Story Notes: I consider many aspects of the Voyager finale to be
a betrayal of the show and what it was at the beginning of its run, not
to mention the fans who gave their hearts to Voyager only to see them trampled
on at the end. Over the years TPTB committed various infractions both large
and small, contradicted things established in previous seasons and had
characters act in inexplicable ways. Then at least, the next week's reset
button usually meant we didn't have to worry too much about the long term
effects on our beloved characters. But this time there is no reset button--these
are the impressions we're left with.
THE WAY WE WERE
She was going through the desk drawers one final time, making sure
nothing had been left behind. A large duffel bag, nearly full, stood on
the floor nearby. Through the Ready Room windows, patches of blue sky could
be seen. Sunlight--honest to goodness Terran sunlight--streamed in and
made patterns on the wall.
Her back was to the door when the signal sounded. "Come in," she called. She knew without looking who it was, the only person it could be, come to speak with his captain one last time.
But her visitor was silent, and the thought suddenly occurred to her that she didn't in fact know that it was him. Perhaps it was only Tuvok, with one last report or to announce the arrival of the Starfleet honor guard. Maybe it was Harry or Tom wanting to say 'thank you' for everything they'd been through these last seven years, for her giving them a chance to prove themselves. It might even be Admiral Paris or Lieutenant Barclay or any number of San Francisco-based Starfleet personnel. She really had no cause for making any assumptions where he was concerned.
At the moment they'd entered Earth's atmosphere and began their descent, cheers had erupted on the Bridge. It seemed that nearly everyone was on their feet, exchanging high-fives or hugs. She instinctively turned toward the seat next to her, her hand outstretched, the words, "We did it--we finally did it" on her lips. But her hand fell down limply, and the words remained unuttered.
The seat was empty.
She looked up and saw him near the science station. Saw the embrace, and quickly averted her head. And rose and went to stand before the viewscreen, watching as the topographical features of the North American continent became more distinct until it was possible to pick out landmarks. Any mistiness in her eyes, she told herself, was strictly due to seeing them again for the first time in so many years.
Her visitor finally spoke. "Captain."
It was him. As usual, she should have gone with her initial feelings where he was concerned. But it had been so long since she allowed herself to act on instinct, and she was woefully out of practice. Or perhaps it was simply too late.
"Yes, Commander." She steeled herself and then turned around to face him.
He gestured at the duffel bag. "I thought you'd be done packing by now."
"I am," she answered. Striving to keep her voice light, she added, "Just wanted one last look, you know?"
"I know." He glanced around the room, his gaze coming to rest on the couch on which they'd had so many discussions, gone over countless reports. "I'm also going to miss this place."
"Not that I'm not happy to be back," she said quickly. Had her tone sounded that wistful? "Especially considering how incredible it is that we did finally make it home."
"Not that incredible, when you remember we were led by a captain who was determined from the start that we would get here one day." He smiled. "You never seemed to have any doubts."
"Appearances can be deceiving," she said, more sharply than she'd intended. She paused for a moment, and when she continued, it was in a softer tone. "There were plenty of times I was afraid we'd never... the chances were all too great it could have ended very differently."
"We did have our share of close shaves," he agreed quietly.
"More than our share. The number of times we lost the ship or didn't know if it had finally been damaged beyond repair..."
He shook his head. "As if B'Elanna was going to admit defeat. She's just as stubborn as you are."
She looked out the viewport, remembering the endless vista of stars, all the times she'd looked out and reflected on their situation, in both good times and bad. "We lost too many good people out there."
"At least the senior staff was spared," he said, clearly attempting to get her to remember the positives.
"Yes, I suppose it was a miracle that neither of us--" She stopped abruptly, as the image arose of him cradling her body in his arms, imploring her not to die.
A shadow crossed his face. Perhaps the thought was in his mind as well. "There were many different ways our story could have ended."
She forced a smile. "Ending it as returning heroes is certainly one of the better ways."
"It beats being arrested and put in jail," he said wryly.
"Are you still worried that's going to happen?" she asked, concerned. "I'd have thought your mind would have been put at ease by now. Starfleet's had ample opportunity--"
He held up a hand. "Yes. If they were going to take the Maquis into custody it would have happened by now. Still, I think I'll breathe a bit easier after all the formal hearings and debriefings are concluded."
"Ah. The debriefings." The corners of her mouth went down as she envisioned the long hours and days ahead.
"Are you worried?" he asked curiously.
"No." She was silent for a moment. "I already know what's going to happen. At most, I'll get a slap on the wrist for some of my more 'questionable' decisions."
"Counting on your hero's reputation to save you?" he said teasingly.
"Success does have a way of wiping out a lot of past sins," she pointed out.
"They might decide not to let you have command of another ship."
She shot him a look, unsure if he was joking or not. "That wasn't going to happen anyway," she said, deciding to take his statement at face value. "I've already been notified. I'm being promoted, and after a few months leave, will be taking up my new duties at Headquarters."
He surveyed her for a moment, then laughed and shook his head. "I somehow can't see you behind a desk."
"Nor can I, to tell you the truth." She toyed with the strap of her bag for a moment. "But it's not in my hands."
"You don't have to stay in Starfleet," he said. She looked up at the change in his voice.
She didn't answer right away. What could she say? That Starfleet had been her life for so long that she didn't know what else to do? That she literally had nowhere else to go? She changed the subject. "What about you?"
"I'm not sure yet. I really haven't given it much thought."
"Haven't you? Thought about the future, I mean."
He chose to ignore the edge in her voice. "After the dust settles some, I'd like to take a trip back to Dorvan, see what's left. Try to track down the remnants of my people."
"And then?"
"Who knows? Maybe I'll find a job teaching archaeology." He smiled. "That was always my first love."
She turned away, opened the top drawer again and stared unseeingly inside.
He reached over and gently closed it. "It's empty. They're all empty." He gestured at the bare desk top. "It's time to go." He held out his hand.
She looked at his outstretched hand, at the callused palm, at the fingers with their squarely cut nails. Unbidden, she remembered what his hands had felt like, rubbing her neck and shoulders, smoothing her hair over to one side. She dispelled the image with a quick shake of her head. So this is how it was going to end, with a friendly handshake, with the handclasp that should have happened on the Bridge earlier, when it might have meant something--the communion between two colleagues--instead of just an empty goodbye.
He took a step toward her. "What is it?"
She blinked back the tears. "I've never been very good at goodbyes."
"This isn't permanent," he said reassuringly. "We'll still be seeing a lot of each other. Those Starfleet debriefing sessions for one thing, and then afterward--"
"No," she interrupted him. "There's no sense in pretending. We both know that this is it." Despite her efforts, a bitter note crept into her voice. "You don't have any further use for me."
"What do you mean?" he said. His eyes met hers in puzzlement.
She looked away. "I'm not your captain any longer. You don't owe me anything."
"Is that why you think I've stood by you all these years? That my loyalty was something legislated by Starfleet?"
"I don't know what to think anymore."
"That's not how I see you, and you know it." She held her breath, waiting for him to go on. "I've always considered you my closest friend, and I thought that's what I was to you as well."
"Yes. We were friends." But nothing more.
There had been a time she'd dreamed of this day, when they had finally arrived back home, and she was free of constraints, free to finally tell him how she felt. In her dreams, he'd been waiting for that day as well, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, moved forward to take her in his arms. Then she'd wipe away his tears of joy, never minding her own, and swear to make it up to him for all the lonely years.
But it was all a pipe dream. He was a human being, not a saint possessed of infinite patience, and he hadn't waited. She'd pushed him away, and he'd moved on--into the arms of another woman.
"It didn't have to be this way," he said, startling her.
She didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "I didn't know any other way."
"That's not true," he insisted. "You did--but you were afraid. Of what, I don't know. Me, yourself..."
"Of feeling exactly like I do now," she said suddenly, as all the feelings of hurt and betrayal she'd been suppressing for months rose to the surface.
"You can't pin this on me," he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "You did this to yourself."
"Don't you think I know that?" she said. Despite her best efforts, her voice shook. She clenched her fists so hard she could feel the nails digging into her flesh. She concentrated on the pain, hoping it would make the other, deeper hurt subside.
"I'm sorry." Was that compassion in his voice now?
She took a deep breath. "I don't want or need your pity."
"No, you don't understand." He lifted her chin until she was forced to look at him. "I'm sorry for both of us, for what we could have had. For what we did have, very briefly."
And what he'd sought to recreate with someone else. A substitute. To her horror, she realized she'd said the words out loud.
He winced and let go of her, but said carefully. "She's a beautiful, intelligent woman. Someone who isn't afraid to explore her feelings and see where they lead her."
"She's also someone who's very needy emotionally," she shot back. "And that's what attracted you, isn't it? The feeling of being needed?"
His mouth tightened. "That's not fair."
"Oh, come on, let's be honest," she said, her eyes meeting his angrily. Hardly conscious of what she was doing, she moved forward until their faces were only inches apart. "For all intents and purposes, she's just a child, or at most an adolescent. Is that what you want? All she knows is how she herself feels at the moment, how to reach out and take what she wants. Is that going to be enough for you, in the long run?"
He didn't look away. "And you're someone who's got the opposite problem," he said heatedly. "All you know is how to give, how to sacrifice yourself and your desires for the greater good. You can't let yourself open up and accept love, because it might make you vulnerable. You might have to admit for the first time in your life that you can't do it all alone, that you need someone else. And that thought terrifies you." His breath caught in what almost sounded like a sob. "Do you know what hell it is to be in love with someone like that?"
In love. For the first time, he'd said the words, not hidden them in an ancient legend. Once she'd have given anything to have heard him express himself so openly, while at the same time hating him for saying it, for finally crossing the barrier Starfleet protocols had erected between them. Once. The brief surge of emotion she felt died.
"It wouldn't have worked," she said tiredly, and turned away. "Our command relationship was complicated enough. Throwing volatile emotions into the mix would have wrecked it for sure."
"It always comes down to that, doesn't it?" The feelings which stirred him earlier were gone as well, and he sounded just as weary as she felt. "That was all you ever cared about."
"Not everything," she said softly.
"Are you saying you loved me?" he asked incredulously.
Not past tense. "It hardly matters now."
He obviously caught the words she left unspoken. He gripped her shoulders tightly, turned her so she faced him once more. "It does to me. And I should think it does to you as well."
"Will it make a difference?" she pressed. "Be honest with yourself--are you prepared to throw her over, if I said I wanted you? Would that be fair to any of us?"
He released her. "I don't know," he admitted. He took a deep breath. "But I do know that my feelings for you are very deep and real as well."
She didn't answer for a long moment. "I was thinking earlier about the way we were, mostly about all of our missed chances." She looked deeply into his eyes. "I have a lot of regrets. The last thing I want to do is add any more."
He exhaled forcefully. "Nor do I."
"Then I guess we're at an impasse."
For several moments neither of them spoke. She gazed down at her folded arms while he watched the interplay of sunlight and shadow on the wall. Finally he said, "If there was no one else to consider, what would you choose?"
She closed her eyes tightly. "I've seen the future. I don't want to end up a lonely and bitter old woman."
"That was one possible future. Nothing is preordained by fate--it's up to you decide."
Trapped by the vision of the way they had been, of possible futures, of might-have-beens, she stared at him, unable to speak. Knowing what she wanted, but still afraid to reach out and take it. He held out his hand to her once more. "Come on. It's time for us to go."
"You're right," she said, suddenly finding her voice. She took his hand
between her own. "It's definitely time."
FINIS