The BLTS Archive- Memories and Mourning
by Ragpants (mhkurtz@earthlink.net)

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Author's note: Another experiment for me. It seemed everyone was
writing dead Janeway or Chakotay stories--so I decided to give it a
try. Again more of a sketch than a full story, but I hope you enjoy
it anyway.

Comments always welcomed!

Disclaimer: VoyagerTM and its characters are the sole property of
Paramount Pictures. This work of fanfiction is not intended to
infringe upon their rights.

written November 1998, posted August 1999

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She was warm and safe and loved. Kathryn Janeway smiled faintly in
her sleep and snuggled deeper into her lover's embrace.

She woke, rolling over and stretching out her arm to discover only a
cool empty expanse of sheet. And then she remembered.

She was alone.

She curled into a tight ball on her side, closed her eyes and took
three slow deep breaths and waited for the pain to pass. She was
alone. It'd been three years since his death. Three years.  She
wondered why her heart had not yet grown its customary callus, why
after three years she still woke each morning with a welter of fresh
pain and renewed grief, with the ache of loneliness in her heart and
between her legs.  She hadn't felt this way when she'd lost Justin,
or later Mark. She had healed both times after an appropriate period
of mourning.

Perhaps it was how Chakotay had died that made it so difficult. Maybe
if he had died nobly saving herself or the ship, she could accept his
death. But he hadn't. His death was meaningless, a random accident, a
convergence of fate and bad luck. A malfunctioning gel pack had sent
a power surge along the EPS conduit and the control panel he was
working on had erupted in a stream of raw plasma. The explosion had
left him faceless and with charred gaping hole where his chest should
be. She could still smell the aftermath of the accident: the sting of
ozone, the scorch of burning circuitry and the meaty smell of burnt
flesh.

The very memory of the scent caused her gorge to rise. She hadn't been
able to bear the smell of meat since the accident and mealtimes in the
messhall had more than once sent her running for the head. She had
known even before Chakotay's ruined form dematerialized in an
emergency transport to the Sickbay there was no hope, but it was the
Doctor's eyes that told her that it was hopeless when she burst
through the Sickbay's doors.  The hologram had looked up in brief
irritation at the sound, but his eyes had quickly turned to sympathy,
even pity,  as he recognized the Captain's face. He had immediately
resumed his efforts to revive the Commander, but the look had been
enough, Kathryn knew as did the Doctor, that all his efforts would be
in vain.

She had retreated then,  left the Doctor to do what he could, and went
to the Bridge. She took her seat there and waited calmly for the
announcement she knew was coming, that her first officer was dead,
that her life was forever and irrevocably changed.

She had managed to make the announcement to the crew without her
voice cracking. She was proud of that. She had managed to carry on,
to hold her head up, organize the eulogy and counsel the grieving.
She had done her duty---and more, seeing to the needs of the ship and
her crew before returning to her empty bed. Yes, she had done well.
But still she grieved. Each night and morning in the privacy of her
room, she recalled the brief happy times they shared and let the hurt
roll over her, never abating, never growing fainter with time and
memory.

She rose and silenced the alarm she never once needed in the past
three years. Then, dressed in her uniform and her Captain's face, she
exited her cabin to confront another day.

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The End