Series: VOY
Rating: R
Codes: J/pp
Summary: Janeway and the prehensile plant.
Date Posted: 1999 Oct 14
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Voyager, Janeway, the plant, the florists, everything.

Warning: Inspired by the opening scene of Survival Instinct, in which Janeway's behavior convinced me she was either in a different probability continuum to Equinox, or really crazy or on something . . .

Contains character death (sort of), character assassination, sappiness. Literal sappiness. Those disturbed by intimate relations between humans and plants should read no further.

For Mary W, who asked for this. Well, maybe not this. 

She sat in her readyroom surrounded by gifts.

It wasn't the fact that she wanted to giggle. This happens to a person occasionally. Sometimes it's stress. Sometimes things are just funny, like the damn plant. No, it wasn't the giggling, it was the forgetting. She was having a lot of trouble with short term memory.

There were all these people visiting the ship--she couldn't remember authorizing that, though she didn't think she had any objections--but there were people in Starfleet uniforms she was having trouble remembering. Several of them. She'd never forgotten members of her crew, never. A man who seemed to avoid her. A rather sweet looking woman. Several others.

The woman did have long blond hair--and wasn't there something she'd written down about some alien who kept falling for Chakotay, and making everyone forget? Something like that--her notes had confused her.

The plant--the plant was fun. It kept grabbing her. No one ever grabbed her. Well, there was that alien, what's his name--she could remember him all right--he'd kissed her, a bit tentatively. Or maybe she'd grabbed him.

The Doctor had been coming to her quarters to give her vitamin injections. Said she was run down. Didn't feel run down, exactly. Maybe she had asked him about the forgetting, and he had said there was nothing to worry about. Maybe she should ask him tomorrow.

Why was the plant grabbing her? It was some sort of symbiot apparently, received something from contact with humanoid skin. It was quite pleasant, really, once you got used to it. Once she took off her jacket and turtleneck it lost interest in her hair, and settled itself on her shoulders and arms. And her neck. She liked the way it felt.

Yes, the plant definitely enjoyed touching her. She started to giggle again. How could a plant enjoy anything? But it did, she was sure of it, and the more skin she exposed, the more pleasant its touch became.

So it was a good thing she'd had it moved to her quarters.

It was morning now, and she had to get dressed. The doctor was coming: the computer had reminded her. The plant had spent the night by her bed, tendrils curled around an arm, a leg. It shouldn't matter to the doctor if she wasn't dressed, but somehow she didn't think he's approve of the plant. Might want to test it. She struggled into her uniform trousers and tank. Maybe she was run down; she didn't want to go anywhere. The plant released her hand when the door chimed, and the doctor came and gave her the hypospray. Guess he didn't trust her to do it herself. He said she was doing better. She felt fine.

She lay with the plant, letting it sweep it's tendrils across her whole body, letting it curl around her ears and fingers, brush it's fine underleaf cilia across her lips. Somehow she had no clothes on when Chakotay signaled her, but she knew she should, and found a robe. When he came in, the plant started pulling at her hair again. It hadn't done that for a while; it wasn't very nice. Chakotay seemed to have everything under control. He called her Kathryn. Did he always do that?

He left, and she took off the robe. The plant was calmer now, though not completely relaxed. Maybe it was jealous. That made her laugh. Jealous of her and Chakotay. Kept looking at her, though, closely, Chakotay did, but it wasn't desire, she was sure of that. Not sure why though. What he was looking for.

It spread out across her body. The plant, of course. Moving it's tendrils, or whatever they were across her skin. Every inch of her. Some inches felt particularly good. The side of her waist. The back of her neck. The inside of her thighs.

Firm green shoots curled about her nipples, tightening and releasing. It was very strong. She didn't know how long she had been lying there. Dozing sometimes, in between. It wanted something. Something else, that is. Wanted her to get up. Pulled at her till she moved to the replicator. She brought it with her: Did it want something? It caressed her mouth, her stomach. Food. It wanted food. For her, she realized, it wanted her to eat.

She ate soup and the tendrils curled softly over her back. It was sentient, she didn't know when she'd realized that. Just knew it. Of course she was sentient, the plant rather.

Maybe something was wrong.

When she woke in the early morning, she thought maybe something was wrong. That there was somewhere she should be. And then there was the Doctor. And the plant. And sensation, and pleasure, and nothing else really. Chakotay came. She curled away from him, under the covers. The plant gripped her fingers.

There were other people, but she didn't know what had happened to them A woman's voice once, angry, insistent, demanding to see someone. And another voice, reasonable, but with an edge. "Lieutenant!"

She had just bathed, had been pulled towards the tub by the plant and was now sitting, shivering slightly, on the edge of her bed. It was time for the Doctor.

"How are we today? Very good, very good." he was saying, as he brought the hypospray to her neck. And then the plant was moving, faster than she had seen it move, gripping the hypospray. And pulling at the doctor's mobile emitter, until it fell to the floor and the Doctor disappeared. Well yes, of course.

Why, she said, reaching for the hypospray, but the plant wouldn't let her take it. There was a comm badge somewhere, but now the planted gripped her wrists and wouldn't let her move. She struggled, but it held her. She pulled out a few stalks, but she didn't have much strength. Why? She asked, but it simply tightened it's grip. She started to cry. For a moment the plant's grip loosened, and she struggled to escape, but it held her again. A couple more stalks pulled out.

Someone was coming. The plant discharged the hypospray on itself. Chakotay. Recovered the mobile emitter, checked the level on the hypospray, didn't even speak to her. She would have said something, but the tightness of the plant's grip was making her tear. Fucking plant, he said, for it had clearly damaged the holoemitter.

The rest of the day it held her, immobile. Her head started to hurt. Tendrils curled softly across her forehead, but she pushed them angrily away.

The pain became worse. She noticed that part of the plant was dying. The part that had held the hypospray. And the parts where she had torn it. A thick liquid bled from the broken stalks.

She hadn't watered the plant. Perhaps that is why it kept moving tendrils to catch her tears.

By early morning the pain was lifting. The plant was wilting. And she was starting to remember. Remember that vitamins shouldn't damage the plant the way the hypospray had. Remember Chakotay's voice saying "You'd make a great first officer." Telling her that something was wrong with her. Telling her he had considered mutiny. And she remembered how easily the doctor was reprogrammed.

She pulled herself gently from the plant's faltering grip. It seemed willing to let her go. She felt lightheaded, but it was probably from not having eaten. She ordered toast and milky coffee from the replicator, brought water to the plant, and put on her clothes.

It was too far gone to absorb much water. She draped two limp tendrips over her still bare forearm. Thank you, she said, as she caressed the soft, dying leaves. Thank you. And then she gently set it aside as she positioned a chair under an air duct. It was time to find B'Elanna.