Chapter Text
Everyone is gone, except Mike. My brand-new quarters, strangely quiet now that the hustle and bustle is over, although the air is filled with soft jazz tunes that someone - was it Harry? - had started. Part of me is dreading the moment when Mike is gone too.
Alone.
It’s not like the alone in Kathy’s quarters, where her presence is embedded everywhere and I don’t really feel alone, even if she is not there. It’s as if her quarters shelter me. Her smell which lingers in the room, in the blankets, her clothes. Her tasteful decoration which speaks of her soul. The tiny things lying around and which are telltale of a room that is alive. An empty coffee cup. A book upside down. A jacket tossed forgotten over the back of a chair.
But these quarters here, though supposed to be mine, they are not home. Nothing that shelters. Nothing that feels secure, except for the man beside me.
Oblivious to my thoughts, Mike continues to help me tidy up the last remnants of the party. The first person who had arrived, now also the last to stay. A guilty conscience fills my guts. He must be tired after this week full of demanding shifts. “You don’t have to help. There is not much left to do anyway.”
Mike retrieves the cleaned plates out of the refresher, looks up. Straightens and sighs when he sees my expression. “It’s fine, Phoebe.”
“I don’t want to impose on you.”
He rolls his eyes. “And what if I simply want to stay a bit?”
Smiling wearily, I take the plates out of his hands. “Then you are welcome to relax on the couch. And if you feel bored then open Harry’s red wine. I have to search for the glasses though.”
“Fine,” Mike laughs. “I know where the glasses are. I placed them in your cupboard only a few minutes ago. Consider it done.”
A short time later, I join him on the couch. As I sit down, he hands me a glass, the moving liquid’s color changing softly in the light in rich reddish hues. Our thighs, our shoulders brush. The couch is definitely small. Not that I’m complaining. It feels good. Him. Me. Both of us, here. “Cheers.”
He clinks his glass with mine. “Cheers. And how do you like the idea of having your own quarters?”
Pensively, I shrug off my shoes and plant my feet on the coffee table.
My coffee table.
My couch.
My privacy. No one pestering me when I am on the toilet. No Chakotay suddenly appearing in my flat when I am still in my pajamas. No command team which I interrupt from cuddling on the couch.
Pressing my lips together, I nod appreciatively. “I think it is good, although I’ll miss having company when I come home.”
He huffs a laugh. “Just give me a call if you are lonely.”
I glance at him. “Don’t you have better things to do in the evening than to babysit me?”
“Ever thought that I might like having you around me?”
Lowering my head, I peek over my glass, my cheeks suddenly warm. “I like having you around me, too.”
His eyes linger on me. “Then … just call me. Alright?”
“Alright,” I murmur.
In silence, we sip our wine, the music’s soft tunes engulfing us like a warm blanket. I can’t help but feel thankful for his company, his quiet support. “Thanks.”
“Whatever for?” he asks, puzzled.
“I know you are still here, because you are looking after me.”
Mike empties his glass, puts it down on the couch table. “If it helps you settle in, then I am glad.”
I study my toes. “Being alone right now feels a bit … unsettling. Kathy will join me for breakfast in the morning. So, bottom line, it’s the ‘falling-asleep-alone-in-the-night-on-a-star-ship-lost-in-the-nowhere’ part which bothers me a bit.”
He merely nods but doesn’t comment on it.
“I will be fine though, don’t worry.”
“I am not worrying,” he says, casting me a glance from the side. “I know that you will find a way. It’s not that you’ve never fallen asleep alone in your life before. However, tomorrow I have the day off and my only appointment is breakfast with Chakotay, so I’m in no hurry to leave. Take your time. And if it helps, I can keep you company until you fall asleep.”
Letting out a slow breath, I murmur, “It’s so embarrassing.”
He stretches out his legs and, closing his eyes, he reclines into the couch, folding his hands over his stomach. “It is what it is. Don’t waste a thought about it.”
“I’ll try.”
For a while neither of us says a word, yet it doesn’t feel awkward, just warm and comfortable. Even my body starts to unwind, mirroring Mike’s relaxed posture, tiredness slowly creeping into my bones. Letting my eyes close, a deep, relaxed exhale escapes me. Somehow, falling asleep beside him is tempting. Is this how Kathy and Chakotay feel, when they share the couch?
“Did you really mean it today?” Mike asks suddenly.
I open an eye. “What exactly?”
He shrugs off an imaginary shred from his trousers. “Me being a good father.”
Frowning, I study him. He appears to be troubled. “Of course. Why are you asking?”
Rubbing over his nose, he seems to seek for words. They come hesitantly, as if he has to become accustomed first to talking at all about this. “I’ve been away for almost seven years, Phoebe. My boys don’t know me anymore. Pete has taken over as Susanna’s husband. And-“ he takes a deep breath. “He does a pretty good job as a stepfather, from all that I can tell. I feel like am out of the equation.”
“You will always be their father,” I say softly, laying a hand on his knee. He meets my gaze with large, teary eyes. “One thing I am pretty sure is that you are definitely not out of the equation.”
He swallows hard. “What makes you think so?”
Inwardly sighing, I sit up again. It’s not a topic I am fond of as it hits home too much to be comfortable. But then, there is no way other than to speak with him about this issue as it seems to really weigh on him. “Because of observation mixed with own experience.”
“How so?”
Giving him a long look, I fold one leg over another. “I’ve seen your family often enough to understand that you still have your place, even if Susanna is now remarried and has a child with Pete. They are talking about you, including you, remembering you. And Pete is not someone who wants to erase your presence. On the contrary.”
Mike presses his lips together, hastily looks to the floor.
“Your boys have grown into fine young men and it is partly due to you that they grew up so well.”
His voice is barely a croak. “They sent me a message last time. They’ve grown and changed so much that sometimes I barely can believe it.”
My heart aches for this man. It must be so unendingly difficult for him. “How often do you communicate with them ever since Voyager made contact with the Alpha Quadrant again?”
“Monthly. I record a message, try to tell them about my life. Refer to the things back in their message, which are … well … I don’t know. It feels as if they feel pressured to make conversation with me.” He pauses. “Not surprising, considering the circumstances. I must be like a stranger to them.” His eyes seek mine. “Why are you asking?”
Inwardly sighing, I rub over my face. It definitely hits home too much. “Because I’ve been there, too. I know how it was to wait for my dad’s messages, to not know if he was ever coming back. To long for each of his messages, and yet to not know what to tell him, because although we loved each other, we were strangers in many respects.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just listens.
“I’m four years younger than Kathy. She and Dad shared a lot of interests. Science. Starfleet. I’m …“ I lean forward and refill my glass again. Then his. “I’m the aberration in a family full of Starfleet officers and scientists. It’s not that I never felt loved. On the contrary. But being understood is something entirely different, although Mom encouraged me to draw from early on.”
“The captain always speaks highly of you and your profession.”
“I know,” I murmur.
“Phoebe, what exactly do you want to tell me?”
Lifting my glass and sipping from the wine, I stall for time. It’s not a place in my past I visit eagerly. “Maybe,” I start reluctantly, ”their message felt stilted because they have no idea how and what to communicate with you at the moment? At least it was the case for me.” I sigh. “Dad and Kathy had a lot in common. I always envied her relaxed ease with him. In hindsight, I had no clue what to tell him of my life that would have piqued his interest. So, I kind of understand what you mean with an artificial message. Mine were certainly nothing but stiff.”
Mike looks at me surprised. “I guess he would have wanted to hear anything from you. No matter what.”
I swallow hard. “Now, I know. But I didn’t know back then.”
Silence stretches between us. “And what would you have needed to feel more comfortable with him?” he asks eventually.
Carefully, I set back my glass. Somehow, even after all those years, it still hurts. “I don’t know. Maybe separated messages from him to each of us? The knowledge that he will listen to anything I want to tell him? That he is here for me not matter what?”
“He never gave you that feeling?”
“No,” I say, gulping back a lump that threatens to form in my throat. “To me he was out of reach.”
Mike picks up the wine, but doesn’t drink. Instead, his fingers clench tightly around the stem, his glance somewhere far away, lost. “I am more than 30.000 light years away, Phoebe. Out of reach doesn’t even come close.”
“It’s not about the distance in space,” I murmur. “It’s about the distance of your hearts.”
His eyes shift back to me, study me closely.
I hold his glance. “Gaining their trust will take time. But knowing you, I am sure you’ll achieve that. You probably don’t know what a damn good listener and a very wise man you are.”
Mike appears as if he is about to cry. Hastily, he withdraws his gaze, takes a large sip, then another, the beat of the soft jazz tunes the only thing audible for long minutes.
His voice is barely a whisper when he starts talking again. “Did you have a person you could trust in this way when you were young?”
I swallow hard. “Yes. Justin.”
“Who was he?” he asks, his tone soft and cautious as if he senses my pain.
Tears fill my eyes, my heart. “Kathy’s first fiancé,” I reply, strangled. “He was fourteen years older than me. He was like a brother and an anchor to me until-” And then my voice fails as overwhelming hurt swamps me. I still miss him so much.
“I see,” he whispers, his hand seeking mine. Warm. Comforting.
Biting my lips, I force back my tears. “Even though he was often far away, he was always there for me.” Moistening my lips, I take a deep breath and seek his eyes. Squeeze his hand back. “That’s why I know that it can work out for you as well. You shouldn’t give up, even though it might be hard in the beginning.”
“Will you … help me?”
“Of course I will.”
He lets out a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”
Silence engulfs us again, and I can’t help but study him in secrecy as he seems to be mulling over what we’ve just talked about. His features, exhausted, yet filled with something that I’ve never seen there before. He never wants to talk about it, so no one asks. But in time, he’ll be his usual self again. How on Earth did he manage to go through his days harboring such a pain in his heart? I can’t believe that he never addressed his hurt with anyone before. No, that doesn’t feel right. People seem to know, or at least to assume.
“Mike?”
He looks up. “Hmm?”
“When did you stop talking about your family on Voyager?”
A minuscule shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe after the first year?”
“And … why did you stop?”
Inhaling deeply, he shifts his weight on the couch, his thigh brushing again against mine. “Most people on this ship don’t have children,” he starts hesitantly as if he can’t name it properly himself, his voice very quiet. “Only a few really understand how it feels having to leave behind your kids. And we few … we just stopped eventually.” He sighs. “But not talking about our children doesn’t lessen the hurt. It just doesn’t burden the rest of the crew with something they can’t solve anyway.”
It just doesn ’t burden the rest of the crew with something they can’t solve anyway.
That’s so very him. Not burdening anybody, but being there for anyone who needs him.
My throat feels awkwardly raw. “If I may ask, to whom were you talking to in the beginning?”
“Neelix and the people on my list?”
I sit straight. “List? Someone wanted to add me to your list. Whatever that is.”
Mike stiffens. “Who?”
“Andrews?”
“I see,” he says slowly, sudden alertness in the depth of his eyes.
“What’s this list about?”
His eyes are still on me, an expression in them as if he sees me in a new light. It makes me feel insecure, unsettles part of me in a way that lets me almost inwardly shiver. “Mike?”
“It’s an emergency contact list,” he states reluctantly. “Kind of a next of kin list for times when shit hits the fan. It might sound rather … irrelevant to you, but except for the Delaney twins and the Wildmans, no one has relatives aboard.”
“It doesn’t sound irrelevant,” I murmur, my throat aching painfully as a sudden gush of memory washes over me. Kathy laying pale in her bed, her form slimming before my eyes with each day she refused to eat. “It’s not irrelevant in the Alpha Quadrant. And it must be even more important here. I can’t even fathom how important.”
His glance drops to his hands, his voice very hoarse once he continues to speak. “It’s … vital. Without this list I doubt Voyager would have made it so far. Too much shit hit the fan over the years. Sooner or later, everyone is pushed beyond what one is capable of shouldering.”
I swallow hard. “Who decides who is on that list?”
He rubs his face, suddenly looking rather tired. “Mostly it’s based on your own suggestions. But, of course, your suggestions and the responsibilities which come with it are usually discussed with everyone involved in a plenum together with the captain, Chakotay, Tuvok and the Doctor, or their respective deputies.”
I stare at him. “Isn’t that supposed to be a personal matter? I mean, I do get that the Doctor is kind of involved, but the rest?”
Mike looks up. “It’s not merely about personal matters, Phoebe. This community relies on everyone to … function, to be reliable. If one person in a thousand goes havoc, then its bad enough, but its even worse when there are only 150 people. Believe me, we’ve been there before. It’s not something you ever want to witness.”
This very last sentence … I don’t like the way he said it. It’s as if the sound of violence, of death vibrates with it. Chills run ice cold over my spine.
As I don’t reply, he says quietly, “It’s a matter of security and survival, Phoebe. A safety net for everyone which at the same time ensures that also the rest of the crew stays safe. That’s why so many people are involved in these decisions, even though it means an intrusion into our privacy. We can’t afford to be wrong.” His voice becomes even more quiet. “If the safety net fails then it may cost lives. Lon Suder. Frank Darwin. Just to name some.”
“It must be a tough responsibility,” I murmur.
“What?”
“To discuss and decide this for others. To counsel and to judge for the greater good.”
“You mean for your sister?”
I lock eyes with him. “Also for you. Aren’t you the deputy chief security officer and thus at least sometimes involved in this process?”
For a few long heartbeats, he stays silent. “It’s hardest when we lose people and readjust the lists these people were part of,” he eventually whispers, his eyes becoming moist. “Or when there is no one to be sent from a list because they are all also affected or dead.”
Silence embraces as as we lapse into quietness again, lost in thoughts, in pain.
“Mike?”
He tears his gaze away from the floor. “Hmm?”
“Do I have such a list, as well?”
“Good question. Since neither your sister, the Doc, Tuvok nor Chakotay addressed it with you so far, I suppose you are still in need of one.” He pauses. “I am sorry, I should have checked if there was already a list in place during your Code Pink situation. It was apparent that your sister was not the right person at that moment.”
“You were exactly the person I needed then. Not anyone else.”
Touched. That’s how he looks. “Any time,” he says softly.
Chewing on my lip, I shift on the couch. “I don’t know how it works … but … may I ask you to be part of my emergency contact list?”
Surprise washes over his face. “You’re sure you want that?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. You were already there in my worst hours.”
His eyes soften. “Of course, I’ll continue to be there for you if you want me to be.”
My voice almost fails. “Thank you.”
“How about I start your emergency contact list right now? As deputy chief security officer I have the necessary security levels to make such an entry. We should, of course, contact your sister, Chakotay, Tuvok and the Doctor tomorrow and complete the procedure. They’ll also need to tell you the rules and so on.”
I smile tearily. “Sounds fine.”
He smiles back. “I assume you want your sister on that list, too?”
“Of course.”
“Computer, list Phoebe Janeway as a new person in Voyager’s emergency contact list members and include Mike Ayala and Kathryn Janeway as contact partners. Authorization Ayala 89RhoThau.”
*Unable to comply. Phoebe Janeway is already listed in Voyager ’s emergency contact list. Mike Ayala and Kathryn Janeway are already existing entries of the emergency contact list for Phoebe Janeway*
Mike’s and my eyes meet.
“Okay,” he says slowly, frowning. “You’re sure no one ever talked to you about this?”
“I am pretty sure.”
He frowns. “That’s … unusual. Seems like with all the things going on lately, they’ve forgotten to mention it to you. Still …”
“But … you are already on my list?”
“Appears I am,” he murmurs pensively, and reluctantly standing up, he heads towards the console in my wall. “Computer, list Phoebe Janeway’s emergency list contacts in the order of relevance.”
*Mike Ayala, Kathryn Janeway, Susan Nicoletti*
His feet almost stumble over each other, bringing him to an abrupt halt. This time, as our eyes lock, the room between us is filled with something that makes my knees go weak. Listing Mike … even before Kathy?
Slowly letting out a long measured exhale, his hands wander to his hips, his eyes still on me. He’s paled considerably.
“Mike?”
His voice is almost a croak. “Computer, list my emergency list contacts in the order of relevance.”
*Phoebe Janeway, Chakotay, B ’Elanna Torres, Kenneth Dalby*
It’s as if the room suddenly becomes too small, almost implodes. The air too warm. My fingers reach for my collar. Words stuck in my throat. I have no idea what to say, how to react.
“Why … am I on top of your list? And … you on mine?”
He withdraws his eyes, a sudden mixture of pale and reddish spots wandering along his neck, his face. Without a further word, he steps to the console, keys in a few commands. Stares wordlessly for a long time on the screen, while bracing himself with one hand against the wall.
Hesitantly, I join him, looking at him questioningly.
Instead of an answer, Mike steps to the side, lets me glimpse at the screen. The moment I read the just recently added entries, it’s clear why he’d remained silent. My heartbeat quickens, pulses hard in my neck.
Both, the entry of my own list and the changes on Mike’s, apparently approved by Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Commander Tuvok, the Doctor, the date … a few days ago.
“I really wasn’t aware of this,” I croak.
“Neither was I.” Mike blows the air out of his cheeks. “I … don’t know what to say right now.”
“I don’t know either.”
And thus, for a while, neither of us says something, the meaning of all this slowly unfolding, slowly sinking. Just the jazz music’s soothing tunes and Voyager’s soft humming engulfing us.
Suddenly straightening, as if he’d come to a decision, Mike motions in direction of the couch. “As embarrassing as this might seem right now, we need to talk about it.”
“I know,” I mumble and trot towards the couch. The wine bottle is almost empty. “I might need something stronger.”
Tilting his head, he studies me for a few seconds. Then sits down. “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not really,” he says with a deep inhale, and props his elbows on his knees. “As I told you before, defining an emergency contact list is standard on this ship. What is not standard though is that apparently changes were made without discussing it with any of us. And honestly, this bothers me the most. It’s not that the last weeks were overly catastrophic which justifies not contacting us.” He rubs over his face, then lets his hand drop back onto his knee. “However, where the two of us concerns, it is a rather simple thing to decide right now.” He pauses, looks me straight into my eyes. Swallows. “If something happens to me, do you give permission to be the first person asked to look after me?”
Somehow, the way he’d asked … it makes my knees become jelly. I slump onto the couch, my heart suddenly pounding way faster than it should. “Do you want me to be that very person?”
He swallows again, studies his hands. “Until now, I’ve never given it a thought. But yes, I think I do.”
“Mike … I am not familiar with the problems that the Delta Quadrant brings with it.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he says quietly. “I trust you. You never would do anything that harms me. You would try to do your best to help me, even if it requires you to retreat and hand over the responsibility to someone else, who you deem more suited for that particular situation.”
So much trust. So much responsibility. And yet, it feels right. As if it is something that I would do anyway. “You have my permission.”
“Thanks,” he murmurs, reverting his eyes. “And what do you want for yourself? Do you want me to be the first person to be contacted in your case? It’s okay, if you don’t want me,” he adds hastily. “It’s not about rankings. It’s about feeling secure.”
“I feel secure with you,” I croak.
He swallows, but nods. “So… you agree?”
And though my heart beat quickens even more, a warmth, a security fills me at the thought alone that he would be there if something happens to me. “I do.”
Ruffling through his hair, he lets out a long exhale.
“Are you alright?”
For a very long time, he remains silent. Evading my eyes, he murmurs, “Part of me already knew when you stood in Chakotay’s shower that you’d change things here. I just didn’t know how much. And definitely not how much it would affect me.”
“I am sorry.”
He looks up. “It is for the good, Phoebe. However, it doesn’t necessarily mean that it is without challenges. Your presence in my life changes how my bubble works.”
“That was not my intention.”
“I know. But the mere fact that the Captain, Chakotay, Tuvok and the Doc replaced Chakotay on my list as top person and that I feel comfortable with this shift is nothing I ever thought would happen … Don’t you think this means something? For Chakotay? For me? For you? Us?”
I swallow hard. “I am sorry.”
“It’s nothing to be sorry for,” he counters softly. “It’s merely that today I realized a few things about myself I wasn’t aware of.”
“Such as?”
He sends me a weary smile. “Let me ponder it a bit, before I open up another can of worms, will you?”
“Sure.”
Reaching to the side, he hands me Kathy’s quilt, unfolds it before he covers me with it. “Then, let me fulfill my first official task as your emergency list contact.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll keep you company until you are asleep.”
“You don’t have to. Really. Besides, this is no emergency.”
He casts me a stern glance. “Rule number one. Be honest with the people on your emergency contact list.”
I wince. “Is this really a rule?”
“It’s sincere advice,” he states, sounding rather serious. “As I told you before, tonight, I have time. I merely have the appointment with Chakotay for breakfast, which I don’t want to skip given the circumstances. He definitely owes me an explanation. Apart from that, even if he may be above it all and didn’t mention anything so far, it has certainly affected him to be suddenly second on my list after all these years.”
My throat tightens. Chakotay. How did B’Elanna term it? If I didn't know any better, I would say that he is jealous. Guilt creeps into my spine. I never wanted to replace anyone anywhere. Didn’t want to make anyone’s life harder than it already was. Still, I apparently did.
Moistening my lips, I murmur, “Kathy will visit me for breakfast, too. I’ll talk to her then.”
He merely nods. “Then it’s settled. I’ll keep you company until you fall asleep.” He tugs on Kathy’s quilt and pulls it higher, almost under my chin, a mischievous grin on his face. “Good night.”
I glare at him. “I am not a three year old who needs to be tucked in.”
Mike chuckles. “Sleep.”
“And I can’t do it on command,” I grunt.
“Try.”
“Mike!”
Suddenly, his fingers wrap around mine, hold me gently. “I am here. Just give it a try. There is no hurry.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Good night, Phoebe,” he says softly, reclining into the couch and closing his eyes.
I blow a strand out of my face. It feels like he really means it. Feels like whatever we seemed to have agreed upon, he takes it seriously.
Voyager is a strange place with strange solutions indeed. And yet … I feel strangely heard. Seen.
“Good night,” I whisper, and let my eyes shut as well.
The quilt … now that I’ve closed my eyes - I smell it for the first time. Kathy’s faint scent, which is still there. Lavender. Soup. Sheltering. Beloved.
A thumb brushing tenderly over my skin ...
Faint music embracing me …
Mike’s body, warm and comforting beside mine, his scent that is uniquely his …
And with a deep exhale …
I let go.