STAR TREK: VOYAGER
by Patricia L. Givens
DAx =/\=
STAR TREK: VOYAGER
I should have told
her.
How many opportunities
did I have? How many chances did I let
pass me by, all for the sake of my pride or my adherence to some unwritten
Starfleet protocol that barely made sense in the Alpha Quadrant and was patently
ridiculous way out here?
How many times did I
look into those bright blue eyes and see the question there, trying to find a
way out? How could I expect her to
ask? How could I even think that she
would know how to do so?
All the time that we
spent together, all the conversations and emotions, all the little signals that
I sent her that I should have known she would have no way to interpret.
Or maybe I did
know. Maybe it was safer to only show
the edges of my desire… my love. That
way it was never my fault. That way I
could tell myself she simply didn’t feel the same way.
But she did. And she showed it in a hundred little
ways. She was always so much more honest
than I was. Even when she pushed me,
challenged me, infuriated me, there was always the underlying current, hidden
just beneath her disdain of our human frailty.
The quiet passion in everything she did that screamed out “I need you to
see me! I need you to notice me! I need you to tell me that I am not just
another member of your crew. That I am not
just a project, an experiment, a way to redeem yourself for the mistakes you
have made.”
I never thought of her
that way. She was not some lump of clay
that I wanted to mold in my image, a broken soul that I wanted to redeem in
some selfish attempt to make our exile seem worthwhile.
Even if she was the
one thing, through all of this, that has
made it worthwhile.
In truth, and I only
ever say this to myself in the dead of night when I cannot sleep, I would do it
all again, if it meant that I could save her.
Even after she was with him, even after I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces and scatter across the cosmos like so much dust… even then I would have done anything for her.
Anything except tell her what she needed
to hear.
I tell her every night
now, as I lay awake. I tell her every
morning as I wait for the computer to chime and tell me to get up, to put the
uniform back on and go back to the bridge.
I tell her during every staff meeting as I stare at the empty chair at
the other end of the table. I tell her
every time I walk into Astrometrics and some foolish part of me still waits to
hear her say ‘Captain’ without even turning around to see that it was me.
It has become my daily
mantra, uttering the words a thousand times in my head as though it might make
up for never once saying it to her.
I love you, Seven.
I love you, Seven.
I love you, Seven.
I should have told her.
Wonderland
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