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Kathryn Janeway had learned about something called phantom pain when she was a student at the academy—it was a relic from the old days of Earth’s history, when amputations were more common and neurological treatments weren’t so advanced. Someone who lost a limb might feel the sensation of pain in their body, even when it had been absent from their anatomy for quite some time. It could still happen, Janeway supposed. If something had happened to her on New Earth and she’d lost a hand or a foot, then perhaps she, too, would have learned a thing or two about phantom pain.
Phantom pain. A wound without a source.
“What’s wrong with me?” she said to the reflection that lived in her ready room’s windows. “You never wanted to live on New Earth. You can’t possibly miss it.”
She sipped her coffee and contemplated the stars that sat within the lines of her face.
Someone buzzed.
“Come in!” Janeway shouted.
“Captain.” Chakotay stepped inside. “I’ve been working with B’Elanna on the warp audit. We still have a day or two before we’re done, but I wondered if you might like to look at the preliminary results.”
“I certainly would,” Janeway said, gesturing to the chair where Chakotay usually sat.
Chakotay sat, spilling into an overview of the warp core that Janeway only partially heard. He seemed to rush his words. Or perhaps it was something in his tone. A forced calmness. A false pitch.
They hadn’t been alone together since their return.
Janeway straightened her back. It would be easiest to ignore it, said her Starfleet badge. People are placed in strange situations all the time. No reason to stop being professionals, especially in private. Her adventurous heart, though, could not agree.
He built a bathtub for me. I have to say something.
“So, hopefully there won’t be too many more surprises like that,” Chakotay said. “But we don’t expect any.”
“Excellent,” Janeway said. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got everything well in hand.”
“Thank you, Captain.” A pause. “Was there something else, Captain?”
“Oh. Nothing, really. But since you’re here, I thought I should ask… how are you adjusting to life back on the station?”
“Well enough, thank you. It’s good to be with our friends again.”
“Yes, yes, I agree.” Janeway stood and began pacing, her hand reaching to stroke her chin. “I also know you were more hopeful about our life on New Earth than I was, at the time. I wasn’t sure if that felt like a loss to you.”
“It was a loss, but one I can bear,” Chakotay said. “I didn’t lose that which mattered to me.”
Janeway stopped walking, her back to her first officer. “No?”
“No. New Earth gave me a greater sense of agency about my purpose. But I don’t believe I have lost my purpose. I still believe in standing by your side, Kathryn, and that I will find peace by standing there.”
“Oh.” Janeway felt her breath pull down to the bottom of her belly, holding it there, living in the rasp of her lungs for one moment, two. Chakotay always seemed to make her aware of her body.
Chakotay’s voice was eternally gentle. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“No, no I do.” Janeway straightened. “If not for you, then for me. Life on New Earth was different. It was difficult—but special. I can’t allow us to return to our duties without acknowledging the time we’ve spent there and with one another. I know I’m your commanding officer, and that there are certain boundaries it is my duty to uphold as your captain. But, on the other hand,
I
won’t know peace until I say what I need to say.”
Chakotay raised a slender eyebrow. “Then what would you like to say?”
Janeway opened her mouth. She hesitated. Closed it again. She adopted a bitter smile and, sighing, settled into the chair next to Chakotay. “You know, I have no idea.”
They laughed, softly.
“Really, though,” Janeway said. “Something feels incomplete about this. I feel like I’ve left something behind—but I can’t seem to decide what it was.”
“I know that I left a few things behind.” Chakotay leaned forward. “Hopes. Dreams. I won’t get to see your tomato plants bloom.”
“And I won’t get to test out your boat on the river.”
“We won’t spend the winters in that log cabin.”
“I’ll never make contact with that primate species again.”
Chakotay pinched the tips of his fingers together and released them, holding his palms flat before him. “Our life, together. Gone, as quickly as it came to us.”
Janeway tensed at the silence. This was it—the thing she dreaded speaking about, the thing that might haunt them until her last days as the captain of this ship.
“Together,” she echoed.
Chakotay watched her, his gaze equally soft and intrusive as he watched her. Without a word, he reached out his hand. Something in Janeway crumbled, the sharp, chalky edges poking into the seat of her heart and grinding against the insides of her ribs. This was the most infuriating thing about him—that he never feared her closeness. She knew that, if she let him, he would reach out his hand to her infinitely. If she asked, he would squeeze and never let go. In the space of a moment she imagined the decades ahead of them. Lonely, bleak. Slow. But cocooned in loyalty. Embraced by affection. Held, completely, held. Would it be so bad for a captain to allow herself to be
held
, just as far as the galaxy would take her?
She reached back, pressing her thumb into the center of his palm and closing her fingers over the back of his hand. He settled his fingers over her thumb.
“What do you think happens?” she asked. “To the warriors in your story?”
Chakotay tilted his head, his eyes never leaving her face. “I don’t know. They were lifted from their land too soon. Perhaps, given time, they would have learned to bear their burdens peacefully. They might have gained the wisdom of many growing seasons, and shared the aches of many growing pains. It’s hard to say where they might have ended up, if given the chance to thrive.”
“And so we are captain and first officer again.”
“And maybe someday,” Chakotay said, giving her hand one last squeeze as he stood. “We will learn to live in peace on
Voyager
instead.”
For a moment, she was lost in his eyes as he smiled at her. He leaned down and pressed his lips to her fingers, so unexpectedly that Janeway didn’t even think to react.
“You don’t have to tell me what you want right now,” he whispered. “But think on it.”
He left.
Janeway wanted to think, to evaluate, but it was too late. Phantom pain. Creeping through every crevice of her body. Except it wasn’t pain—there was too much pleasure for that. She could feel closeness within every centimeter of her body. Chakotay’s body was a ghost against her own. The warmth of his calloused hands massaging her heck, her shoulders, her back, the firm pressure strong and reassuring. The weight of his body, breathing heavily in her arms. The texture of his skin, taut and muscled, brushing against her own. And the softness of his lips, probing the underside of her breasts, the skin of her belly, her inner thigh. What if? What if? What if? Would his tongue pluck at deeper fruits, if she asked?
“That’s enough!” Janeway leaped to her feet. Just as quickly, she pressed her hand to her forehead. “Oh. Fool.” She paused, and said, “Personal log, stardate 49699.3. I keep thinking of my weeks with Chakotay on New Earth. I keep telling myself that I am glad to be on
Voyager
again. I am relieved that I can continue in the role of captain on this ship, and that I may guide the first generation of crew members on this ship back towards our home. All I’ve wanted is to keep moving forward.
“Somehow, I find myself homesick. I miss doing puzzles with Chakotay. I miss taking baths in the free air. And I miss him. It’s not appropriate for a captain to fraternize too much with her crew. I am reminding myself of this. But to live like this, untouched and apart until the day I relieve my command? Forgive the tears! Returning to
Voyager
used to feel like a resurrection. But I’m starting to wonder if I’m a ghost, after all. But I have to carry on. Ghost or no, I can’t afford a broken heart right now. End log.”