Delta Quad Musings

It's really strange. I mean, I get up each and every morning to command my ship, my crew. I never really do anything just for myself. Relaxing? What's that? Friends? They have all drifted away from me. Emotions? They are slowly slipping through my fingers . . . I sacrifice myself for my crew, or rather for the promise I gave them. Sure, no one told me to do so, but when I started doing it, it just felt like the right thing to do.

You'd think a woman in her mid-forties would have experiences with life and how it goes, but apparently I'm blind when it comes to it. Of course, I know what my life lacks . . . and why it lacks something . . . but I'm not sure I can do something about it.

Ha. Here I am, the great Captain Kathryn Janeway, and I feel helpless and disconnected from my family. I'm not talking about the people on Earth, but Voyager's crew. I remember that I used to talk to them, laugh with them, and listen to them. I no longer do that. I haven't done that for a long time. Now they're afraid of addressing me because I could get mad at them for talking about other stuff than pure business.

Gods, do I hate it! I have realized that it's a making of my own choice. It comes when you become obsessed with the unimportant things in life. Who does need friendship and support? Well, I do. I never thought I'd admit it willingly, but I do need help. Help to sort things out. Help to live again . . . before it's too late.

Admitting that you are in need of help is one thing . . . asking someone for help is another. Who do I ask? How do I ask? What do I ask exactly?

Hi, I realized I was a bitch and now I want to be nice again? It doesn't sound convincing although it is the truth.

Then there's Chakotay. He always tried to live up to my parameters. He doesn't do that anymore. He hasn't exactly gone on with his life as far as I can tell, but he doesn't appear to care anymore. That's another regret I have, but who can blame him? I certainly cannot. I wouldn't want to live with a cold bitch if I were him.

I'm constantly wondering if there's way to fix this mess I've created. I'm talking about the mess I've created, concerning Chakotay. I really do miss the conversations we had at one time. I miss his stories, and most importantly, I miss him. But I swear if there's a way to get him back I'll find it or die trying . . .

*

For a few days now a thought is nagging at my mind. I can't pinpoint what it's exactly, but something has changed. She has changed somehow . . . and for the better I'd say. It is as if she's realized that she's supposed to have a life apart from being the Captain.

But then again I could be imagining things. God knows it wouldn't be the first time. I have a talent for misinterpreting her actions. Whenever I thought that she was opening up to me my hope backfired, so I won't start hoping now . . . maybe never again. I don't know.

It's, however, satisfying to watch her socializing with the crew again. She appears shy in her attempts maybe because she doesn't know how far she has pushed them. I'd say that it's a wise move on her part. Some of the crew have wondered if she has lost her sanity somewhere along our journey. Honestly, so have I . . . I can imagine that all of them are a little edgy around her now.

Watching her isn't only satisfying but funny as well. The table I'm sitting at allows me a good view all over the Mess Hall. So I saw the uncertain look that crossed her face as she was deciding what table she wanted to sit at. She never once looked at me, although I'm sure she's noticed my being present. I had to smile when she finally walked to over to where B'Elanna and Tom were sitting, hesitation written all over her features.

I also could see the tension drain from her body as the young couple gestured for her to sit down. Since then those three are talking. About what I don't know and I'm quite content with just sitting here and watching them . . . her.

The longer they talk the more often I see her smile her genuine smile. I have almost forgotten what her smile can do to me. It forces a smile of my own onto my face. I don't know I just can't help it.

She must have realized by now that I'm staring at her. Still she doesn't have looked at me at all . . . Out of guilt or something else I don't know. It doesn't matter anyway. It's much more important that she seems to have come out of her self-isolation.

For that I'm grateful . . . And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, we - I - get the old Kathryn back. The one whose child-like curiosity could be infectious. The one whose interest in her crew's problems ran deep. The one whose mere presence gave me strength when I needed it.

Well, only time can tell . . .

*

He's always present when I'm in the Mess Hall. How does he do that? Every time I enter to talk to my crew once more he's already sitting at our old table in the left corner. Of course, I know that he's watching me. I use to do the same . . . out of the corner of my eyes. I can't do it openly. Too much guilt is keeping me from doing so.

Has he noticed that I choose my table a little closer to him each time I come here? It's at least possible . . . I just can't muster up my courage and go directly to him, it seems. I'm scared . . . Actually, terrified is more like it.

What if I've pushed him too far? I know that he's a patient man and can take much, but still . . . Everyone has their limits, so why should he be an exception? The problem is me having no idea where his limits lie.

The rift in our friendship might as well be too deep. It's possible that I - we - can't the damage I've caused. What do I do then? I mean, it's my fault I realize that much, but knowing what we once shared and not being able to gain it again . . . It'd hunt me for the rest of my life.

A cold shiver is running down my spine by the mere thought of it. It'd certainly be better to change directions of my thoughts, but somehow my mind refuses to obey me. It keeps going back to him.

I think I'll talk to him soon . . . It's of course entirely possible that he isn't interested in talking to me, but what can I do? I have to try at least before I won't be able to concentrate on anything else. I'd know for sure then if we can repair the damage. That's all I can ask for, given the circumstances.

When I lie awake at night I wonder why it's happened anyway. I can't pinpoint the exact moment or the reason for my withdrawal. It's just happened . . . Maybe the work's been getting to me, maybe I've clung too tightly to my beloved protocols - maybe I've become obsessed with my desire to get us home . . .

Actually, I don't think that it's important anymore. I'm currently working on changing it and I just hope that he's willing to help.

Should I find the courage to ask him . . .

*

She chooses her table a little closer to me each day she comes here to eat. If she keeps doing it she'll be sitting at our old table - with me - in two days. I'm curious as to what she'll say to me then. I mean, I can't be imagining things. It's just too obvious to be a trick of my mind.

I don't like the idea of talking in public though. We do have to talk. I want to and apparently she wants the same, but not in public.

I may be wicked, but I like the way she gazes at me. Shyly, hesitantly and very shortly, but looking all the same. I enjoy it a great deal . . . Am I mad? I love it! Because it's less the Captain than Kathryn who does this.

I've come to hate the Captain at times - most of times. She keeps Kathryn from making an appearance . . . or rather kept her from doing so. The Captain is efficient, cold and Starfleet to the core. Duty and protocol have meaning to her, but nothing else does.

Kathryn is the complete opposite. She's warm, caring, loves to laugh. Socializing with her crew and playing with her friends have meaning to her. Kathryn's a human being whereas the Captain's a machine.

In the past as she's still known how to combine the two sides of her the atmosphere on Voyager has been good. Morale's been high and everyone's been happy even though we've happened to be in the Delta Quad. It's incredible how everything's fallen apart so quickly when she's shut herself off all contact, when she's suppressed the woman and that's remained has been the Captain.

Morale's high again. Kathryn's back and the crew has noticed of course. Unlike the first day as she appeared in the Mess Hall all are convinced now that we can reestablish the old working atmosphere. I am convinced that we can do it.

All we must do is restoring our friendship and I'll be content once more. It's unbelievably lonely out here. She's what I need and thinking about it, I don't know how I could make it without her friendship for so long.

There's it again that shy and hesitant look in my direction. I'm staring at her, as always, and smile. A reassuring smile I hope. To my surprise she smiles back.

Now that's a start. We just have to talk, but somehow I have the feeling that I'll be the one approaching her. I wonder how she'll react to it . . .

*

Today should have been the day where I finally talked to Chakotay. The emphasis is on 'should have been'. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't bring myself to sit at 'our' table, hoping we could continue where we've left off. So I didn't even go to the mess hall.

Stupid, I know, but although it's hard for me to admit I'm only human and I'm scared of rejection. After all that I've done - or better yet, all that I've failed to do - he might as well be fed up with me and tell me to mind my own business. He might not be interested in refreshing our friendship. The worst thing is that I can't even blame him for it was my own doing that got us into this situation.

My door chime sounds. It's quite late, so who on earth can that be? Oh, I think I know. Someone with a this-is-only-for-the-captain's-ear matter. Sometimes I hate my job!

I open the door. What else can I do? Tell this person to leave me alone? Impossible. I'm about to ask what the matter is . . . The surprise - or shock, I'm not quite certain about that one - couldn't possibly greater.

"Hello, Kathryn."

I should reply something, but that's simply impossible. This must be quite a picture. I, standing in my doorway, am watching him wide-eyed and probably open-mouthed. As hard as I'm trying for, I can't get a word past the lump in my throat. Chakotay is in front of me. What am I to do now?

"May I come in or do you prefer to talk in the corridor?"

"I . . ." I have to clear my throat. Boy, do I hate it when this happens. "Certainly." Hell, my voice sounds like it belongs to someone else!

I don't know how long I've been staring at him, but as he raises his right eyebrow, I realize it was too long and shake my head. Get a grip, Kathryn! You're being ridiculous.

"Have a seat," I say. "Can I get you anything?"

"Two glasses would be fine." Only now do I notice the bottle in his hands. Well, I what can I say? I was kind of distracted.

'Why are you here?' is the only question present in my otherwise awfully blank mind. As I come back with the glasses, he has already opened the bottle and sat upon my couch. My hands are trembling when I pass him one glass.

"Why are you so nervous?" he asks me.

So he has noticed.

"I'm not nervous." His look speaks volumes. He doesn't buy one word. "Okay, I'm a liar . . . Why are you here, Chakotay?" There! I've finally asked the question I have such a desperate need to get an answer to.

"I thought it was obvious." To him, maybe. "Somehow I had the feeling you wouldn't show up in the mess hall today."

"Oh." Could I have said something else? Yes, definitely. "How could you know when I didn't even know it myself until five minutes before?"

"Let' say I know you well enough." He smiles. Thank God it's not the dimpled one! "You certainly know I've watched you, noticed you coming closer each day."

"Why are you here, Chakotay?" He hasn't answered this question yet.

He smiles sheepishly. "Well, since you've come out of your shell, you've been looking as if you could use a friend. As do I . . . Or am I mistaken?"

He's hit the nail on the head. I'm feeling very stupid now. "You're right," I admit quietly.

"Then why haven't you come to me, Kathryn?"

What a question. Sighing, I sit down. I doubt that my legs would hold me much longer. "I . . . After I've thought about my life I realized what . . . a bitch I've been, especially lately . . ." He nods. "Oh thanks, feel free to contradict me."

"Who am I to cut you off?"

"Anyway, some time I decided to change it, but didn't know about you. We haven't talked much except for business . . . well, I was afraid, to be honest. You didn't appear like you would give me or our friendship another chance . . ."

"But now you do know better." He hands me my filled glass.

"Do I?"

"Yes, or why do you think I'm here? I wouldn't even have consider coming if I haven't had an interest in this friendship."

Finally, he has answered my question.

It strikes me as rather odd that this conversation was easier than I thought it would be. But it doesn't really matter.

Now I can lean back and enjoy the evening. I smile . . .

THE END

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