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Captain’s Quarters
"Come." She orders at the sound of the chime.
The door hisses open and Chakotay steps inside. He pauses just past the threshold, his eyes finding her standing at the viewport. He studies her posture—the set of her jaw, arms folded tightly across her chest, and the ever-present tension in her shoulders and neck.
“How’s Seven doing?” He asks.
Kathryn turns from the window, her expression softening at the sight of him and crosses to the couch, gesturing for him to join her.
“She’s recovering. Though it all feels a little too close for comfort.”
Chakotay settles in the chair across from her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his eyes searching hers with quiet concern.
"You're worried." He states.
"Yes.” She tells him, rubbing at her temple before letting it fall. There’s a vulnerability in the confession that she rarely lets him see. “We’ve spent the last four years trying to stay one step ahead of the Borg. Now suddenly I have my future-self standing in my ready room assuring me she knows exactly how to defeat them. It all feels far too good to be true."
“Admiral Janeway seems confident we can make it past them.”
“Well, Captain Janeway is being a bit more cautious.”
“You know,” he begins, an affectionate smirk tugging at his lips, “our chances would be good with one Kathryn Janeway on the bridge, but with two, I'd bet on this ship any day.”
Kathryn meets his gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching upward despite herself, but quickly fades as she rises and begins to pace slowly in front of the view port.
“Maybe so, but we shouldn’t underestimate the Collective, or it’s Queen. I don’t care how many times my future self has gone toe-to-toe with her.”
“You think she’s over confident?” He asks.
She mulls it over for a moment, her mind heavy with the knowledge that for all the responsibility and guilt she carries, the Admiral carries more, has experienced more. She doesn’t think it’s arrogance, but the Admiral is not someone who is used to being questioned, nay-said or easily intimidated. Not even by the Borg.
"I think” she starts, her voice quiet, “that anyone who's spent close to thirty years fighting an enemy can start believing that they can’t lose.”
Chakotay considers this. “To be fair, she has brought us a lot of advantages on her trip back through time.”
“Yes. She has. But I have to wonder if we have any right to use them.” She tells him. “Seven years I’ve been leading this crew, pushing them to hold fast to and believe in the principles of Starfleet and the Federation, and now, what? We blow that all out an airlock on the off chance the Borg will let us through that nebula on the word of an Admiral from the future?”
Her shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh. Chakotay rises and moves to stand beside her at the viewport, close enough that their shoulders brush. His presence is, as ever, grounding.
"Not just any Admiral, Kathryn.” He tells her quietly, “she’s you.”
“Is she though? Really?” She questions. “The moment she came back here, the experiences that would have brought me to the moment she is now living were all irrevocably changed. Whatever path she walked is lost to me, now. And, I keep asking myself what it would take to get to that point. What happened in that extra sixteen years out here that made her decide getting home and being able to live her life wasn’t enough?”
“Have you asked?”
“Temporal Prime Directive, Commander.” She says so darkly, it’s nearly a growl.
“Something that she clearly has decided to ignore in the what? Twenty-six years since she’s been you?”
“I don’t know if I’m there yet.” She sighs, and her shoulders drop just a fraction. Whether from defeat or just plain exhaustion, he can’t be sure. He reaches up to grasp her shoulder. A familiar brief pressure of support he often offers when she’s unsure of herself.
“Will you continue to the nebula?” He asks.
“For now.” She tells him, her voice steadier than she feels. “If nothing else, I don’t believe the Admiral’s confidence in the technology she’s brought back is misplaced. Even B’Elanna is impressed and she’s a very grumpy, very pregnant half-Klingon.” And, the thought of B’Elanna, raging around engineering, running on nothing but Klingon stubbornness and hormones, brings some much-needed levity to the moment.
“But,” she continues sharply, “if I don’t think we can safely make it through—if the Queen makes good on her threat—I won’t hesitate to turn around and high tail it out of there. Not much use in getting home if we die or are assimilated doing it, is there?”
“So, if you’ve decided that—what’s still bothering you?” he probes.
“How certain it all feels. I don’t trust it. We’ve been on this precipice before—thinking we were at Earth’s doorstep and it always goes up in so much smoke.” She tells him, the burden of responsibility roaring up inside her to get them home. And, no matter how good the odds look, she’s so afraid to hope.
“That sounds more like fear than certainty, Kathryn. And, I’ve never known you to be one to back down to that.” He tells her. And, she knows he’s right. She’s never been one to kowtow to a bully. And, what is fear but your own insecurities bullying you into thinking you can’t?
“Is that a challenge?” She counters, anyway.
“No.” He tells her, ducking his head and shaking it gently, “Just something to think about.”
“Do me a favor?” he asks after a moment.
“What’s that?”
“Remember that this is your crew, Kathryn. Not hers. We’ve followed you this far, we’re not about to stop. Whatever you decide, we’re with you.”
Chakotay holds her gaze, and for a long moment neither of them moves—the hum of the ship filling the silence around them. His presence is a comforting reminder that, while the weight of responsibility and the final decision may be hers to carry, she is not alone.