Contrition (Part II)
By Michele Masterson
**See Part I for disclaimers.
"American Pie" lyrics by Don Mclean
______________________________________________________________
We entered the third month after the accident. With so much round the clock work during the past month, I’d neglected getting any sort of exercise, and Tom was ready to murder me in my sleep. I’m not the easiest person to get along with, and when I can’t work out some aggression... well, it isn’t pretty. So I put on some work-out stuff, grabbed a bat’leth and headed for the holodeck
Holodeck 2 was in use. I glanced at the readout as I strode towards Holodeck 3. Normally I don’t care what others are doing on the holodecks, but I stopped when I saw my name: *Holodeck Program Torres 7C In Use.* Interesting. Someone was running a Klingon program I’d found in the data banks, created by an officer named Worf. I modified it slightly. Okay, made it easier. I’m not a full-blooded Klingon male, all right? I can’t fight twelve Klingons at once. Yet.
I was curious, but not terribly concerned with who was using the program -- good for them, keep it up -- until I noticed a hazard light blinking on the console. *Safety Parameters Disengaged. Proceed with Caution.*
What? Who in the hell was this stupid? "Computer, identify the person using Holodeck 2, authorization Torres Sigma."
"That information is unavailable."
Alarms went off in my head. I probably should’ve contacted security right then, but something about the fact that this was my program made me feel unaccountably guilty. I tried fooling the computer.
"Computer, who disengaged the safeties on Holodeck 2?"
"That information is unavailable."
Bitch. I hated that goddamn voice.
"Computer, open the doors to Holodeck 2."
"All access has been denied on Holodeck 2, priority communication only."
I punched the intercom and yelled as loud as I could. "Hey! Turn the goddamn program off and open the door! Who’s in there?"
Nothing. Okay, I thought. I’ll just get in there myself. I virtually ripped the cover of the console off its hinges and proceeded to hotwire the thing. Holodecks have pretty good privacy measures, but since there is nothing classified or systems-related inside, they’re not the best. After about five minutes, I had the holodeck door thinking that open was closed and closed was open. They jerked open and I slipped inside just before the computer compensated and figured out my rewire. That’s okay. I won anyway.
But my victory suddenly seemed like not that much of a victory. At my feet, a 7-foot Klingon lay sprawled, his head practically cut completely off, pink blood splattered everywhere. This program was particularly brutal with the safeties on; without them, I had no clue what to expect. I was glad to have a weapon, but at this point would’ve preferred a phaser rifle.
Sounds of a struggle reached my ears from around a thick tangle of vines and trees. I stalked around the corner and leapt into a clearing -- and there was Janeway. Holding a bat’leth that was bigger than she was, sweating a torrent, wearing a gray Starfleet tank top and her uniform pants. She was circling another giant Klingon male who leered at her as if he knew he could kill her at any moment. He swung and she jumped back, twisting her body into a roundhouse kick that connected squarely with his mid-section. The Klingon howled and raised his weapon -- and I yelled, "Hey!"
The Klingon glanced up for a half a second, and did the weirdest thing -- he smiled. All of the sudden Janeway shouted, "Computer, freeze program!"
Everything stopped. I felt something brushing against the back of my hair. Turning slowly, I saw why Janeway had ended the program. A Klingon female, about 6-feet tall, was either about to give me a hair cut or slit my throat. I just looked at her -- not afraid, but sort of shocked at what could have happened.
Behind me Janeway roared, "What the HELL are you doing?"
"ME?!" I yelled, spinning around. Somewhere something in my head was screaming, this is the captain. This is your captain. Shut up, shut up, shut up. But I was full of adrenaline now. "What are YOU doing? You could’ve been killed! I could’ve been killed!!"
Janeway looked at me like I was nuts. "Killed?! This is a HOLODECK. An illusion..."
"You’ve got the safeties off!"
She stopped short, confused. "Computer what is the status of the safety parameters on Holodeck 2?"
"Safety parameters are engaged and operational."
Janeway looked at me now, not accusingly, just waiting for an explanation. I felt like an idiot, because I’d just figured out what the situation probably was. I spoke then. "Computer, what is the status of the safety parameter indicator on the corridor holodeck console?"
"The safety parameter indicator on the corridor holodeck console is malfunctioning."
Ah. Okay, then. I wanted to die, wanted to just dry up and blow away. She just looked at me, and I couldn’t tell what frame of mind she was in. Her chest was still heaving from the workout she’d just completed. But then she just sort of slumped and looked away.
"It’s all right, B’Elanna. Thank you for your concern. Computer end program." The Klingon warriors and the surrounding jungle vanished, leaving behind the stark black and gold grid She turned away from me to retrieve her belongings. As she bent to pick up her towel, something dark peeked out from her back, just under the edge of her tank top where her arm met her shoulder. Still expecting to find some kind of injury, I chased after her.
"What is that? What’s on you?" I reached over behind her, but she scooted away.
"Nothing. It’s nothing." She picked up her towel and slung it over her shoulder, blocking my view.
"Captain, what is it? Are you injured?"
I don’t know why I didn’t shut up right then, didn’t get the obvious point that she just DIDN’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. So I kept after her, trying to get a look at what I thought was some wound she refused to get taken care of. I caught just the end of the towel and ripped it away. She turned quickly, unbridled rage in her eyes, and I thought for a moment she’d lunge at me. My Klingon nature took over and I involuntarily assumed a battle stance.
But she stopped. Backed off and hung her head for a moment, before looking at me.
"I’m sorry B’Elanna." She tried to smile, but her eyes wouldn’t let her. "I don’t know what’s gotten into me."
With that, she turned her back to me, reached behind with her left hand and hooked a thumb on the arm of the tank top, pushing it aside and revealing... the feather. Arced across her left shoulder blade, a perfect replication of Chakotay’s tattoo. She spoke without turning around.
"I got the image from the file in the data base," she admitted, adding ruefully, "Maquis identifying traits seemed to have been very carefully detailed." Then, with a trace of that old sarcasm, "The doctor did it for me. After much protest."
I was dumbstruck. Seeing it again, but on her... I couldn’t quite reconcile that. Before I knew what I was doing, my hand reached forward and touched the lines of the wing. It was darker than his had been; I could feel the lines of ink running just under her skin. Regaining my senses, I pulled my hand away.
"Looks good," I said, surprised that I actually meant it. "Suits you."
She unhooked her thumb and turned back around to me. Her face betrayed the horrible, horrible sadness she’d been hiding under an armor of duty and determination. She sighed shakily.
"I just wanted to remember," she barely whispered in explanation, her heart breaking with every word. "I just needed something to keep with me." For a moment she just looked at me, her eyes welling with tears long unshed. And then hands went up to cover her face as the unbidden tears streamed from her eyes. Her shoulders shook and she silently wept.
I’m not very good at this part of human emotions, but when I walked to her and kind of put my arms around her, she nearly collapsed on top of me, her hand-covered face landing on my shoulder.
"Oh, god, B’Elanna," the words ripped from her throat in anguish. "I can’t... I can’t..." Her knees wavered beneath her, so we just sank the floor; she sobbing on my shoulder, me rocking her, feeling my own tears. I never even thought for a moment how strange it was that the captain and I were crying on each other’s shoulders. It seemed right. The two of us. We shared our grief over the loss of our friend. Our pretend lover.
Right after we gave up looking for Chakotay, I thought about how much Janeway had lost, and felt a little guilty that I’d found happiness with Tom. I didn’t know why. But right then I just felt sad. Sad for her, sad for me. Sad for what could’ve been.
And I knew, though I didn’t say it, that this was another brand. Like the hair. Another reminder to her about what she lost. Another way to punish herself, even if she couldn’t see the indelible mark. She knew it was there. What could I say about that? We all have our brands. We all have our punishments that we place on ourselves. I couldn’t fault her. I could only try and protect her.
Like he did. Like he still does.
And that was it. No other emotional breakthroughs. Nothing else revealed. Foolishly, I initially thought she may have been getting better, may have been approaching some sort of healing process. And in a lot of ways, she did change, though I think it was for the crew’s benefit more than her own. She sat with us in the mess hall, joined some of the awful holodeck vacation spots, even played a round or two of pool. Still the best player in the quadrant, by far. Harry Kim was elated to see her "getting out more," as he put it, and she made a point of checking up on him, comforting him. It made her feel better, I think, to focus on someone else’s grief, to console someone, tell him it would be okay, and Harry was always a great one for prominently displaying his heart on his shoulder. God, that boy needs a mother.
But after that time on the holodeck, I felt like had figured something out about her. And I knew she was still achingly, inconsolably hurt. I could almost see the regret and loss she carried with her, no matter how well she hid it from most of the rest of the crew. No matter how well she ran the ship. I didn’t point it out. I didn’t try to "help" her. I knew that any expressions of pity or sympathy were, in the end, of no consequence to her. And I think she appreciated me a little more, because of what we shared, and because I left her the hell alone. She knew that I knew, and that was okay with her.
Tuvok had taken his place next to the captain as second-in-command, the place he once logically thought he should’ve taken to begin with. But now he took it with no trace of arrogance, no "rightful heir" attitude. In fact, for a Vulcan, he seemed pretty damn humble. Reverent, almost. He may have been doing that for the sake of the crew, for her sake, but I have a feeling he wasn’t quite comfortable with the irrational, illogical events which led to the commander’s death. It was unfair. There was no way around it. I’ve dealt with that every day since then.
She was no closer and no less close to Tuvok since the death; their relationship was still as strange and enigmatic as ever to the rest of the crew. They barely spoke at times, barely saw each other outside of duty shifts, but seemed to know each other intimately, thoroughly. I think she was saved by this immutable relationship. It was something to put her back against. Something she’d once relied on, and now had to rely on again, no questions, no debts.
******
Monthly birthday parties. Two guesses as to what morale-officer came up with that one. Tom thought I just liked to complain about all the things I hate, but I really, really hate birthdays, especially my own. But despite this fact, I attended this first one, held in Tom’s program of Sandrine’s for Harry, Wildman, Sanchez, Vorel, and a few others I couldn’t recall. I attended mostly because I’d heard Neelix had convinced Janeway to go.
When Tom and I arrived in the dark, smoky bar, she was already there, sharing a table with Harry and Tuvok. And though everyone else was scattered around the room, I sensed that they were all drawn to Janeway, monitoring her, caring for her, though I knew she’d hate that idea if she realized it. I think everyone was just happy to have her around, and Harry was especially attentive. She made allowances for him. They’d become close since the accident.
Neelix began a Talaxian toast especially for birthdays of this month -- I swear they have ceremonies and toasts for every damn event that occurs in your life. I almost kicked him when he bellowed across the room to Janeway, "Captain, why don’t you give us a toast? You’re the most eloquent speaker we have, you know." But she smiled and nodded.
Rising with her wine glass in hand, she stood straight and looked around the room. She wore her sadness now like a second skin, carried it regally, without self-pity or despair. It had become a part of her, and at that very moment I suddenly realized that she’d probably always be that way. The rest of her life. She had turned into one of those people you know who seem to be happy, seem to be living their lives, yet just beneath the surface there is an ache, like an old friend, always there to keep them company. I had grown used to it. Used to the dull pain it brought up in my own body every time I looked at her.
Raising her glass high, she spoke to the room full of people. "A toast to friends, those we have made along the way, those we have nurtured on this very vessel, and those we have left behind." She looked around the room then, as we all just sat there, riveted. This was why she was a leader. "I have never felt so... lucky... so blessed, than this very moment. To have the honor..." She paused then, swallowing hard, before continuing. "... the privilege, to serve with all of you. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your loyalty, your unyielding tenacity, and your trust. And I will renew my promise to all of you this night, that we will get home. I will get you home."
Someone began to clap. And then we all did. The roomful of people rose to their feet and gave an ovation to Janeway, who looked shocked at our reaction, embarrassed. But grateful. She smiled and reached for Harry, squeezing his shoulder. My vision blurred then. I wondered if I’d ever be able to attend a ship function without feeling like crying. It was getting annoying.
Tom must have read my mind, because right then he activated a blues band program. They ripped the place up -- it is amazing how the blues actually sound so joyous, so celebratory. They played mostly old Earth songs, some I had heard, most I had not. After the band had played for a while, I remember Janeway leaning to whisper in Harry’s ear, and he bashfully got up on stage. Tom deactivated the band, and Harry played clarinet for us, beautiful, elegant songs. In an instant Harry was transformed from a young, nervous ensign to a mature, accomplished virtuoso, confident and unafraid. I wished I had a talent like that. But I wasn’t jealous, as I normally am. There was no room here anymore for such feelings.
After that, the evening turned into an impromptu talent night. Other crewmembers who I didn’t even know had musical talent programmed holographic instruments: an acoustic guitar, a violin, other alien instruments I’d never seen before. Then an ensign from stellar cartography, I think, programmed a grand piano and began to play a very old melody from Earth -- and he started to sing. Initially it was slow, sad -- but after the first verse the song turned harder, faster. The beat drove us up on our feet, most of us. Dancing to these strange words that made no sense to me, but were evidently part of Earth history. Veiled references, metaphors about death, betrayal, events that were once powerful and now forgotten. At some point someone else who evidently knew the song joined on guitar.
Just when we all had gotten into the music, however, the song slowed again. The mood changed exponentially. We all stopped together, eventually sitting, listening to the words. The ensign’s voice was truly beautiful, and his own emotions began to surface in his voice. I wasn’t sure if I liked this anymore.
I met a girl who sang the blues,
And I asked her for some happy news;
She just smiled and turned away.
My mind flew to him. Chakotay. As I’m sure everyone else’s did. Because even when we can forget him for a short while, some small reminder brings everything back anew. And for a split second it is as if we are reliving the first moments we knew he was gone.
And I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before;
But the man there said the music
Wouldn't play.
My eyes found Janeway, alone at her table. Her demeanor changed slowly, subtly. After a while, she sort of ducked her chin into her chest. Her finger slowly tracing circles in the water on the table before her. Listening, remembering like the rest of us.
And in the streets the children screamed,
The lovers cried and the poets dreamed.
Not a word was spoken.
The churchbells all were broken.
Then Tuvok appeared behind her. At that moment I renewed again my respect for this sullen, somber man. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and I could almost see the bond between them, their mutual devotion brought to sudden sharp focus. Her expression didn’t change, but she reached up and grasped his hand hard, leaning her face over a bit to rest on his arm.
The rest of the people in the room seemed to gravitate towards each other as well. Leaning. Supporting. Eyes closed, eyes opened. I felt Tom’s arm gently wrap around my waist.
And the three men I admired most:
The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost;
They caught the last train for the Coast
The day the music died.
He lit into the chorus then, and for the first time I truly listened to the words. A lot of people joined in the singing. I could not. I was vaguely surprised, though, when I looked again in Janeway’s direction. Just barely, I could make out that her lips were moving. I realized she was silently mouthing the last words of the song.
This’ll be the day that I die.
This’ll be the day that I die.
The ensign on piano stopped, teary-eyed. A few people approached him, held onto him. The talent show was over.
Not long afterwards, I caught a glimpse of Janeway’s back as she slipped out of the holodeck. Going back alone to her quarters. Maybe to cry, maybe to fall asleep on the couch in her uniform for a few brief hours. And I felt like I failed. Would always fail. I’d never be able to allay her grief totally. It was foolish of me to think I could. Not when I couldn’t even relieve my own.
******
I was adjusting the impulse drive control on the bridge when Harry’s voice raised in alarm -- an unknown vessel was pursuing us at high warp. Janeway was on her feet instantly, her body coiled and taut. She was most like her old self at these times, during a crisis, and I think she secretly loved it. She ordered Tom to take us out of warp and come about. Tuvok ordered Kousakis, the new security chief, to prepare to ready phasers -- but don’t touch them yet.
"They’re hailing us, Captain."
She relaxed slightly. "On screen."
There appeared a being we’d never seen before, quite short, a nearly featureless face, save for the large eyes. His voice was kind, though. "Good health and peace. I am S’relach’t, of the Quioron. I believe you passed near our homeworld several months ago."
Janeway’s patience was short recently, and she just wanted to cut to the chase. "Captain Kathryn Janeway, Federation Starship Voyager. It is possible, S’relach’t. We’ve passed many worlds. Is there some problem?" All I could think was we may have vented a few conduits right around that time. Great. We’d poisoned someone’s homeworld. Janeway thought it too, because she shot a glance at me before the alien continued.
"No, certainly not. In fact, we were unaware of your passage until we came upon something you... left behind." Janeway put her hands on her hips. She was getting ready for a fight. But the alien continued pleasantly, apparently not comprehending her body language. "Our ship detected an energy signature as we were departing our world. Unlike anything we’d encountered before."
Janeway was slightly intrigued; I was too. This didn’t sound like an accusation, and any emissions we may have released wouldn’t be described as an energy signature.
"We are fortunate, Captain Janeway, that our transportation technology seems to be compatible."
I wasn’t sure at all what he was saying; Janeway looked up at the ceiling in exasperation, as if to say, Will you please just spit it out? That was when I heard Harry Kim gasp.
I looked at the screen. He was standing there next to the alien. Wearing some funny brown shirt. He was smiling. That stupid, knowing, condescending smile that I hate, I just hate. And then he spoke.
"Hello, Captain. I think you forgot something."
She just went. Hit the floor hard on her knees. And no one even went over to her -- we were all having our own shock fests. Her hands flew to her mouth and she stifled something between a laugh and a cry. Moments passed, and finally Tuvok -- looking as stunned as I’d ever seen him -- said the greatest thing. "Commander Chakotay. We have been in error about your demise."
With that, the Bridge just erupted. Tom whooped and smacked his hand on the console in front of him, looking at me and just grinning. Harry laughed out loud. Everybody but Janeway was yammering, yelling. She rose shakily to her feet, her hands still clapped over her mouth, her eyes wide as if she were horrified. And Chakotay looked only at her. He’d stopped smiling.
"Permission to come aboard, Captain."
He stood at attention, the stupid clown. He’d always been a ham. Smiling again. She was out of it, just stunned. But somehow she pulled it together, lowering her hands and matching his stance. They’re a little too much alike.
"Permission granted, Commander," she said, as a tear meandered down her cheek. Respectable, no one would even notice. Then, in a whisper, a prayer of thanks, she said, "Come home, Chakotay."
And suddenly it was chaos. She leapt toward the turbolift and pointed at me, saying, "Torres, you’re with me. You’re running the transport. Tuvok, you have the bridge." Everyone was talking at once. As the lift doors closed, I heard Tuvok raise his voice in admonishment, and everyone shut up, probably silently cursing him.
The lift ride down was charged -- she was set to explode. I didn’t think she was even aware that I was there with her, until I spoke up. I couldn’t help myself.
"I don’t believe this," I said, suddenly irrationally afraid that perhaps I was dreaming. It had been so fast -- in an instant our lives were altered. "This is happening, right?"
She turned to me and smiled, reaching over and touching my arm. Already turning back into the Kathryn Janeway we’d all remembered. We’d all missed.
"This is happening," she said. "I’m trying not to question it too much." I knew what she meant. Good fortune was hard to come by in the Delta Quadrant. Best to take it when it comes without too much analysis. We were lucky today. We’ll be lucky again some other day.
She let go of my arm, turning back to the lift doors and willing them to open. I could tell she was getting nervous all of the sudden. I don’t blame her. Confronting everything she’s felt, thought, wished for, regretted, over the past several months -- no time to prepare, no time to think about it. I tried to lighten the mood.
"Don’t forget to show him the tattoo," I said, staring straight ahead. I bet she never thought she’d have to confront THAT part. "He’ll be interested in seeing that."
No sound or movement came from her side of the lift, and just when I’d thought I’d blown it big time, she ROARED laughing. HOWLED. Laughed so hard that she had to fall back against the lift wall to support herself. I was laughing too, and by the time we got to the transporter room, we were barely able to keep a straight face at what should’ve been a somber, momentous occasion. Poitier the transporter operator thought we were nuts. At this point, we probably were.
"They’re ready, Captain, Lieutenant," Poitier said. Janeway looked at me and nodded almost imperceptibly. I walked behind the transporter console. Checked and double checked the readings. Nothing would go wrong this time. Nothing would go wrong. His life, all of our lives, depended on it. Completed the codes. Pressed the last button.
The glow of the transporter appeared, dissipated, and there he was. For a moment no one moved, not a breath was drawn. His eyes traveled around the room, like he was seeing it for the first time, and then he found her. A heavy beat as they regarded each other, ghosts both of them. She seemed to have frozen where she stood, an almost confused look on her face as she regarded the man once lost to her, now found again. I knew at once the depth of the love she felt for him.
With three powerful strides he vaulted off the transporter pad and was on her, pulling her to him with all his might. Crushing her, it appeared. She made a sound like a sob and gripped him to her as he straightened and lifted her from the floor. His eyes squeezed shut. I suddenly felt like I shouldn’t have been there.
He was whispering, something that sounded like "I’m sorry, I’m sorry." Someone was crying, both of them probably. They buried their faces in each other’s hair, necks, each of them gasping like they’d run a marathon. They stayed that way for a long while. She finally released him a bit, and he set her back down on the floor. She backed away from him then, though they still clutched hands together. And then he looked at me.
"B’Elanna." His voice was rough now. He reached out a hand and I went to him, and he enveloped me in another bear hug. Real. It was really him. I felt disoriented, out of reality.
"Welcome back, Chakotay," I managed and stepped back. I was ready to go. We’d have time later to... whatever. Catch up. And that was okay. I wanted to give this moment to Janeway. I looked at Poitier, who was already at the door. I looked to her then, and smiled. She smiled back, her eyes threatening again to spill tears. Chakotay squeezed my hand, and I let go.
I joined Poitier at the door, which hissed open. As I glanced back one more time, he had already folded his arms around her, brushing his nose against her cheek and just breathing. Feeling alive, I guess, both of them. The doors hissed shut and the image was gone. I went to look for Tom. We had a lot to be grateful for, all of us.
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