Disclaimer: Voyager belongs to Paramount Pictures. No infringement intended.
Dedicated to Kerry. For being my sounding board on this story. Even if it was a short and sweet moment of sounding -- it still helped a great deal. "All great undertakings are risky, and, as they say, what is worthwhile is always difficult" (Plato). You certainly know what that means . . . and I thank you for reminding me to play that quote out to its full worth via the written word.
Everyone has a story to tell. Mine just happens to be your run-of-the-mill time travel, romance, Q-epidemic that brought forth more than I ever thought was possible. How did it begin? As any Captain's day might start, when lost in the Delta Quadrant. Once Upon A Time . . .
It had been one hell of a very long day. I had worked attentively and persistently with the crew to retrieve the Doctor's program after Mr. Gar had stolen it. Oh, I could think of a few other things to call him after the way we had been forced to follow at his heels, gallivanting from one soap opera to the next; yet, I kept my tongue and I kept my wits. After all -- I am the Captain. Captain Kathryn Janeway. That's my name and I'm worn out.
In being worn out, tired, weary and wanting a cup of coffee that was in a galaxy far, far away, I had made only one fatal flaw. In my exasperation and sheer annoyance in dealing with the situation, I had become susceptible to the taunting, goading and dramatic overtones of another woman.
"You're a woman," she had said with her prominent, seductive looks. "You saw my husband with your own eyes -- overweight, depressed. "You'd have left him, too. Especially if you had met someone as exciting as Gar." Her voice hinted at it all. The forbidden love and the promise of a lust-filled story she was dying to share.
I was so drained, I couldn't even begin to humor myself with this one. The weight of my chin in the palm of my hand, the pressure of my elbow against the arm of the chair and the dullness in my eyes said nothing to this woman. Nothing at all.
"Yes, he's very exciting," I stated dully.
"That's why you're looking for him, isn't it?" she looked as if she had just been promoted to pussy-cat of the week.
"I assure you, I have no romantic interest in him what so ever." Score one for me, the Captain. Hooray, hooray.
"Why?" She wasn't going to give up. "Not good enough for you?"
That had done it. It had hit home. And it had hit home for two very good reasons. One, she was our last lead in order to find Gar again and thus retrieve our Doctor. And two, I was still one hell of a woman when it came to attracting men.
"No, it's not that. It's just that . . ." I was struggling to find a way to end it all. Even though I could have my pick of the male species, even on Voyager, all I wanted after this run-in, after most any run-in throughout this godforsaken quadrant, was to cuddle up with a good cup of coffee, while in my pajamas, and read something fictional and, hmm, good. With thoughts of such things on my mind, I turned quickly to look around.
Commander Chakotay was nowhere to be found. And so, I extended my hand to a substitute; not the one I really wanted, but my Vulcan friend would do under the circumstances.
"I already have a man," I stated, grasping Tuvok's hand. And to think it could've been Chakotay holding my hand and being called 'my man.' Oh well, it was his big loss of the Captain as his pussy-cat of the week.
It would have been a subtextual experience for the bridge crew. To find me giving readily, in plain sight, from my own lips and by my own hand, a hint that I actually had an interest in Chakotay, beyond Federation duty.
So, with all of those things on my mind, I entered the messhall, after the day from hell, to eat a very late dinner and contemplate the after-effects of where this situation would take me. How long before someone started to spread the word, the rumors flying onboard as they always did at 9.975; before they hit home with my Commander. Not soon enough by my standards.
But even if I wanted to believe that perhaps Chakotay would come and find me for a change, to discuss what he had heard, my attention was drawn elsewhere, to a lonely little PADD lying on the table not far ahead of me.
I had to stop, of course, tray in hand, and look around to see if its owner was nearby. What would I say if I sat down to it and then had to explain that no, I didn't know this belonged to so-and-so. And no, I didn't think to read it to see what it was. No. No, no, no.
There wasn't a single table empty save for the one with the abandoned PADD.
*Well, Kathryn,* my mind instructed, *just make yourself at home and pretend it isn't even there.* Besides, it would only take seven minutes to get through the gloop Neelix had concocted for the evening. And I had only planned on giving Chakotay ten minutes to show up. There were no guarantees, you see, because we hadn't formally arranged to spend tonight having dinner together.
Down went my butt in the chair and up went the fork to my mouth. I chewed a bit of food, looking from my tray to the PADD and back again. I even pushed my tray against the PADD's little form, moving it farther across to the other end of the table. Looking up, I noted that no one had made a move for it, no one had stated, "Excuse me, Captain. That's mine." Nor had any hapless Ensign or Lieutenant run through the doors to claim it in the three minutes I had been there.
And so we sat: -- me, my dinner and that damned PADD. Then it occurred to me . . . What if there was some valuable information on that thing. What if it were a diagnostic, a personal entry? Who better to keep it safe and return it to its proper owner than the Captain of the ship?
*You just want to snoop, Kathryn.* That damned little voice in my head accosted my nerves to send messages of guilt through the fingers that, nevertheless, edged toward the PADD and grasped it in my left hand.
And then I was scrolling through it.
*What in the world is this?!*
I set down my fork, from my right hand, in order to fully control the functions of what I held. Looking up quickly, I noted that Neelix was still serving his gloop up to the crew in line, from behind the counter, with a jolly smile on his face. Lieutenant Paris was busy feeding B'Elanna bite after bite of what looked like a lovely piece of terra-nut soufflé' (stomach growling its approval -- noted). Ensign Daniel Brodder was busy charming Ensign Marianne Grayson off of her engineering feet and various others seemed relentlessly occupied. No one was watching.
So I started from the beginning, and found out, rather surprisingly enough, that it was a story. And so it began . . . .
Tudor England
the Year of Our Lord 1525
"I grow weary with my Queen," Henry the VIIIth, King of England, took another bite from the large drumstick and chewed on the greasy meat loudly. "She has but born me a daughter. A worthless daughter named Mary. I need a son!" He slammed his fist on the large, wooden dining room table, the force of it causing dishes to clatter and goblets of wine to overturn, staining the white cloth. "A son I tell you! Worthless, worthless woman I have taken for a Queen."
"Perhaps you should look for someone else to get your blood boiling," the advisor stated with a snotty sniff.
"'Blood-boiling'?" Henry questioned, raising his eyebrows, his face red with effort. "My good man, you were true to your word when you stated you hailed from foreign lands."
"Oh, I've been here and I've been there. Next stop the stars. But, back to you." The man leaned forward towards the beefy king, "Perhaps it's time you were to get a divorce?"
"A divorce?! The church would never allow it!" Henry stated with distaste.
"Allow it? You're the King. All you have to do is break with, what's it called . . oh yes, the Papacy and establish a . . hmm, what should we call it?" he thought to himself.
"A church of the people is what we need, by God . . ." Henry muttered to himself while chewing more of his dinner.
"Of course, of course! 'The Church of England' headed by yours truly" he indicated himself but stopped when Henry glared and reached for the knife. "Or you. yes, you would be fine. Besides, I know just the woman for you," he wiggled his eyebrows.
"And who would this woman be, Sir--, Sir--" the King waved his hand absently around trying to remember the name of his newly appointed advisor.
"Sir Q," the man bowed and smiled. "And the woman who is a perfect match for you is named Kathryn Janeway."
"What's that you're reading?"
I gasped not because of the last line of the story, but because Chakotay stood before me, looking as interested in what I held as I had been, no doubt, while reading it.
"Just another report," I lied and winced internally. I hated doing that to him, of all people but if it meant that this PADD were of the personal nature of a member of my crew, then it was worth not letting that information spread or get out of hand.
One never knew the power of a story. And, to be honest, I was slightly disappointed to see him sitting down at my table when all I wanted to do was start up again from where I had left off. Not only was Chakotay eight minutes past the time I had allotted for him to show up, but he also was keeping me from a very good piece of fiction.
What can I say? It's not every day that you find a PADD sitting by itself, in a busy messhall, where you discover, upon reading it, that you're one of the characters complete with an omnipotent being you've 'met' in the past.
"Looked as though it were a rather 'interesting' report, Kathryn," he smiled and I about melted. His smile took my mind off of the urgency to return to the story. Hell, his smile did that with just about everything; it completely and utterly grabbed my full attention.
"I thought I had missed you, Commander," I stated as he started working at his own pile of gloop.
"Had a few things to finish up in Astrometrics with Seven. You did say you wanted those --" he started to remind.
"Right," I cut in, nodding my head.
"Tired?" he asked, reading me so well.
"A bit. I have thought about nothing else than settling into bed and reading, undisturbed, for the rest of the night," a sigh took over with the statement.
"And strangling Gar?" he questioned.
"Yes, that too."
"Speaking of Gar," Chakotay stated.
Here it came. I raised my eyebrow, encouraging him to go on. Was it me, or was my Starfleet turtleneck choking my throat?
"What's this I hear about Tuvok being 'your man'?" he asked, a grin just threatening to send me over the edge. There was laughter in that grin of his.
"Oh, that," I stated, shrugging as I took a sip from my coffee cup. "Just a matter of improvising under a set of unpredictable circumstances," I said. I paused, "You're beating yourself up because you missed the episode. Aren't you?"
"Yes," he admitted and shook his head. "I would've had a great time absorbing that one."
"Oh?" I asked. "How so?" I should have known better. Chakotay was a rather well bred man; he was partial to a semi-laid back nature when it was necessary. But, he could also boil into a heated rage and passion at the same instant. He had a sense of humor that, I hate to say, he shared more frequently with other members of the crew than me; I guess that was partially my fault as I should've loosened up around him more than I had over the past seven years. But then again, I had gone the extra length already. My humor, with day-to-day life, was full drawn and quartered.
"Seemed like one of those instances where I missed out in not being there," he winked.
Oh, the bastard.
"Yes, you did," I grinned. And he knew. "Well, Commander," I stood, trying to remain relaxed, trying to stay smooth. "I'll see you on the bridge at 0800." What more could be said? Besides, the night was young and the mysterious PADD demanded to be read.
When you've been sitting upright, in a chair, on the bridge for most of the day, there is nothing, absolutely nothing like slipping on a soft nightgown and relying on a pillow to balance all of your weight. You sink down into the softness that enfolds itself around your body, gracing your skin with a seductive warmth. And that only adds to the comfort that continually seduces you towards sleep. Add to that a cup of hot coffee, steaming off to the side of the bed, on the table and a PADD in hand; you're happy to be alive.
Reaching for the anonymous PADD, as I had so lovingly named it, I wanted to find out not only what was going to happen next, but also who wrote the damned thing to begin with. It was a problem, this not knowing. But, I reminded myself of the kudos of upper command -- how my security codes could override just about everything on the ship.
But those sentiments of noble success always had an opportunity to vanish, especially when the Doctor hails you just as you bring the covers up to your chin, ready to settle in for the night.
"Doctor to the Captain."
Just like that. I wanted to screech like an Irish Banshee, rip out my hair like a madwoman and assimilate with a vengeance if only I still had a Borg nanoprob or two handy in my angry system.
"Doctor," staccato was ever so evident in my voice. "It's 1:23 in the morning. It's been a long day. This had better be good."
"No sooner do I return -- a salvaged hologram -- than I am --"
"Doctor," I stated warningly.
"As much as I hate to disturb you and be awarded with such an end-of-the day-foul-mood," he sighed, "Captain, you're needed in sickbay at once."
I smoothed my hands over my warm covers. I fingered the PADD longingly. I glanced sadly to the left at my cup of coffee whose temperature was cooling off to just the right degree. I. raised my eyes heavenward, toward the ceiling and then sighed, trying not to cry.
"Captain?!" the EMH stated again.
"On my way," I stated as dully as I had earlier, on the bridge, to that pussy-cat of the week.
"You know," B'Elanna smiled. "I think she was originally looking for you."
Chakotay was happy to be spending some time with B'Elanna, even if it meant having to keep with Tom Paris' company for the night. Tom and Lanna were sprawled out on the sofa and Chakotay sat comfortably on the floor, his back against the structure. They had decided to watch a movie on the TV set that Torres had, only a year ago, replicated and assembled for Tom Paris.
"Shh," Tom stated, trying to keep his hand over B'Elanna's mouth in an attempt to hush her. "This is the good par--Owe!" he exclaimed, as his finger was bitten.
"Is that my cue to leave?" Chakotay grinned, knowing all too well it wasn't, but implying the Klingon-mating ritual tidbit as a risky joke.
"Very funny," B'Elanna stated and rectified the damage done to her husband with a soft kiss to his cheek. "Anyhow--"
"Shh," Tom stated again.
B'Elanna ignored him, "As I was saying. I think she originally wanted you; to hold your hand. All of it."
"I'm not surprised," Chakotay stretched slightly. It was 1:35 in the morning and he was growing weary. "I'm her first officer and there would have been less risk using me than any of the other crew members."
Tom snorted.
B'Elanna and Chakotay looked at him.
"Does that mean anything in particular, Paris?" Chakotay asked.
"Less risks my ass. She was looking to actually take a risk today," he stated in response, his eyes not even leaving the movie on the TV set.
"What my husband-dear is trying to say is that the Captain wanted to peg you as her man, in front of the crew," B'Elanna explained. “Today.”
Chakotay was silent with thought.
"Exactly," B'Elanna teased, seriously, knowing it was finally sinking in.
Chakotay got a slightly satisfied look to his face, "I wonder what she's doing now. Well," he said after a moment. "I think I'll be heading to bed now." He stood and smiled down at the young couple before turning to leave. "Good night.
"Hey, Chakotay!" Tom's voice halted him right at the door.
"Yes?" he asked and turned to face them both again.
"Sweet dreams!" B'Elanna stated, finishing what her husband had started.
'*Damn. I didn't think to check what this was about,*' my mind realized as I pushed my body toward sickbay. Times like these were made for Captains to call on Ensigns named Harry Kim to fulfill ill-fit duties. But wouldn't the Doc have thought to call Chakotay or a 'lesser' if my presence wasn't absolutely necessary?
When the doors to sickbay opened at my arrival, all that revealed itself was a darkened room.
"Computer," I stated. "Full illumination and activate the Emergency Medical Hologram."
No sooner had the Doctor flickered into appearance than he started forward, stammering as best he could.
"Captain! I'm sorry -- he threatened --"
"I threatened to delete his program. A dark end for such an advanced hologram, wouldn't you say?"
"Q!" I gasped with utter disbelief. But in the next second, I was primed and ready for battle, even though my body screamed it had had enough for one damn day. "I don't want to hear it; I don't want to know why you're here; I don't want to be involved. I do, however want you off my ship!" I threw my hands on my hips and jerked my head in the direction of open space.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Kathy. The fun has only begun. Why don't we both get off of this sip?" With a snap of his fingers, I knew it was too late. The lights went out again and it all disappeared before my own eyes.
"Warning!" the Computer's voice jolted Chakotay out of the sleep that he had just entered into only twenty-four minutes ago. "Captain Kathryn Janeway has left USS Voyager."
"What the--?" Chakotay exclaimed. Without thinking, he shoved his body out of bed and grabbed his uniform from where it had been sprawled carelessly on the floor. His fingers fumbled as he searched through fold after fold of fabric, in the dark, for his combadge. Finding it, he punched the little device and stated, "Senior Staff to the bridge -- immediately."
"Warning," the computer reminded. "Captain Kathryn Janeway has left USS Voyager."
"We're already on it, Chakotay!" Tom acknowledge the Native American's arrival to the bridge from his own piloting position at the helm.
Chakotay was satisfied to see that everyone had gotten there quicker than he had thought possible.
" I received the warning at the same time you did, Commander," Tuvok acknowledged with a nod from his post.
"I'm damn glad you programmed that warning into the computer's systems, Vulcan," Chakotay stated.
"Have a look at this," Tom stated and hit the main transmission to activate the view screen. Suddenly, an all too familiar face came into view.
"Chuckles? Is that you?" Q asked. "Were you sleeping? Your hair is all messy and tangled and . . ."
"Get on with it Q. Where is Captain Janeway," Chakotay asked.
"Ha! As if you care," Q stuck out an accusing finger toward Chakotay. "Oh, alright," he shrugged just as quickly. "She's here with me and Henry."
"Henry?" Tom's voice piqued up with confusion.
"Where exactly is 'here'," Tuvok's stoic voice asked.
"Oh, just the planet Earth. Alpha Quadrant. Tudor England," he declared with dramatized grandeur.
"Oh boy," Harry Kim muttered from the operations post.
"Don't bother saying 'how dare you Q' or 'bring her back immediately, Q'" he said, rolling his eyes. "I've heard it all before and frankly I have no intention of, how do the Borg say it? 'Complying.'" He smiled to himself, unabashedly, for a moment before continuing. "I'll strike a deal with you though, Commander Chakotay."
"A deal?" Chakotay was incredulous.
"You want your precious beloved back?" he glared. "Then you have to come here, with me and Henry, and get her back. He's quite taken with her, I might mention."
"And then what Q," Chakotay acknowledged the rage that was building in him. But he held it back, until he could feel the perspiration of his efforts running down the skin of his back with the energy it took to do so.
"You come here and work at it. Your crew, on the other hand, stays there. Can't have futuristic bipedals running all over the kingdom now can we? But, I will leave something for them to do. Somewhere, on your ship, there's a clue to what's going on! Do you like riddles?" Q asked not really expecting an answer.
"No," Harry muttered in the background.
"Well I love them!" Q grinned. "Try this one on for size. 'Covered from head to toe, on your imagination I bestow, words of space and creative place, follow through and win the timeless race.'"
"What exactly does that mean," Tom piqued up.
"If I told you blondie it wouldn't be a riddle, no would it? Let's just say that if you solve it, you might know how to get your Captain back. So? Are you interested in playing, Chuckles? What other option do you have?" He stopped for a second and then answered for Chakotay, "None! So," he paused, "lets go rescue the maiden fair!"
Chakotay paused a moment and then looked at the Vulcan who was up at the security con. "I want to take one of my men with me Q," Chakotay stated. He wouldn't allow Q to rush him into anything -- not a single thing if it concerned the welfare of Kathryn Janeway.
"Picky, picky, picky," Q whined. "But alright, Though I don't see what difference it'll make."
"Mr. Tuvok, you have command of Voyager until I return . . ." Chakotay turned to face Q on the view screen. ". . . with the Captain. Mr. Paris, you're with me."
"Oh Goody!" Q clapped and then snapped his fingers, taking the Commander and Tom from the bridge and to the past, where it all was to become a present reality.
The blue sky did little to catch their falling bodies as they went through the white mist of clouds, toward the Earth: victims of gravity. Only when the branches of tree limbs threatened to rip at their clothing and their fragile human skin did their descent seem to slow. The slowing of their fall from the sky was a generous token from Q under the circumstances.
Chakotay hit the ground with a heavy thud right next to Tom Paris' own body. He could hear the other man's groans mingling with his own.
"What a ride," Tom murmured into a mouthful of grass he had taken from his landing.
"I could've done without it," Commander Chakotay groaned, blinking, and trying to get the three suns his vision currently saw into just one, correct, fiery orb. And what a strange thing for this man to finally behold as he lie on his back in the middle of the past. The sun, viewed from Earth -- rare scene after so many years in the Delta Quadrant.
They had no phasers, they had no communicators, or any other form of technology. All they had was each other.
Chakotay continued to lie on the ground, on his back. Paris rolled over onto his side to face the Commander. It was at that moment that Tom burst out into laughter.
"What's so damn funny?" Chakotay turned his head to glare at the pilot.
After being carelessly flung across time and space, they had, after their fall from the heavens, landed in a length of clearing in the woods.
"Chakotay," Tom paused, suddenly serious. "You're wearing a skirt."
The sound of birds chirping and leaves blowing, still attached to their limbs, did little to calm the moment.
"I am not wearing a skirt. It's a kilt; even I know that," Chakotay retorted and then sat up as he listened carefully to the words that left his mouth.
"Sounds as though Q not only provided you with your skirt, but also a Scottish accent to go along with it," Tom noted.
"Now all we need is my clan, whichever one that is, to help us storm the castle and steal back our Captain fair," he stated. Pausing, Chakotay gently lifted tentative fingers to touch the skin where his tattoo was supposed to be imprinted on his forehead.
"Still there," Tom confirmed. "You Picts could get away with almost anything," he stated as he looked around at the wooded scenery and then down at his own mangy garb. "What was Q thinking to make me an English peasant?" Tom continued after a moment of thought.
Chakotay cracked a grin, "And you stink, too. I'd say you're finally in character, Paris."
"Oh yeah? Well at least there's not a draft disturbing my ass, up through my skirt, right now," he noted the kilt and then stopped suddenly. "Listen."
Chakotay stood up, turning on his soft leather boots that laced up traditionally to his mid-calf. They barely made a sound against the wet dirt ground. "People," he confirmed. "Probably an open market."
Tom's face livened, "And where there's an open market, there's bound to be a central power."
"The castle," Chakotay agreed.
"The King and Q," Tom reminded.
"Kathryn," Chakotay stated with breathless determination.
I, Kathryn Janeway, was having to draw on my Irish temper, which was my heritage, to get me through this horrid situation.
Where was Chakotay? Where was Voyager with my crew? And, by God, where was that insufferable Q?! Was he just going to arrange my marriage to that fat bastard King and then leave me in Tudor England?
The thought sent me into another fit of frantic pacing around my small room. I had made up my mind the minute they had put a tight, bone-constricting corset on me that the Commander was fired, Voyager could spend its days in the Delta Quadrant for all I cared and as for Q . . . what kind of hell could I wish on an omnipotent being?!
I stopped where I stood, my small leather shoes halting their little clatter against the stone floor on which I kept myself posted. The full, bell shaped skirt that surrounded my body swayed every which way with the sharp movements I made.
Overall, I looked quite regal. Of course, back at home on Voyager, I wouldn't be able to get anything done in an ensemble like this; let alone fit it through the doorway to the bridge. It was poofy. It was confining. And, damnit, it was white. White that was just calling out to a coffee stain or two.
My hair had been groomed properly, drawn back from the face, and then covered with a bejeweled juliet cap, a hysterical hat from my perspective. The juliet cap had been trimmed in diamonds and dark blue sapphires, which had a shimmering veil of silver silk attached to the back of its main structure. I had been trussed up in a flimsy, practically see-through chemise that gathered at the neckline and the wrists, over which the large hoopskirt had been pulled up over my hips; then synched at the waist. But that wasn't where it ended. Oh no. Then came the corset -- made with stiff linen and supported by whalebones sewn into the structure at every curve, seam and juncture. Its rules were to flatten what wasn't supposed to be flat and to curve what wasn't supposed to be curved on my body. When the maid had tugged on the criss-cross laces that closed up the back of the corset I had almost screamed. Why had women done this to themselves? Why were they doing it to me?
My thoughts stopped frolicking about as a lovely dress was produced in two segments -- an underdress and an overdress. The underdress was a dark midnight blue, mimicking the sapphire stones that were sprinkled on the overgown of white silk. My breasts threatened to remove themselves from the square neckline of the bodice and my elbows barely bent when they attached the sleeves and pulled the chemise out of the tied slits in the fabric.
In the back of my mind, I wished I could add a coffee stain or two. Coffee. It had been a day. Maybe even two days. I had to get the hell out before I was permanently separated from my caffeine addiction.
'*Coffee.Coffee.Coffee.Coffee icecream.Irish cream coffee.Hazelnut vanilla coffee.Decaf.*' I shuddered with that last thought but realized I would even go for that if it tasted like coffee or left me with a delusional sense of happiness in the end.
When the dressing maids were gone, I walked toward the window. Perhaps I should just jump and get it over with? Looking down, I noted there were not any guards posted nor was it too high a section of the castle for me to make my way down from. How convenient. Perhaps four stories up? Perhaps more. Perhaps if I jumped, the hoopskirt might billow out like a parachute and I could glide down. Yeah right.
Stalking back toward the bed, I yanked off the bed cloths and ripped the tapestry fabric of the drapery from the bed frame. With each rip, another strip of fabric length was produced and a bit of my anger was satisfied.
It seemed as though men were to blame for all of the constant strife in my life. First it was Gar. Then it was Chakotay. Then it was Q. Then it was Chakotay. Then it was King Henry the VIIIth. Then it was Chakotay.
I tied different segments together with skilled mastery of knots that would hold my weight. I paused and bit my lip -- Q was omnipotent. Wouldn't he be able to know what I was doing? Why didn't he just snap into my moment of possible escape with a few 'tsk tsk tsk's'?
"No," I murmured aloud while I bent over to tie the end of the makeshift bed cloth rope to the foot of the bed. "This is probably just furthering his sick plot."
Sighing as the juliet cap tipped forward over my line of sight, due to my constant movements, I ripped the thing off -- freeing my hair. "That's it. This anachronistic hostage is breaking free."
With conviction that would shake even the dominion to its very core, I extended the cloth rope toward the window and prepared to become a fugitive on the run from the crown.
