Archive of Our Own

We both care for the living. Fight for their survival, sometimes almost on a daily basis. Our ways may be different, but not our intentions.

What sets us apart are the dead.

It’s not that I don’t care. I grieve. And sometimes I am angry. But then I let go. Ironically it was you who taught me. It was you who stayed with me in the darkest moments of my photonic life and helped me to recover from an undecidable decision I made. La Vita Nuova.

As I’ve said. You care for the living. Photonic. Organic. You don’t care how life manifests itself.

But then … you, you die with them. Each time one of your crew departs this life, a part of you leaves too. It is nothing I can assess with any medical tricorder. How can you measure a sparkle in one’s eye losing its intensity?

I know you think their death is your fault. Your responsibility. And with each loss you fight a little more. Distance yourself a little more from any diversion which might endanger your aim to get your crew home. In your denial you forget that your soul needs something that is worth living for. For you alone. Not for your crew. Needless to say, I’ve never been able to convince you. You just smile your crooked smile and tell me that I am a doctor, not a counselor.

Never a truer word been spoken. Voyager has no counselor. At least no official one.

When you came home from Quarra, your mind still tampered and confused, your eyes shining and sparkling, and your heart full of love towards a stranger, your best friend’s eyes gradually lost their hope. I say your best friend, although I know things are more than that between you both.

Sickbay reveals the truth. Sooner or later, especially in times when the lines between life and death are blurred.

How many hours have you both spend in sickbay, holding and caressing the lifeless hand of the other, whispering words of love for no one intended to hear, hoping that death can be cheated once more? It’s not for me to judge, why you never entered an intimate relationship. Surely you both fear that it may not work, that it may cloud your judgment and jeopardize the lives of the crew you both have sworn to protect.

You are right. I think your fear is a real one. Our lives might be at stake if your personal life clashes with your professional one and you start making the wrong decisions. We are on our own out here.

No back up.

No safety net.

But you are utterly wrong too. Your friendship, your unspoken love, is almost the only remaining comfort you both have. What keeps you sane.

What keeps Voyager alive.

You two, you simply carry the load. Every day. And with a high probability, for every day to come. If you want to or not, doesn’t matter. Neither of you complains.




If we were in the Alpha Quadrant things would be different and you both would regularly attend counseling sessions on board or debriefings at Star Fleet’s headquarters. No one is supposed to carry that burden all alone.

It’s not healthy.

But as I’ve said before – alone in this godforsaken quadrant and with no counselor on board, the rules are different and the other remains the only one to lean on, to trust with personal matters. Some things simply need to stay unspoken below the level of command. It comes with the position.

As captain you can’t tell the crew that you are afraid to fail, to cause more deaths on your way to get home. That you cry yourself to sleep because your guilt stranding us in this quadrant still haunts you. That you prefer chronic insomnia to reliving the nightmares of your days during the nights. And your first officer can’t tell them that bearing Voyager’s emotional secrets as unofficial counselor together with his own sorrows almost weighs him down. So he continues listening. Boxes during his sleepless nights on the holodeck almost until physical exhaustion, desperately trying to deal with his emotions, your emotions, the emotions of the crew.

It’s in these dark nights when I meet one of you in sickbay, when you ask for the little help I can offer to heal the small wounds you let me see. A sedative. A pain killer. A dermal regenerator. Sometimes you allow me to catch a glimpse of your sorrows.

Voyager’s survival is at high cost.

I watch you both silently dying in front of me. Subtle and in degrees.

The medical data bank offers multiple names for this. Depression. Post-traumatic stress response. Just to name two. It doesn’t matter how it is called. Quietly and agonizingly slowly you both succumb to the unrelenting burden, gradually mutating into shadows of your former selves.

My hands are tied.

Of course, my program might be easily extended with a counselor subroutine. One of the many benefits being a hologram. But that is not what you want, what you need.

Simply because I am with you in the Delta Quadrant and a member of your crew.

A safety net needs to come from the outside.




After Quarra things change for the worse.

As you regain your memories the sparkling in your eyes vanishes, only to be exchanged by sadness when you realize you’ve hurt the man you love. Is it then, when he starts doubting your love, when you both gradually cease to seek comfort in each other?

I don’t know. Serious changes often wear a subtle coat.

At Joe Carey’s death I finally see how severe things have become. And it would have remained unnoticed by everyone, if it hadn’t been for the ritual which in part I am allowed to witness. A ritual you’ve established over the years together as a command team to cope with the loss of a crew member and with the bitter accompanying guilt. After visiting the crewman’s quarters, you would come to see the mortal remains in sickbay. Usually holding or touching each other for support, one of you would whisper words of thanks and regrets, mingled with quiet tears. Tears, which you aren’t allowed to show when the farewell with the crew comes later. I’ve never asked what you do, when you leave sickbay together, but I could see over the years that it is important for you both and strengthens your bond.

But this time, it is different. Although you are visiting Joe Carey’s corpse together, you don’t touch. For the first time, you both remain on your own. And when Chakotay quits sickbay without you, you just keep staring at Joe’s body.

The next day on your annual physical, you are not yourself again. Even forget our usual banter. You just remain silent.

It is then, when I decide to act. Circumstances leave me no choice.

It's a matter of your life.

Our lives.

Two crew members are having a medical problem and I need a second opinion from a specialist on how to proceed.

That's how I address the issue to you.

When you hear my request, you are immediately concerned. I’ve never asked for something like this and it’s only natural that you assume the matter to be serious. Unsurprisingly, it is easy to get your permission to consult a Star Fleet specialist via the communication array as long as it is needed. Somehow managing to hide behind doctor-patient confidentiality, I carefully evade your questions.

You are already engrossed in your PADDs when I leave the room and I wonder if this piece of information will add to your insomnia.

Having made sure that I am alone in Astrometrics, I anxiously wait for the face appearing on the viewscreen and am finally thoroughly relieved that it is her Star Fleet has designated to attend to this problem. Enterprise's counselor, a counselor experienced in long term deep space missions within a closed community and used to artificial intelligence.

We have eleven minutes per day.

No time for foreplay or exchange of niceties. I immediately start with the main points of your and Chakotay’s emotional well-being, the constant pressure you both are in, the traumata you’ve experienced and the serious signs of distress you are more and more showing.

She is a patient listener, only interrupts me now and then. Having no time to beat around the bush, I eventually indicate that you and Chakotay have feelings for each other, but don't act on them.

I am completely unprepared for the flood of swearwords that follow this announcement, proving a profound knowledge of Klingonese. Literally jumping from her chair, she leaves the viewscreen and returns a few moments later, armed with a bowl of chocolate ice cream and a big spoon. The contentment and relaxation shown when she puts the spoon in her mouth upside down reminds me a little of you when you lose yourself in the scent and taste of coffee.

“Doctor, you do realize that the problems your commanding officers are in are the ingredients for a potential catastrophe?”

I swallow. There is a huge difference between presuming something and having it confirmed from a professional. I straighten my shoulders. “Yes I know. That's why I am asking for your help.”

“I assume neither the Captain nor the Commander have been informed about the precise nature of our talk?

“I only indicated that I have to consult a specialist to cure two crew members.”

She rubs her temples.

“You'd better leave it at that for the moment.”

I merely nod.

The next few meetings it still is on me to talk about Voyager’s situation and I make sure she is getting all medical files and information she needs. I have to admit it feels … liberating. Which in itself is disturbing.

Disturbing that I, a hologram, programmed to cope with emergency situations, able to keep a cool head in life and death decisions, feels relief in talking to a *counselor*. Disturbing, because I only have a small part of responsibility compared to that what you and Chakotay are bearing. Maybe it’s then, when I really comprehend the full extent of your sacrifice and suffering.

It goes beyond my understanding how you both were ever able to stay sane in this quadrant. One hundred and fifty lives.

No safety net.

The burden of command and its sharp edge of loneliness.

Words fail me to express the deep respect I am feeling for you and Chakotay at this moment.

This time it’s she who merely nods.



At our sixth meeting she is prepared with a large bowl of mousse au chocolate and I wonder whether this is a good sign or a sign of an emergency, meanwhile knowing that she takes every excuse to ingest chocolate or derivatives thereof. Before she starts speaking, she digs with her spoon deep into the bowl and shovels an enormous bulk of mousse into her mouth.

“Sex does not undermine command structure.” She finally states triumphantly.

I must look like a hologram removed of its personality routines. Blank. “It does not?”

“No, Doctor. Not really. Or Kirk’s command structure would have been ruined after only two months of space travelling.”

She looks at me expectantly with bright eyes. Unsure where she is leading with this declaration I only manage to say “Aha,” and immediately comprehend at her reaction that I have failed the test.

Sighing, she picks up another spoon of mousse, scrutinizing it carefully as if it contains the deeper meaning of the universe. “I’ve always been of the opinion that the greatest strength is often the greatest weakness. So what is the strength of this command team? What makes this command team special? What's their resource, from where do they draw the strength to carry on?”

“The shared aim to get the crew home?”

“For most Maquis reaching the Alpha Quadrant is certainly an ambivalent issue and I am sure that holds also true for Chakotay.  No. The resource of this command relationship stems from somewhere else.”

“Their friendship.”

“Yes, in my opinion the strength lies in their deep friendship. Their loyalty and trust for each other. And now we are coming to the point, their love for each other. If they were not in any command chain, this friendship would most probably have followed the natural course and would have evolved into an intimate relationship.

“And here, Doctor” she points with the spoon towards the screen, “here lies the weakness. A weakness that only exists, because this relationship is not allowed to evolve. A weakness which slowly undermines their source of strength. Captain and First officer. Protocols.”

I sigh in frustration. Protocols. Again. I somehow feel like chasing my own tail. If I had one. “I agree Counselor. But protocols are here to ensure that people and especially the Captain don't get involved with subordinates in order to allow objective judgments in critical situations. It would be dangerous when personal matters or struggles interfere with decisions. And what if the personal relationship doesn't work? They don't have the opportunity to change vessels.”

Obviously this was the answer she’d expected and her smile broadens.

“Doctor, this particular command team relationship has been working for almost *seven* years! And Voyager is still intact despite a CO and XO going through tough times, including at the personal level. On the contrary. It is more likely, that Voyager is still intact, *because* the command team shares this extraordinary strong bond. With merely the physical aspect lacking in their relationship …”

She pauses, thinking, taking another spoon of mousse au chocolate. “As I have said before. Sex and sexual attraction alone does not endanger command structure. Not really. For us humanoids, sexuality is omnipresent and we have had to evolve certain strategies to deal with it and not to act on every impulse. No. The real problem lays elsewhere. The objectivity of the command chain is indeed heavily endangered when sexual attraction transmutes into love.”

Again unsure where she is heading, I just nod. Placing her spoon besides her bowl, she gives me a pointed look.

“So, from this point of view, a deep emotional attachment is ultimately more dangerous to the integrity of a command structure than mere sexual involvement. Since Voyager’s command team has long overstepped this line, has been in love with each other for years and the command chain is obviously still intact, protocols are - in their case - completely obsolete and can be airlocked, so to speak.”

Propping her elbows on the table, she rests her head on her entwined fingers and continues with a triumphant grin. “So, Doctor, the solution to strengthen Voyager’s command team again should be comparably simple. Don't you think?”

She beams at me, and I can't help beaming back. I have never met anyone screwing with the protocols like she just did. But I have to admit, her line of argument is very contenting. What's more, she is the one authorized by Star Fleet to make decisions and her opinion counts.

I feel like singing.

Loud.

I feel like hiding as reality sneaks in a day later.

The PADD in my hand with Star Fleet’s orders weighs tons, almost dragging my arm to the floor. I know in reality it doesn’t. But it certainly feels like that.

Have I overstepped the line?

As doctor, partially.

I have to consider not only your physical and emotional health, but also the survival of the crew. And you, actually the command team, are paramount for the survival of the crew.

Have I overstepped the line as a friend?

I don’t know. Most probably I have. What I fear most is the loss of your friendship. But what is the alternative? Watching you die a slow and agonizing death in front of me? If saving you means losing you as a friend, then so be it.

Taking my seat in the briefing room, I wait for my turn to talk, every photon in my body sizzling although I know that outwardly I appear calm as usual. From your casual side glances towards me I can see you already smell a rat. How do you do that? I suddenly feel very anxious for my program.

When it is my turn to report on ship business, I hesitate and curse myself. I haven’t even thought how to address this.

“Captain. As we have discussed, I have consulted a Star Fleet specialist. These are the orders concerning a special mission.”

You frown.

I just hand you the PADD, inwardly swearing for my lack of eloquent words.

Mission. Worst choice of word ever.

Obviously it doesn't help in such a situation to have one's program based on a gigantic databank including literature and opera. Maybe out of self-defence, I follow your eye movements to extrapolate which part you are currently reading and, admittedly, I did not expect you to be so controlled when the PADD’s content unfolds about your life.

On seeing your name displayed in the Star Fleet medical file, you merely cock an eyebrow.

Your body stiffens slightly when you come to the part with Star Fleet’s orders that you and your first officer have to attend an alternating counseling session every second week via the communication array.

You lean back in your chair, paling a little, when you read counselor Troi’s assessment of your emotional status, indicating that to stay emotionally healthy you should socialize more with the crew, including the order to enter an intimate relationship if there is an appropriate candidate fulfilling this request.

At this point you pause and close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose with a slightly trembling hand. You breathe a few slow breaths to calm yourself. When you open your eyes again, seeking mine, they are slightly misty.

I nod.

You continue reading and suddenly cover your lips with your hand when you read the personal comment from Admiral Owen Paris that he expects you to choose him to perform the bonding ceremony between yourself and Chakotay.

Deactivating the PADD you rise slowly from your seat and walk towards the window, staring at the passing stars, oblivious of your senior staff's anxious looks at you.

“It is your decision, Captain.” I finally say after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Slowly turning, you eye me closely, your hands enfolding the PADD as if to shelter it. It takes a while before you answer.

“It’s not for me to decide alone.” You say into the quietness of the room.

“Then you’ve made already the first decision.” I answer, holding your gaze.

You swallow.

“I guess I have.”

You hide it well, your distress. I can see in your eyes that you are scared to the core, but you are a brave one. Always have been and I know you’re going to face it.

Returning to the table, you slip into your seat and slowly shove the PADD towards your first officer, a scratching noise following your movement. He knows you well enough to know something important is going to happen. And he is wise enough to feel scared, if something is scaring even you.

But he too is a brave one. You both are. Voyager wouldn’t have survived, if you weren’t. His hand reaches for the PADD, both of you touching it for a short time together and as your eyes lock, you finally let the PADD go.

“It might be a dangerous mission, Commander.”

“It is not the first time I’ve been on a dangerous mission, *Captain*.” He counters with barely suppressed anger in his voice. You almost laugh and your body considerably relaxes. Leaning back in your chair, you grin at him mischievously. I am startled. How can you already know that things are going to be fine?

“This *mission*, Chakotay, is a bit different from what you’ve experienced so far. And your team mate is renowned for being difficult and having a knack for trouble. It’s your decision, if you want to join the team or not.”

Reclining in his chair, he activates the PADD and starts to read, only to look up again after he has seen your name in the Star Fleet medical file.

“Read on, Chakotay.” You say softly and he hesitantly continues. And suddenly gasps. Looks up to you again.

This time longer.

Intenser.

Your features have softened and you smile at him almost shyly. “Read on.”

The silence in the briefing room is now palpable as he takes up reading again. Finally finishing after what feels like an eternity, he carefully places the PADD on the table and runs his fingers through his hair. Exhales a slow breath.

Studies your face quietly, seriously.

Both of you are composed.

“I assume my *team mate* has already agreed.”

“You assume correct, Commander.”

“And this is going to be a long term mission.”

“Hopefully.”

“Additional team members?”

“If you are not afraid to build them up from the start … I would say, it is definitely an option, yes.”

“It will require a lot of practicing, Captain.”

“Of course it will. But I warn you. The physical work load might be shattering, Commander.”

“That is to be expected under such circumstances. I think I can handle this.”

“I am happy to hear. So, are you going to join?”

“Yes, of course I am. You won’t expect me to decline the chance of a life time.”

“No I won’t, Commander. Neither will I.”

You stand up, full in command mode, confident, powerful. “Tuvok, you’ll be in command for the next twenty four hours. Chakotay and I will have to discuss matters … in more depth and have a closer look at mission details. No disturbance unless there is red alert. Commander.”

The puzzled faces of your senior staff when you both leave the room together, arm in arm and with sparkling eyes, are definitely worth a sight. I really regret that I’ve forgotten to take my holoimager with me and cannot preserve this historical moment for the generations to come.

“What the hell was that?” Lieutenant Torres is the first to break the silence and she shoots me a provocative glance. As if *I* would tell anyone confidential information. Before I even have the chance to answer, Paris interrupts me with a smug grin on his face.

“I don’t know B’E, but as acting First Officer I should find out.”

Thank to my subroutines I am faster than him and leap across the table to secure the PADD. I have, however, not considered Tuvok.

“Doctor.”

“Mr. Tuvok.”

“Hand me the PADD.”

“This is not …”

“As you have pointed out earlier, these are Star Fleet orders and currently I am in command of this vessel.” He raises his eyebrows.

I raise mine too.

Tuvok raises his even higher.

I give up. Keeping it a secret is somewhat unnecessary. I know you will inform the crew soon anyway. Sighing, I hand him the PADD.

He starts to read. If possible, the eyebrows rise even higher. I cross my arms on my chest.

“I see.” He says after a while, gravely. But to me he looks almost … relieved? I shudder when our eyes meet and I see the truth in them. He too had helplessly watched you dying. Vulcans cherish life above all else.

“Doctor, you concur that this mission requires a lot of practicing?”

“It certainly does, Mr. Tuvok.”

“Then we both agree. I think you should inform the Captain and the Commander that for reasons of security they should expand the initial training routine to two weeks at least. I will remain in command for this period of time.”

“Acknowledged.”

It is pretty hard to control my subroutines and not to break into a ridiculously wide smile or beaming truimphantly towards Tom Paris.

After all, I am Voyager’s EMH. I have to show some decorum.

*Especially* towards Tom Paris.

While leaving the briefing room, I can’t help wondering when another new life is going to manifest itself on the starship Voyager.