We Can Only Go On

CW: Discussion of difficult topics related to past chapters (grief, pregnancy loss, mental illness, sexual encounters, marital discord, death)

When the turbolift door opened on deck three, I startled slightly at the sight of someone else standing in front of me. "Captain Janeway," I said, snapping to a posture of attention.

She smiled. "At ease."

I huffed a laugh and stepped out of the turbolift. "I should have anticipated running into you, but my mind was elsewhere."

Compassion filled her face, and she placed a hand on my shoulder. "I understand. All personal items have been moved back to your quarters from sickbay, and I just dropped off the storage unit you asked for."

"Thank you," I said. "Think he'll open it before I get there?"

She shook her head. "No. He's waiting for you."

"Then I suppose I should get in there."

For a moment, she looked a bit torn. Then she wrapped her arms around me, drawing me into a tight embrace. "It's good to have you back, Talia."

"Thank you," I murmured, squeezing her just as tightly in return. Tears stung my eyes, but I held them at bay. I'd already cried with Schmullis, had nearly fallen apart in front of B'Elanna, and I was about to walk into a situation I didn't know what to expect of. I was enough of a mess as it was.

When Janeway stepped away, her eyes were glassy but her face was dry. She hadn't allowed her tears to fall, either. With a final pat on my shoulder, she stepped past me into the turbolift. I spun around to look at her, suddenly terrified of finishing the trip to my quarters.

She offered a half-smile and a nod. "You can do this, Commander."

I took a deep breath and nodded back.

"Bridge," she said. The door slid shut.

Dragging in another breath, I turned and advanced down the corridor.

The first moments after I entered my quarters were thick with tension. For a while we simply stared at each other—Harry and I—unsure of how to begin.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat. "I put all of our stuff away."

"Good. Thank you."

Another awkward silence.

"What's this?" Harry asked, pointing at the storage container Janeway left for me.

"My duranja. For Annika... and Rojel."

He let out a sharp, heavy breath. "That's the first time I've heard you say his name since we lost him."

I wrapped my arms around my waist. "I know."

As he stared at me, a brief flicker of hope gave way to confusion and agony. He pursed his lips, swallowed whatever it was that his impulses wanted him to say, and nodded.

"You're angry, aren't you?" I asked.

"It's not your fault," came his reflexive reply.

"I know," I said, and for once I actually meant it.

Schmullis was right. I had to forgive myself for things I did in response to circumstances beyond my control. It was the only way to heal from the heartbreak I felt inside of myself, and it was only from a place of healing that I could begin to reconnect with others.

Still, it didn't change the fact that I'd hurt Harry.

"We both know that I was sick," I said. "It doesn't change how we feel. It doesn't invalidate my feelings of guilt or your feelings of anger. And acting like it does only represses the feelings."

Harry crossed his arms. "You planning to be our marriage therapist now?"

I shook my head. "No, of course not—"

"Because I feel like that might be a conflict of interests."

"Harry." I sighed, then looked away as tears sprang into my eyes. Grabbing at the shirt fabric gathered around my waist, I tightened my own embrace.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"We have to find a way to talk about this. I need to know what honestly upsets you, whether you think it's valid or not. Otherwise, we'll never work through it. We'll never be able to talk to each other about anything that matters, and we'll lose all that we have together."

"Do you still want this?"

The question came without warning, and was delivered with so flatly that he could have just as easily been asking what Neelix had on the menu that day.

I licked my lips. "Yes, I do."

"Because lately it's seemed like you don't want me anymore."

"I do, Harry," I insisted. When the skeptical look on his face remained unchanged, I knew that I needed to find another way to tell him. "Aka'no ja'ahkaya per ja'ital. Abrem non'shu."

His expression softened, but he still didn't seem convinced.

"The truth is, I didn't expect to come back. When I woke up in sickbay, I couldn't process it. I'd already grieved for Rojel, for you, and for Voyager. I thought I was going to die on that planet. Honestly, I wanted to. Tom put everything into keeping me alive, and we were both so lonely. I didn't mean to fall in love. But I did.

"Then the message came. Suddenly everything I'd thought... it wasn't true. I couldn't make my reality match yours. Even the way I experienced time was discordant. My universe didn't make sense to me anymore. I'd been ready to die and be released from it all. But then I was here, and I had to find a way to live with it. Except I couldn't. It was too much. Everything felt wrong, like I didn't belong here anymore. Like I wasn't your Talia anymore." I hung my head. "If that makes any sense at all."

"Believe it or not, I think I actually know what you mean."

Looking up, I quietly asked, "Really?"

Harry nodded. "It's how I felt after the divergence field, after the Vidiians attacked my Voyager and the captain ordered me to leave them all behind to come here."

Right. I hadn't thought about that in a while, but it was true. He'd told me himself about his difficulty integrating the experience with reality. Processing the trauma. Grieving his own crew. It hadn't been easy.

"That night when I traded bridge watch shifts so I could come talk to you," he said, "the one time we've had sex since you came back from the gravity well... what happened? Did you really forget about my trading shifts, or did... was it..."

My throat tightened around the hard lump of guilt that threatened to choke me. "I thought... when you came in, I didn't see you. I saw Tom."

His expression went hard as he worked his jaw and took slow, intentional breaths.

"Harry—"

"I know I shouldn't be angry with you for seeing things you couldn't control, but you've hardly let me touch you. And the one time you wanted me, when I'd come to try and fix things between us..." He shook his head.

Hot tears spilled onto my face. "I know."

"I don't care if you want to have a relationship with Tom. Really, I don't. But if you're done with me, I need to know."

"I'm not," I choked out, reaching for him and curling my fingers into his uniform. "Please, Harry, I swear. I'm not leaving you."

He pulled my hands away and stepped back, his next question snapped out loud and harsh. "Then why did you jump me when you thought I was Tom, but every other time we've been alone together you can't stand my affection?"

"Because I'm scared!" I yelled back.

His mouth opened as a frown creased his brow. "Scared of what? Me?"

The sobs were becoming uncontrollable. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, but nothing could hold back the tears. Nothing could save me from the wave of shame crashing over me. I shook my head and did my best to force the blubbering explanation out. "I... I was afraid... that I might... that we might..."

The words stuck in my throat. It was ridiculous—this fear that paralyzed me. Ridiculous and humiliating.

"What?" His voice was gentler now, his hands on my shuddering shoulders. "Please tell me."

"It's stupid," I whispered. "And horrible."

"I don't care."

I slid my hands up into my hair, pressing my face into my elbows, and did my best to catch my breath. "I was afraid I might get pregnant again. It was—it is—completely irrational. But the thought of having sex with you..."

A suffocating sense of self-loathing wrapped itself around me. My lungs strained for air, but it seemed so thin and so poisonous. Or maybe I was the poison. Either way, this confession could very well be the thing that made Harry finally see just how unworthy I was of his love.

The thing that made him walk away.

But I wrapped my arms around my ribs and forced the words out anyway. "I don't know why it's just with you. It doesn't make sense, but... I've never wanted kids with anyone else. Never even thought about it before. And now it's tainted because I can't... I just can't go through it again... I can't..."

My voice cracked, shattered like glass on the deck, and all I had left were sobs.

Harry's arms circled around me, one hand cupping the back of my head and pulling my face to his chest. He rocked me slowly and murmured soft words into my ear, though it was a while before I calmed down enough to really hear them. "I love you. It's okay. You're okay. I love you so much."

His tenderness broke my heart. I was worth less than nothing, yet he kept repeating those beautiful words.

"I'm so sorry," I finally said, the words muffled by his jacket. "For everything. For not being what you needed. For how I've treated you. You've done so much for me, and I just keep hurting you more. I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "No. I promised to take care of you, but I failed you when you needed me most. I couldn't save you, and I couldn't save Rojel."

I pulled back so I could look him in the eyes. "Harry—"

"I know," he said. "None of that was in my control. But I still feel like I should have done more. And when I did get you back—"

Harry's voice broke. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he forced the sudden rush of tears to escape down his cheeks. "I never knew a person could be so broken," he whispered. "I didn't know what to do. All I wanted was to take care of you, but I couldn't even do that anymore. I failed you in every way, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Framing his face in my hands, I used my thumbs to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "Harry," I said firmly. "Harry, listen to me. Look at me."

He opened his swollen eyes.

"You are not responsible for ensuring my happiness. Do you understand me? My happiness is not your job. You already pile enough stress onto yourself without also worrying over something that will come and go in me no matter what. I know you want to be everyone's hero. But at what cost? What about your happiness?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head. "All I want is for you to be happy."

"It does matter." Gently, I guided his forehead down to rest against mine. "I know I'm hard to love sometimes, but you cannot expect yourself to fix my trauma or depression or any other condition that piles on top. If you do, you'll only blame yourself for something that isn't anyone's fault."

"Then what can I do to help you?"

"Just don't give up on me. I don't want to be alone."

"Never, ja'lat," he whispered against my lips. Then he pulled back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

I pressed my lips to his.

The kiss wasn't long or deep. There was no hunger to be found in it. Only heartbreak and a tiny spark of hope for healing. It was messy and salty from mucus and tears, but it was a start—a first step on the path to finding each other again. The simple act of being honest with him made me want to bring him closer.

And I wasn't afraid.

"I love you," I murmured when I let it go.

"I love you, too."

Coiling my arms around his neck, I lifted my heels off the deck and hugged him as tightly as I could, running my fingers through his hair as we rocked and cried and clung to one another until the tears finally ran out.

Somewhere within the darkness of my unconscious mind, a familiar voice called my attention to her.

"Talia."

"Alixia?"

"Yes."

I tried to open my eyes but could not connect with my body. Fear sliced through me, so visceral it almost seemed like physical pain. What was happening?

"The final task has begun," she said. "It's time for you to learn the reason why Voyager has been brought to this distant region. I will show you what you need to know, but I can't reveal everything to you at once. It would overwhelm you. You must not act upon, share, or make any record of what I reveal until I tell you the time is right. Otherwise, all we have set into motion could be lost. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I replied. "When do we begin?"

In the distance, I could hear chaos—billions of voices speaking, shouting, writhing against one another. It had been a long time since they had lived within me, but it was the most familiar sense in the world.

What was not familiar, however, was the cold touch of a hand tenderly caressing my chin.

"Seven of Nine," said a dangerous and seductive female voice, "Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One."

My eyes snapped open. Standing directly in front of me was a woman, shorter than me and more petite in build. Her face was in tact. Rather than being built into one of her eye sockets the way most drones were, this woman's cranial implants appeared to have been drilled into the top of her skull like a twisted, sadistic crown.

The woman's lips curled into a predatory smile. "Good morning. Did you have pleasant dreams?"