Palimpsest:
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Second story in this series
by
vanhunks
Disclaimer: If Paramount knew what a palimpsest is, they would themselves rewrite the entire seven seasons of Voyager. They may own these precious characters, but this story was created by me.
Rating: G
Summary: Kathryn has read the letter Chakotay had written her. Will she reply? Or, how will she reply?
PALIMPSEST: AND POUR CONTEMPT ON ALL MY PRIDE
The face stared back at her. A mocking replica in a mirror that refused to spare grey streaks, tiny crow's feet and a downward twist of the mouth. Her hand went up and fingers trembled as they touched the grey streaks in hair, perhaps in an unsuccessful grasp at life and of willing away the dying of the light.
She wore her blue dress. Filled out at the shoulders with newly inserted shoulder pads, it did little to conceal years of neglect in which her body functioned as an unwelcome and inconvenient adjunct to the more elevated themes of her life: duty, commitment, rank and discipline. The dress had to serve as her concession to the freedom she denied herself in the past years, a manifesto to assure the critics that she did after all, have a private life. But more than that, she wanted to be received in non-official raiment, the shedding of officious cloth a gesture, finally, of the acknowledgement of a deeply embedded truth: she was a woman.
She wanted him to see her in this dress. The memory of how he once looked at her, free, with none of the impediments that marred their lives, ached inside, causing a momentary contraction of pain.
His eyes had been alive then, appreciative of anything she wore that had not been uniform. And she had been delirious with freedom; like a midnight bloom she opened her petals to let the gentle rays of the birth of the morning touch her - unharnessed, unguarded, unwilling to close again. She allowed him into that part of her being where trust, vulnerability, control and the freedom to love had been jealously guarded for so long, for he had deserved to share that part of her. "I am not afraid anymore, Chakotay…" had been her wordless affirmation of her faith in him. He cherished her, a knowledge she greedily feasted on as she revelled in the way he had looked at her then. Voyager and her crew was only a fond memory.
"Blue becomes you, Kathryn," he had said the moment he looked up from his work.
"Did you know," she gasped happily, dismissing his words, "that our little friend slapped her hands over her eyes when she saw me?"
"But she didn't move away," Chakotay replied sagely.
"Was it because of my dress, do you think?"
"And your voice, Kathryn. Your voice sounds calm, inviting. It has a relaxed tone."
"Oh?" Her cheeks had felt warm and she had known that a blush crept into them. Her former reticence of garnering attention to her person, things like beauty, vanity, whether being thin or fat was an obsession, had given way there, for pure and unabashed admiration from him, and she was in the throes of feeling wholly good about the fact that she relished Chakotay's eyes to roam over her, to admire her as a woman.
"Didn't you know, Kathryn? You have never been more yourself than right here, in this little paradise we've created."
"Then it must have been my lovely countenance," she had stated that day, and she hadn't minded that her words had sounded arrogantly self-assured. For it was the truth. She felt much more relaxed, she no longer had that pinched look of persistent strain, and the little mirror in their shelter didn't lie: her lips were naturally red and there was a bloom to her cheeks, and her hair had a healthy sheen to it.
"Not that, Kathryn, but *all* of you. The whole of who Kathryn is."
She had been surprised at his deep and instinctive understanding. The moment he said those words, she realised that their little primate had actually come closer to her. Perhaps it was the colour of her dress, her eyes, her hair…or perhaps, it was all of her…
She hadn't known that she voiced that thought aloud, until Chakotay spoke again, his smile teasing.
"You're becoming approachable, Kathryn."
Approachable.
"I am becoming more comfortable being approachable, Chakotay."
"It used to be something alien to you, right?" She had given him a crooked smile, understanding through his words that her crew had been too awed to be completely comfortable in her presence and that no matter how she had tried, there was always something - a barrier - that prevented her from reaching out and thereby…losing control. He must have seen her momentary distress at the memory of Voyager. "They just had to learn not to be afraid, Kathryn…" he whispered. There was a calm in his voice, a contained strength she had come to rely on.
"You're getting to know me too well, Chakotay. I can tell you that I have always been approachable, perhaps before…before…" She had frowned, not knowing how to complete her sentence or express herself quite adequately.
"I - yes, yes…" she agreed, allowing the truth of Chakotay's words to sink in, for the full import of assuming command of any vessel resulted in savagely suppressing the self, and putting all else first. "I have not known what I've become, Chakotay, until…until…"
"Until now, where none of those strictures exist."
"And found yourself, too. This world, this paradise where we can be two normal humans without masks. You've thrown yours away…"
"Revealing the real me?" She had smiled gently at him, her hand had reached for his and he had hungrily covered it with his own. She could feel his strength, his calm, his solace that she had finally relinquished all thought of getting back on Voyager, and that New Earth was to be their permanent home.
"It's good to meet you, Kathryn Janeway."
She knew she'd never take his smile and dimpled cheeks for granted. She glowed, the moment had been full of promise.
But the minute they were back on Voyager, something happened to them. To her. Voyager had cloaked herself possessively around her Captain like a welcome and long lost prodigal child, to assimilate her once more into her command chair, the bridge, the bulkheads, the ready room, the boardroom, so that there were few if any distinguishable elements of office and personal freedom between Captain and Ship.
She never wore her blue dress again. Like a secret, illicit enticement it lurked in the darkest recess of her wardrobe: a motionless, tantalising symbol of the shedding of reserves. The rest of their journey she had allowed Chakotay…She teased playfully, cajoled, touched, allowed him to come close. She'd see the expectant look in his eyes, mostly she was aware of the hope in them. She tried, then she'd look at the ship's bulkheads and remember where they were…New Earth had become a forgotten idyll, a myth.
"Chakotay…" she cried his name softly as she looked in the mirror. His beloved face replaced hers in a moment of gentle remembrance as she pictured him brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
She had not wanted to see him again. By tacit agreement they had avoided being together at any gathering of Voyager crew. It hurt, she had felt the defeat keenly as she watched him walk away from her, an austere Seven of Nine walking beside him.
Now Chakotay had written her a letter. She had not seen him in three years, her own reticence at being an intrusive guest at his table, her unwillingness to witness a man who dared to be happy without her, more than anything else, kept her in check. Three summers had passed and with it three winters. A permanent coldness had settled in her, refusing to thaw with days of golden sunshine, or evenings spent in solitude, listening to her favourite music or reading her favourite novels. Often she caught herself wondering how Chakotay was spending his evenings…
Was he remembering evenings of wondrous togetherness, of just sitting and allowing the silences to bathe them in beauty and peace? Was he remembering days when a touch, a movement, a look could convey all truth and meaning?
How long now was it since she received his letter? A day? Two days? A week? Beautifully handwritten in an elegant pen which so belied his great strength and person, as if one couldn't believe that the same big hands that had once built a bath tub could also write so eloquently. Or make such a plea…
The thought lit up the reflection in the mirror so that her eyes suddenly became alive again, and the twisted droop lifted and curved into a tender smile. The hand that touched her lips were no longer trembling, but caressing. There was a wild elation that had taken her prisoner since she had held the letter in her hands and read of his need. That feeling had lingered with delicate balance between the impulse to dash to his side to soothe his fevered brow and the few niggling moments of doubt that had assailed her, as if she couldn't quite believe that she had been given such a divine opportunity at happiness again.
But the last two days had been good. She had not taken to rationalise her intended action, but rather spent it absorbing the fact that he was now free, that the sudden change in the dimension to their lives could be accepted with grace, with freedom, with no regrets. She had never wanted to intrude, never wanted to hurt him, or Seven. Kathryn had needed these two days to come to terms with the reality that the former Borg was no longer a part of Chakotay's life, that her reasons for severing that bond with him were based in the reality that she could not make Chakotay happy, or that Chakotay couldn't make Seven happy. In a typical gesture from Seven, she would have said that she was no longer relevant to Chakotay's happiness.
And Chakotay? Dear, kind, gentle, angry warrior that he had been, was bound by honour. Kathryn had known that Chakotay would never want to hurt Seven, so he would remain in a union that at best, only served to please the flesh.
Kathryn turned away from the mirror, feeling freer than she had ever been in her life, freer even when she had worn the blue dress the first time. Her tread was light, bouncy, the spectre of disappointment and failure now so far away that she drew in her breath on a sharp sob and willed away the old regrets.
The soft knock on her door was followed by the tentative opening, a creaking that caused her to look up. A face not unlike her own, except for their eyes, peered at her.
Kathryn looked at Phoebe Janeway and the look in her sister's eyes convinced her anew that Phoebe was not going to allow her to back out, or back down, or turn away from opportunities which came pillioned with peril and taking chances. Not that Kathryn wanted to. She had been dignified, solemn, not allowing any person to see her pain when they had returned three years ago and Chakotay had indicated his decision to marry someone else.
"I owe it to you to tell you, Kathryn," he informed her soberly, looking at her in that direct manner.
"I understand."
What could she do? She had done her best in the seven years to remain aloof, hold Chakotay at bay, ever fearful of losing control.
She had seen Annika Hansen drawn more and more to Chakotay and Chakotay… He had accepted Seven's advances, returned them. Every time she saw them together, something wrenched inside her, turned and twisted without mercy or respect for rank and person. She had fought back her weakness and turned it into easy smiles, welcoming gestures, even invited them for a private dinner in her quarters. She had to assure them there were no hard feelings.
They returned to the Alpha Quadrant and he married his Seven. Captain Kathryn Janeway gave her blessing.
"And Kathryn?" Chakotay asked her that day.
"Do you need it?"
"I'd like to know my best friend approves…"
She gave her blessing…
Alone in her home that evening she had broken down, finally.
Then Phoebe came. Phoebe had been her ally, the only person in whose presence she could cry if she wanted to. Kathryn had shared with her sister things that rushed from her like an overflowing brook, desperate to find an outlet lest she scream in frustration because there was no one anymore who could understand, no one with whom she felt close enough to share a part of her that was so private, so intimate. And like a festering sore, it oozed from her: all her fears, everything, her own shabby treatment of a great man, her denial of her own personal happiness in the face of others who needed her first, her withdrawal, her fear of being seen as weak if she showed she was a woman with needs, her love for Chakotay… Phoebe had been the older sister then, allowing Kathryn to lean on her when there were days she felt it impossible to move forward.
Now Kathryn was going to stake her claim on happiness and the right to love a man without restraint, untrammelled by parameters.
"We're each allowed to be foolish in love, Kate," Phoebe had told her three years ago.
It had been too late then. Kathryn she had taken her defeat - boxed, wrapped and stored in her inner attic of love's debris - and gone on with her life.
Only, she couldn't fool Phoebe. Phoebe, dear, no nonsense Phoebe who had once, years ago not spared her older sister when Kathryn had been so deeply traumatised by Justin's passing. Phoebe sensed her pain. Phoebe with her remarkable ability to touch the soul with her work, Phoebe had seen into her heart, saw all the regrets, the guilt, the almost impossible struggle to prevent anyone from seeing how much she bled. But her loving sister was also practical.
"You're only allowed to wallow for so long," Phoebe told her then. "Now get up and get on, Kathryn."
Kathryn sighed softly.
"Are you okay, Kate?"
"He never gave an address, did you know?"
"Sis, for someone who searched the Delta Quadrant to find a way home, that's one very poor excuse."
"I know. I was - "
"Teasing?"
"Fine. I know where he is."
On a sudden flash of insight, Phoebe said:
"You've always known, Kate…"
"Yes. Yes…I have," Kathryn admitted, not bothering to hide anything. There were no masks. Not now, not anymore.
"You've taken your silly pride and poured contempt on it. Let the heart speak."
"I love him, Phoebe."
Phoebe's eyes went dark. She had inherited their mother's light liquid brown eyes, and they gleamed tenderly as she squeezed Kathryn's shoulder. Then Phoebe turned to Kathryn's dresser and lifted the delicate scroll reverently. Her hand trembled slightly as she held it up.
"You know what you want…" she whispered.
The only way to complete my life, Kathryn, is if you can come and help me write the final chapters of it. His words. Chakotay's need was clear, and so was hers.
"I know what I need, Phoebe."
"Then, my dear sister, go home. Go home to Chakotay."
*
end