character codes: hmm. Call it a J/C.
rated: [PG-13]
summary: Janeway's husband watches as she grieves for Chakotay. (Wow. That sounds so soapy…)
characters: not mine. No profit.
beta: thanks to Christinecgb, for everything
 
 
 
 
 

She barely spoke to me for three days after the funeral. Just called Starfleet to request a leave of absence and crawled into the bed she shares with me.

I slept on the couch.

The fourth morning after the funeral, I staggered into our barely used kitchen, finding aches in muscles whose existence I'd only just discovered. She was sitting at the table, a shawl around her shoulders and a coffee cup in her hands.

"Kathryn."

"Daniel."

She looked exhausted, and for a second, I wondered why she had commandeered our bed for three days if she wasn't going to sleep. Then I remembered, and cursed my thoughtlessness.

"Are you..." Capable of functioning? Healing? Completely sane? "...Feeling better?"

"A little. Thankyou."

"I was worried."

"I know." She touched my hand. "I'm sorry."

I brushed her hand in return, and pretended not to notice that she hadn't looked me in the eye once.

"There's nothing to apologise for." I stood up, wondering if she'd eaten, or if she planned to live on coffee until this period of mourning was over. I replicated a cup for myself and sat down again, waiting for her to speak.

"He was my best friend."

"I know."

"I don't know what I would have done without him."

"Kathryn..."

"I know." She looked up at me. "I'm sorry. This isn't fair on you."

"It's okay."

It's not okay. Chakotay is dead. If he was ever a rival, he certainly isn't now.

My first wife left me for another man. I don't want to lose the second to a ghost. Especially not his.

She sipped her coffee. "Has Seven called?"

"Once. She was worried about you. I think a lot of people were worried."

"I'll be fine. Did Seven seem...?"

"A little withdrawn. Of course, I can't read her as well as you..."

"I'll call her later, then."

I sipped my coffee and considered my wife. She looked tired, a little too thin. She'd been working hard, before this. Before. It was hard to tell in the early morning light, but there may have been a few new grey hairs.

She noticed my attention. "Do I pass inspection?"

"You'll be fine." I took a deep breath and said, "there were a few calls from the media while you were, um, out of it."

"The media."

"The tabloids."

Her mouth tightened. "Of course."

"I directed them to the Starfleet media liaison."

"Thanks." She sighed. "Did I make a complete fool of myself at the funeral? I, uh, can't remember..."

"You were fine. You spoke well. Nothing was inappropriate. You were just a little dazed." Near-catatonic, by the end. "You know the tabloid netfeeds, Kathryn. Nothing would please them more than seeing you throw yourself on Chakotay's grave."

"Of course."

"This isn't new, Kathryn."

"I know." She stood and recycled her coffee. "Is Seven okay?"

"Withdrawn."

"Oh. I remember now."

"Of course."

"I'll miss him."

"I know."

"He was always a good friend to me."

"I know."

I know many things about Chakotay and my wife. I know that he loved her, once. That she came to love him, that nothing happened. That he loved Seven as deeply as he came to hate Kathryn, and that he never forgave me for making Kathryn happy.

I don't know if Kathryn ever got over him. *She* believes so, or at least, she did before. I don't know what she believes right now; I can't see what she's thinking.

I think ... I think that I'm glad he's dead. I'm not proud of that. Just relieved that he's gone. He was never a rival, not really. He loved Seven too much for that. But he was manipulative. Subtle. Cruel.

Maybe he was never even aware of it.

Maybe he truly believed that he cared for Kathryn.

Maybe he didn't.

Kathryn slipped her arms around my waist. I kissed the top of her head.

"I'll miss him so much," she said softly.

"Yes," I lied, "so will I."

 
end

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