AND IF THE WHILE I THINK ON THEE
Veronica Jane Williams
Summary: Chakotay muses on the direction his life has taken.
Rating: G
Disclaimer - Paramount is Chief.
NOTE:This story (or Chakotay's musing) is told with apology to Shakeapeare and his truly wonderful Sonnet 30 (When to the sessions of sweet silent thought).
In memory of Vernon Dennis Hoffman.
AND IF THE WHILE I THINK ON THEE
Believe me, I would not have it differently. If I could live my life over, I would have each event, each incident, however blissful or sad, placed exactly where I experienced them. When one subscribes to that now rare group of people who believe that one’s destiny is closely interwoven with one’s experiences, then I must say hurriedly that I believed - and still believe - that my life would not have been enriched in the way that it had been.
Some would say that I must be out of my mind. Why would a person of supposed sound mind and body, want to relive old pains, forgotten traumas and the tragedy of loss? Why experience those incidents which some would declare, were the things they regretted about their lives?
Perhaps it is a matter of perspective, the way two individuals would look at the very same cloud, or painting, or sculpture, and perceive it entirely differently.
I'm certain there must be persons who would, if they were able to, excise every bad and traumatic thing that ever happened in their lives. Then again there would be others who would say:
"We must experience the good with the bad. They all shape our beings, determine the direction we move into, and the way we come to terms with the events in our lives that we'd rather not have experienced, depended largely on how strong or weak we are. Often, we blame our fates on things that happened that was beyond our control."
I would side with the latter in a second.
The most amazing thing about a timeline is the impact of one event upon another; disturb only one minute or one single, seemingly unimportant incident, and history would be different, changed. Whole generations of families could be wiped out if a single event is changed in the past that will affect the chain of events thereafter.
Say I’m philosophical. It’s me, just being my old, spiritual self, looking at those things in my life that determined where I am today, what I am today and, strangely too, why I am today.
I find infinite pleasure lying on my bed late at night in total darkness, and allow myself these periods on introspection and reflection. It affords me my own time out, when I can relax and think things. Others find the oddest places to do their intercession or their quiet moments or sessions of "silent thought."
I know Tom sometimes wander off in the Delta Flyer. Now there's a man not normally given to moments of serious reflection, but I know how each person sometimes just has this need to be alone.
Kathryn...
Well, Kathryn lies in her tub, eyes closed. That's how I used to watch her on New Earth. There would be an expression of sublime peace on her face, scrubbed to a healthy shine only minutes before. She would lie there, the water gone cold, but one arm would be hanging down the side of the tub, her fingers loose and relaxed. I found infinite enjoyment just knowing that she was at peace.
Our paths had, with all the goods and bads that marked and dotted the milestones, with all the pleasures and pains that walked with us along the way, converged. Too many times, lying here in the darkness, I wondered though.
Had I not joined the Maquis, Kathryn Janeway would, in a manner of speaking, been history. Would she have impacted on my life in the way that she did? Would I want to relive my life and change anything? If Kathryn Janeway happened in it the way she did, I would not change a thing.
"How do you know my name," I blurted, surprised and a little angry that she had the advantage over me. She knew me, yet she saw me that day for the first time. I saw her for the first time. I didn't know her. Perhaps, somewhere at the back of my mind, I knew of her. But that is vague and unimportant, now.
"Commander Chakotay, I'm Kathryn Janeway."
That was where out paths converged.
My destiny was sealed. From that day my life’s path became hers, and hers became mine.
I had been an angry man then. Most of the time even now, thinking about past hurts and pain, I am angry. I feel bereft at those I lost, and at what I sacrificed and lost.
It was just enough, for those who cared to look, when we received messages from home, that I tell B’Elanna about the fate of the Maquis.
Kathryn asked me once, weeks later, why certain items of furniture in my cabin were broken. Could I tell her a hurricane entered and left? Indeed it did. I expended my anger, my pain and loss that night in my quarters where no one could see my tears, my fury, my pain. Not even Kathryn. I wanted to beak everything.
"I wasn’t there! I wasn't with them!" I cried.
In moments of solitude, I often think back to events in which I lost my family, my friends, getting to know a person well, and the next moment that person is either gone, or dead.
When Kathryn had that near death experience, I wanted to die. Here was my friend, my best friend, whom I loved dearly, lying in my arms, dead. A friend whose pleasant and easy-going company I enjoyed so much I was dizzy with great pleasure. A friend who, for the first time in months, relaxed and enjoyed being in my company.
Only the mute skies, the silent clouds and the quiet streams heard my anguished cries of that night, my desperate pleas that Kathryn breathe to keep alive.
Why these intensely painful memories hit me when I have these quiet moments, I can say must be some form of self-punishment. Somehow, and especially in the last few years, pain and bliss go hand in hand when I give in to my memories of Kathryn.
Kathryn...
Kathryn could lift me so high one moment that I imagine I should never want to come down, and the next moment she plunges me deeply into the great depth of despondency. One moment my heart could burst with joy, and the next break into a thousand pieces. Hard to believe isn't it? That one person, tiny, smart, clever, beautiful, strong, could have the power at once to make me and break me...
Hot and Cold. Far and near. Fire and ice.
For six years I vacillated between these extremes of emotions, For six years Kathryn Janeway wore me down. How much of the fool was I to let it linger so long to the point where I finally gave up on her?
"I’m captain, Chakotay," she would say, not looking me in the eye, evading a hundred and one issues, refusing to acknowledge the most simple and basic need: to be needed.
"It’s all I can offer..."
"It’s not enough..."
"It’s up to you, Chakotay."
"You wear me down, Kathryn."
Ask me about fighting Klingons on the holodeck, or beating up Holo-Cardassians. Ask me about cold showers and long treks alone in a type 4 shuttle. Ask me about broken skin on my knuckles as I beat it against the bulkhead while screaming at the streaking stars. My frustrations find their outlet there. All Kathryn could ever see, was my... acquiescence.
My loneliness is my own, it’s of my own making. So is Kathryn’s. It’s the choices we have. My choice is to join my life with her, hers is to keep me at arm’s length.
Ask me how many times I just wanted to hold her in my arms and soothe away her troubles. Ask me how often I was impotent with rage when she rejected those offers for fear of showing any weakness. Ask me how many times I wanted her to say to me, just once, admit and say it:
"I can’t live a day without you, Chakotay."
Yes, they are painful reminders that life, and the way we want to live it, does not always comply to our demands. It tells us:
"Hey, Chakotay, here, in this Quadrant, on this ship, I am Life, and I am in control. I deal the cards around here."
Then I have to say that I have been dealt some cruel cards, and bad deals.
I should be sitting, according to Kathryn, in the proverbial sack cloth and ashes the way I mourn and wail and complain about my rough deals.
When we get back to the Alpha Quadrant - if we get back - what is there for me? All I had, I have lost. No home colony, no friends, no family.
Who am I?
Maquis renegade who dared to fall in love and rue the day he set eyes on Kathryn Janeway.
I guess if I were offered one latinum bar for every bad memory I entertained and allowed to make me miserable, I’d be a rich man.
"You should embrace life, Commander," Neelix, that ever ebullient little man who tries so hard to boost our morale, would say often.
"What life? The one where I got tortured by Cardies from whom I mercifully escaped? Or is it the one where I read a message and learned that every friend I had and knew, is dead or rotting in jail? Is it the one where Kathryn Janeway tells me: "There is no us, Chakotay? Or would it be the one where I beg Kathryn in hopeless supplication to relax and accept me as an indispensable part of her life? Would it be the one where Kathryn died, and left a great hole where my heart is? Well, she did recover at the time, but a living Kathryn Janeway who might as well be dead for all the affection and love I know she is capable of giving, and denies herself and me?
What life?
I lie here in my bed, and the soft, gentle thrum of the ship’s engines lull me into a state of "sweet silent thought". I have wailed and bemoaned my unhappiness, the pain of loss of dear departed, yet...
Yet, in the same breath, the same way that Kathryn Janeway lay at the source of my greatest pain, she is also my raison d’être. Strange as it may seem, but when I have these sweet memories of her, my heart leaps with joy, and I experience a great sense of peace, not emptiness.
These are those instances, those seemingly insignificant little things that I recall when I think of Kathryn. They are the blessed blessings of recollections.
"How do you know my name?"
I fell in love with her.
"Now, I can’t imagine a day without you."
I fell in love with her.
A hand resting comfortingly on my shoulder when I lay in sickbay in a coma, I remember. A small, soft, warm, blessedly reassuring hand.
I fell in love with her.
"Was that really a legend?"
I fell in love with her.
My heart had wanted to burst then as her eyes filled with that sheen of tears. No, she did not cry, but I knew she was overcome.
She had raised her hand to mine, and if ever there was a time that Kathryn Janeway did something so spontaneous, so completely natural without thinking of consequences, it was when she laced her fingers through mine.
Her trust in me was final in those moments.
These are the recollections, the small things in my treasure chest of beautiful memories that wipe out every heartache, every pain, every sorrow, that they vanish like mist before the sun. When I think of those little moments, they shine in my own firmament like bright jewels, to be taken and tasted and touched and loved.
These are the memories that I cosset, and every time I feel I want to drown in the Slough of despond - if one could drown there - I think of a touch, a look, a gesture, a smile, a kind word. Then my world has righted itself on its axis.
I shift to lie more comfortably, and I can feel the sleep bearing down on me. I feel fulfilled, and prepare for a peaceful rest. There is a stirring next to me, a hand that reaches for my chest, a face that nuzzles in my neck, a deep sigh of contentment.
"Kathryn..."
"I love you, Chakotay..."
"I know, love. I was thinking of you..."
"Yes..." she murmurs sleepily against my neck.
"And if the while I think on thee, dear friend - "
Kathryn completes the line:
"All losses are restored and sorrows end."
END
********
"And if the while I think on thee, dear friend
All losses are restored and sorrows end."
[Sonnet 30 - Shakespeare]