Based on the Dead Letters Home challenge: take a character, kill him/her and let him write one last letter.  S/he's died, and this is all that remains.

the . last . word
( Kathryn Janeway )
by Liz Barr
April 2001
J
rated PG-13
 

You know, I didn't expect it to end like this.  The truth is, I didn't expect it to end at all, which raises interesting questions as to which one of us is really the more arrogant.  You, of course, but I can certainly give you some competition.

I was arrogant today, wasn't I?  Beaming down as if I ruled the place.  Carrying only a hand phaser.  I told Tuvok that I trusted Ensign Perry to cover me if necessary, but the truth is, I honestly didn't expect to be shot at.

You're smiling, aren't you?

Ah, Kathy, you're thinking, you impetuous, foolish, childlike creature.

I can't say you're wrong.  I hadn't paid enough attention.  I hadn't planned properly.  I hadn't stopped to consider my own mortality.  I took our success for granted.  Even as my face burnt away, I expected a last-minute rescue, some god in the machine to save the day.

So, where were you?

Pain is probably meaningless to you, but let me say, a disruptor shot to the face hurts like hell.  My skin *melted*, Q.  I can't describe that pain, but I can't forget it, either.  You're supposed to be omnipotent, although frankly, I'm having my doubts.  You go off and experience that pain and see what it's like.

The away team got out alive.  I suppose that's something, although I can't help thinking that the price was higher than I expected.  I mean, a simple rescue mission shouldn't get the captain killed.

She should be smarter than that.

I admit it.  I was stupid.  Add that to the list – arrogant, impetuous, foolish, childlike and stupid.  It should be carved on my gravestone as a warning for other captains.

Not that I'll get a gravestone.  Maybe Chakotay will think to put a plaque on the torpedo shell.  I should have left instructions.  I should have left him a note, a message, some kind of acknowledgment of whatever it was that we had.  He'll only inherit my quarters, my ready room – a half empty coffee mug still on the desk where I left it when this crisis began – and more problems than he ever asked for.  He was a good first officer, but I'm not sure if he'll be a good captain.

I hope he pays attention to the captains-don't-risk-themselves rule. In command school, we were told that a cautious captain is a living captain.  Trite.  We all mocked it, but it's true.  An incautious captain is a black shell and a lingering scent of burnt meat.

I had hoped that you would save me, Q.  Would you have saved Picard?  Why did you let me die?  Were you even paying attention?

Do you even care?

Don't bother answering that, Q.  I don't want to know the answer.  And just for once, I'd like to have the last word.

You could have saved me, you know.  You could have.
 
 

END

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Copyright © 2001 Elizabeth M. Barr

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