Disclaimer: Paramount owns them. I'm playing with them.
By Mindy
I suppose you could say it was something out of a fairy tale. You know-dashing prince, unhappy woman. They meet, go through a multitude of challenges, fall in love and live happily ever after. That would be fine.
If there truly was a "happily ever after".
Mom told me that not all stories are like that. She told me she had met dad at the Academy. Their careers were similar. Mom said they had been trying to start a family, but hadn't had much luck. Then mom left on what was supposed to be a three week mission. Dad was still at Deep Space Nine. Mom was here.
Here is where I was born. Mom told me she didn't know how to tell the captain she was pregnant with me. She said what made up her mind was this group of space dwelling organisms that thought that the ship was one of them. Mom was cautious. She told me that once she found out about me, she wasn't about to let me go.
And here we are, seventeen years later. I'm supposed to be writing this for my class. However, it's hard to write under pressure. I don't know where this will end up, how it will go, so I guess I'll start at the beginning.
**
I'm told it started long before I was even born. Mom said she'd seen the attraction long before it was acknowledged. She said it was natural, something that was delicate and wondrous; something that kept growing. Mom said it was classic; definitely the stuff fairy tales and romance was made of.
She, was the captain. A timeless beauty or classic, as mom calls it. I remember when I was little, how larger then life she seemed. Someone who commanded authority with a steely gaze and a learned tongue. I remember how she always would smile at me, say hello and ask how I was. I would say fine and ask her if there was anything I could do for her. I was bound and determined to be her assistant. High goals; I would go through the ranks, making great discoveries, cataloguing the Delta Quadrant. By the time we got home, I would be "Captain Wildman".
But for now, she was the captain. Still is. Listen to me, sounding like she's dead or something. Maybe in a way she is, but I'll get to later. Her eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue. They sparkle all the time. Except when she isn't well-then they are dull and lifeless.
He, is her first officer. The dashing prince. I've always found him to be fascinating. He tells the best stories and there is always some message in them. Sometimes, the message is obvious; others, you have to think. Those are the ones I like the most. Where you have to think. Chakotay has always been dashing. He'd watch me sometimes when I was little. The epitome of 'tall, dark, and handsome'. Mom said she couldn't figure out why it took the captain so long to come to her senses.
As I got older, I saw it more and more. The way they would look at each other, as if no one else in the world existed. How he'd say something and the corner of her mouth would quirk up. How her eyes took on the 'dreamy' look when he smiled at her, showing his dimples. It was fun just to watch them.
When I was about ten, people started talking more about them. I'd pick up snatches of conversations, which would still when the two of them walked into a room. Whereas they wouldn't touch much in the presence of others, now they openly did. Hand in hand, palm to palm, fingers entwined. Their arms always touching. That was the most I saw for a long time. Just holding hands. Like the way Seven sometimes took mine when I was little.
I asked mom why people shut up when they entered a room.
"When you're older, Naomi, when you're older," she'd reply.
Older sometimes doesn't come fast enough.
**
I was ten when I fully understood the full impact of "them". "They" had a fight. "She'd" thrown him out of their quarters. "He'd" said she was unreasonable. It was always a unit. And boy, could you tell when all was not happy on the command front. Mom said it was sometimes sad to watch. One bad argument and they'd turn their bodies from each other in their chairs. She'd go off into her ready room for an entire shift.
Everyone hated it when they fought. Everyone loved it when they got along. I remember the first time I witnessed a portion of that relationship.
Seven had given me some charts to take to Harry. She'd asked me since Harry's quarters were near ours. I remember, walking, not paying much attention to what was going on around me. I was deeply engrossed in Seven's report. Her work fascinated me. I sometimes forgot how afraid of her I'd been, that she'd take me into her collective. Well, I got on the turbo lift and muttered my destination. Clearly, the computer didn't recognize my orders and it deposited me on the wrong deck. Me, being engrossed, got out, not realizing until I was halfway around the deck.
"These aren't Harry's quarters," I'd said under my breath. I figured since I would end up at my original starting place, I'd just go ahead and continue walking around. That's the first time I saw them.
Kathryn Janeway was leaning against the bulkhead of by her door. She had her arms crossed under her bosom and she had her head tilted to the side, as if listening to something or daring someone to do something. I watched from the around a corner. She shook her head and smirked.
"I dare you," I could hear a male voice say. I knew who it was. You don't live on a ship with the same people for almost eleven years and not know some people. His voice is just as unique as he is.
"Oh, you do, do you?" she said. I knew the tone of voice. Playful, full of laughter.
"You won't do it. I know you won't," Chakotay said. I could see him now. Half of him, leaning against the opposite side of the door. I could tell he had his arms crossed over his chest-mimicking the captain.
She sauntered over to him, stopping mere inches from him. With one fluid motion, she had snaked an arm up and around his neck and had pulled his face down to hers. I had seen some pretty intense kisses in my time, but nothing like that. I could feel the electricity. I saw, for the first time in my life, a passion that was just like in stories. Her hands roamed over him, his over her.
That's when I knew.
When I thought there would be a happily ever after.
**
As the years went by, I attended many weddings on the ship. One was the captain and commanders. I was twelve when they married. Too old for toys and too young for everything else. I think it was then that I started wondering about life beyond Voyager. What was going on? What was 'home' like? I was changing and sometimes didn't notice what was happening around me.
Kathryn and Chakotay were one. There was always a look on a their face when they saw the smaller crew members walking around. Mom had said that Chakotay would make a wonderful father. I used to think of all the different ways a child of their's would turn out. The possiblities.
I suppose what no one knew was that they were having trouble. Mom had commented a few times that there had to be something wrong. A class in sickbay one day revealed to me that it was far more serious. Kathryn had an abnormality in her uterus that kept her from conceiving. Doc told her if she just get pregnant, she'd have no problems. But it wasn't happening.
So much for happily ever after. So I thought.
**
Mom told me excitedly one day that the captain had announced her impending motherhood. I was so happy for her. I was thirteen and had begun working on a cadet level on the bridge. Kathryn smiled all the time. So did Chakotay.
Yet it was only the early days that it happened.
When Kathryn was around three months pregnant, she became sick-very sick. The sorrow on board the ship was palpable. When Chakotay was on the bridge, there was something missing from him, like the other side of his soul. His mind certainly wasn't on his job; it was on her.
Kathryn spent a majority of her time between her quarters and sickbay. We rarely saw her beyond that; the mess hall, the holodeck's-they were empty without her presence. She just couldn't take it. Her energy was non existent and mother had said that she spent a majority of her time sleeping.
I would make an effort to go and talk to her. I found her to be easy to talk to and always willing to lend a hand here and there. That's what I liked about Kathryn Janeway. But deep down, I knew she was in a constant state of worry-she worried about her ship, she worried about the crew, she worried about Chakotay, she worried about her baby. It couldn't be good for her.
But what happened five months into her pregnancy almost destroyed her.
**
Doc said nothing could have been done. She had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. We had been attacked. As a captain, she would be beamed immediately to the most safe part of the ship. In this case, it would have been sickbay. But one of the hits we took, took out the transporter. Mom said Kathryn had to go the old fashioned way. She was so close.
But one of the torpedo's that hit us was embedded in our side. Kathryn realized it too late; the invisible gas and the heat. When they found her, she was barely alive. I remember sitting in the sickbay, keeping the little ones content, helping as much as I could. Doc came in with her limp form in his arms. Her hair was in disarray, her arms hanging limply toward the floor, her head thrown back.
"Naomi, get me a cortical stimulator," Doc yelled at me.
I fetched the instrument and brought it to him. God, she was more pale, if that is even possible. I went to the other side of the bed as Tom Paris arrived and began to help. I took her hand and held it.
"Get me three cc's of stokaline," Doc said, watching her life signs carefully. Tom just looked at him, dumbfounded. "Lieutenant, I need it now."
I understood at once. As soon as Tom opened his mouth. "Doc, in her condition-"
"If you don't, I'll lose them both."
I stayed with her until the bridge could spare Chakotay. She'd drifted in and out a few times, but it had saved her life. But the problem was that Stokaline sometimes has consequences that aren't apparent until later.
Chakotay walked into sickbay, looking worse for the wear. His eye was nearly swollen shut, a giant cut above his brow. His uniform had burns in it. No doubt, his worry about Kathryn also had some effect on it. Doc was in the other room, Tom had left to help in engineering.
"Commander," I said, getting up and going to help him, "you shouldn't really be up. You need to rest."
"I can rest later. I need to see my wife," Chakotay said.
"Chakotay," I whispered, "she's asleep. Let me treat your injury and then you can go her."
He looked at her and back at me and he smiled. A real smile. One that I loved to see-had since I was a little girl.
"I've never been able to resist girls with spikes on their foreheads. Nor that will stay all night with captain."
I sat him down and began working on him. He sat quietly, letting me work. If you believe that the captain is the stubbornness that runs the ship, then you should see her husband. Doc said he could be just as difficult. When it came to Kathryn, he was impossible.
When I turned in that night, he was at her side. Her hand in his. His head by hers, deep asleep.
**
Four months passed while we anxiously awaited the birth. By the time she went into labor, Kathryn had been ordered to have complete and utter bed rest. She was only allowed up for very short duration's. It killed her; a woman so used to being in control of everything now had to rely on others.
Her labor was long and hard. Over ninety hours. That fierce Janeway determination-she wanted to do it the hard way. Time and again, mom had said, that he suggested fetal transport.
"No," she gasped, "I'll have this baby. Not the transporter!"
Ninety-four hours, twenty-two minutes and some odd seconds later, Zara Rose Janeway came into this world of Voyager. Our home. Weighing in at six pounds and four ounces.
And blind to our world.
**
The combination of radiation and stokaline had done it. Zara was perfect in every other way. Mom said that Kathryn and Chakotay started by blaming each other, then the doctor. Then one day, I stepped into an argument in their quarters.
"How do we cope, Chakotay? Our daughter is blind."
"We learn. We can't change the fate she was dealt," he said back.
"You're both wrong," I said quietly. They turned and looked at me. I knew I had ventured into unknown territory. I went over and picked up three month old Zara. She didn't know who it was for a moment, then she smiled. From the first time I held her, I always tickled her right behind her arm. I was determined she'd know who I was.
"I once read in class that a child that is born blind doesn't know they are blind until someone tells them. They don't know what colors are until you point them out to them. Zara should be no different. Treat her like she's a quote-unquote normal person and she'll adapt."
Zara squealed in my arms as they looked at me. They looked at each other and smiled. I knew then it would be okay. I sat down on their couch and played with Zara. Her dark hair and pale skin made for a striking combination.
But by far, her most fascinating feature was her eyes.
One was cornflower blue. The other was dark brown.
**
Happily ever after? No. Zara, in her short life has learned many different things, found many obstacles. But she is far from 'unable'. I see within her, so much of her parents. Half smiles, dimples. Ear pulling and neck rubbing. She walks with childlike confidence. Soon, Doc will be fixing her eyes, adjusting something called a VISOR into something more appropriate. But never once, have I heard Chakotay or Kathryn tell her she is blind.
"Naomi," I hear. I turn and see her coming out with her doll. One that mom made for her. Her small fingers busily going over the dress. "Do I have her pinafore on right?"
I look at it smile. "It's perfect Zara."
"Can we go to the holodeck. Mommy told me there is a pretty program with a beach on it."
I reach out and take her hand. Soon, she'll be able to see it for herself. But for now, like I've done for five years now, I tell her everything to littlest detail.
"In front of you, is a great big area of water. The sky's color reflects the water and makes it appear blue, but when you capture it in your hands, it's clear. The sun, which is big and round, is slowly sinking along a straight line. The sky, is a mixture of colors."
"Is it pretty?" she asks.
"Very. Can you smell the air?" She nods her little head, her black ponytail bobbing along with her head. "That's called salt air. The ocean tastes like salt. Not like the water you drink at night when your daddy brings you a cup."
"Did someone dump salt into the ocean?"
"I don't know. But it tastes yucky," I guide her.
"This dirt feels funny...grainy like my cereal sometimes is when mommy cooks," I laugh. Kathryn Janeway is known for not being the greatest of cooks.
"That's sand," I told her.
"What's sand? Is it a fancy word for 'mud'?"
I laughed. "No, Zara. Sand is when the wind and especially the ocean, pound rocks for thousands of years." We sat down on one. "Feel this?" she nodded her head again, "thousands of years of from now, this rock will be the sand you walk on."
We sat there. I watched. She listened. Soon, a flock of seagulls passed over us, crying for the end of the day.
They say that we learn all the time. By the eyes of the blind, I've learned to look deeper then I used to. To find the 'why's' and the reasons. Zara, I sometimes think, sees more then me. She has to rely on something beyond her eyes. I have her pulled against me, our hair whipping in our faces. My eyes squint in the bright light of sunset, Zara's are wide open.
Who truly sees more?
"Hear the birds, Naomi? They're crying because they have to go to bed."
Again I ask-who truly sees more?
**finish**