She makes a sound that sounds like it got caught on a hook in her throat somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. Her hands fold around the glass she's holding, shoulders relaxing as if the front she wears is visibly melting off of her.
"Do you know how long it's been since someone has been able to say they were my friend?" It's not something she says in order to chase pity or gain sympathy, but to give perspective, for hers is a unique one. "There are only two people aboard Voyager who could, and even then that statement came with a tacked on addendum in regards to my also being their commanding officer. Their friend and captain, because being the captain has to come first. These pips — or rather, stripes, in your case — come with a certain set of responsibilities, as well as sacrifices that have to be made. Personal ones. Ones that people who don't sit in that chair realize you have to make."
Sacrifices she's certain she doesn't have to detail to him.
"And that includes sometimes taking a sledgehammer to what few friendships you have, because you can't be their friend while also being their captain."
It's lonely at the top, and she's the stubborn lone climber sitting atop that mountain's summit. Some would even say she's as cold as those snow-covered peaks. And she could keep up with some of her more icy themes and disregard his question, brush it off with a shrug and provide an evasive answer that's deliberately designed to tell him absolutely nothing, but she's tired. It's been three and a half years, and Voyager departing from Deep Space 9 without a counselor on board has been hell on her crew.
It's about damned time she said something from the heart instead of from those four pips pinned to her collar.
"No. No, I'm not. I haven't been since the moment I stepped foot in the Delta Quadrant."
i rewrote this like a dozen times
"Do you know how long it's been since someone has been able to say they were my friend?" It's not something she says in order to chase pity or gain sympathy, but to give perspective, for hers is a unique one. "There are only two people aboard Voyager who could, and even then that statement came with a tacked on addendum in regards to my also being their commanding officer. Their friend and captain, because being the captain has to come first. These pips — or rather, stripes, in your case — come with a certain set of responsibilities, as well as sacrifices that have to be made. Personal ones. Ones that people who don't sit in that chair realize you have to make."
Sacrifices she's certain she doesn't have to detail to him.
"And that includes sometimes taking a sledgehammer to what few friendships you have, because you can't be their friend while also being their captain."
It's lonely at the top, and she's the stubborn lone climber sitting atop that mountain's summit. Some would even say she's as cold as those snow-covered peaks. And she could keep up with some of her more icy themes and disregard his question, brush it off with a shrug and provide an evasive answer that's deliberately designed to tell him absolutely nothing, but she's tired. It's been three and a half years, and Voyager departing from Deep Space 9 without a counselor on board has been hell on her crew.
It's about damned time she said something from the heart instead of from those four pips pinned to her collar.
"No. No, I'm not. I haven't been since the moment I stepped foot in the Delta Quadrant."