UNFORGETTABLE: PRE-EPILOG-part one
By Jennifer Ferris
Comments especially welcome...and crit. Send to Kevas@aol.com. Please archive, and keep my header and Disclaimer - which merely says, Paramount owns these guys...
Rated "R" for language, I guess.
NOTE: This "epilog" to an episode we haven't seen yet was prompted by a challenge from my JetC12 group...and it was a toughie. Consider this part of a very Alternate Universe, folks. One without the Powers That Be, the real reason they won't have this conversation...
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The alien ship had been gone for two days. The computer had no record that it had ever existed. The crew didn't remember the visitors. No one would ever know they had been there.
Except that the captain and the first officer of the Voyager had each written down everything they could remember of the encounter with the aliens. On paper. Kathryn Janeway had found a journal that Kes had given her, a real book with blank pages meant for writing remembrances. Well, she'd used it for that, hadn't she? And Chakotay had gone to the trouble of actually replicating paper, several sheets in fact. Then he'd had to manufacture a pen, as well. But he'd done it. He'd written everything he remembered of their encounter. Every moment. Every feeling.
And in the mess hall after dinner, he'd mentioned that he'd had to actually recreate the paper. There was none on board, otherwise. He'd said it, only in passing, to B'Elanna Torres. He'd probably have said more. Torres was his friend. If he'd had to talk to anybody, maybe it would have been her. But that conversation was cut short. The captain heard him.
Janeway heard him, and dropped her coffee cup. Actually dropped the cup. In the confusion, Chakotay bent down to help her, thinking she must have been jostled by somebody, or...then he'd seen her face. Kathryn's face. Obviously, she knew what he was talking about. Not just the paper. But what the paper remembered. Chakotay froze in the act of reaching out to help her. Janeway stared at his outstretched hand, then looked up at his face. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Chakotay..."
Her eyes were very large, and dark. She looked...bruised, somehow. Chakotay leaned back, one knee still resting on the floor where he'd crouched to pick up the fallen cup. "Yes, Captain."
"The last week..."
He closed his eyes for an instant. "Yes."
"I wrote it down too. I wrote down everything I could remember."
His fist clenched. "Yes."
"I wrote...several pages. From my perspective, you understand. About Kellin. About why she was here."
Would he have told her? Probably. Yes. Somehow. Chakotay looked around suddenly. They were creating a scene, kneeling on the floor of the mess hall, after an ordinary supper where everybody was lingering, out of boredom, maybe out of a need for simple human contact... He stood up stiffly and held out a hand to the captain.
She accepted his help, then dropped his hand. Quickly. As if she couldn't bear to touch him. Chakotay turned half away. He couldn't have this conversation. Not now. Not with Kathryn. But she put out a hand toward him, not touching, never touching. "If you have time...if you don't mind," she said carefully, "I'd...I need to talk to you."
Chakotay shook his head once. Was everything destroyed? Their fragile friendship, on which he had based so many hopes. Yes. No. But he shrugged at himself, and smiled without humor, and took their trays back to the recycler. When he turned around, Janeway was waiting for him.
The crew in the mess hall watched curiously. They didn't have the faintest idea what this was all about. But it looked interesting. Nobody minded a little boredom, these days. It was better than the alternative. But a little gossip was always fun...
Janeway and Chakotay headed for the turbolift together, walked to Janeway's quarters together, entered the room together. The silence strained between them. Heads high, shoulders back, exemplary officers both. After a moment, Janeway walked toward the sofa in her living room and then stopped, as if she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do now. Chakotay turned to her and straightened, as if expecting ...what? He didn't know. Finally he asked. "What did you write?"
Her head came up. She looked him straight at him as she answered him. Studying him? Maybe. "I wrote about Kellin. How she came aboard. Why she came aboard. It didn't work, you know. She wasn't able to...find sanctuary here, if that's what she was after."
"No. I know."
She whispered, "If that's what she was after. Besides you, I mean."
Chakotay didn't flinch. So. Let Kathryn say what she needed to say. He had no false expectations. "Yes."
"Did she...get what she was after? Or didn't you write that down," Kathryn's voice was low, controlled. The calm before the storm? He almost hoped so.
"I wrote everything down," he said quietly. "At least it seems that way now. What I was thinking, what she told me. What she was. The fact that we wouldn't remember. All of it."
"Chakotay..." and for the first time Kathryn seemed to hesitate, to relax from her stiff posture. "I don't know exactly what this was. But I know she...was important to you."
Chakotay moved away, waiting to find the words that would make this all right. None came. Finally he sighed. "I don't know what to say to you," he said. "I don't know how to apologize. Or even if there's any reason to apologize."
Kathryn folded her arms across her chest, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. The silence stretched between them. "You don't owe me an apology," she said finally.
Well, then. There was even a certain relief, in a way. In a the-sentence-has-been-passed sort of way. Chakotay looked at Janeway, standing halfway across the room, holding herself carefully apart from him. "No. I don't suppose I do. That's the whole point, isn't it?"
Uncertainty crossing her features. "The point? I didn't know there was a point. I'm not even sure what I wanted to ask you." What was there to ask? She lifted her hands helplessly. "Forgive me. I've been thinking of myself. Selfish. This must have been very hard for you." She walked toward him. "I'm sorry."
"Yes. So am I."
She started to nod sympathetically, but Chakotay shook his head and she aborted the gesture. "No, I don't think you even know what I mean."
"I don't--"
"Oh, hell." Fists clenched at his side, Chakotay shook his head once. "Never mind. Forget it. What am I doing here, anyway?" He strode angrily for the door.
Her voice stopped him. "You're angry. With me. Why?"
"No, I'm not angry with you. I'm just...tired. I'm tired, Kathryn. I can't do this."
"I don't understand."
"I know."
"Chakotay? I don't know what we're talking about. Can we just-I think we'd better talk about this. It's like there's a wall between us that I can't see. Help me remove it."
He turned to her at that, his expression impenetrable. "A wall? Tell me about walls, Captain. Tell me about not being able to-" He stopped, willing control. "I'm sorry. Maybe we should talk about this some other time."
Kathryn shook her head, resolve straightening her spine. She looked up into his face. "Please. Tell me." Chakotay shook his head wordlessly. Fear curled in her stomach. What was he afraid to tell her? Was it so bad? She took a deep breath, bracing herself. "I don't understand," she repeated.
"What are you talking about? Where are you?"
He pressed his lips together. "I'm right here. I've always been right here. For what that's worth."
"For what-- Chakotay. You're scaring me." Her voice firmed. She had always met fear head-on. This was no different. She forced herself to go on. "Then she really was that important to you."
"Kellin?" He shook his head.
"Isn't that who we're talking about?"
"No. I wasn't talking about Kellin. I--but we're not talking about that. We never do. We never will, will we?"
His anger, the conflict she'd been reading from him since he entered the room, all coalesced in Kathryn. "Well, then you'd better tell me. What conversation should we be having?"
He looked straight at her. "Don't ask, Kathryn. Unless you want me to answer you."
"--I think you'd better tell me. This is something I need to know, isn't it. Please, Chakotay." Her voice was very soft. She moved to the sofa and sat down, curling up on it, waiting for him to join her.
She was afraid he was leaving the ship. It occurred to Chakotay that that was what Kathryn feared. "Good god. It isn't that. Did you think I was going to...rush after her?"
She straightened carefully. "I've seen you be pretty impetuous. I don't know what you're going to do. You manage to keep me...off balance...just enough."
He laughed shortly. "Do I. I wouldn't have thought so. I would have thought I was so goddamned predictable to you."
"All right. All right then, mister. Let's have it," Kathryn snapped. "Just what the hell are we talking about here?"
"Fine." Chakotay crossed the room, but he didn't sit. He didn't relax. He crouched in front of Janeway, one knee resting on the floor, looking straight at her as if there was an answer there that he was searching for. He shook his head finally. "I'm sorry. All I've done is confuse you."
"Yes, you have." Janeway leaned forward and touched his wrist. "What's this about? Really, I mean."
"I don't think you want to have this conversation, Kathryn." Chakotay's face was always so expressive to her. She watched him now. He was tense and coiled tight. Maybe it's time, something in him said. To hell with it.
Her voice was angry, hiding her fear. "Don't tell me what I want. Or don't want. Tell me what's on your mind."
Chakotay's jaw clenched. He leaned forward, his eyes intent. "Gods. What I wouldn't give... all right, Kathryn. What I wouldn't give to really talk to you. To cut through all this...this crap I've been fighting."
Janeway flushed. "What particular crap are you referring to? Your crap? Mine?"
He controlled himself with an effort. "Look..." he brushed a hand through his hair and started over, more carefully. "Maybe we'd better just drop it. I'm a little on edge. I think you are too. I don't want to fight."
But her Irish was up now. "No. I don't think so. What kind of crap?"
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"No. You shouldn't. But I'd still like to know."
"Would you." He sat back on his heels. "I've been so careful not to--hell. There's no point to this." His face was bleak. "Let me go, Kathryn."
She recoiled. "What? Chakotay..." She took a deep breath, a calming breath, trying to quell the fear gnawing at her. All her training must be good for something, now, when she needed it. She let calm seep into her.
Chakotay was watching her, his eyes stormy. Deliberately, she reached to her turtleneck and removed the pips. "There. I didn't think I'd have to do this. I thought we'd got past that long ago. But...here. It's not captain and commander now. It's just you and me. Now will you tell me what the hell you're talking about?"
His eyes were very dark, but he looked dispassionately at the pips on the coffee table. "That isn't the point. That was never the point. For me anyway. I guess it is, for you."
"I don't know how you mean that."
"You manage to...hide behind those very well. I don't have that luxury."
"You don't have that luxury? Let me tell you something. I don't have that luxury. Those pips never come off, you know. Doesn't matter where they are," she cast a glance at the table. "Don't you think I get tired of it?"
He reached out and grasped her hand gently. "I know you do. I know that. But you never let go. You won't let go."
"I can't, Chakotay. I thought you understood that."
"I understand that your responsibility never goes away. Mine either. Do you think I take it lightly? Did you ever stop and think that.. I have to watch you bear this burden, and I know that the only way I'll ever be able to take it from you, to lighten it, is...one heartbeat, Kathryn. That's a terrible thought. I don't even want to make it more real by shaping the words." He shook his head. "That isn't the point, anyway."
She sat back. "Then what is the point."
"What are we doing here? Sitting here about to have the most dreadful fight we'll ever have. I don't want to do this."
"Are we?"
"I don't know. Don't push me, Kathryn. Not in this... I can't afford it."
She was quieted by his words, the frown creasing her forehead. She reached out to grasp his hands firmly. "Listen to me."
"All right."
She cast about for the words that would heal this, before it went too far. "I don't know what Kellin was to you. I have no right to ask. But..."
That was the wrong thing to say. "God. What Kellin is to me. Shall I tell you, then?" His voice was low and dangerous now.
"Yes." Kathryn braced herself, her fists clenching unconsciously. "You'd better."
"Kellin means nothing to me."
"What? I don't - oh. Then you really don't remember."
"No. But that's not what I mean."
"I don't understand."
"Yes. I know. You must work very hard at not understanding."
Stung, she leaned forward. "What the hell do-"
Chakotay interrupted her. "Did you wonder about her? I don't know what you wrote." He nodded to the closed journal, sitting on the table so near the captain's pips.
Kathryn uncoiled her legs and pushed herself to the edge of the sofa. Chakotay watched her implacably. Her eyes narrowed. "I wrote everything I knew. Why she was here. What she told me about you."
"Ah. What she told you about me."
His voice was...he was taunting her. Not teasing. His eyes were too hot for that. "She told me...you were lovers. That you had been lovers, before. Even though you didn't remember it."
"Yes. She told me too. I knew it, anyway. The body remembers, even if the mind doesn't. But it. Isn't important."
There were daggers in Kathryn's eyes. "How can you say that? After you -"
"After I - went to another woman? Isn't that what you mean?"
"I..." She hesitated. "I have no right to say that. I have no claim on you."
"No." Chakotay gathered his feet under him and stood in one motion. "No. As many times as I've wanted to give you that right. As many times as you wouldn't take it. Don't tell me you have no right, Kathryn. And then accuse me, in the same breath. You can't have it both ways."
She sagged back against the couch. "I didn't mean to--"
"Yes, you did. Haven't you ever wondered why I - oh, never mind."
"Why you...what?"
He pinned her with a look. "I've wondered. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you've been enjoying this. All this time. Having me in your pocket. Taking me out when you're tired, when you need a little reassurance."
She stood up abruptly, her voice low. "That isn't fair. I've never asked anything of you. Well - not like that. Never."
He seized her wrist, pulling her close. "Never asked anything. You draw me to you and then you don't ask for anything. Well, I've been asking, Captain. And I don't think it's going to work, is it?" He turned away from her, running a hand over his face. "To hell with this. What am I doing here?"
"You can damn well finish what you've started. I won't stand here and have you accuse me of... I'm not sure what you're accusing me of."
"Playing with me, maybe? Kathryn. You've known. Don't tell me you haven't known how I feel about you."
She drew in a breath. So. The words would finally be said. "I haven't meant to hurt you."
"No. Only to push me away."
"Chakotay. I can't...let go. I have a responsibility. Don't ask that of me."
"I don't ask you to abdicate that, or to deny it. I ask you to be a woman. To feel. Maybe I've just been blind all along. I thought that, somewhere in you, there was something that might return my feelings. And I think I was wrong."
She stopped him, the words strangled in her throat. "Chakotay...you've got to understand. You must."
He was relentless. "Well it's about time I learned to accept that, isn't it. I'll do that, then, Kathryn. If I have to do that, I will. But don't stand there with your eyes so big and trusting, that wounded look on your face and then ask me not to feel. That, I can't do. I won't do that."
"I'm not asking you not to feel!" she cried. "God damn it. How did we get to this? When have I ever asked you not to feel?"
"No? You haven't said that. Not in so many words. But you've made it pretty goddamned clear that there were certain things I'd better not ever talk about. That I'd better not ever ask."
Her eyes were bright with tears that she refused to allow. Kathryn blinked, willing them away. "I...there are certain freedoms I don't dare allow myself," she said carefully.
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