Author: Trek_in_Tandem
Disclaimer: Paramount started it. We’re just the cleanup crew.
Summary: Post-Endgame. Janeway involves herself in someone’s conflict. This time there’s no one there to remind them that “She’s the captain.”
A response to Nostalgia_lj's 21-word fic challenge grown too big for its britches
The Captain
It didn't hit me until the first time someone wanted to know who the hell I thought I was and no one spoke up for me. I'm not The Captain anymore.
Maybe not, but I still have her attitude. I went home with abrasions on the knuckles of both hands and three broken ribs that night. The fact I walked away means the unfortunates who reminded me probably took away more costly souvenirs.
The bruise on the side of my hand, the broken heel on my boot, my knuckles--all indicate they would have fared better if I had been the captain. If I'd been armed. A phaser stun is easier to recover from than hand-to-hand combat with someone with Starfleet advanced tactical training. I'm not the captain anymore, but my training didn't come off with the uniform.
The captain would have stunned them and beamed back to the ship to file a report. By the book. Perfectly proper.
I'm not held in check by Starfleet protocol anymore. The skin under my nails and the taste of someone else's blood in my mouth prove it. I'm glad I wasn't armed.
If I had been, I would have walked away with my ribs intact. I won't do more injury than is justifiable. I'm not the captain, but I still have her sense of right and wrong. I would have walked away seething with rage, methodically folding it up at the edges and sealing it away somewhere safe.
I'm not the captain anymore, but I haven't changed that much. Still got that righteous Federation anger over wrongs done; the lioness' temper; the wrath over losing my charges, my ship and crew; the will to fight with tooth and nail when necessary. What I'm lacking is any good reason to channel my aggression and violence into a prudent course of action. No need to be diplomatic and coolly plot and scheme. No need to calmly decide, on the fly, to do something rash. No need to rescue my crew with phasers hot. After all, their removal from my care was by the book, all perfectly proper and per regulation.
I'm a free agent. A civilian with an attitude sized to command a starship and crew of hundreds, advanced tactical training, and an impotent, mounting fury.
I'm not the captain, anymore, but it's hard to be convincing as anyone else.
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