DISCLAIMER:Yes, yes, we know. The whole kit and caboodle belongs to Paramount, Viacom, and God. We're in counseling to get over it. It's working. Really . . . .
For Anna, because she made me.
Recall
by Harley
Maybe in the end, it wasn't really about me.
Oh, I wanted it to be. I wanted to be the savior, the hero, the god. I wanted my face on all the vids, to be the one everyone was talking about.
And I was. For a while.
But they talked about the others, too. They thought that the friendships, the love, the laughter - they thought it was equally as important as I was. They thought it was amazing we hadn't started ripping each other to shreds after four years.
I guess I do, too.
But what they can guess at, I know.
I know exactly who used to laugh at Tom's bad jokes, and who knew exactly what went on behind Harry's ever-too-naive smile. I know how B'Elanna fell so hard for that scoundrel she calls a husband, and I know what Neelix puts in his barely-palatable coffee-substitute.
Hell, I know how Tuvok's mind works, and why Chakotay is so damn loyal.
They don't know that.
They don't know that I wanted it to be about me. I wanted them to obey my every last command, the way it had been for the last seven years. They don't know that I'd grown accustomed to being the end of the chain of command, that only one man dared question my orders - and even then, he was usually playing devil's advocate. And that even when he wasn't, he'd have followed me to hell and back without flinching.
But maybe in the end, it wasn't about what I wanted.
In the end, after I'd gotten what I wanted - and I did get what I wanted, for seven years of being the one to make the hard decisions has taught me more than a little about getting what I want - the hubbub died away. And it wasn't about me.
It wasn't about me when Chakotay took a teaching position at an university on one of the colonies in the DMZ. And it wasn't about me when Tuvok returned to Vulcan to watch his granddaughter grow up.
It certainly wasn't about me when Tom and B'Elanna quit Starfleet to raise their family together. I met their daughter the day after she was born. She's adorable, perfect. They named her after me.
But it wasn't about me when I got a message saying they were moving. To Bajor, of all places.
It suits them.
But it was about them. Getting on with their lives.
It was . . . it wasn't about me when Harry took a promotion. Everyone was there for that, somehow. They shipped in just to see him with that second pip on his collar. He didn't actually smile, but I knew he wanted to. But I think Tom grinned enough for him.
That day, though, they were there to see Harry. If I hadn't been there, they would've wondered where I was, frowned a second, and then continued their celebration.
And it makes me wonder. If I hadn't been there . . . .
Would their lives have turned out like they have? Would Neelix be the proprietor of a restaurant deep into San Francisco, turning out Delta Quadrant delights to customers willing to choke down leola-root-whatever for a taste of our history?
Not without me.
Not without me would Seven of Nine be working at Starfleet Command, incorporating Borg technology into their primary systems. No, without me . . . she would still be a damned tertiary adjunct. Unimatrix Zero-One, indeed.
But, after all this time, it can't be about me.
Because, it's been about me for all this time.
Seven years, it was me. My actions, my call. My home we were traveling to. Because it wasn't the Alpha Quadrant that we were headed for - it was Earth. My home.
Me.
For seven years, they toed the line for me. They died for me, and they lost for me, and the cried for me. They laughed when it was appropriate, and cheered when it wasn't. And it was all for me.
In the end, though, it's not about me.
Because I've lost that. The people who will forever remain closest to my heart have scattered to the far corners of the quadrant - I want to say galaxy, but if anyone knows the falsity in that statement, it's me. They send me regular updates about their lives.
But I'm not there to oversee. I'm not the one giving advice about how exactly to approach a new opera, or a new social scenario, or a new alien species. I'm not even the one giving advice about how to survive the Delta Quadrant.
I lost that role. I lost it the second we got a transmission from Starfleet Command welcoming us into Federation Space.
Because we came home, and we abandoned our lives to start new ones.
I miss my life.
I miss my home.
I miss . . . I miss when it wasn't about me. It was about us, the crew, my crew. When we were a unit rather than an idea.
When I didn't have to take time to keep in touch. I could reach out . . . and touch.
I miss that.
In the end, it was about me. About the people I'd loved and lost and lived for.
Because they were my crew. Mine.
*END*