tampered | fear exists for one purpose: to be conquered.

Entry tags:

fear exists for one purpose: to be conquered.

When; August 24th, past midnight
Rating; PG?
Characters; Kathryn Janeway (

directives) & OPEN
Summary; Can't sleep, chilling at Xanadu with tl;dr and coffee.
Log;

She awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed, eyes transfixed on the window and the dark, starless sky beyond it. The still floor the bed rested upon startled her awake, tricking her well trained subconsciousness into thinking that stillness meant something was wrong with Voyager, her hand flying up to tap a combadge that wasn't there. Because she wasn't on her ship, because she didn't deliberately fall asleep in uniform so she could jump out of bed and be able to reach the bridge in under three minutes if needed. There was no inevitable weapons' fire to follow suite at any moment. She wouldn't hear Voyager's bulkheads creaking in protest as phaser fire penetrated their weakening shields and ripped across the hull.

That great, black expanse, though--

How a night too cloudy for stars could send her tumbling back to the start of the year she hailed from and the heavy burned of ~~irrational~~ guilt associated with it would be funny if it weren't so pathetic. Kathryn knew she wasn't looking out at the Void, but that didn't stop the darker parts of her mind from daring to entertain thoughts from when they were forced to travel through it.

It wasn't the first time the stillness woke her. Fourth time this week in fact, with the number resting somewhere in the teens for how many times it managed to jolt her awake at ungodly hours of the night since her arrival. Sometimes, she thought she'd grown too firmly into her captain's shoes that she'd be unable to shake any of the habits she had deeply ingrained into herself over the course of the past five years. It made the thought of returning to Earth and sleeping in a bed planetside, whether it be in Starfleet quarters in San Fransisco or her mother's house in Indiana, somewhat daunting.

Being in the City was forcing her to consider things about going home that she hadn't before, things that would've kept her up were she not already alert. Once she was up, she was up -- at least that managed to stay the same, ship or no ship.

With a jacket pulled over her pajamas and her hair gathered lazily and messily at the back of her head to keep it off her neck, she grabbed a freshly brewed cup of coffee and slipped her feet into a pair of shoes, leaving the confines of the apartment for the darkness of the outside world. (If only to reassure herself that darkness would never touch her again.)

Eventually, she found herself in Xanadu and sat down with her coffee at the nearest picnic table.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

An hour or two had passed before Chakotay woke, full of troubled thoughts of his own. Life in this City was both comforting and disturbing, a combination of a familiar home and an unfamiliar time. It made him miss home even more, miss Voyager's bulkheads and the confines of Earth in the 24th century. He missed the people aboard Voyager and the people lost in both the Alpha and Delta Quadrants, those who had disappeared along with the starship commissioned to capture the Maquis and those who had died in a war they were no longer a part of. In a way, he was grateful they'd all been stranded; it meant they were still alive. It also meant that a great many people had been given the chance to change, to grow into better people, to live better lives, and he definitely counted himself among that number. If he hadn't gotten lost in the Delta Quadrant as a member of Voyager's new combined crew, he never would have found the peace that his heart craved, nor would he ever have come to terms with losing his father and the separation they had endured.

People like B'Elanna would never have learned to calm down and work with others as a team. Seven would never have been rescued from the Borg and as much as he still distrusted her on a deep, instinctual level, he had to admit that she was an integral part of Voyager's crew now. Without her, they wouldn't have an astrometrics lab and Naomi Wildman wouldn't have her best friend. Things would be quite different if none of this had ever happened.

But Chakotay knew Kathryn didn't see it that way. He wished she would and knew someday he would need to tell her as much. Now wasn't the time. Imagining her still fast asleep, he rose and moved into the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. In the middle of doing so, he noticed that Kathryn didn't seem to be around. Were it a more acceptable time of the morning, say 0400 hours, he wouldn't be as nervous about where she might have gone. At that time, he would assume she was on her way to "work," or what passed as a day's work here. But at this hour...

He paused for a moment before deciding to brew a cup of coffee with his tea. Two mugs in hand, he left the apartment and headed outside. It would be a while before he found her and the coffee may well be cold by then, but the sentiment was sincere at least. He approached with caution, offering her the second cup of coffee as a way to judge her mood before he spoke.

"May I join you?"

She does and she doesn't. Logic and rationality tell her that any good captain would've done the same were they in her position. Were it the Enterprise that had been flung into the Delta Quadrant by the Caretaker instead of Voyager, Jean-Luc Picard would've made the same decision. He wouldn't have sacrificed the Ocampa to the Kazon in order to use the array. She knew that. She knew it, and yet on some levels, knowing that didn't matter. Knowing she was in the right insofar as Starfleet protocols and Federation guidelines dictated didn't make her feel any better about the fact that she made that call. She saved many lives that day, but she also condemned the 150~ people aboard her ship to a lifelong journey across uncharted space with the Alpha Quadrant farther away than any of them ever thought possible.

There were so many missed chances, so many lost opportunities. Whether it be the Barzan Wormhole, Q's offer, or the failed slipstream drive, she in some way blamed herself for not being able to make it work, to get them home faster. They'd trimmed a considerable amount of time off their journey thanks to Borg enhancements, shortcuts, and Kes, but it wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough until they were safely back in the Alpha Quadrant.

Kathryn doesn't bother to look up when he approaches her. She'd know those guarded footsteps no matter what surface they were walking on.

And he had coffee. Bless this man sometimes.

She pushed her empty mug aside, reaching for the one he offered. "It's a free park, as far as I'm aware."

"There's a whole pot of that back at the apartment whenever you decide you've had enough of the fresh outside air," he teased her gently as he passed over the cup of coffee and took a seat across from her. Lifting his own cup, he took a small sip, watching her as his hands and cup returned the table. "I wasn't sure if you were waiting for someone. It all seems very mysterious to be out in the gardens this late at night."

Chakotay had a feeling something was keeping her up. The only question was what, exactly, that thing was. Somehow he suspected he knew at least part of that and hoped he could at least alleviate some of her brooding and wandering by teasing or just by virtue of being there.

"I'm waiting on B'Elanna to give me a repair estimate," she half-joked, taking a moment to down some of the freshly brewed coffee. "Would you believe me if I told you I woke up because I couldn't feel the engines?"

As for being out here at this hour, she wasn't about to open that can of worms back up after she'd succeeded in putting a lid on it when he first got here. He'd wanted it to be about the Void then, and now that it was (in part) about the Void now, she wanted to discuss it even less. And if Kathryn didn't want to talk about something, there was no fighting with her.

He watched her carefully, expression amiable as always when he wanted a conversation to go well but expected it might not. Whatever she might think, he didn't honestly want to have another argument with her; he never found it very pleasant when they did fight and despite knowing she would need it someday, preferred to let most topics slide tonight. What she needed was to relax and a chance to put whatever was troubling her behind.

"Were it anyone else but you and B'Elanna, I would say no," he answered, his voice teasing even though his words were serious. "But since you both have spent the last five years keeping Voyager going forward rather than standing still, I have to say, that has some merit."

He could believe it, strange though it might seem to anyone else in this City. Voyager's engines being stalled never meant good things and waking up to a completely still ship was one of their shared nightmares.

"This City is very different, but it's almost as though the incessant ticking has become our new engine."

This was hardly the proper setting for one of their disagreements. When they argued, they always did it behind closed doors. It was one of the things that kept their crew together, their unspoken agreement to keep any disputes between them, whether professional or personal in nature, so as not to divide the crew. If there was any visible distance between Voyager's commanding officers, the ship's gossip trains would take off with it and people would start stepping across a line in the sand without so much as a word from them. Perhaps with less haste than they would've at the start of their journey, but eventually, crew members would start to choose: Janeway or Chakotay? Starfleet or Maquis?

"Five years in space at a near constant high warp. Most people get space sick at those velocities, not the the other way around."

Planet sick wasn't a thing, but it should be, she decided right then and there.

"I think it's less a case of space sickness and more a case of having adapted to constant travel. It'll take time to reacquaint yourself with being grounded."

To say he wasn't suffering the same would only be a slight lie. He found it easier to adapt than Kathryn likely did, as he knew she would always be one of the first out in the corridors -- only barely beating B'Elanna -- when something went wrong during off hours. Whereas he would head for the bridge, Kathryn might join B'Elanna in engineering. Or she might not. Either way, she always beat him to movement when something went wrong when she was off duty.

"Which is a nice way of saying I'm a Starfleet brat whose grown too used to her space legs."

She'd done the same when they were stuck on that planet, and she knew that he'd noticed then, too. He hadn't said anything to her then, but she'd be lying to herself more so than she usually did in regards to that place, that time if she were to deny that acknowledgement. Kathryn just wasn't cut out for planetary life anymore. She belonged aboard starships, felt at home with the warp engines humming beneath the soles of her shoes. Solid rock just didn't do anything for her anymore.

The only thrills she felt when seeing habitable planets anymore were in the name of resources, repairs, and shore leave opportunities for her crew.

"I'm not the one calling you a brat."

Oh he'd noticed all right and even though she had eventually given up hope of getting off that planet, he had never wanted her to be forced to like she had. He didn't blame her, though. They were different in that regard and he'd long ago accepted that part of her.

"But it was implied, and I'm not exactly denying it." She wished she weren't sitting on a bench so she could lean back, but slumped forward instead, dropping her chin into a hand propped up by the elbow. "I am an admiral's daughter. Daddy's little officer. Grounding us in Indiana so we'd stay in touch with our 'pioneer roots' only made me want to launch myself into space even more."

Her defiance started early. The more someone pushed, the more she pushed back and went and did the exact opposite of what they were trying to get her to do.

Edited 2013-09-02 18:49 (UTC)

One of these days he would shake her until she laughed just to get her to laugh.

"You got your wish then. Maybe you'll get it now." Now, like she had on New Earth as well. Part of him didn't want her to give up again, didn't want to see her suffer such a crushing disappointment as she had on that planet. She'd suffered enough pain and disappointment, kept herself tightly locked up under a constant state of guilt and pressure to be the top of her captaincy and Starfleet command all at once. She took everything to heart; what he really wanted was for her to let someone take on that burden with her, but he doubted she would ever allow that.

"Or a plasma storm in the guise of a curse could come tearing through the city and destroy all of our research. My chronometric readings, Jim's prototypes, all the data Chekov's been gathering during his time here."

Kathryn returned to sitting up straight, her hands finding her half empty coffee cup as she stared down into it like she were gazing upon some kind of abyss.

He frowned at her, an actual drawn frown of pain and boiling anger, but when he spoke, his voice was tightly controlled. "Does everything have to be so dismal with you? You never allow yourself to even consider the bright side of anything these days. Whatever it takes... I wish you would."

And in the blink of an eye, he was done with this conversation. The one time she actually deigned to address what had happened down on that planet they dubbed New Earth and she has to take in the bad sides of it. It feels as though that will always be the way of things: Kathryn pressing forward despite all odds and yet expecting nothing but the worst of things, while he followed her around like the lost kicked puppy, forever destined to be second place. Maybe even third place. Fourth. Tuvok, Kirk, Spock... and then him. He had tried, but he was getting tired of failing.

Edited 2013-09-02 21:55 (UTC)

Kathryn's head snapped up, eyes wide, her shocked unmasked. Not once in the five years that she'd known him had he ever dared to speak to her in such a way. They'd had their fair share of heated arguments, had yelled at one another on more than one occasion, but never had he accused her of being dismal, of not looking on the bright side.

She saw the bright side. The bright side was that it could be worse, that they were presented with a unique opportunity to study a quantum fissure from the heart of the anomaly itself, that there were employment opportunities, food, shelter, viable means of communication, and yes -- the chance to mingle with some of Starfleet's finest. She acknowledged those bright sides, was even taking advantage of them, but she could do that while also acknowledging the down sides. Doing so didn't mean she was dismal.

She wasn't dismal.

...was she?

"I don't know what you expect of me, Chakotay. Some days I think you understand, and others it's like you're waiting for me to put away my tricorder and start making some sort of life for myself here. This isn't home. This isn't even the Delta Quadrant. I don't belong here -- we don't belong here."

Edited 2013-09-02 22:21 (UTC)

The shock was good to see. It meant she was actually turning over his words in her head, considering them. Maybe those words could make a difference, convince her to show that bright side. He hated having to resort to hurting her to get her to step back, but sometimes they did it to each other in equal measure.

"Maybe not. But we're here anyway. And some days I can't even tell if you're enjoying the possibilities laid out here or simply dealing with another ion storm, a rough patch in your normal life. Just because I'm out to enjoy what this place has to offer doesn't mean I've given up."

But there were days he couldn't tell where she fell on the spectrum and it bothered him.

He remained seat, but she chose that moment to stand, towering over him as much as her short stature and the table between them would allow.

"I don't have that luxury. I don't have a normal life. And just because I'm not spending all my time at the local coffee shop doesn't mean I'm not enjoying myself, and I'm not going to start ignoring my responsibilities to ensure that I enjoy it a little bit more just because you think I ought to. We're stuck here, Chakotay. This isn't shore leave. This is about as much of a vacation as being lost in the DQ is!"

Edited 2013-09-02 23:59 (UTC)

He may have allowed her to tower over him while she was speaking, but the moment she stopped, he slowly stood in turn, leaning over the table and resting his hands on it so he could stare at her with a look he really didn't like to use on her but had several times over the years they'd known each other.

"You don't have it because you've never allowed yourself to have it." There were so many things he could say to that, so many ways to tell her she was walling herself away, strangling herself. By not allowing someone else to share responsibility, her guilt had only grown over the years. He hated what it was doing to her, hated that she couldn't -- or wouldn't allow herself to -- see it.

He blew out a huff of frustration, the fight quickly fleeing from him, and straightened up. "I didn't come here to argue with you, Kathryn. You're so determined to shoulder everything, so maybe you need to hear it again. Vacation, responsibilities, or neither, you don't have to do this alone." Whatever she might think.

And if she chose Kirk to help her through it, so be it.

Picking up his tea cup, he took a step away and gestured at her coffee mug. "There's more back at the apartment." Fully expecting her not to follow him until hours later, maybe even the next day, he turned to leave.

Truth be told, Kathryn revels in those rare moments in which she's allowed to tower over someone, given how short she is compared to most people. Chakotay's no exception to that, and she has to tilt her head back some to remain eye level with him when he rises to his feet. Her expression hardened and she glared at him, both in response to his words and his actions. She saw rising to her level as a challenge, his words doing nothing to help his cause.

She stared him down as she'd done countless opponents over the course of the past five years. Chakotay had only been standing on the other side of that line on two occasions: when he'd still been a member of the Maquis and when they'd disagreed over bargaining with the Borg for safe passage through their space. And now they were bickering over her supposed inability to have fun. It was ridiculous, and she'd laugh if she weren't so angry with him.

It wasn't until he'd started to walk off did she respond. (Deliberately timing her response to inflict as much of an impact as it could like the lethal tactician she was. A warrior in scientist's clothing.)

"I'm not alone. I'm no longer the only captain."

Lethal tactician indeed. Her words cut him as he'd expected. He knew her, knew how she would react, and yet had pushed forward anyway. Maybe doing so would help in the long run. Maybe he could push her further into someone else's presence, someone she could actually talk to.

In response to her words and his own line of thought, he paused a nearly half-second, just long enough for his posture to stiffen considerably, before continuing on his way.

"I guess that's something no one else can give you," he tossed over his shoulder, his words carefully controlled as he moved onward.

Kathryn let him go, reclaiming her seat calmly, plagued by a mixed sense of triumph, guilt, and betrayal. She had a sense of why he was acting this way, but nothing she wanted to give much thought to beyond the reasons he stated. His concern was touching on some days, others it aggravated her to no end, because she was this powerful, immovable boulder that wanted to roll in one direction while he demanded she roll in another, take the path that was paved instead off the jagged one that would wear her down as she traveled along it.

He'd cool off in a couple of days, as would she. They'd cohabitate that apartment and put up a polite front as if this argument never happened, and they'd either talk about it or be willing to agree to disagree and let it go. For now, it was back to speaking on a professional basis while the personal was given time to heal.

This was why what he wanted of her would never work. Not as long as she was still his captain.

It doesn't get any better, the sleeping.

Counting sheep is a bullshit if he's ever heard one, and getting piss drunk is not a luxury he can afford when he's stuck in an unknown location ( he can't get drunk, anyway ), though a downrange if he's ever heard one with the level of threat perceived at every turn ( they call them curses, John likes to think of them as a pain in his ass, although he's been lucky enough not to have been hit with the worse once - trading eyes with Jim Kirk isn't exactly what he calls terrible, not when the guy is the closes to a friend he has in his place ). Tiring himself out by training and exercising is the only way he can relax his mind, but even that bears no promises of repeat performances.

For one night a week he can sleep like a little babe, and the next six nights of shallow shuteye bring unwanted variations of hell in a handbasket plucked from the very corners of his mind.

Nothing gets better, really, aside from the usual ripple underneath his skin, the cause of all his nightmares flashing before his eyes as every wound and every bruise heals itself before he even realizes that he's been hit or shot or knifed down. It's still a lot to take in at this point, the idea that he's 'good' enough to be chosen by the C-24, and saved from transforming into a monster not of his own volition. Sometimes, that's the thing, too - he thinks himself a monster, and should've gone down with the rest of his squad. He's hardly a saint to begin with, and he's done terrible things in his life as a Marine, some of which he just wants to forget but can't, won't. But then, he remembers that it's his sister who's injected him with a solution to their problems, whose faith in him is so absolute that she refuses to take the gun he's offered in case he transforms into a hellspawn, and right, he's living now because of her, for her.

Sometimes, when sleeping doesn't work out, he walks around the City, getting to know the layout of the place as well as the back of his own hand, and finding himself with things to do that he hasn't necessarily considered himself to be doing in a long while. Today, Xanadu seems the place he wants immerse himself in, the winding roads of the infamous park as much of a puzzle to him as they are a beauty to behold. He's never seen anything like it before, and he's like a child for the briefest of moment, wandering around a place and staring at everything with the smallest hint of fascination. Whatever his ideas of magic are, he's certainly not going to deny that Xanadu's a nice place to relax in - if you don't get lost in it, that is.

He finds that he's not alone, however, as he finds himself near the picnic tables after a small hike through the summer path, and finding one lone person sitting by herself with a cup of some hot drink in her hands - probably coffee, maybe hot chocolate? Tea? He pauses for the briefest of moments.

"Never met anyone who'd want to drink coffee at this hour of the night."

He's just saying.

Kathryn looks up, and if she's startled to see Leonard McCoy's face staring back at her, she doesn't show it. Her poise is too carefully perfected to betray her surprise, though she'd be lying if she said it hadn't taken her a moment to realize this was the man the doctor had spoken to her about at Ginny's birthday party and not the man himself.

"Clearly you've never been on duty for ninety-six hours straight with a headache the size of Jupiter."

Perhaps she shouldn't have said that, but she doesn't much care right now. 'Hiding' from Khan is making her miss being the captain. She's out of practice when it comes to being just Kathryn, doesn't like how unsure of herself being herself makes her feel. One of these days she's going to throw caution to the wind and stroll across the city with her uniform on and pips in place. She didn't beat the Borg to be intimidated by someone who paled in comparison to a race of cybernetic beings hellbent on perfection via mass assimilation. If she weren't invested in the safety of a city she's still getting to know, she would've done just that weeks ago.

Kathryn doesn't do restless well. She's also aware of how she likely doesn't look her rank or profession in the state that she's in now. That works in her favor, as nobody would think to look twice at a petite woman enjoying her coffee in the park if not for the ungodly hour she'd chosen to do it in. Nothing about her said that she'd fought in wars, that she'd led battles, or commands a starship.

"I'd offer you a cup, but I'm afraid I didn't think to bring the pot with me." In hindsight, she probably should've. One cup was never enough for her.

Edited 2013-08-25 05:28 (UTC)

Even if she's visibly shown her surprised, John wouldn't have called her out on it, by now he's used to the feeling of having someone look at him and be startled at the apparently resemblance he has with another person. As he's told Jim before, he doesn't mind - or even care. He's suffered through worse things than having a face twin. At least this man named Leonard McCoy doesn't seem to be too bad of a person.

As for Kathryn's tone, John only shrugs at it. The military can really train you up on how to deal with all sorts of people, from the bossy ones who don't know the meaning of the word 'break' to the rudest scums of the earth.

"Apparently not."

He's worked under pressure, weeks of no sleep and little food and water, gunfire flying across borders and territories, over each other's heads, explosions ringing in his ears even after everything's been said and done. What replaces a headache is the image of blood spilled relentlessly, and no matter how many times he washes his hands, the feel of them between this fingers never really goes away, just like the smell of gunpowder that's become his own personal scent.

"Not really a coffee kind of guy," especially when he already can't sleep, "but thanks." He pauses in front of her, and there's a slightly awkward pause before he asks, "Alright to sit with you?"

She's looked her own phase variant duplicate in the eye before. Seeing somebody eles's facetwin sort of pales in comparison to holding a conversation with yourself. Literally holding a conversation with herself. (What does it say about her life when that's relatively low on the list of strange things she's experienced in the Delta Quadrant?)

"That's too bad. Coffee is the finest organic suspension ever devised. It's gotten me through the worst and the best of times." God help whoever decides to stand between her and her coffee. "Of course."

"Not just simply a drink meant to wake you up at the most godforsaken hours, then?" he asked idly as he sits down across from her. He has a feeling that he already knows how wrong it will be to stand in between her and her coffee. "Because if only for that, then I don't need it."

"Not so much waking you up as keeping you awake -- and focused, though I realize not everyone has my caffeinated tunnel vision."

Which was the closest she would ever come to admitting to her coffee addiction. Not that it was any secret aboard Voyager. The crew knew well that she was attached to the stuff, and often judged whether she was approachable or not based on if she had a cup in her hand. Otherwise, they went through Chakotay or Tuvok instead of asking the captain herself for whatever it was they needed of her.

Edited 2013-08-31 17:15 (UTC)

"No, some people use other means."

It's not like he could talk. He may not have coffee addiction, but he's certainly obsessed with his guns. He'd clean them, disassemble and reassemble them, and sometimes put in some extra modifications that no one else would even notice except for himself. They've been his constant companion since the day he got his uniform, after all.

"I guess if you want to get focused," he looks up briefly at the sky, "it means you had no plans of sleeping again in the first place."

Oh, she had other means herself, but she couldn't exactly go for a brisk walk across the decks of her ship here. She couldn't pop into engineering unannounced to see if B'Elanna was actually meeting those time estimates she quoted her hours earlier, couldn't crawl into a Jeffrey's tube to lend Seven a hand with repairs her Borg protégé was perfectly capable of handling on her own. Nights like this, when she couldn't sleep, missed her ship, and went to war with her first officer, she almost wished for an attack some sort to give her something to channel all her pent up frustration at.

Almost.

"I rarely do. Sleep is a luxury I gave up my right to years ago."

Workaholic, or simply someone who can no longer shut her brain down no matter how hard she tries?

John is both, in that regard. Hearing things twice as easy with his enhanced hearing certainly made it difficult to block everything out, but it's the images he sees behind closed eyes that stops him. Hell all around his peripherals, blood staining all over the nameless faces until he can practically taste in real life. Sickening's one word for it, but John is used to the demons following him around.

"That makes two of us," is what he settles on in the end. "Sometimes there are just better things to do, and not enough time."

Better things to do, and not enough time. That might as well be the the subtitle to her autobiography, and one of the core reasons why she's so damned restless in this place. Chakotay had a point about the City having its perks, about her needing to relax a little and enjoy them while she could, but it was hard to embrace the comforts offered here when her ship was back in the Delta Quadrant and she wasn't on it -- even if she technically was, if she was right about being a temporal phase duplicate, given people coming in from various points in time and not noticing the absence of those who were pulled from an earlier point.

Understanding those principles and being able to explain the sound science behind them wasn't going to stop her from trying to get back. She and Seven had been reintegrated with themselves after assisting Lieutenant Ducane with the capture of Captain Braxton; surely there was a way to do the same for everyone else here. In fact, she suspected that was what happened when people were sent home for a while. They were reintegrated with themselves into the timeline proper, only to be phased out again when they were brought back.

"And what are your better things to do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Back home, that would be my job. Soldiers don't rest, ma'am." A short pause, a thin smile. Fingers scraping the edges of the picnic table, nails scratching on wood. "Here, I'm still trying to figure that out myself."

Taking on his sister's cytogenetics project and taking up work at the shooting range is a lot of hard work, but it's also not enough.

"Neither do starship captains."

There, proverbial cat out of the bag. As the highest ranking member of Starfleet, she had the right to dictate who she told and who she didn't. She assumed a man with McCoy's face was already partially aware of his face double's military affiliations, or would be eventually.

She hummed in mild amusement. "I can relate to that, having spent the past five years sitting in the big chair. It's been a while since I've done anything but captain a starship. Civilian life, so to speak, no longer suits me."

That does get his attention, although it would've been naive of him to assume that Jim was the only captain of anything in this side of town. This, however, would add to the list of people that he knows work with Kirk ( here, anyway, he wouldn't know about back home - by regular military standards, like in the navy, two captains wouldn't be serving in the same crew, as they have their own ).

He looks at her with something akin to quiet amusement, although the way he acts is no different. Mentions nothing about Jim Kirk and how he didn't actually believe Jim when he told him that he was a starship captain because, for one, he was yelling at John about him being Leonard McCoy and his chief medical officer. It was hilarious then, and still is.

"I entered the military right after high school," he offers. "I'm twenty six now, and it's actually been six months back home since I've had a weekend off work."

There's not a hint of wistfulness in his tone, because he doesn't exactly regret his decisions, but he's always wondered what would've changed if he decided to pursue a career in science. His sister had always called him special, promising, but he denied himself those things because he could let go of the past.

"I've been here for a couple of weeks, and it already feels like a year."

She only works with him here. They're from different points in the timeline, and Kirk's is a different branch on the same tree. As far as Kathryn knows, the Kirk from her branch perished in 2293 aboard the Enterprise-B. Her ship was lost in the Delta Quadrant before they learned that Kirk had been in the Nexus for the past eighty years, only to exit it and die helping Jean-Luc Picard stop Tolian Soran.

"Sounds like something you and I have in common," she says, sitting up a little straighter. "I was prepping for the Academy before I was even out of high school, blew through it as fas as I could, and got myself assigned to a starship at the first available opportunity." She spent three months at home shortly after that in the wake of her father's death, having succumbed to a deep depression, but that isn't something she addresses with anyone. "I rose up the ranks quickly, and have spent the past five years some 70,000 lightyears away from Earth. Home's a long way away regardless of if I'm here or there. Mostly, I want to get back to my ship."

Edited 2013-09-21 14:14 (UTC)

Lucy doesn't necessarily have insomnia issues, but she is, occasionally a night owl. Right now she's on her way home from a night out at the Lux, dressed in a sparkly mini-dress, her high, high heels dangling from the first two fingers of her left hand. In her other hand she's carrying something that looks like a long, slim torch, but it's really a laser screwdriver and her chosen form of protection when walking home at night. She looks disheveled, tired and happy. She's not quite ready to go to sleep though so she cuts through Xanadu on her way home, slowing when she sees Janeway at the picnic table.

She approaches with a soft smile, taking in the woman's pajamas and sleep ruffled hair.

"Pretty night to be sitting out."

"Hmm?" Kathryn looks up, having to replay the woman's words in her head. "Oh, yes. I suppose it is."

Though from the window of her bedroom it had seemed quite the opposite. Thanks to the Void, a region of space that was completely devoid of stars, she'll never be able to look at a cloudy, starless night the same way again. It makes her miss being in space more than usual. This is the most time she's spent grounded on a planet since before she was given command of Voyager. It's been five, almost six years.

She's not used to it, and she doesn't want to get used to it.

"Coming from a party?"

"Just a night out at the Lux. Dinner, drinks, gambling and dancing. You know," Lucy smiles in response. "Parties are generally more fun. A big group of people, you know."

In other words, she'd gone alone. Sure, she'd found people to hang out with because Lucy wasn't afraid to join in a group of strangers, but it was still alone. She'd much rather be at a party where she knew everyone.

"Can't sleep?"

"The Lux? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that establishment."

Because while she's familiarized herself with the City, the details and inner workings of a club wouldn't really be on her radar. Perhaps it would've been in her peripheral vision had Chakotay not arrived, but she knew that he would get to know those parts of the City, simply because he knew that she wouldn't. They knew one another too well; it was one of the many things that made them an efficient, complimentary command team.

"Not a wink, but nothing I'm not already accustomed to."

She's the woman who would stay on the bridge for four days straight if she didn't have Chakotay, the Doctor, and Tuvok insisting that she stop living off coffee and go get some sleep.

Edited 2013-08-27 23:45 (UTC)

"It's a club with dinner and dancing and gambling. Dress up required so it's kind of fun if you want to have an occasion that's not romantic," Lucy answers as she sits down on the opposite side of the picnic table, placing her small handbag on the table.

"You've probably tried all the traditional methods of getting to sleep."

"Gambling," she echos with a laugh. The last time she'd been anywhere near gambling of any sort, it had been when Voyager was docked at Deep Space 9. She'd passed by a few dabo tables run by Ferengi and various dabo girls while being given a tour of the station. Their last stop in the Alpha Quadrant.

Now the station was the focal point of a war she'd barely been briefed on, given that they were 60,000 lightyears away from the fighting.

Kathryn shakes her head. "Actually, no. I'm not really one for trying to get back to sleep once I lose my grip on it. Once I'm up, I'm up and making the most of it."

Starship captains are insufferable.

"I guess you drink a lot of coffee then," Lucy smiles. "I sort of wish I was that way. Instead I'll lay there until a decent time to get up, unless it's a nightmare situation then I get up and turn ALL the lights on, find my cricket bat and hide in the closet until morning."

She has a lot of those nights, actually, more than she wants to admit to.

"More than the recommended amount, that's for sure," she said with a mirthless laugh.

If Lucy had shown up not twenty minutes earlier, she would've been witness to a fight between her and her first officer. Which, in hindsight, likely looked more like a lover's quarrel than two officers' stubborn battle of wits. If only they could be more public about that, but of course, they had their reasons for keeping their heads down and pips out of sight. Very good reasons. And Kathryn had reasons of her own for not taking control of the situation and finding a way to beat their 'problem child' down.

"Lucy, right?"

"I probably have more than I should too. I tend to go for mine all at once. Just have them fill a large cup half up with espresso, you know?"

Lucy probably would have stepped back out of that, but she would've drawn the conclusion that it was a lover's quarrel as well. However, as far taking thing public goes, she'd advise them that here, no one cared. It didn't matter so they might as well be happy.

"Yup. Kathryn, right? It's nice to see you again. Or you know, in person finally."

"I take mine black," though she's been known to add shots of espresso from time to time. Sometimes, she needed more than just the usual kick of stark black coffee to keep her alert and focused on the task at hand. Right now, she was likely awake for the sole purpose not going back to sleep.

Or returning to her apartment, likely more the latter than the former.

"The sugar and the caffeine usually work better for me, but I know lots of people who do take theirs black." Her father, for example.

"Adding sugar only serves to make me jittery, surprisingly enough."

Which was hilarious in and of itself, given how much coffee the woman drank. She'd go through the equivalent of several pots a day -- but of course, her goal was to stay awake and focus, not jump to warp and have difficulty sitting still.

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