by Suz firstname.lastname@example.org
Disclaimer - Paramount own them.
Fifth season Janeway musings. Oh dear.
There are days when I hate him. Days when I think it would be easier (and seriously consider) aiming a phaser at him at point blank range.
How dare he question my orders so openly, in front of the crew? Okay, so questioning my orders is part of his job, but does he have to be so good at it?
It's become personal now. It shouldn't have. It's entirely unprofessional and I try not to let it affect my command. But it's there, it's personal, and it's not going away. Stubborn, unmoving, and on occasion it distracts me from my job. That's why I hate him.
Yet sometimes when I'm with him I *feel*...
...something I can't give a name to. The more rational part of my mind tells me that I should be thankful that he makes me feel anything. Parts of me have become so numb over the past few years. They've had to be. It's the only way to cope with the loss and death of someone in our family.
It's not about denial. It's about survival.
So I suppose I should be thankful for those moments with him.
I'm having one of those moments right now and I'm not in the least bit thankful. He's sitting on the opposite side of the desk in my ready room. He notices I seem a little...off.
"Kathryn, are you okay?"
My name. The concern. My stomach clenches, my breath almost catches, and I know that if I close my eyes a thousand different memories of a thousand different moments with him will be waiting for me.
Her, the woman I was three years ago, would close her eyes for a moment before reaching out and touching his hand.
I don't close my eyes. I don't touch his hand. Instead I assure him that I'm fine before I offer an insincere smile as I offer him more coffee.
He leaves, shortly. Alone in my ready room, my left hand unconsciously moves up to my neck and my eyes nearly close. I almost allow myself to remember, but reality intrudes and I lower my hand.
I am the woman who is going to get this crew home. That will suffice.
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Suz's Voyager Fanfic