Disclaimer: Paramount's, all theirs...

Dedication: To my granddad, for providing the inspiration to write this - I just wish I'd told him these things before it was too late.

"Just... just sit down.  Please," I implore.
To no avail.  She continues pacing, eyes wild with fright, hair a mess.  I doubt she even cares how she looks as she walks from one end of the corridor to another, past closed doors, driven to distraction by the happenings behind those doors.
Not that I can't sympathise.  I remember going through the same hell many times with B'Elanna, and with our kids.  And The Bird knows *I'd* hate to lose Chakotay too.  But, for her...  For her it's different.
"I - I can't.  I can't, Tom.  I have to *do* something.  I should have done something."
And she continues pacing.

"Sit down?  Please?" I ask.
To no avail.  She's still pacing, up and down, down and up, like a unintelligent robot stuck in a programming loop.  I guess she's preoccupied with exactly the same things *I* would be preoccupied with in her situation, things that maybe seem alien to us normally.  Praying.  Pleading.  Hoping for another chance.  Kahless knows how I'd feel it it were Tom in there.  I suppose I'd look as haunted and wretched as she does now.  But - at least Tom and I have had time together.  To be in her situation right now, to have never acknowledged what was between them, then to have it snatched away... It's different.
"I can't, B'Elanna.  I should have said something earlier."
And she continues pacing.

"Captain, won't you sit down for a moment?  You must be tired," I reason.
To no avail.  She continues pacing the brilliant white corridors, past the sealed grey doors, past the colourful information displays.  She looks so different from the Captain I know, the woman who has been a surrogate parent to me for so many years.  I wish I could reach out to her and help her somehow, give back some of the strength she's given me so many times before.  But I don't know what she's going through.  I've never lost someone I'm so close to before, not like this.  Never with this drawn out agony, the mental anguish that she must be going through.  It's different.
"I can't, Harry.  I should have told him earlier."
And she continues pacing.

"Captain, please would you sit down?  You're making me dizzy, you know.  Would you like some coffee?" I suggest brightly.
To no avail.  She still walks relentlessly up and down the hallway as I sit here, nervously watching her.  The bright lights shine on her tired face, accenting the hollows of her cheeks, and the bags under her eyes.  I wish there was something I could do for, in my capacity as her morale officer.  But nothing I can say or do seems right.  Sympathy seems misplaced and shallow.  I can understand the pain she feels, yet - words aren't enough.  They never are.  Kes would have known what to do, but I don't.  It's different.
"I can't, Neelix.  I should have shown him earlier what he meant to me."
And she continues pacing.

"Captain, I would recommend sitting down.  You accomplish nothing by walking like this," I point out.
To no avail.  She doesn't falter at all at my desperate plea.  Instead, she continues, taking determined, steady paces down the corridor.  Her hair is in an unusual state of disarray and her uniform looks rumpled.  I find the thought of being in her position... disturbing.  I haven't lost a close family member since my initial encounter with the Borg, when I was a mere child.  But that was not the same.  After my assimilation, there was no fear, no sadness.  Only the voices.  It's different.
"I can't, Seven.  I should have let myself know him better."
And she continues pacing.

"Captain, I strongly suggest you sit down.  You won't change anything with this pacing," I remind her.
To no avail.  She keeps going, up, turn around, come back.  There's a wild terror in her eyes, though her face is calm.  It's almost enough to make a hologram cry.  Almost.  Holograms don't cry.  I want to reassure her.  Tell her he'll pull through.  It's all part and parcel of being a doctor.  But no one can approach her, no one else can know what she's going through.  The closest I can come is Freya - being helpless at her side as she died.  But she was only a hologram, and we had only a few short hours.  It's different.
"I can't, Doctor.  I should have let myself love him."
And she continues pacing.

"Captain... Kathryn.  Please sit," I request.
To no avail.  Kathryn Janeway continues to pace the corridors with an aimless purpose.  Paradoxical, but fitting.  I have not seen her like this before, and the emotional torment she must be experiencing ruffles my inner calm slightly.  I know that if I touch her, the torrent will be painfully strong.  Yet I know I would hold her in a "hug", or hold her hand, if I thought it would help calm her.  I have known her so long, I can guess how she feels.  I know how I would feel if it were T'Pel in there.  Yet, for a Vulcan... It's different.
"I can't, Tuvok.  I should have listened to my heart."
She continues pacing.

'Captain... please, sit...' I plead.
To no avail.  She keeps walking, though her head cocks slightly to the left, as if she can hear me.  I wish there was something more I could do, other than let her know that I'm here for her.  If I were myself again, I would hold her tight, console her, prepare her for the shock ahead.  Mother her the way she used to mother me.  But that's something I sacrificed forever when I decided to follow the old ways of the Occampa.  I learnt then that death is not the end, but a new beginning.  But death isn't what worries her.  What's causing the pain are the words she left unsaid.  It's different.
"I can't, Kes.  I should have given myself to him."
She continues pacing.

'Kathryn...' I begin.
She turns her head, looking around the deserted corridor with alertness and surprise.  I can feel her confusion, feel everything.  Seeing no one there she keeps walking, with a sense of despair and resignation.  I wish there was some way I could change what had happened.  If only I'd said something sooner.  If only I'd pushed a little bit harder.  If only... If onlies can be soul destroying, I realise.  The serious if onlies.  Not the small ones, the big ones.  It's different.
"Chakotay?"
She stops pacing.

"Chakotay?" I whisper.
I stop pacing, feeling... something.  Was it Chakotay who just whispered my name?  Who touched my soul with a butterfly touch?  Or am I imagining things once more?
The doors to my right swish open noiselessly, and a tired-looking Doctor emerges.  I steel myself, because, somehow - I *know* what he's going to say.
"I'm sorry, Captain Janeway.  We couldn't save Commander Chakotay."
I won't cry, I won't.  I refuse to cry here.
"Thank you.  I'm - sure you tried your best."
With a calm, serene feeling, I turn and walk out of the hospital, into the park outside.  I'm not going to cry about this.  I can handle it, right?  I'm a grown woman, I've lost friends, family and even fiancés before.  I can deal with this.
"Captain..."
I turn to see Tom and B'Elanna walking towards me, hand in hand.  Behind them is Neelix, then Tuvok and Seven.  From the other side, Harry and the Doctor approach.  I can't take this - I can't take seeing their sympathetic eyes and smiling faces...
"We're here if you need us," B'Elanna assures me, her chocolate brown eyes brimming over with sympathy.
"Let us know if you want anything," Neelix says, patting my hand.
"If you want to talk..."
"If you need anything..."
I can't help it.  I break down and cry.

~~End~~