, ordering two glasses of water, and returning to the settee rather than his chair. Janeway follows, accepting her glass in silence. The liquid is cool against her throat as she swallows, then stares down into the surface of the water, trying to marshall her spinning thoughts and focus only on the sound of Tuvok’s voice as he sets his glass down and begins to speak.

“I am not sure if anyone thought to remind you of this as we journeyed through the Void, and you found yourself questioning your decision to strand this ship in this quadrant. But you did not make a decision to strand this ship in this quadrant. You made a decision that it would be unconscionable to take an action that could result in the loss of millions of intelligent lives. That was the choice you made, and the stranding of Voyager was a known secondary effect.” He takes a sip of the water.

“I know,” she whispers. “But…”

“You feel guilt over the losses suffered by your crew. This is evidence of your strong compassion. Yet it was your compassion and your principles that led you to risk your ship to save the Ocampa. In the Alpha Quadrant, Starfleet captains make such choices with great frequency, and lose crewmen because of them. That is a risk all crew members acknowledge when they join Starfleet. If we had lost the fourteen crew who have died since we left the Ocampa homeworld in the battle that day instead, then arrived back home, I wonder if you would have been able to find more peace when reflecting on their deaths.” His tone is measured and even, neither reassuring nor accusing, simply laying out the train of thought.

She listens in silence. Millions. The Ocampa feel very far away, and sometimes the choice to strand Voyager here does feel abstract, a real-life Kobayashi Maru. One that she failed.

Millions.

To the best of her knowledge, the Ocampa are alive and well. Even if the Kazon have dealt damage to Kes’s people, it was not enabled by the captain and the crew of the Federation Starship Voyager.

She would give anything if her crew hadn’t had to sacrifice themselves. If she could have done so, for all of them.

Nonetheless.

Millions.

“Thank you for the logic, Tuvok.”

He glances away from her, gazing evenly into the middle distance. “I am not trying to tell you how to make sense of your choices and life experiences, merely reminding you that there are a diversity of ways for you to do so. You are walking a dark path that is now well-worn with your footsteps. Yet if you are able to lift your head and look around you, I know someone with your grace and courage will be able to see the many other paths that lie before her.” He looks back at her, adding softly, “And it is my hope that you will see the friends who stand beside you, as well.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Finally, Janeway reaches out a hand, lightly squeezing Tuvok’s for a moment before withdrawing it.

“Thanks, old friend.”

After another peaceful pause, Tuvok faces her, his voice taking on a slightly more formal note, as though he knows his friend will not be as amenable to his next words. “Captain, I believe I speak for both Commander Chakotay and myself when I say that we are always willing to converse with you about the source of your distress. Should you wish for even more…direct speech, Seven of Nine has shown an inclination to venture where human tact dare not go if she believes the situation warrants.”

Janeway pulls away from him slightly, shaking her head sharply. "You have enough responsibilities as first and second officers without having to babysit me. And I'm trying to help Seven with her own trauma, not the other way around."

"You'll pardon my observation," says Tuvok after a moment, "but mathematically speaking, even the tribonacci sequence cannot reach forty-four without the numbers one and two. And, in fact, seven."

Incredulous, Janeway lifts her eyes to meet Tuvok's ever-serious gaze, staring at him for a moment before her shoulders begin to shake in laughter.

“Thank you, Tuvok,” she says a few moments later, feeling the tension in her neck fading slightly as she wipes a hand across her eyes. “I needed that.”

“I am merely,” Tuvok responds, expressionless but for a slight lift of his eyebrows, “stating a mathematical fact.”

“Indeed you are,” Janeway responds, widening her eyes in imitation of his seriousness.

“Captain?”
“Yes, Tuvok?”

“Should you wish to take any amount of time for your own rest and recovery,” he says, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he reaches for his waterglass on the side table, “your crew is more than capable of running this ship until you wish to resume your duties.”

“As opposed to shutting myself away without so much as a by-your-leave, you mean?”

He takes a sip of water, not rising to the bait, then finally returns, “I merely wish to draw attention to this option. The crew of this ship will not benefit from the leadership of a distressed and exhausted captain.”

“As you have reminded me many a time before.” She gives him a sidelong glance of her own, lips quirking in a wry smile. “What happened to ‘irreplaceable?’”

“Although I recognize your attempt at humor, I must take this opportunity to make sure that you did not misunderstand my earlier phrasing completely.” Tuvok’s dark eyes drill intensely into hers, his ever-even tone no longer gentle, but gravely serious. “Although you are highly competent, no captain or other officer is ever irreplaceable in their role on a starship. Kathryn Janeway, you are irreplaceable as a person.”

Chapter Text

“There’s an old saying sometimes brought up on birthdays. Another year around the sun.” Janeway pauses for dramatic effect, grinning at Harry Kim in the warm light of Sandrine’s. “Given that we’re currently on a starship, hurtling in a more or less straight line past thousands of suns back towards our own…” The assembled bridge crew chuckles. “It’s not the most appropriate of aphorisms. Yet, over the past year, you have achieved a great deal, Ensign Kim, and I think we need a cliché of our own to celebrate that.” She raises her glass. “Happy birthday, Harry. To another year through the light of the stars.”

The crew echos her words as they lift their own glasses. “Through the light of the stars!”

As the circle breaks into smaller clusters, Chakotay leans in towards her. “Nice toast, Captain.”

“Why, thank you, Commander.”

“We’re coming up on the anniversary of one year in the Delta Quadrant, too,” he murmurs.

“So we have. And it’s been quite the year. But the number of near-misses we’ve encountered leaves me hopeful that any day now, we’ll find something that really will make that day in this quadrant our last.” She smiles at him. “Maybe it’s a long shot, but I’ll take a screen out of Tom Paris’s PADD and wager you two rations that Harry Kim will celebrate his next birthday at home.”

***

Janeway wakes in freezing darkness, a state of affairs that jerks her instantly from sleep to panic. “Computer, lights.”

The lights blink on, creating daytime in space. Janeway heaves a deep sigh, rolling her eyes at herself as she attempts to fill her tight lungs and calm her racing heart. They aren’t back in the Void, out of fuel and drifting powerless through the frigid darkness. She simply turned her own lights off in her own quarters before she went to bed. And, burning up from her pre-bed pacing, kicked the covers to the floor in her sleep. And wriggled half out of her nightgown. And thrashed around so much the fitted sheet is pulling off the mattress. And ended up curled in a shivering ball, diagonal to her headrest.

She sits up, and an exhausted tension headache launches itself instantly into her skull as she seizes the counterpanes off the floor, pulling them around herself again. Her eyelids are swollen and her teeth are fuzzy. Groaning slightly, she rubs her eyes with freezing fingers, squinting at the clock.

04:29. Too early to fulfill her self-imposed supposed minimum requirement of four hours’ sleep directly before a bridge shift; too late for any hope of dropping back off before getting ready for alpha shift.

Happy birthday to me.

***

“Happy birthday, Kathryn.” Chakotay uncups his hands, and Janeway scoops the little purple bag gently out of them.

“Bath salts!” She brings the little parcel to her face, inhaling the luxuriant aroma of replicated lavender. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” She throws a pointed look at Tom and Harry, lurking near the punchbowl. “The rest of these clowns certainly didn’t.”

“You always say that,” he returns, “and you then go and replicate me the world’s most precious birthday gifts. Turnabout’s fair play.”

When was the last time she took a real, long, hot bath, not a sonic shower? She’s been working even more overtime than usual since Voyager sailed out of the Void, trying to make the lost days up to her crew. Not that she was lounging around happily taking baths back when she was spending her days in her quarters, either.

A bath. That’s something to get excited about. I’d like no crises, fifteen hours of sleep, and a bath.

“They’re perfect,” she says, and means it. But as she looks into Chakotay's eyes, her stomach twists, and she lets her gaze drop.

You’ve picked a bad time to isolate yourself from the crew.

Every time they face each other these days, whether fair or unfair to him, sooner or later all Janeway can see is the hardness that flashed into his eyes as he used frustration and a hard truth to try to pry her out of her darkened quarters. For the millionth time, anger laps at her, and shame chases on the edge of that. How can she even dream of being anything other than deliriously grateful to this endlessly patient man? This man who stepped forward and brought Janeway’s loved ones to save her in her darkest moment, when she needed her crew to help her because she couldn’t save herself?

You’ve picked a bad time to isolate yourself. It isn’t that she’s angry at him for his words. Not really. Nor does she think it was wrong of him to say them. Yet the sentence haunts her. She’d like to think he merely told her the truth, or a version of it, and she certainly can’t blame him for being a bit put out by that point in time. No matter her reasons, she had abandoned him to care for a hundred and fifty edgy people, without even formally asking him.

You’ve picked a bad time to isolate yourself. There’s nothing wrong with the thought that he told her a hard truth in a moment of frustration.

What keeps her up at night is the thought that that moment might not have been an anomaly, but rather a revelation of something present all along.

Chakotay, how much do you resent me?

Briefly, Janeway closes her eyes. Fifteen hours of sleep. All I want for my birthday is fifteen hours of sleep.

“Kathryn?” Chakotay’s voice is anxious, and her eyes snap open.

“Chakotay. I’m sorry. I’m just…tired.”

The fear creeping into his eyes twists her heart. “Kathryn, are you…do you want to go rest? I didn’t mean to push a celebration on you. I didn’t think about how you might not want—” He looks positively panicked, and in this moment, Janeway realizes that she's been concealing her ongoing distress from him far more fully than she had hitherto believed. One lie leads to another, and sooner or later, practice really does make perfect. 

Until a former drone catches you having a breakdown in your ready room, anyway.

“Chakotay. I’m fine. Maybe a little dehydrated.” An unlikely state of affairs, but the first excuse to pop into her exhausted mind. Chakotay looks as though he believes her not at all, but merely says, “I’ll get us some punch, then.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, as though he had argued. “I promise.” But the promise is a lie, and she can only hope that he doesn't entirely know it. She does feel better, one day after her conversation with Tuvok. Despite her panicky missive to Mark--now deleted--she didn’t even have to steel herself to walk down to her holo-birthday party. But she’s beginning to realize that there might be a vast difference between better for the moment and fine for good.

Thinking of that conversation as she gazes after the retreating back of her first officer, Janeway makes up her mind. She owes Chakotay a formal thank-you, another one, now that all is settled. And, even with all she now owes him, she has…not bones to pick. Not anything to complain about. But, maybe, questions.

“Chakotay,” she calls after him.

He turns.

“Would you like to have dinner some time this week?” She lowers her voice slightly as he walks back toward her, a question in his eyes, along with something else, something that looks an awful lot like hope. Taking a deep breath, and remembering the peace she felt after her conversation with Tuvok, she faces her first officer and best friend, smiling in spite of herself at the light that comes on in his eyes at her words. “There are some things I’d like to talk about with you. And I’m guessing,” she adds gently, “that you might feel the same.”

***

The cake isn't the shimmering pink monstrosity she's been picturing. It's small and very dark brown, and a flicker of happiness actually stirs inside her when she recognizes the dark brown flecks of coffee beans dotted carefully among the swirls of frosting.

"Chocolate-coffee cake," confirms Neelix, beaming at her.

Her senior staff is gathering, waiting for the final candle to be lit before they begin to sing, just as they’ve done for every birthday on this holodeck since Harry’s, the first in the Delta Quadrant. Thinking of her vivid dream of that day, Janeway stiffens. All week, she’s been kicking her former self for coming up with a traditional Voyager birthday toast that happens to be just a little too on point in regards to her present and recent-past selves. As much as she's been telling herself that the senior staff won't read anything into it, it’s hard to imagine the words "through the light of the stars" serving as anything other than an obnoxious reminder of all the trouble she caused her bridge crew as they journeyed through a place with no stars and no light.

As Janeway watches them watching the candles flare to life, faces far more somber than at any prior birthday she can remember, she realizes with resignation that if she thinks this birthday could be like any other to them, it’s only a kind of helpless denial. Every single member of her senior staff is on the senior staff because they’re smart enough to be there. They’re hardly going to miss the fact that stars are an excellent metaphor for stars, light is pretty analogous to light, and this is the first birthday celebration their captain has had since she locked herself in her quarters for two months and tried to convince them to leave her behind in the dark.

This celebration is significant, whether Janeway likes it or not.

Looking around, Janeway sees some painful emotion in Harry Kim’s eyes, then B’Elanna’s, then, yes, even Tom Paris’s. Are they angry? No. That’s not anger. For months, for years, a voice within her has been whispering how much they must resent her for stranding them here, how angry they must be, no matter how well they conceal it. And now, how resentful they must be to have to drag her along after she caused even more trouble by falling, by failing, by trying to stay behind.

The next face she surveys belongs to Neelix, and she realizes with shock that there are tears in the little Talaxian's eyes.

As though a cloud is lifting, Janeway blinks and stares back around at the other faces that surround her. They’re not angry. She knows that. She has known that. Sometimes. But only sometimes.

Something strong and insidious inside her, something within her that is not her, has been lying to her for a very long time.

They want me here.

They really want me here.

They always have.

And then the song is ending, the candles are blazing, and instead of making a wish as she leans forward to blow them out, Kathryn Janeway makes a decision. Not the kind of decision that she would ever have expected to have to make on the day of her forty-fourth birthday, had she thought about it five or ten or forty years ago. But even if it's not a traditional wish for this cheery setting, as she looks around at the smiling faces around her, she feels herself drawing strength from them to silently map out her plan, and she knows there is no better time and place than this to make her choice.

As Neelix cuts the cake, Chakotay pours stemmed flutes of champagne, waiting until everyone has a drink in their hand before speaking Voyager’s toast, emotion roughening his voice just slightly as he raises his glass and meets his captain’s eyes.

He doesn’t resent me.

"To another year through the light of the stars."

The words are significant. Not because her crew resents her for leaving. Because they are glad to have her back.

"Through the light of the stars," Janeway echoes along with her crew, their voices rising and blending together as their ship soars on through the night.

Chapter Text

Janeway wakes early on the second morning of her forty-fourth year, but today, the early start is intentional. Admittedly, 03:30 could more accurately be called the middle of the night, but her alarm is set for a task she can only complete during Voyager’s quietest hours.

And before she does so, she’s taking a long, hot bath.

***

“Good morning—Captain?” The EMH regards her in surprise as he activates.

“Good morning, Doctor.” She inclines her chin towards the inner sanctum of his dark and deserted sickbay. “Can we talk in your office?”

The holographic doctor peers at her gravely as they seat themselves. “Is it B’Elanna?” he asks, looking concerned.

“No. I…we need to talk about me. I have depression. I think. Or post-traumatic stress. Or something. Something is wrong with me, and I…I need help to stop it. Before I make a decision that hurts someone else. Or myself.” She continues without pause, “I know you don’t have extended counseling subroutines. I know we have one hell of a dual relationship. And…” She hesitates for the first time since she began to speak, then plunges on, “my…experiences…with counseling…a very long while ago, were…were…not the best.”

Janeway swallows. The Doctor sits with his head cocked to the side, expression neutral but for a concerned gather in his forehead, letting her finish. “So I’m… This isn’t going to be normal, or perfect, or…easy for me. Or you. But I’ve decided it’s—it’s time. I—I need help. It doesn’t have to look like a textbook picture of therapy, or psychiatry, or whatever you’d call… But I trust you to be honest, and ethical. And more knowledgeable than me. That’s all I need.”

Barely a second has passed since Janeway forced the last of the words from her lips before the resolution she felt as she said them has warped several thousand lightyears away, shame rushing back to claim her in the moment before the Doctor speaks. What am I thinking? How could I have just said all that to a member of my senior staff? Why the hell did I ever think any of this was a good—

“Captain.” The Doctor doesn’t look horrified, or amused, or appalled. Instead, he wears the same businesslike but soft-eyed expression as when discussing a serious injury with the patient or someone close to them. “Thank you. For coming to me.” He meets her eyes in silence for a moment. “I am very glad that you did.”

Janeway starts to breathe again. 

“You have expressed our situation with typical astuteness. We’ll have to work things out on our feet, as we go along. Over the last few years, I rather think you and I have both proved a dab hand at that.” He smiles wryly. “May I just say…” He hesitates, pursing his lips. “I am gratified that you have placed your trust in me. I may not be an ideal counselor. But as your friend, and as someone who has taken, or, well, been programmed with the Hippocratic oath, I will endeavor, above all else, to do no harm.”

“I know you will,” Janeway says softly. Clearing her throat, she adds, “I’ve already…I had a long talk with Tuvok the other day. And I’m…I know Chakotay is willing to be my sounding board. For both your and my peace of mind, I can keep them up to date on the basics what the two of us work on together. A bit of oversight, if you will, in lieu of professional colleagues.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She can sees the confidence in the hologram’s eyes increase slightly. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

“I was…I’d been thinking I might try to get along for a little while, just talking a little more with both of them. It did seem to help, when I talked about things with Tuvok the other day. But then I had a hell of a night, and another bad spell right before the party last night, for no comprehensible reason. And I realized—as a scientist, I can’t very well ignore the evidence in front of my own eyes. Something is wrong beyond what I’ve done to myself with my own stewing. And it’s deeper than I can fix by myself." She sighs. "And besides...it's too much weight for one or two people. They want to be here for me, just as I would be for them. Have been for them. But they can't hold me up. Not alone. That's too much weight."

“I understand.” He looks at her with an unusual level of visible compassion in his gaze—sympathy, she tells herself firmly, not pity. “Modern medicine and I do have a some capabilities that your first and second officers do not. A few scans might tell us a lot about any changes affecting the physical structure and processes of your brain.”

She can’t hide a curious glance towards the instrumentation in the darkened medical bay outside the office. “I’ve never been much of a biologist, Doctor, but perhaps this will be an interesting learning experience in its own right… What’s so funny?” she demands.

“I’m just…glad to have you back with us, Captain.” Before she can press the holographic physician for details on what exactly has him smirking at her, he retreats back to seriousness. “We can work out the details of this process as we go along. We’ll determine whether there are technological treatments that can help you, and whether or not you will indeed benefit from some form of talk therapy alongside your discussions with your personal confidants. At minimum,” he finishes, “you can work through self-help materials from the medical database under my guidance.” He looks steadily at her. “We’ll make this work, Captain.”

Nodding absently, Janeway finds herself planning her personal life farther ahead than the next few days for the first time in a long while. There will be shifts to rearrange and naps to take if she hopes to squeeze in regular sessions here in the middle of ship’s night while still effectively captaining Voyager. Concealing this little endeavor from the crew at large, not to mention those besides Tuvok, Seven and Chakotay with whom she actually works closely, will be a balancing act all its own.

In the peaceful dimness of sickbay, with the adrenaline from her initial confession to the Doctor fading away, Janeway finds herself wondering for the first time if, instead of terrifying her isolated crew, the knowledge that their captain is seeking formal psychological treatment might lessen the shame of crew members in similar straits. Perhaps even galvanize them to do the same.

Well, one step at a time. For now, she has more than enough to work through herself. But she tucks the thought away, for later.

“Would you like to take the rest of the morning to yourself? We can begin tomorrow, if you would prefer.”

The thought of yet another day spent alternately battling the weight of guilt and memories and dreading their return is enough to start her shaking her head. “I’d rather start now.” She adds, with a slight smile, “I didn’t get up halfway through gamma for nothing. And I doubt Captain Kim would welcome me bursting in early to take his bridge away from him.”

“In that case,” the EMH responds, folding his hands on the desk, “why don’t we leave the scans for tomorrow and start by simply pulling some information on the issues that might be affecting you? I am, of course,” he adds, with a trace of characteristic self-satisfaction creeping into his tone, “fully capable of reciting the database materials on depression and trauma to you orally. But, being yourself a scientist accustomed to reading and synthesizing large amounts of written data—not to mention the leading expert on your own condition—perhaps you’d like me to pull them up in print.” He waves a hand at the desk terminal. “We can look over them together.”

Janeway nods. "Let's do it."