IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Voyager, Janeway, Chakotay.
PART THREE
Although they didn't live far from Starfleet Medical, the journey there seemed to take an eternity. He was alone in the transport. Elizabeth was happy with her grandparents; they were leaving a little later, to give him time, he knew, to be alone with Kathryn.
He had read the medical report finally, given him by Admiral Ponsonby. There was still so much he didn't know and a simple infection that had gone untended led to major infection. On top of that, Kathryn had contracted pneumonia.
"She lives at Indiana mostly these days, shuttling to Headquarters," Gretchen had explained to him. "One weekend of working on the farm in bitter weather when she already had an infection and a cold… Well, you know how Kathryn has always been her own, most dangerous physician."
"She failed to respond to our hails, and we found her lying on the damp embankment of the stream that runs through the property."
He had nodded, too stunned to respond. Kathryn had always been very careful on Voyager, though sometimes neglectful of having her medicals until the doctor reminded her that she was overdue.
"It's not that she couldn't be treated and healed quickly, but she isn't responding to treatment, Chakotay," Ponsonby added, concerned.
"Voyager's doctor?" he had asked.
"He arrived two days ago from Jupiter Station. There's something he's not telling us, something about earlier, unheeded injuries – "
"She incurred on Voyager?"
"Earlier, in her days as an ensign."
"Do you know what it is?"
Gretchen's eyes had darkened, the deep sorrow in them again. After a long pause, she spoke.
"I don't know how much it has to do with her present condition. Kathryn should tell you this. It may be critical to your understanding of her behaviour on Voyager, with the child…"
He had nodded his grateful thanks and now, as he alighted from the transport about three hundred metres from Starfleet Medical, the cold hit him square in the face. He gasped, icicles forming on his warm breath as he started to walk briskly in the direction of the hospital.
Winter on Earth always had its own charm, apart from the deadly cold that seeped into his bones. Trees dripped silvery droplets from their branches after the night's rain. The sky was filled with dark clouds – monstrous, ominous beasts that lived and breathed and moved, a boiling mass that portended nothing but evil. His legs already felt stiff even though he was warmly clothed. Tiny pinpricks – slivers of glass-like ice settled against his cheeks.
On Voyager they had virtually forgotten about seasons and recorded them only as each crewmember experienced them on their respective homeworlds. He hadn't thought about it at the time, and here, on Earth, January brought with it misery if one were lonely. He hadn't realised how lonely he was, living only to care for his daughter, his own thoughts spent being angry at the world and angry at Kathryn. In retrospect he realised how counter-productive that was. Why had he always assumed that after Voyager, Kathryn would remain disinterested? She had virtually signed Elizabeth away to him and Sarah Hargreaves. Did he underestimate her so completely that he never thought once of letting her know how the child was doing?
He pulled his parka tighter around him. As he entered the building, he was met by another grey-haired gentleman, one who looked familiar. The man stopped suddenly, gave him a piercing glance as he frowned at the same time.
"Captain Chakotay."
"Admiral Paris."
"I had hoped that the circumstances under which we met would be different. I had to threaten Kathryn's mother and Adam with death if they didn't leave her side to go home and rest. Now, you can chase Phoebe out."
With that Admiral Paris nodded and went on his way. It seemed that everyone was aware of Kathryn's plight, and why not? She was one of the up-and-coming new admirals of Starfleet, known by all as the legendary Captain of Voyager. Her lot was their lot, at least to those closest to her and those who had not been with her on Voyager - her mother, her stepfather, the friends she had left behind, Admiral Paris and his wife Elizabeth, a doctor who treated Kathryn here at Starfleet Medical.
What did he have? A freshly promoted captaincy, Kathryn's baby, three weeks old, to take wherever it pleased him to settle down with her - far, far away from the mother who didn't want her. They all knew - her parents and friends here at home who wanted her to recover and find closure on the baby she lost. Whatever feelings the crew of Voyager had against Kathryn were negated by her family who stood by her. The irony hit him hard. Once the crew had referred to themselves as the family of Voyager with Janeway as their mother, surrogating in absentia for their own loved ones they left behind. He had been constantly aware of their growing antagonism towards their captain, abetted in those attitudes no doubt by Sarah Hargreaves who, with sweet disposition wailed to all that Kathryn didn't wish to see her, or touch her stomach to connect with the baby, to feel the first fluttering at twenty weeks, or the kicking at thirty six weeks.
And in equal sweet disposition told everyone who crooned about her, that the baby was to be named Elizabeth, a name given by the Captain.
He shook his head at his own colossal ignorance, when he thought that Sarah had been right. Her sweetness won everyone over and they believed her implicitly. Kathryn never once disputed Sarah's claims and so he too believed Sarah and believed his crew who stood firmly behind him and Elizabeth's surrogate mother.
And in blinding hindsight he realised that the only champion Kathryn had on Voyager was the person they least expected to defend her, a person who was a former Borg and whose very existence in the Borg Collective depended on absolutes, scientific fact, assimilation of the best qualities and capabilities of their victims. All else was irrelevant.
Seven of Nine. Nurtured to womanhood and humanity by Kathryn Janeway.
Here he was faced by people who loved Kathryn passionately - a former mentor in Admiral Paris, a mother who felt her daughter's sorrow, a stepfather who remained the stable backbone of their new family structure, a sister...
Chakotay drew in a deep breath as he took the lift to the third floor and made his way to the ward where Kathryn lay. His heart burned fiercely. He didn't know what he'd find. When Annika told him Kathryn was dying, her eyes had filled with tears. She had defended Kathryn intensely. The medical report indicated Kathryn unresponsive to treatment. She could still survive with the right motivation, a reason to live. He believed that Elizabeth was that person - young and tiny and feisty like her mother, with her mother's eyes. Elizabeth was going to be the miracle worker for Kathryn and ultimately, for them all.
He paused in front of the door. Just as he lifted his hand to press the panel, the door opened. A pair of fiery eyes – not the same blue-grey of Kathryn's but more like the golden liquid of wine – stared at him. This had to be Phoebe.
"Chakotay," her voice came in a low, urgent whisper. "I was told you were coming. I didn't tell…her," she added, pointing to the figure on the bed.
"Thank you…"
The door closed behind Phoebe and he sighed when she squared her shoulders. What now? Another inquisition which he couldn't answer? But her eyes were soft as they rested on him.
"I believe I have a niece," she said.
He gave a sigh of relief.
"Yes. Your mother is bringing her here."
Phoebe nodded, then she touched his arm, her gesture pleading.
"Make her come alive again."
**************
There was a smell of sickness in the air as he stepped into the room and approached the bed. Kathryn lay, her eyes closed, her head on a flat pillow so that it looked as if there weren't anything supporting her head.
Her hands rested on the cover. Translucent skin that tried its best to cover the hands - mere skeletal assemblage of bones. Even her face looked like the skin had been pulled tightly over jutting cheekbones. The eye sockets were deep, darkened and bruised. Her parched lips allowed only a thin aperture for breathing.
Breathing.
Kathryn was struggling to get air into her lungs, air that caused the phlegm to gurgle so that it sounded terrible, an old engine in the sputtering process of dying. Her hands were so translucent that the veins appeared like an ancient roadmap, haphazard directions, pulsating in hideous, yet constant recording of life still in her. A life that was slowly ebbing away.
He had seen her many, many times on Voyager, injured, sometimes even near death, but this was different. This was Kathryn in mental pain.
Her mother was right. The will to live had left her.
He sat down on the chair vacated a minute ago by Phoebe. Kathryn's hand felt light as a butterfly's as he lifted it to rest on his palm, then covering it with his other hand. Cold, lifeless, a transparent tube through which he could see her lifeblood pulsing.
He touched her forehead, a gentle touch that consoled for even as he touched her, he could hear her wordless agonised pleas. His throat felt thick. He remembered her as they prepared to leave Voyager. She had been quiet, aloof, hadn't wanted to see Elizabeth before they left.
"Elizabeth – "
"I told you, she's yours Chakotay. Yours and Sarah's…"
And only now, three years later, he recalled the darkness in Kathryn's eyes, the same darkness he had seen in Phoebe, in Gretchen Janeway and yes, in Annika Hansen. It had been there, a fleeting second in which he should have acted.
Anger could be the spur to many an unplanned deed, he thought. He had dismissed what he saw in Kathryn's eyes and for three long years kept her child from her. He should have stormed her defences then, but Sarah had been tugging at him...
"Oh, Kathryn," he murmured hoarsely. "Kathryn…"
He imagined she stirred, imagined that the hand resting in his moved at the sound of his voice.
"Forgive me…" he whispered. "Forgive me..."
He leaned over, desperate to touch her fevered brow with his lips, desperate that she open her eyes. Her skin burned. He must have given a sob as he pressed his lips to her forehead. He felt the stirring, finally, the thin fingers clutching his hand. Movement, imperceptible, but there.
When he sat back, his insides burning up with anguish for her, he saw her eyes open slowly.
At first she looked straight up, at the ceiling, then agonisingly slowly turned to his voice. She gazed at him for an eternity, perhaps not believing that he was there.
"Kathryn…it's me, Chakotay…"
Her parched lips moved, her eyes appeared to be on fire, but there was, the spirits help him, recognition.
"Chakotay…"
She tried to lift her hands to touch him, but they fell back. There settled fear in her eyes – fear at her own helplessness. Her hair was matted to her skin, a thin film of perspiration on her upper lip. She tried to lift herself but couldn't. Her eyes filled with angst. But he covered her emaciated hand with his to reassure he of his presence.
"I tried to forget…" she said in the wheezy, angry bubbling of breath. "But I couldn't…forget...my baby..."
He stared at her, staggered for a moment by her revelation, the pause just long enough for him to spring into action, for Kathryn had begun to quiver, her teeth chattering in the wake of the shudders. Her voice faltered strangely as she tried to speak again, but the bubbling, wheezing breath choked her sobs.
Did his own eyes fall away? he wondered as he moved to sit on the bed, hauling her feverish body to him, holding her so close as he only remembered from a bygone night they had made love and he proclaimed his feelings for her over and over.
His hands stroked her hair, held her head against his chest. The trembling lessened as he consoled her through his touch. He had no words, none at all in the onslaught of her own, agonised uttering. Her words that had opened a world of such extreme pain that he felt the shards stabbing into every corner of his heart, made him want to cry out. He rocked her gently, like he had done night after night on Dorvan V with their baby, a baby who sometimes became sick and he didn't know what to do. There were times, in moments when the anger fell away, he wished for Kathryn to be there.
Now she lay against him with the abandon of the very sick, unable or reluctant to move again.
He lay her back against the low, flat pillow. Her eyes never left him, never broke their connection.
"Elizabeth…" she said softly. "Where is my baby…?"
And then Kathryn's tears rolled. An unstoppable flood that had started the moment she faced him in the sickbay of Voyager and challenged him about terminating her pregnancy. There were things in the history of Kathryn, factors of which he remained unaware. If they were to go forward, they had to go back. She was going to tell him her story, and he would tell her his side and together, he prayed, they would find resolution, find all the things that he once dreamed they could have and could be; they would find closure on a chapter of their lives marked by pain, love, deception, deceit, everything that kept a baby away from the mother who was meant to be.
There would be answers, there would be recrimination and as surely as he needed to answer Kathryn's agonised need to have Elizabeth with her, as surely he realised now, Sarah Hargreaves lay at the root of Kathryn's heartache.
Elizabeth had been prepared by the EMH, given an inoculation against Kathryn's fever. Kathryn who was dying, but Kathryn who would rally because he promised to bring her daughter to her.
"She – " he started, and then the door opened.
Gretchen stepped inside with Elizabeth holding her hand. She nodded to Chakotay who rushed forward to pick up the child. Kathryn's mother gave him a grateful glance before she stepped outside again, closing the door as she went. Elizabeth looked at him with wide eyes. He kissed her on the nose. It was a wonder she didn't bring the teddy bear along.
"Papa?"
"Angel, your real mommy is very sick, okay? But she's going to get better soon…"
"Mommy?"
"Elizabeth…?"
Kathryn's voice, a little stronger, but still wheezing, floated to them as he turned towards the bed again.
Kathryn couldn't keep her eyes off her child and Elizabeth was struck mute as she stared at her mother. Then she leaned forward to touch Kathryn. Chakotay pulled the cover away and placed Elizabeth in her mother's arms.
The child crawled deeper against her mother's bosom, and flung her arm around Kathryn. He pulled the cover over them. It was almost surreal, the way Kathryn's hands, so thin, so lifeless before, filled with life, the thin arms holding her daughter close as if she would never ever let her fall. Trembling fingers that caressed hair, cheeks, eyes, even managed to kiss her baby's flushed cheek. And the child was on a discovery all on her own, whispering the word 'mommy' over and over as if to acquaint herself with a new word, making it part of her memory, her life, her understanding, her awareness.
"Mommy…"
Kathryn gave a sob.
"My baby…my baby…" she murmured brokenly as he watched in fascination how their daughter raised her hand to touch Kathryn's cheek, to discover her face, and even kiss her mother.
"My mommy…"
The door opened softly behind him. He knew it was Gretchen. She came to stand next to him, watching mother and child, awed, humbled by a strength of emotion he had never acknowledged before, always played it down, always believed it wasn't there. His eyes burned in the late realisation of a grave mistake he had made.
This was what he had thought Elizabeth would have with Sarah, the woman he chose to surrogate for Kathryn. This, the crawling into Kathryn's skin by a child denied from the moment of her birth such a closeness, such a love. This, the healing touch of a child he was sure would make Kathryn come alive again. This, a mistaken belief that Kathryn never cared, shown in the way she kissed her daughter, the tears that never stopped running down gaunt cheeks. This, the closeness, the cuddling, the nestling and nuzzling in Kathryn's neck. This, the instinctiveness of motherhood, eternal.
"They belong together, son," Gretchen whispered next to him.
He could only nod. Long they stood there, not surprised when both mother and child, exhausted, fell naturally into deep sleep.
******************
END PART THREE