Disclaimer:Paramount owns the characters, lucky them. I own my obsessive thoughts, oh, and the story.
Rated:PG-13
By Orion
October 1998
I'm numb. Numb on the inside. Or maybe, numb isn't an accurate word. Perhaps "conditioned" would be a better description. I've been willing myself to not feel anything for so long I think it's finally beginning to take hold.
Four years I've been fighting it. Ever since the day my eyes first fell upon him on my viewscreen, and then later when he transported onto my Bridge. I was drawn to him immediately, but dismissed it from my thoughts because right then we had to deal with the pressing matter at hand. That matter being the Caretaker and "his" array. When things didn't go exactly as planned and we were thrown together for the long journey we're now on, I knew I had to bury my unanticipated attraction before it got the best of me. After all, I was engaged and shouldn't have even given him a second thought, right?
That was easier said than done. I expected resistance, but he gave me none. Not even when I destroyed the array. "She's the Captain," he had said. And when I offered him the position of First Officer he readily agreed to stand by my side, setting a precedent for his Maquis crew to follow, which they did fairly well considering the circumstances.
As the days turned into weeks, and then months, he proved to be a very worthy first officer and I felt myself admiring him more every day. He became my friend and my confidante. A Captain is so alone sometimes, part of her crew and yet separate. And I was so glad for those opportunities to talk with him. About anything, the ship or ourselves.
I knew we were growing closer. Much closer than the usual Captain/First Officer relationship, and I felt guilty. Guilty because I had a wonderful, loving man waiting for me back on Earth who was also, I knew, very worried. But time marched on, and by the end of our first year in the Delta Quadrant, my memories of Mark were more fond than loving. I had hoped he would move on. I expected him to because, although he remained in the back of my mind, I knew he no longer had a hold over me. That had become someone else's job. His job.
Working together everyday, side by side, I thought surely he must suspect the feelings I was suppressing. If he did he never commented, and for that I was glad. But I would see him smile at me and it would make me wonder if maybe he, too, wished we had met under different circumstances. I never allowed myself the pleasure of indulging in those thoughts too fully, for fear it would only deepen my sense of loss. So I went about my duties as Captain of Voyager, never wavering in my decision to keep my inner emotions under lock and key.
One year became two, and we contracted the virus which stranded us on New Earth. Together. He tried hard enough for the both of us to make the best of the situation, but I resisted, not wanting to give up researching for a cure. I knew what he was doing, trying to make the transition more bearable, and deep down I thanked him for it. But I felt driven. I was never a quitter and I wasn't about to start then. I guess he understood my need at the time, and, with a few words of wisdom, let me continue with my work.
As time went by, going to sleep and waking up in the same small shelter as he began to feel almost "too" comfortable. Then he surprised me with the bathtub and I was overjoyed. It had been so long since anyone had done something like that for me without expecting anything in return other than my happiness. I truly felt valued. Being off of the ship and out of uniform, I was no longer the "Captain." I had become Kathryn again.
When the plasma storm destroyed my research equipment, there was nothing left to focus my attention on. Nothing to keep my mind, or my eyes from wandering to him, my thoughts from straying to our predicament. The tension between us grew until one night he laid his feelings for me on the table. In a sense anyway. It felt like a weight had been lifted, and I knew soon I'd be able to set free the affection, and dare I say love, I held for him. I wanted to take it slowly as we had the rest of our lives. So I didn't tell him right then, but promised myself I would in due time.
The next couple of weeks streamed by and our intimacy grew. We'd go for long walks and he'd take my arm in his or place his hand on the small of my back to guide me. Sometimes we'd sit and talk for hours. He always seemed to know just what to say to make me laugh. Still does. I told myself it was almost time to let him in on the secret I'd been carrying inside myself for two years.
Then came the afternoon we received the fateful transmission. I felt joy, and at the same time my heart was torn in two. I know he felt it too. I could see it in his eyes. Neither of us said a word. I knew what had to be done, and he followed my lead no questions asked.
I never before experienced such mixed emotions as the day we were beamed back to Voyager. I was angry they had disobeyed my orders, but elated to know they cared about us that much to do what they had done, and bring us a cure. I was proud of my people. And as we took our seats on the Bridge I tried desperately to iron out my inner conflict.
In the end my head won. It usually does, doesn't it? At least where I'm concerned. Back on the ship I became "Captain Janeway" once again. I had to. It was my job, and was so ingrained I don't think I'd be capable of being anything but the Captain, no matter how much I longed to be otherwise. My heart was locked away in the prison constructed by my mind, but this time it was much harder to keep it there. The thick walls surrounding it seemed to crumble as soon as they were erected, and I fought for control.
Sometimes I'd gaze at him on the Bridge when I thought he wouldn't notice, and on more than one occasion caught him observing me, and I would wonder what he was thinking. He didn't know the depth of my feelings, but must have suspected something if the expression on his face had been anything to go by. Then I'd give him a reassuring smile, letting him know all was well between us. On the outside.
On the inside, how I longed for him. Our experience on New Earth had unleashed a torrent of impassioned thoughts. I don't know how many times I've imagined what it would feel like to have his hands caressing my skin, setting me on fire. His lips touching and moving over mine. My heart cried out in pain as my soul yearned to become one with his. But I knew it wouldn't happen. Couldn't happen, and I began telling myself there was nothing special between us except close friendship.
And it has been a wonderful if not totally satisfying companionship. I know sometimes he tests me. Questions me. Makes me question myself. I need that at times. I'm not infallible and he reminds me of it. And he's always there for me even when I do accuse otherwise, or tell him he doesn't trust me. Deep down I still know he's there, and always will be. And that has to be enough.
These past two years have been hell for me, more so than the first as my battered and tortured soul has remained unfulfilled. Day after day I've endured, carrying my repressed feelings along the way that they almost seem like a normal part of me now. Normal enough to ignore. I was tired of hurting, but I've finally done it. And it has taken me so long, so very long to come to this point. He has been gone for three days on an away mission, and I know when he walks onto this Bridge on which I sit, I will be able to handle anything.
The doors to the Bridge open and he enters. As he walks by my chair he says, "Good morning, Captain," and takes his seat.
"Good morning, Commander. It's good to have you back," I say.
"It's good to be back," he says, and smiles at me. A precious gift I greedily accept, and my heart beats faster as I smile back at him. Our eyes meet and my resolve crumbles. I am hopeless.
THE END