Starships And Papers
By Coral
Disclaimer: Trek is Paramount's.
Dedication: Happy Birthday Lissa - sorry this isn't something happier.
Samantha Wildman lifted her head from the desk at the sound of the doorchime. It couldn't be Naomi; the girl would let herself in. The only other person likely to turn up at this time was Neelix - but he was supposedly with Naomi. Still wondering who would disturb her at a time like this, Sam stood, wiping her eyes in a vain attempt to make herself presentable.
"Who's there?" she called.
"Captain Janeway."
With resignation, Sam opened the doors to admit her captain. The shorter woman stepped in with what Sam would have called nervousness or trepidation, had she been able to mentally apply such words to Captain Janeway. In her hands she held a bottle and a sheaf of old paper.
"Am I disturbing you?" she asked softly.
"No, no, Captain," Sam said. "It's fine." She gestured listlessly to the sofa. "Please, have a seat."
"Call me Kathryn, please." She shifted; a slightly awkward gesture for one so usually in control. "I wasn't planning on staying long anyway; I - I thought you might like to be alone."
"Thanks."
Kathryn looked down at the objects in her hands. "I brought these along. I thought you might like them - to keep."
"What are they?" Sam asked, curious despite herself.
Kathryn walked over to the desk and placed the papers on the clear surface, pretending not to see the tear-stained tissues and shattered photoframe that had once held Carey's picture. She turned the bottle she had been carrying over in her hands; her hold nearly a loving caress. "This is the model of Voyager Joe was building. It's beautiful - so detailed." She continued as if she were speaking to herself; as if Sam weren't present. "It's also so fragile. I'm so used to thinking of Voyager as a protective, nearly indestructible home for us all. We've been through so much and survived so long in the Delta Quadrant that I sometimes forget just how precarious the line between life and death is." She sighed softly. "As captain, that's something I can't afford to do."
"I don't blame you, Captain," Sam tried to say, but her voice refused to work and she felt the painful lump rise in her throat again.
"I'm sorry, Sam. I should never have let this-" Kathryn broke off, close to tears herself. She set the bottle down gently on the table, and moved forward towards Sam, as if to offer physical comfort.
"Don't," Sam said her voice hard. "It happened. We have to deal with that."
"If there's anything I can do..."
"Not now."
Kathryn took a small step back at the abrupt, hard tone. Fighting back her own tears, she continued in a determined voice, "The papers are stories and letters he wrote. We thought you'd like them for now, as you were closer to him than anyone else on the ship."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
There was a moment of charged silence. Then Kathryn Janeway backed down, and started to leave. She was almost out of the door when Samantha began to talk softly.
"I can't help wondering. The curse of those left behind, I suppose. Should I have said something more? Did he know how much I cared for him? Could I have said it one more time? Did he die knowing that I loved him, or were his thoughts elsewhere?"
"Did he die blaming me?" Kathryn's simple question caused the silence to fall again.
Sam walked over to the desk and picked up the bottle containing the small, delicate model of Voyager. She had been lovingly handcrafted, as only an Engineer could do it - an artform that required an intimate knowledge of a ship, her workings and her temperament.
"Have it."
"What?" Kathryn looked at Sam curiously.
"Have it. Have the model of Voyager."
"But-"
"Have it. Maybe it'll remind you of how dependant we are on Voyager and your guidance."
Silently, Kathryn took the bottle Sam was holding out to her. Without another word, she turned and left, rightfully sensing that Sam needed to be alone again.
The devastated woman watched her go, waiting to ensure she was alone before fumbling with the sheaf of papers. She recognised them as his unofficial diary; he'd explained to her once, embarrassed, that he preferred to express himself through letters to people he knew. Flipping through, she found one headed, "Dear Sam..."
Steeling herself, she began to read.
=/\=The End=/\=