ugly bag of mostly voyager

two | Jaffen

~*~

“I won’t need souvenirs to remember you.”

Her arms go around his neck, tears prickle in her eyes, and her throat catches on a sob. If there’d been music playing in her ready room it would have swelled in orchestral melancholy. Had this been theatre, she’d expect a standing ovation.

As it is, her audience consists of just one man, but she’s determined to convince herself that size doesn’t matter.

The irony is, of course, that size matters a great deal. She might even consider it the most important factor in her eagerness to launch Voyager on her way.

It isn’t enough that they’ve lost weeks of travel time, or that Naomi Wildman isn’t the only crew member suffering debilitating nightmares, or that thanks to the air quality on the planet, half her crew are still afflicted with a lingering cough several days after their rescue.

No, on top of all that, the return of her memory means that she now has full understanding of just how fucking abysmal Jaffen had been at, well, fucking.

No wonder Quarra has to brainwash their workers. Who in their right mind would stay there voluntarily?

“I’ll miss you,” her erstwhile lover is murmuring against her hair.

He really is a nice guy, she thinks guiltily, squeezing him tightly. She’ll miss the company, even if she can do without the bad sex.

Jaffen pulls back to give her a slight smile. “Where am I going to find another woman who talks to her console like you do?”

“Well, if you’re the new shift supervisor you won’t be allowed to fraternise with the workers anyway,” she jokes, then instantly regrets it as his face falls.

She sees Jaffen to the transporter room and returns briskly to the bridge, where she settles into the curve of the chair that moulds exactly to the shape of her behind.

“Are you sorry I showed up?” Chakotay asks.

“Not for a second,” she says fervently. “Resume course, Mr Paris.”