June 2000
Rating: G
Star Trek belongs to
Too Close
To Home
by Sängerin
Recognition
I had
the strangest feeling I was being set up. The invitation had come from Tilly Watson, for Kit McBride’s ‘debut’ at one of Tilly’s old haunts in San Fransisco.
Ever since we were all on Voyager, Tilly had
been encouraging Kit’s theatrical side; teasing it out slowly, giving her friend
the sort of theatrical training a potential performer deserved. Since we’d been
back home Tilly had been behind Kit all the way -
encouraging what looked like a promising career in music.
And
tonight Kit would be singing in a bar where Tilly
herself had sung, years before.
So
why did I feel I was being set up? When Tilly Watson
is involved with something, I’ve learnt to watch my back, as it were. Add Kit
McBride to the mix, and you really have to be careful.
Those
two had latched onto each other from the beginning of the trip. Tilly always knew where a bit of help was needed, and when
we first ended up in the Delta Quadrant, poor Kit surely needed some support.
She had been a month away from her final exams before being admitted to the JAG
corps, and the only reason she had been on Voyager was to monitor the
bio-neural circuitry. As a cadet, she’d worked as a junior member of the
development team, and she was one of the few members of that team available to
come on our ‘three week mission’. When it turned into a lot longer, Kit wasn’t
the only one to go into a sort of shock. But she was the one that Tilly found.
And
once Tilly had found her, the two of them discovered
that they made a formidable team. I hadn’t been able to effectively separate
them since. Not that I really tried. Between Tilly’s
engineering skills - and her command abilities, which she never openly
acknowledged - and Kit’s scientific, legal and medical knowledge, I had a
perfect tertiary command team.
I’m
not sure I ever really let them know that, though. I think I was too afraid of
what they might unleash on the ship as a result. Or rather,
on me.
Kit
grew up significantly in the Delta Quadrant. To all intents and purposes, she
was still a student when we ended up out there, and no matter how mature
someone might seem, there’s always a bit of youth that clings to someone who is
still studying. Youth isn’t a bad thing - I’m not saying it is - but it has
been a joy to see Kit getting more confident, poised, and dare I say it, stylish.
When I walked into the bar she was already onstage singing. In the seven
years on Voyager I’d only ever heard her singing old 17th and
18th Century Opera, and of course the 20th century
Broadway productions Tilly cast her in. I’d never
been able to convince her of the beauties of Mahler, though we both adored
Tchaikovsky.
But
the music she was singing tonight was quite different. It was smooth - almost
what might be called crooning - close to 20th century jazz, but with
a slightly different tone. I made my way to Tilly’s
table and asked quietly how much I’d missed.
‘Not
much,’ she replied. ‘Kit and I decided she wouldn’t sing through the songs
chronologically, though that was one idea. She started in the nineties, and
soon she’ll get into a couple of Gershwin songs.’ I nodded as though I knew
exactly what Tilly was saying. But I’ve always known
that not much gets past her. ‘Here,’ she said, pushing a padd
towards me. ‘Take a look - see what you think.’
I
scrolled through the padd, saying at the same time, ‘Tilly, you know all this is out of my depth. I was happiest
when she and the Doc were singing Puccini.’
‘Well,
no matter what, Kathryn, you have to stay to the end of the set.’
‘And
why would that be?’ I asked, on my guard once again.
Tilly just looked at me. ‘Because Kit is your friend, and she needs our
support. Besides, most of the crew won’t be getting here until after that. They
can listen to her second set.’
‘Is
Harry coming?’
‘I
don’t know,’ replied Tilly, looking at me sideways.
‘I wouldn’t mention him to Kit, if I were you.’
I
nodded, and turned to look up at Kit. If she was under any sort of stress, she
wasn’t showing it. She was singing her heart out, hamming it up to a couple at
a table in front. I recognised the song - ‘Can’t help
lovin’ ‘dat man,’ one of
her favourite show tunes. I looked back at Tilly.
She
shrugged and smiled. ‘I had to let her sing something from a Musical. The next
one is one of my favourites.’
I
looked back down at the padd. The next song would be
the last in the set. ‘"Nothing,"’ I read. ‘Where’s it from?’
‘It’s
Australian,’ replied Tilly. ‘From a
late 20th century variety show on television.’
‘Any
particular reason you like it so much?’
I got
another of Tilly’s sideways glances. ‘It makes me
think.’
‘Then
I’m sure I’ll like it.’
Kit
had gone back to the high stool next to the piano and sat down. She looked over
towards Tilly and I, smiled in greeting to me, then began to sing.
'Suns
collapse, planets die.
Clouds
will gather to darken skies,
But
you and I - we have nothing.'
The door
to the bar opened and I saw Tom, Harry and Chakotay
come in. Tilly waved them over to the table next to
us. I was watching Harry’s face, and Kit’s reaction
when she saw him, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. If they were
having troubles, they were hiding it well. Chakotay
rested his hand on my shoulder as he passed.
‘It’s
good to see you, Kathryn.’
‘You too, Chakotay.’ I smiled at
him and turned my attention back to Kit.
'Salt
has pepper, black has white,
Intrigue
has boredom, and day has night.
But
you and I - we have nothing.'
How
could Kit be singing this if she and Harry had broken up? If it had been me, I
would have been in tears. I was looking at Harry, trying to gauge his response
to what Kit was singing. Maybe she had broken up with him, maybe that was it.
But he was as calm as she was, watching her carefully.
I
found myself looking at Chakotay instead. I hadn’t
seen him in almost a year. He had hardly changed - a few more grey hairs,
maybe, but the face, the bearing, the dimples when he smiled, they were all
still the same. I realised at that moment just how
much I had missed him. It was as though a hole I hadn’t known existed had been
filled, just by his presence at the next table. And yet…
‘What
was hidden will be revealed,
And
what was found must be concealed
And
you and I - we have nothing.
Almost innocent, guilty of nothing.’
And
that was when it hit me. Guilty of nothing…not ‘not guilty,’
but ‘guilty by omission.’ Guilty of sitting side by side for seven years and
not doing anything about the feelings I knew were there. Guilty of pushing the
possibility of a relationship to the back of my mind, even once my mission was
complete and we were home. Guilty of walking past him after
the trial, simply because I didn’t know how to deal with this new situation of
freedom, of possibility. Of life without a safety-net.
And
in the middle of that San Fransisco bar, I started to
cry. The tears slipped down my cheeks noiselessly, and my shoulders began to
shake. Tilly looked over at me.
‘Kathryn?’
she asked, concerned.
‘I’ll
be all right, Tilly,’ I said quietly, ‘but I have to
leave. Tell Kit she did wonderfully. I’m sorry.’
I
stood up, and keeping my back to Chakotay, walked
briskly from the room. When I was safely outside, I slumped against the wall
and let the tears flow freely for a moment. Then I pulled myself together and
hurried away. I didn’t want anyone coming out to look for me.
* * *
Inside,
Kit finished singing with a flourish, took Harry’s hand and stepped down from
the stage. With Harry’s arm around her, she received the congratulations of all
her former crewmates. Then Tilly came up and hugged
her friend.
‘Ah…Kit,’
she said, a little shamefacedly, ‘I’d better warn you - I kind of let Kathryn
think you and Harry had broken up.’
‘What?’
‘Well,
I had to get her sympathetic so she’d stay until you sang that last song.’
‘So,’
said Tom Paris, joining the group, ‘Did it work?’
Expectations
I
woke up that day with the feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.
One way or another, this day was going to change my outlook on life. That it
could even change the whole course of my life. One can put too much faith in
expectations.
I’d
been having far too many revelatory moments recently. After that night
listening to Kit sing, there was another night when I realised
that before I could go forward, I had to deal with the past. Not
very original, but true. Something had to be done. So I contacted him.
You
might get the idea that I’m not all that good at keeping in touch with people. You’d
be right. I hadn’t spoken to Mark since I got back. And it wasn’t for lack of
perseverance on his part. But when Phoebe had told me that he
was divorced, I’d run like hell.
I’m a
scientist - I like complications in my life. It makes me feel like I’m achieving
something, to slowly unravel the complexities until the solution stands there
in front of me. It also makes me feel safe. A safety-net of difficulties; he’s
too far away, he’s too close, he’s too different, he’s too similar. I can pull
away from the problem, dismiss it because of, and despite, its complexity. I’m
not free, he’s not free. Then suddenly they both were. And I was. And I ran
like hell.
Nothing
would have given me more pleasure than to just keep running. But I knew I was
driving myself slowly insane, and I knew I had to turn around and face these
revelations head on.
I
didn’t want to. Believe me, I didn’t want to place the call to Mark, to arrange
to see him, to walk into that restaurant and look around for him, to see that
smile light up his face.
Because I couldn’t see his smile without thinking of another
smile. And it was that other smile that I desperately wanted to see
again.
‘I’m
so glad to see you, Kathryn.’
‘It’s
good to see you, too, Mark.’
‘It’s
been too long.’
‘My fault. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t
be sorry - at least we managed to see each other at last. So, how are you? Still busy with Starfleet?’
‘They
do their best to keep me occupied. And you?’
‘Working away. I have another Symposium coming up.
We’re looking at fundamental similarities in the development of base
philosophies.’
‘That
sounds fascinating!’
I
honestly meant it. And every topic I could get to run gave me more time to
gather my courage. We had a lovely lunch, talked about everything under the
sun. But the spark was gone from our conversation.
I
shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been seven years, a long-distance
engagement, a marriage and a messy divorce ago. Part of me was relieved, and
part of me desperately missed the relationship we used to have. And part of me
was still terrified that he hadn’t noticed that things had changed.
By
the time we finished and talking, the restaurant was deserted. The cooks had left, the staff had re-set the tables for dinner and were
all on their break. We got up from the table reluctantly. Even I will admit
that I had enjoyed myself.
As we
walked out onto the pavement Mark bent down and kissed me quickly on the cheek.
‘It really was good to see you, Kathryn. I hope everything goes well with you.’
‘Thank you, Mark,’ I said, not knowing how to respond. ‘I wish you every happiness.’
He
shook his head slowly. ‘I’ve had my chances. I didn’t take them. Yours…’ he
paused, looking past me. Then he looked back at me, straight into my eyes.
‘Yours are still waiting for you. Take them, Kathryn. And don’t look back.
Regrets will kill you.’
I
couldn’t help it. I hugged him, a tear in my eye. He was one of my oldest
friends, after all. ‘I don’t think you can imagine what that means to me,
Mark.’
‘I
have an idea,’ he said, then he walked away.
I had
expected to come home feeling that a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
I had expected to either feel elated or absolutely depressed.
I
felt a little deflated, to be honest. Because this wasn’t the only step I had
to take. It was only the first step. And after the first comes a second.
Contentment
In
the end, I was the one who turned and walked away. Physically, I mean.
Mentally, psychologically, she’d turned away long before me. It would have
taken an absolute idiot not to notice it. We had a nice enough lunch, talked
for ages, and in a way it was as though nothing had changed. But that was only
on the surface.
It
wasn’t necessarily a change for the worse. At first I’d mourned for her and
told anyone who wanted to hear that I would never stop loving her. Gradually, I
accepted that she was gone. And then suddenly she wasn’t - she was back in my
life again, in some way at least. Writing that letter to her was one of the
hardest things I’ve ever done. Well, that and another letter I wrote a couple
of years later. To bury something - to think you are done with it all - only to
have it spring to life again, despite your best efforts, is hell. I know it’s hell - I’ve gone through it.
And I
survived.
Sometimes
I’m not sure how. I was so sure I’d put my love for her behind me - wrapped it
up and put it on one of those ‘back shelves’ in your mind where you store
pleasant experiences that will not come again. I told myself I’d dealt with it, and that it would not come back to haunt me.
And
then, only a few months later, it came back to haunt me. But this particular
ghost was alive. Kathryn was alive, and for all I knew, she considered our
engagement to be as solid as ever. She sent me a letter, and with the first few
words, all the emotion that I’d packed away burst out and flowed over me. There
was nothing I could do - it was like falling in love with her all over again.
For
weeks, months - if I’m honest, it may have been a few years - I was on an
emotional high, for no reason at all. The only basis for that feeling was the
fact that she was still alive, and that something that had seemed absolutely
impossible the day before was suddenly, incredibly, gloriously possible.
Try
to forget that at the time I was still married. I certainly tried to forget the
fact. I did a good job, too. So good that…but you know all that.
I
read her letter again recently - I’m a dreadful packrat, and keep things long
after I should have thrown them away. Reading it now I can see the uncertainty
between the lines, the tinges of coldness here and there that, if I’d cared to
look, I would have seen. She was tiptoeing around the edges of our
relationship, testing the edges to see it they were still there. I don’t know -
maybe she was looking for loopholes.
I’m a
philosopher. I pride myself on my ability to intellectualise
life in all its gory detail. But for a while, all my attempts to intellectualise my feelings for Kathryn failed miserably.
The strange thing is, by the time we actually saw each other again, I’d managed
to do a reasonable job of calming down, getting off that high I’d been on, and
re-compartmentalising my life. I was almost to the
point where I would have been content for things to stay as they’d been for the
rest of that year - the odd written message, usually dashed off hurriedly by
Kathryn as she flitted from one Starfleet de-brief or ceremony to another.
But
her call sent everything into a whirl. Suddenly I was back on that high again,
but at the same time I knew I didn’t want to be there. And when I met her for
lunch that day I had no idea what to expect.
It
wasn’t the sort of situation where you just know, all the way through
the conversation. We talked about anything and everything; found that we agreed
on topics that I wouldn’t have expected her to consider. She was willing to
listen to my philosophising with good grace, and I
was still able to get her to explain whatever scientific tangent she went on so
that I could understand her. Even the silences weren’t uncomfortable. To anyone
watching, we could have been a couple.
But
somehow I knew it was all very different to the way it had been. And when I
said goodbye, and turned and walked away, I guess I knew that it was over. Or
rather, that this time, it had never really begun.
Later
I realised that this was exactly the way I wanted it.
I’m not being noble or self-sacrificing, I’m being honest. I’m utterly content
with the way things are now. We’re friends, good friends, and we’ll continue to
be so for a long time to come. It was almost as though a weight was lifted from
my shoulders as I walked away. Or maybe it was just that a ghost had been laid
to rest.
Exposure
‘Chakotay, how about we meet for lunch one of these days?’
No, too casual. ‘Chakotay, would you do me the honour…’ Good grief, no! I sound like I’m proposing.
Which might not be such a bad idea.
Try
again. ‘Chakotay, I haven’t seen you in a long time.
I’d love to see you and have a chance to catch up - what do you think of
meeting for dinner at La Bocuse one evening next
week?’
That
should do. ‘Computer, send message.’
Dammit - I should not be this nervous. Dinner with a friend. That’s all it is. The fact that I’ve
been in love with him for gods know how long, and that he once - once, mind you
- said he loved me and told me a lovely fairy story, shouldn’t make any
difference at all.
But
it does. And despite everything - principles, better judgment, all that stuff -
I’m scared out of my wits.
I’m
terrified. That’s exactly it - I’m terrified. Terrified that
he doesn’t love me any more. Terrified that he does. Terrified that I’ll
throw myself into his arms in front of the whole
restaurant, and become known as the ‘lovelorn Captain’. Terrified
that if I do, he’ll look at me as though I’m crazy. Terrified
that if I do, he’ll kiss me.
What
it is to have a mind! If only I could make mine up. Do I want him to answer or
don’t I? Do I want to go on living the way I have for the last eight years?
I
know the answer to that - no! It’s time to sort this out one way or another, once
and for all.
I
hate feeling like this. I’m supposed to be the strong, independent Captain, not
some simpering idiot who swoons at the feet of handsome men…and even the most
unbiased woman has to admit that Chakotay is
handsome. And I’m not at all unbiased. But the fact remains, I’m supposed to be
independent - my happiness should not depend on the good opinion of someone
else.
At
times I can convince myself that my happiness doesn’t depend on his good
opinion - that, if at the end of all this he feels the
same way I do, it’s all an added bonus. That’s on my good days.
On my bad days? I’m a Starfleet Captain,
I’m not supposed to have bad days - especially not now that I’m back in the
Alpha Quadrant. Of course, in the Delta Quadrant I had bad weeks, bad months.
Maybe even a bad year in there somewhere. Now that I’m back here everything is
supposed to be all right. I’m a hero, right? The
‘Captain-who-wouldn’t-say-die’, the woman who’s been feted and celebrated in
all corners of the Quadrant.
Which, I tell myself, is why it has taken me a year. That’s not
the reason, of course, but I tell myself it is. Too many
things to do, not enough time to stop and smell the roses - and the
possibilities. Some people might tell me this is my best chance in
years. If there weren’t a knot in my stomach the size of a Borg cube, I’d agree
with them.
It’s
strange how empathy works. For years I couldn’t understand how, in this day and
age, anyone would let themselves be dragged into an abusive relationship, or an
emotionally harmful relationship, or a relationship that was doomed to failure
from the start. I’ve seen plenty, but I’ve always had little pity for the
people involved. I’ve tended to say that they should have been able to see what
I could see.
But
now I think I understand. Because at the same time as I tell myself that I’m
going into this with my eyes wide open, I know how powerful my emotions can be,
how they can really stop one part of my brain from working at all.
For
seven years I lived on the same ship as Chakotay. I
saw him every single day, he was - he is - my best friend. We lived in the same
little house on New Earth…oh, how I’ve been homesick for that little place
since we left…I know him so well. And yet even so I’m worried that there’s
something that I’ve missed - that by leaving myself open to love, I’m leaving
myself open to an even greater pain.
And
what if he doesn’t even want to see me? What will I do then?
‘Computer,
play new incoming message.’
‘Kathryn,
that sounds marvellous. Can’t wait to see you - 1900
this Friday? If it doesn’t suit, let me know. Otherwise I’ll see you at La Bocuse.’
Well,
Chakotay. 1900 Friday it is. If I
can convince myself to go.
Resolution
‘Resolution is good, no matter
which way things end up being resolved.’
(Penelope McKimm)
There
never was any question as to whether I would meet him there that night. My head
might have wavered, but the rest of my body - my feet in particular - had no
qualms. Almost without thinking about it, I had dressed and done my hair and
left my apartment. I don’t really remember travelling
to the restaurant, but somehow I was there, and right
on time.
La Bocuse is a beautiful restaurant; understated décor and
glorious food. I stood outside for a moment or two, looking out over the bay,
taking deep, calming breaths. Then I turned away from
the glorious view in front of me, pushed open the door and went in.
He
was already there. I didn’t even have to ask the staff whether he’d arrived
yet. Everyone knew me, and they all knew him and his connection to me. He stood
up when I reached the table, and leaned over to kiss my cheek.
‘You
look wonderful, Kathryn.’
‘I
do?’ I asked stupidly. Like I said, I had no idea what I had put on - I could
have been wearing my uniform for all the attention I’d paid.
He
grinned as we sat down - one of those damned, dimpled grins that had set my
pulse racing all through those seven years. ‘You always look lovely, Kathryn. Even at two in the morning after a night of going over crew
evaluations.’
I
laughed with him. ‘Of all the memories to bring up…So, what are you doing at
the moment?’
‘To
be honest, drifting,’ he replied. ‘I’ve been travelling,
mostly around Earth, but I went back to Trebus to see
how things were going there.’ He sounded hesitant.
‘How were
they?’ I prompted.
‘Not
good. The village was totally destroyed - I knew that - but the Cardassians had rebuilt it, then it was destroyed by the Klingons, and then again by the Dominion. And some of my
people have moved back there to try again.’ He was incredulous, and trying hard
to keep his temper reigned in. ‘I’m sorry, Kathryn,’ he said after a moment’s
silence. ‘I didn’t mean to unload all this on you.’
I put
a hand over his. ‘You know that I’m here if you need to talk.’
‘I
know.’ He studied my face for a moment, then looked
down at our hands.
‘Excuse
me, madam, sir, are you ready to order?’ I had the
insane thought that our Vulcan waiter resembled Tuvok,
and I drew my hand away and picked up my menu.
After
we’d placed our orders I realised that my nerves were
back in full. The silence as Chakotay watched me was
too jarring, and I had to fill it somehow. ‘Are you still in Starfleet?’ I
asked, groaning inwardly at the question.
‘So far. I’ve taken an extended leave of absence. And
you?’
‘I’ve
been doing a little work at the Academy, that sort of thing.’
‘I
always thought you be back out on a ship as soon as the trial was over.’
‘Well,’
I hesitated. What I wanted to say was obviously something was keeping me
here but I was too nervous. I’ve never been any good at flirting. Tilly Watson once told me it was my greatest failing. She
also said it was Kit’s greatest failing… ‘Have you seen Harry recently?’
‘Not
since last week at Kit’s debut,’ Chakotay replied,
‘but he’s teaching at the Academy. But you know that - he took the posting to
stay close to Kit until she finishes her supervised year with JAG.’
‘Poor Kit.’
Now
he really looked puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘Tilly told me she and Harry broke up. Didn’t you know?’
There was a look of disbelief on his face.
‘When
did she tell you that?’
‘Last
week, just before you and Tom and Harry arrived.’ He started to snicker - yes,
snicker. ‘What?’
‘Kathryn,
Harry and Kit have never been further from breaking up. I saw them at the end
of the evening - long after you left. B’Elanna says
she expects them to announce their engagement by the end of the month.’
‘Then
why did Tilly…damn! I knew I was being set up! Those two little…brats!’
‘I’m
missing something here,’ said Chakotay, almost under
his breath. But I heard it.
‘The
song Kit was singing when you came in? Do you remember it?’
‘Not
specifically - but it was pretty depressing.’
I
nodded, still too annoyed by what Kit and Tilly had
done to realise what I was saying.
‘So depressing that I spent five minutes standing outside crying
in the middle of the street after I left.’
‘Kathryn,’
he said softly, ‘why were you crying?’
‘Because
I realised how wrong I’d been - how I’d been pushing
you away - how much I…oh,’ I trailed off.
‘How much you what?’ he said, even softer, his eyes gentle as he
looked at me.
‘Umm,’
I said, looking away and fiddling with the stem of my wineglass.
‘Kathryn,’
he said, taking my hand and moving the wineglass, ‘Would this make you less
nervous, or more nervous?’
Before
I could ask what he meant, he had leant over the table and kissed me. On the lips. With everyone in the
restaurant watching. Including the Vulcan waiter who
was bringing our dinner to the table.
‘Well?’
Chakotay asked when we had come up for air.
‘After
careful consideration…less nervous,’ I said, and kissed him back.
* * *
Tilly Watson did not fail to notice the stir when her former Captain
and First Officer entered the bar. The hour was latish, and Kit was into her
final set. There were a number of ex-Voyager crew at the tables, and
none of them were about to miss the sight of Janeway
and Chakotay entering a room together. But most of
the curious crew were destined to be disappointed. As
far as any of them could see, nothing had changed in their relationship in the
month since Kit’s debut. The general reaction was a sigh of resignation before
attention was turned back to Kit.
Tilly kept her eye on them slightly longer however. Never one to take
something at face value, she couldn’t help but notice that these last two weeks
they had come in together, though they’d sat at adjoining tables. And the week
before, they’d left within five minutes of each other. To Tilly,
it had all the hallmarks of a concealed affair.
She
sighed. For seven years she, Kit, and many others on Voyager had tried
to get those two together, and it had never happened. It probably never would. Tilly turned back to the stage as Kit finished her last
song.
Instead
of thanking everyone as she had at the end of every other evening, Kit nodded
once to someone at the back of the room, and then turned to speak briefly to
the accompanist. Then she looked back out over the room.
‘This
final piece is rather different to what I’ve been singing this last hour,’ said
Kit, ‘but it is a request from two dear friends of mine. They’d like me to dedicate
this song to my great friend, Tilly Watson…and they
hope you get the point.’ Kit grinned at Tilly as she
began to sing.
‘I’d
like to declare that matchmaking this pair is the life to live.
That
nothing has changed and that time isn’t passing us by.
But
I have to say here that, for us, there’s a clear-cut alternative.
When
we look at our Captain, let’s believe our own eyes.
I
believe my own eyes, know we’ve come to the end:
No
more need for our games. If you’re doubtful, my friend,
Then
believe your own eyes.’
Tilly swung around to search out Kathryn and Chakotay.
They were at a table in a dark corner of the room, next to a table containing Tuvok, Tom, B’Elanna and Harry.
Even in the dark, Tilly could see that Chakotay was holding Kathryn’s hand. As Tilly
turned back to watch Kit, Kit reached out a hand and pulled Tilly
up on the stage.
‘Come
on, Til, here’s the words. Just sing along,’ said
Kit, grinning. So Tilly did.
‘This
has gone far enough! After all we’ve been through…
We
can’t be blamed; we’ve done all we can possibly do.
It’s
a time to be tough, a time to be wise.
We
can admit all our dreams have come true and get on with our lives.’
Tilly was barely able to contain her laughter to keep singing. During
another long instrumental break she asked Kit quietly, ‘Who changed the words?’
‘Chakotay and I,’ Kit replied. ‘About a
week ago.’
‘And
you didn’t tell me?’ asked Tilly, stunned.
‘I
couldn’t,’ said Kit. ‘It would have wrecked that lovely expression you got on
your face when I finished the first verse!’
‘But
what about this verse?’ said Tilly, giving up the
struggle to keep from laughing as she looked at the next set of words.
‘Don’t
you worry about that,’ said Kit, herself trying hard not to laugh. ‘Just stop
chuckling and sing!’
‘We’d
like to believe that you truly have gotten the best of us.
And
the way to believe is to see where the real future lies.
We
hope that you don’t see a need to chastise or punish us.
‘Cause
when we look at our Captain, we believe our own eyes.
We
believe our own eyes…’
Kit
nudged Tilly to stop singing, and finished the last
line on her own, her voice floating through the room.
‘We
believe our own eyes.’
As
Kit finished singing, there was a hush over the room. Then, a spotlight
swiveled to shine on the table where Kathryn and Chakotay
were sitting. Kathryn had leant her head on Chakotay’s
shoulder, but when she was caught in the spotlight, she sat up straight.
‘Caitlyn
McBride!’ she said sternly. ‘This wasn’t part of the deal.’
Tilly looked at her chuckling friend.
‘Come
on, now, Kathryn,’ said Kit. ‘You couldn’t expect me to let this go without
making a bit of a point!’
Kathryn
narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re just lucky that I don’t want to move from this spot
- or you’d be in trouble. Both of you!’ At that, Chakotay put an arm around Kathryn and kissed her cheek,
and the whole room burst into applause.
Songs
quoted: “Nothing”, written by Paul Mac, sung by Paul McDermott; and a variation
on “I Believe My Own Eyes” from “Tommy” by Pete Townsend (of “The Who”).