Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. I’m just borrowing them.

Note: Night and Day will be a series of episode additions that let us see the Kathryn/Captain differences from Chakotay’s perspective (not necessarily in chronological order).

Summary: This is an episode addition to “Scorpion” during which Chakotay and Janeway suffer the first serious rupture in their friendship when she insists on making a treacherous alliance with the Borg as they fight against Species 8472. It occurs prior to “The Gift,” the episode during which Seven is gradually “de-Borged” and Kes leaves the ship.

Night and Day 2

by mizvoy

“Scorpion”

Stardate 51007.0 (Two days after the end of the episode)

Chakotay left the turbolift and paused momentarily on the bridge to let a wave of vertigo pass. It had been two days since he’d lost consciousness while connected to Seven of Nine through a neural transmitter, but he still had moments of dizziness and nausea that were worsened by the motion of the turbolift. His hesitation was brief, yet he sensed Tuvok’s alarm at his momentary loss of concentration. Chakotay gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded once in awhile,” he explained as he moved smoothly across the bridge.

The doctor had asked him to remain under observation in sick bay or to rest in his quarters, but Chakotay felt that he had no choice but to be on duty. Voyager was in shambles, and B’Elanna Torres’ first estimate of two weeks with only impulse power was proving to be much too optimistic. He and the entire crew would work long hours before Voyager was heading away from Borg space at high warp speed, and no one could relax until they were out of danger.

They’d paid a high price for the captain’s alliance with the Borg, and he, for one, remained unconvinced that the gamble had worked in their favor. But, what was done couldn’t be changed, and so he focused on escaping the area before the Borg came looking for them.

He was admitted at once to the captain’s ready room, only to find Janeway sitting thoughtfully behind her desk in near-total darkness. When the doors closed, he could barely see her form in the shadows. “Am I interrupting your nap, Captain?”

“No, Commander, I’m just trying to think things through.” She found no humor in his quip as she ordered to lights to normal and looked at him expectantly, surprised to find him carrying a single PADD instead of the usual stack of four or five. “What do you have for me?”

He put the PADD behind his back. “I just wanted to follow up on a comment you made last night as we left the holodeck.”

“Ah, yes, let me guess what comment is bothering you. I told you that if it’s at all possible, Seven of Nine will stay on Voyager. You voiced an objection or two and then let the thought pass, but I didn’t really think you were finished discussing it.” She looked at Chakotay warily, expecting him to outline in greater detail his argument against the newest prospective crew member, but he simply stood there staring at her without saying a word. “Well?” she asked, finally. “Aren’t you going to tell me it’s too risky?”

Her dismissive attitude angered him, but he decided that there was little to be gained by provoking her with another wisecrack. “If you’d wanted my opinion, Captain, you would’ve asked me for it before you made your decision. You’re the captain. You do what you want, when you want.” He paused a moment and then plunged on, unable to resist making a stinging remark in spite of himself. “But when everything falls to pieces, you’ll count on the rest of usdoing whatever it takes to put Voyager back together again.”

He could tell he’d touched a nerve. Voyager was in pieces at the moment because of a unilateral decision she’d made, and he could tell that she wanted very much to vent her irritation at his impertinent remark. Instead, she stood up, walked around her desk, and breezed past him to the upper level of the room. She faced away from him, supposedly to look out the windows, but probably to keep him from seeing her facial expressions during what would be an awkward discussion. She could hide her face, but she couldn’t mask the stiff posture that revealed the depth of her agitation.

They had both known that this personal confrontation was inevitable. The need for quick action and cooperation had forced them to work together to defeat the drone, but it hadn’t resolved the issues that caused their initial disagreement. They might have salvaged their command relationship, but their friendship was still in ruins, and it was possible that the friendship was damaged beyond repair. Only time would tell.

“What you say is true. I’m captain and I don’t need your permission or anyone else’s to keep the drone on board. Nor am I asking for your permission to do so. In fact, I take full responsibility for such a dangerous decision.”

He remained in front of her desk, grateful for the distance that separated them. “Taking responsibility for the decision doesn’t mean that you can’t hear my thoughts first.”

“And what would you possibly say about this situation that I don’t already know, Commander?”

“Maybe this. I’ve experienced two close brushes with the Borg collective. I still have a headache from the last one a couple of days ago. Once before, I was connected to a Borg cooperative, thanks to Riley Frazier. I’ve heard the voices, and I’ve experienced the intimate bond the drones share. In spite of my long-standing allegiance to you and our ship, they were able to convince me to betray Voyager and disobey your orders. How can you be sure Seven of Nine will want to leave that connection behind? It’s incredibly seductive, Captain, and it’s the only life she remembers.”

“Then we’ll just have to create new memories for her and forge new loyalties. We’ll have to show her the advantages of individuality.”

“And what if the collective finds her? What if they can use implants to track us down?”

“We’ll deal with that when . . . and if . . . it happens. The doctor is doing a detailed study of her implants right now, and soon we’ll have a better understanding of how the collective works than has ever been possible before.” The captain crossed her arms, but still faced away from him. “She was an innocent human child when she was assimilated, Commander, taken against her will into what can only be called the cruelest form of slavery. I can’t return her to that slavery. I want to give her a chance to be human.”

He stared at her unyielding posture, and then he realized the implications of what she’d said. “You want to use her.”

Janeway turned her head slightly at his accusation. “I beg your pardon?”

“You want to dissect her and study her and use whatever knowledge you can reap from the process to prepare for our next confrontation with the Borg.”

Silence. For a long moment, Janeway didn’t move, but then she brought a trembling hand to her brow. “The tactical advantage she would afford us has occurred to me, of course, but that’s not my primary reason for keeping her. She was a human first, Chakotay.” She paused, and he knew she was thinking about her alternatives. “How could I return her to the collective without endangering the ship or leaving her in isolation? I hope, in time, that she’ll feel she belongs with us and voluntarily share her knowledge in order to escape reassimilation.”

“A spy of sorts, then. Once again taken against her will from what she considers ‘home.’” Chakotay thought he should be horrified by Janeway’s cold-hearted exploitation of the drone, but instead he found it logical and ingenious–an act worthy of a Maquis. He realized once again that a confrontation between himself and Janeway would have been an interesting, challenging, and deadly contest. “So, that’s that. You’ve made your decision. What could you possibly want from me?”

“I want to know that you’ll support me when I inform the staff of the decision.”

“You flatter me, Captain, because you don’t really need my support. You just need someone to buffer you from the fear and worry of the crew. You need someone to be there to watch your back in case something goes wrong.” He paused as she turned to glare at him; he glared right back. “What choice do I have, truthfully? Is there any place else for me to go? Can I ask for a transfer to another ship? Can I stop off at a nearby planet every time you make a questionable alliance?”

“Dear God,” she replied, shaking her head. “Is this still about the Borg? I thought we’d put that argument behind us.”

“Because we worked together to foil the drone’s inevitable betrayal of you?” He laughed. “What else could I do but help you succeed? Your ‘alliance’ nearly killed you, Kathryn, and your ‘allies’ were well on their way to assimilating Voyager. We both knew the crew would be assimilated very soon. You know it, I know it, the whole crew knows it. So does the drone. As it was, we escaped by the thinnest of margins, and we aren’t out of the woods yet.” He looked past her at the stars which hung motionless in the black velvet of space. Warp speed was impossible for the foreseeable future, and Borg space still loomed large in their rear sensors. “Right or wrong, you’re the captain. I’ll support you.”

“Must it always come down to my rank, Chakotay?”

“On this ship, yes. You know it as well as I do.”

He watched her shoulders slump before she sat down on the sofa and buried her face in her hands. For the first time, Chakotay realized how much the captain needed to consider her ill-fated alliance as a success–even though it was barely a draw. Salvaging what they could by freeing Seven of Nine, returning her to the human race, and garnering her allegiance was one way to validate the terrible risk Janeway had taken and to justify the horrible damage they’d endured. And, he had to admit, Seven could be a tactical advantage in the future, as well as a dangerous liability.

Janeway leaned her head back on the sofa cushion, staring blindly at the ceiling. He so often overlooked how burdensome her job could be, because most of the time she seemed to handle it with little visible stress. He considered how taxing it must be to know that every decision, even the most minor course correction, could lead them into danger, destruction, or death.

She sighed. “Being the captain is what makes me take the chances you find so irresponsible.” When she finally looked at him, she seemed more thoughtful than before, the confrontational tone of her voice gone. “For me there can be no distinction between what I want and what I need. Home. I want to get this ship home. I need to get this ship home. That’s what drives every decision I make, good and bad, Chakotay. Not pride. Not willfulness. Not egotism gone wild. Getting this ship and crew home—at whatever price it demands from me—is my only motivation.”

He swallowed, knowing she spoke the truth. She never thought of herself, never put her needs first, never complained about the sacrifices of personal time and pleasure she willingly made. “I’ve never doubted your motivation, Captain.”

“I hope not. If I’d made this pact with the devil for any other reason than the crew’s best interest, you’d be negligent if you didn’t relieve me of command.”

“A pact with the devil?” He smiled at her. “That’s a very vivid comparison.”

“I’m afraid the jury is still out on whether it was a favorable agreement or not.” She saw his smile and returned it. “You think I don’t understand that we’re still in danger? Only time will tell whether all the damage and disharmony we’ve suffered has been worth it.”

He relaxed slightly, sensing a subtle change in the tone of their discussion. “We need to survive long enough to get home. We need to keep the ship in one piece. We need to keep our captain alive and healthy.”

“Need, need, need. You know, Chakotay, I spend most of my time making sure that this crew’s needs are met. I can hardly sleep because of our constant thirst for power. I dream about dilithium crystals. I haunt the passageways at night trying to think of ways to conserve energy. You’d be amazed at how accurately I could guess the content of our deuterium tanks at almost any moment of any day. Power translates into every necessity–life support, food, travel, protection, a steady pace toward home–all the essentials.”

“I know about those midnight strolls.” He smiled and walked to the upper level to take the chair near the sofa. “And I know what you mean about obsessing over the crew.”

“It all falls on me, Chakotay, and that’s the way I like it. That’s the way it has to be. When I walk into the mess hall and everyone looks up from Neelix’s latest leola root disaster, I know what they’re thinking: ‘It’s her fault I’m eating this slop. If she had found a class m planet recently, we’d have something better to eat.’ When we’re dead in space, the way we are right now, and everyone is working frantically to get the ship back in working order before the next set of aliens tries to kill us, I know who they blame: ‘If only the captain hadn’t destroyed the Caretaker’s array, we could be home right now.’ When you tell me about the latest argument between B’Elanna and Joe Carey, and, yes, I did get wind of today’s fight, I know you’re going to say that I need to let up enough for some shore leave or another one of Neelix’s mindless diversions.”

Chakotay felt blush on his face and glanced down at the PADD in his hands. “I guess I can mark the next item of discussion off of the list–need for diversion.”

Janeway smiled. “And yet, I find myself just as worried about their ‘wants.’ Maybe more so.”

“Their wants? Like what?”

“What do we all want, Chakotay? We want to love and be loved in return. We want to be respected for doing a good job, and we want to be promoted, to be given more responsibility, more trust. So many of our crew does the same job day in and day out–with no hope for a significant change. I know they get bored and discouraged.” She sighed deeply and stretched her arms along the back of the sofa. “Most of those wants are impossible out here. Affection? Advancement? Promotion to captain? Impossible. And so I focus on what I can provide–safety, nutrition, and a few more light years closer to home.”

“And you see these intangible things–love, development, advancement–as wants, not needs?”

“Aren’t they?” she asked, a look of confusion on her face. “Do we have any choice out here but to live without them?”

“They’re needs just as much as food and water. You think too much like a scientist, Kathryn–you see the crew as people with physical needs first and foremost, when the spiritual and emotional needs are just as important, and maybe more so. ‘Many a man is making friends with death . . . for lack of love alone.'”

Her eyes clouded. She was never comfortable when their conversation addressed that particular four-letter word–love. “That’s a quote, right?”

“From a sonnet. I’ll send it to you. The poem says that love isn’t everything–it’s the only thing. It makes everything else worthwhile.”

“A paradox?” She groaned and shook her head. “Love? I thought we were talking wants and needs here, not luxuries.”

“Are you implying that love is a luxury?” Chakotay grinned. “Tell me, Kathryn, is love a want or a need?”

“It isn’t a requirement for life like air or food or water.” She grew thoughtful. “But I can see that it’s more than a want. Babies who are deprived of love and affection are permanently damaged emotionally. And adults who are stranded and alone for long periods of time hallucinate to create from their imaginations the companionship they crave.”

“So love is a need?”

“No. Yes.” She shook her head, gave him a wry grin, and walked to the replicator for a cup of coffee. She looked over her shoulder at him and at his nod replicated his favorite tea. “This one is on me,” she said handing it to him. “Think of it as a peace offering.”

“Thanks.” He sipped the tea and began to relax.

“I know that the crew needs to feel like we’re a cohesive unit. There needs to be a sense of family and a sense of belonging, even acceptance. Each one of us needs to know that he or she is as important as the next person. Is that the ‘need’ you’re talking about? Because out here, that’s about all we can hope for.”

“The feeling of family we’ve created has helped, I think.” He sipped the tea and sat back with a sigh. It occurred to him that a philosophical meeting of the minds might help them begin to heal the rift their earlier argument had caused. “When the Maquis joined the crew, you needed me as first officer, but you didn’t really want me. Even though I knew that you counted on me to bring the crews together and that you needed my visible support, being needed that way wasn’t enough–I very nearly quit because you didn’t want me. I didn’t feel like I belonged.”

“I remember.” She winced when she thought of how she’d left him out of the loop for so many months, turning to Tuvok for advice and input as she bypassed the man who was supposedly her second in command. “I’ve apologized for that.”

“And I’ve accepted the apology.” He gave her a wink and she smiled in obvious relief. “It was only after we got to know each other personally, once we truly understood each other, that I felt you wanted me to be your first officer.”

The specter of New Earth hung between them. Kathryn stared into the black coffee in her cup as the memories of their six week exile flowed through both their minds. They never spoke of that time directly, but always in vague references that allowed them to keep their distance from the intimacy of their shared life on the planet. Their friendship had been forged there, and it had sustained them in the months since their return, but it was best left a silent shared memory.

She looked up at him, and he saw sincerity in her eyes. “You know I need you, Commander, and you know I want you to be my second in command . . . and my friend,” she said finally, her voice still strained with emotion. “And you’re wrong. Even if I don’t need your approval, I want it. I want you to think well of me, I want you to like me, and that has, at times, made it very hard for me to go against your advice, even when I know that’s what I must do.” Her voice grew soft. “I would be so alone without you.”

And there it was–a declaration of sorts. Her words shimmered between them like a mist glowing in the late afternoon sun. She wanted his friendship and his approval, even needed it–but she couldn’t admit to wanting anything more than friendship and maintain the distance she needed to act as his commanding officer. Captains who make decisions aimed at pleasing their subordinates instead of completing their mission make notoriously bad leaders. They both had learned that fact the hard way.

Chakotay felt his lingering resentment for her unilateral decision dissolve away. It had been difficult for her to acknowledge this simple human weakness–that she needed and wanted a friend–and yet every person needs affection and acceptance, even the captain. Here he was, lecturing her about how love is a need not a want, while he ignored the fact that it was a need for her as much as it was for anyone else. Maybe even more so.

“I can’t promise that I’ll always agree with your decisions, Kathryn, because that’s not what a first officer should do. But, even when I disagree with you, I know your decisions are made for the right reasons. And, when all is said and done, Chakotay will always be your friend, even if your first officer isn’t.”

Her eyes softened with relief. “Thank you. I know how hard it is to balance that official and personal loyalty, Chakotay.” She glanced away, and he realized that both of them struggled to maintain that balance. “I need to know that our friendship will survive.”

“I promise that our friendship will survive.” She shifted on the sofa to look away from him and out into the darkness of space. He realized, for the thousandth time, the painful contradiction of their relationship. They could be great friends, and perhaps more than friends, if it weren’t for the continual burden of maintaining the formality their command relationship demanded. And they could be an unparalleled command team except for the distraction of their intimate friendship and physical attraction. In the struggle for balance, Kathryn routinely and at great cost sacrificed her need for affection for the needs of the ship–a fact he tended to overlook. The last thing she needed was to feel alone.

The silence stretched into minutes, but it was the comfortable, peaceful silence of close friends. He sipped his tea, grateful for the serenity that their talk had brought him, and he hoped she felt the same reassurance that he did. These moments of profound connection occurred rarely, yet often enough to keep their partnership healthy and alive.

The doctor’s voice came over the intercom and broke the tranquil moment. “Sickbay to Chakotay.”

“Go ahead, doctor,” he replied.

“It’s time for your checkup. Report to sickbay as soon as possible.”

“Acknowledged.” Instinctively, he reached for the back of his neck where the power overload had blown out the neural transceiver and thrown him into unconsciousness. The pain had faded, but he was still troubled by the revulsion and fear he’d felt at being in such close contact with the Borg collective once again.

“Do you have a headache?” she asked, her voice soft. She was still turned away from him, but she’d seen him rub his neck in the window’s reflection.

“More like a buzz than a headache. I feel like someone packed my head with mud.”

“Then I wouldn’t keep the doctor waiting.” She turned and gave him a tentative smile, and he realized for the first time that she was just as uncertain as he was about keeping the drone on board. It was a calculated risk, and one that she believed was for the good of the ship, and yet, she was worried about the price the crew might pay for her gamble. Her unilateral decision was her effort to protect him from guilt and self-blame if the venture went terribly wrong, and he suddenly felt very sorry for her brave isolation. In so many ways, she was truly alone, willingly putting others ahead of her own wants and needs. “After what we’ve been through, Chakotay, I needed to know that our friendship would survive.”

“Always.” He set his empty mug on the table and stood up, wishing he could give her a comforting hug. “If you think that keeping the drone will help us get home sooner, Kathryn, let’s try it, by all means.”

“Then you think it’s worth the risk to keep Seven on board?”

“If you believe it is, then so do I. I’ll support you when you inform the staff.”

“All right. Thank you.” She was visibly relieved. “Once you see the doctor, get some rest. I need you to be at full speed tomorrow.”

“Aye, Captain. Thanks for the tea and the talk.”

She inclined her head. “My pleasure.”

Later, when he returned to his quarters, he found the sonnet he’d remembered in the computer’s database and sent it to her. As he read it again, he marveled at the truth it told and the beauty of its imagery. He wondered what would happen to a person who consistently denied herself love and connection the way Janeway had done. Would she someday become bitter and withdrawn? Would she succumb to depression and despair? Would she someday be “making friends with death” because of these years of loneliness and isolation?

He often wondered what Kathryn thought of the sonnet, but she never mentioned it, and he never found a time when he was comfortable in asking her about it. And yet the words stayed with him, and he knew that, as far as he was concerned, his years of friendship with Kathryn Janeway were infinitely more precious to him than food or peace.

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

The End