Star Trek and Star Trek: Voyager are the copyrighted property of CBS Studios, Inc. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

Roses

The Aftermath

Kathryn looked up. "Did you just ask why I'm not talking to you? Really? Then why is my mouth dry?" To emphasize the point, she took another sip of her after-dinner coffee.

"Oh, we've talked," I answered. "But about Voyager, about the Borg. About our latest report to Starfleet."

"What else is there to talk about?"

"You." She'd just returned to full duty today, and already I was worried about her. Both Tuvok and B'Elanna had sought out some means of dealing with the psychological after-effects of their time as drones. Meditation, or a new holo-program, or extra time with friends. And other members of the crew – most notably Tom Paris and Seven of Nine – had also sought some means of emotional resolution.

But I knew, because I had checked, that Kathryn hadn't.

I had tried to tell myself that I would have been just as concerned about any other member of the crew. Each time, I would just about convince myself of this until I remembered the look that had passed between us in sickbay. Something about that memory compelled an absolute honesty inside. I'd lost sleep the past few nights.

Kathryn stood and walked to the view port, staring silently out at the stars. I joined her. "I was wondering how you've been holding up."

"Fine."

Did she really think I believed that? "You've been willing to talk about everything except the fact that you were assimilated. You haven't spent any time in the holodeck, or the mess hall, or anywhere, really, except your ready room or here by yourself. You haven't smiled, or laughed, or even rolled your eyes at Tom's jokes." I stepped closer to the view port so I could turn and face her. "Kathryn, you're not 'fine'."

She closed her eyes, but didn't answer. Behind her, on the table, I could see the two roses I'd returned to her this evening. Beside them, in a smaller vase, was the blue-tipped white rose I'd given her just a few days ago, just after she'd returned to Voyager.

Friendship. Peace. Healing. She needed so much.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked gently.

"I know I need to," she answered, turning toward me. "But I'm not sure I'm ready."

As she turned, the starlight caught something on the right side of her neck. Concerned, I looked closer. There were two small, circular scars there. They were relatively fresh, but fading quickly. One more dermal regeneration treatment would probably eliminate them. I found myself reaching up to brush them before I realized what had to have caused them.

Kathryn flinched away, hard, with a hiss of what might have been pain.

I dropped my hand. "I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"

"No. It's all right." But she didn't turn back toward me.

After a long pause, I stepped around to face her again, and this time, when I reached for the scars, it was deliberate. "It isn't good...to remember so much pain."

I rubbed my fingertips against the skin, tracing the line of her neck, intentionally turning the touch into a caress. I wanted her to have a memory of pleasure to counteract what was obviously an agonizing recollection of her assimilation.

Kathryn raised her eyes to mine, and she slowly brought her hand up to cover my own, intertwining our fingers. It was only then that I realized she was trembling, shaking from an onslaught of memories. By the look on her face, they weren't pleasant at all.

I slipped my other arm around her waist and drew her to me. She pressed her face against my shoulder, but she didn't cry. Rather, she clung to me, shuddering silently in response to the emotions that were surfacing. I just held her, stroking her hair and back.

I would have given just about anything to spare her this pain.

She'd never let me do this much before. Never accepted more than the most token of comforting gestures, never let me see her shaking and scared like this.

Oh, she'd been more open with me than with other members of the crew, but there had still always been a shield, a barrier between us. It hadn't been born of protocol so much as from a need for her to believe in her own strength. I'd never pressed, knowing how much she needed that belief.

In that moment, I understood what she'd tried to tell me in sickbay. Maybe not the words, but the intent, the meaning behind them. In that moment, I accepted the truth I'd been avoiding.

I could see the vase on the table when I looked over Kathryn's head. The pink rose, still a bud just a few days ago, had opened completely.

There's an alternate meaning for pink roses. Sometimes they represent the beginnings of love. But it could wait. In that moment, she needed peace and comfort, friendship and healing.

Kathryn secured our future by defeating the Borg. I would have time to make it a future worth living.