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Chapter Text

Out in this desert we are testing bombs
that's why we came here.

In retrospect, she should have seen it coming.

Voyager had reached the edge of Mazen space to find a small scout ship awaiting their arrival. It had been sent from Mazen Central Command – they had heard about the ship's epic journey from traders, and wanted to welcome the travelers to their space. It was an instant relief, not just for Janeway - for all the bridge crew who heard that first communication. Mazen space was vast. To go around it would have meant adding six months to their journey. There had been little to no information available about the Mazen, who were known to be secretive, journeying outside their own borders infrequently and allowing only certain traders into their space. The Captain had been ready for a flat refusal of transit, or else a difficult negotiation. In the event, though, the Mazen were pleased to see them.

"You are welcome to Mazen space, Captain Janeway," said her counterpart with a warm smile during that very first exchange. "You will no doubt have heard that we are a closed society. For the most part, that is true, but you and your crew are welcome here. We feel compassion for your journey and its goal. Your hardships must have been many and your weariness must be great. Please – cross our space with our blessings."

It was the intergalactic equivalent of, 'Come in and make yourself at home'.

Following that first meeting, relations with the Mazen had continued to be relaxed – friendly, even. The crew was invited to take shore leave on any one of the dozen Mazen-inhabited M-class planets along their planned trajectory. Their governing ministers offered to arrange exchanges with those of the Voyager crew interested in learning about Mazen science, history and culture. Janeway herself took three blissful days to immerse herself in the complex nuances of their ingenious terraforming technology. Chakotay indulged his interest in archaeology; Torres pored all over their ship's engines; Tom went as far as to whoop aloud his delight at being invited to take the helm of one of the small spaceships the Mazen enjoyed racing for sport. Janeway did not have the heart to break his by refusing him permission to accept.

"Just go easy, Paris," she warned him. "Voyager needs you back in one piece."

"Yes Ma'am," he snapped out, utterly unable to contain the excitement that glowed from his face like a beacon.

"Honestly," she leaned over to whisper to Chakotay, "you'd think he was still fourteen."

Her first officer had chuckled and leaned toward her to whisper back, "The truth is, Captain, that all men, no matter how much they age, are always only ever fourteen."

The laugh that bubbled from her at his playful answer was indicative of their first three months in Mazen space. Voyager felt almost like a festival ship. The atmosphere was lighter, somehow. There were no predators in Mazen space – for some reason, which Seven had made it her mission to find out, the Borg had never bothered them. Violence did not seem to permeate the Mazen's borders at all.

In retrospect, she realised she should have wondered why.

For three months, they laughed and learned with the Mazen and each other. For three months, the Mazen toured every inch of Voyager, crawled into every Jeffries tube, examined every plasma coupling and data relay. It wasn't that standard Starfleet security protocols were not observed – they were, of course they were, and as rigorously as ever. But not even Tuvok believed the Mazen were a threat.

But then, months of peace, harmony and cooperation could lull anyone into a false sense of security.

"Chakotay," she began, one day, sitting in her ready room as Voyager slumbered at full stop in the orbit of a planet so marbled with blue and green that only the unknown landmasses marked it as not Earth, "Ensign Riccoletti tells me there's a restaurant in the main city of this planet that she swears has recipes straight out of Tuscany. What say you and I go and try it out tonight?"

If there was a momentary hesitation before he smiled, she didn't notice. "I'd love to, Captain, but I've actually said I'll take Seven to see some ruins I've been planning to survey before we move on. I think she'll find them interesting."

She sat back in her chair and quirked an eyebrow at him, smiling. "That's kind of you, Commander. I've been worried that she's spending too much time on the ship while we're all off enjoying ourselves. Some fresh air will do her good. Although I'd be prepared for disdain, if I were you. I'm not sure that 'ruins' are quite her thing."

Chakotay answered with a smile of his own that later, she will remember as being reserved. For a moment he gripped the edge of her desk, as if he was about to tell her something else.

"Everything all right, Commander?"

He hesitated again. "Just… sorry. That I can't make dinner."

She waved off his apology and took a mouthful of coffee. "Another time, Chakotay. Enjoy the trip."

Oh, yes. In retrospect, she should have seen it coming.

Sometimes I feel an underground river
forcing its way between deformed cliffs
an acute angle of understanding
moving itself like a locus of the sun
into this condemned scenery.

The attack, when it came, was swifter and more efficient than any she had ever encountered. There was already a crew of Mazen engineers aboard when three huge war cruisers appeared as if from nowhere. Terraforming, it became swiftly apparent, was not the only ingenious technology the Mazen possessed. They can cloak their ships so effectively that no trace emissions at all remain to betray them. They can cloak their sidearms, too, and had done so. Voyager was boarded, not with violence, but with cunning, like a pickpocket operating in broad daylight.

Prior to the appearance of the cruisers, which hung around Voyager like huge, black, calcified spiders, the largest Mazen ships the Starfleet personnel had seen were transport vessels, used to ferry passengers between the inhabited planets of the system. Janeway realised in a flash the depth of the subterfuge employed by Mazen Central Command. Voyager and her crew had been kept so busy with what the Mazen had been willing to show them that they hadn't had chance to ask what else is out there.

The attack was over, really, before it had even begun.

"We don't mean to hurt you or your crew, Captain Janeway," said the captain of the warship leading the assault. He was almost apologetic, in his own way. "We merely want your ship. You will be delivered to a habitable planet at the edge of our space. You may live out your lives there in peace."

Her rage almost stalled her heart, but that was only blotting out her self-recrimination. Neither did them any good, and they were herded from Voyager like cattle being moved from one pasture to another. The Mazen allowed them each to choose a handful of personal belongings to take with them, providing none of these constituted technology that could be in any way linked, upgraded or otherwise used to aid any kind of escape. Many took photographs and other keepsakes. Chakotay retrieved his medicine bundle. Janeway took nothing. She refused to contemplate accepting this fate. She needed to take nothing with her, for she was coming back.

She set foot on the planet with nothing but the clothes she stood up in and a fierce determination that this was not the end of Voyager's journey. The planet was dry and desiccated, orange earth littered with rock cracked by the dual suns overhead.

"You said this would be habitable," she accused their captors hoarsely. "You are leaving us here to die."

"Not so, Captain," said the Mazen commander, calmly. "Twenty lengths north of here you will find a large oasis with groves of fruit trees and plenty of land ripe for farming. The water source is inexhaustible. The land will require work, but it is ripe for the plough. Until then – make use of the limited supply of nutrition bars we will provide you with."

She put her hands on her hips to stop them reaching for his neck. She lifted her chin and stared him in the eye, but said nothing. The Mazen are not stupid. They have not risen to such elegant modes of dominance by accident. Delivering the crew of Voyager to the planet with a long walk ahead of them meant her people would be preoccupied for a time. They would have to survive before they could regroup. They had more important worries than escape and retribution.

Janeway could not bear to see Voyager lift off, and so she turned her back and began to walk. She lead her people out across the desert to search for a promised land while the only home they had had for too long abandoned them to dirt and dust.

What we've had to give up to get here–
whole LP collections, films we starred in
playing in the neighborhoods, bakery windows
full of dry, chocolate-filled Jewish cookies,
the language of love-letters, of suicide notes,
afternoons on the riverbank
pretending to be children

Chakotay caught up with her and then reigned in his long stride to match her shorter one.

"I've just done a roll call," he said, softly.

She nodded. "You're one short."

"That's right."

Her smile was a grim one, directed at the empty horizon. "Let's not get too comfortable, Chakotay," she said, her voice rasping with the anger she was holding in. "With any luck we won't be here for very long."

He fell away from her before she could glance at his face. A moment later his voice echoed out over their number, issuing orders and encouragement.

Night fell and the clear sky siphoned the heat from the atmosphere as efficiently as a leech sucking blood from a vein. Within moments it was cold, so cold. They pitched camp around a series of fires built from brushwood so dry it could not help but kindle almost instantly. They sat in twos and threes around the fires, drawing comfort from each other and giving it in return. Janeway laced her way through the group, speaking where she needed to, touching arms and shoulders where she did not. She knew Chakotay was doing the same, she could see him from the corner of her eye as he paused to crouch beside B'Elanna and offered Ensign Wildman a hand with Naomi. Janeway left him to it and huddled herself next to the fire. When he came to sit beside her later, they would begin to formulate a plan, discuss their options and the single crewman that is not with them – Neelix, who had taken the Delta Flyer II and gone in search of a certain type of fruit. It was a spontaneous request granted by she alone, and there was no reason to think that Mazen Central Command were aware of his trip. Voyager has lost so many shuttlecraft over the past few years that she hoped the Mazen's knowledge of her remaining complement was flawed. Under any other circumstance, she might hesitate to put her faith in such slim hope. But Neelix was out there somewhere with one of Voyager's shuttlecraft, and he was as tenacious as they come. She had no doubt that when he realised what has happened, the Talaxian would do his best to effect their rescue. Right then, hope was all they had.

She rubbed her hands together and held them out to the fire. A moment later she realised that Chakotay was no longer on his feet. She looked around but could not see his tall form moving between the knots of crew. But he had not come to sit with her, as she'd expected. He always has done before, just as soon as he was able. He was always there, by her side, especially in a situation such as this. Janeway looked around to see where he is, and spied him on the opposite side of the fire. She blinked, and from somewhere within, a low buzz began to sound, as if a klaxon had started up beneath the deepest part of her being, somewhere she hadn't even known existed until that moment.

Chakotay was sitting beside Seven. They were talking with some urgency, and even with the fire to divide her from them, Janeway knew how the tone of his voice would be falling against the younger woman's ear. It would be soft and reassuring, a buoy in deep waters, a light in the darkness. She saw Chakotay nod, once, as if something had been agreed upon. Then he moved again, as if to stand, but before he did he reached out, brushing his fingers over the back of Seven's hand. And Janeway knew how that felt, too. Oh, she knew.

That single, light brush of his fingers was a sucker punch that flew out of the dark like an all-out attack. It blindsided Kathryn so completely and connected so heavily with her stomach that she couldn't help but suck in a breath. Struggling to contain the unexpected, visceral pain that had torn its way into her gut, she clamped her lips together and dropped her gaze to the fire, but it was too late. Despite everything, he was still so attuned to her that he knew, instantly. He either heard the sound she made or felt it, somehow, because from the corner of her eye, across the flames, she saw Chakotay turn to look at her.

She stood, abruptly, with no other thought than to get away.

Coming out to this desert
we meant to change the face of
driving among dull green succulents
walking at noon in the ghost town
surrounded by silence
that sounds like the silence of the place
except that it came from us
and is familiar
and everything we were saying until now
was an effort to blot it out–
Coming out here we are up against it

Tuvok intercepted her as she reached the edge of their makeshift camp. She was eager not to be detained, aware that even as she walked away from the fire, Chakotay was already making for her through the crowd. Somewhere at the back of her mind, Janeway's rational self reasoned that talking to Tuvok would keep her first officer away, and in any case she had to talk to Tuvok, in fact she needed to call a briefing of all the senior officers. They needed to re-group, they needed to plan…

But at that moment, something at her very core was collapsing, and she just wanted to get away.

"Captain?" Tuvok said, his impassive face almost creasing into a frown. "I caution you against straying too far from the group. Without tricorders, we have no way of knowing what indigenous life is on this planet, or what threats it may hold."

She nodded, forcing herself to speak. "I know, Tuvok. I'm not going far. I just need to clear my head."

"Then I will accompany you."

"No," she said, with far more force than she had intended. "Tuvok – please."

He watched her with eyes too shrewd to be puzzled, and for a moment Janeway was terrified that he had seen right through her to the wound that she had no right to bear. Then he nodded and stood aside, a silent yet tacit agreement. She said nothing, moving past him as smoothly as she was able.

Janeway walked and walked until the glow of the fires behind her were merely a smudge in the dark sky. She walked until she reached a series of huge boulders that looked as if they had toppled from a mountain several times the size of Everest. They loomed out of the darkness, eternal, unmoving, and she ducked into the shelter of one, blocking out everything behind her in an attempt to block out everything before her. She leaned back against the rough rock and put one hand over her face, and then another. Part of her supposed that Tuvok has followed her at a discreet distance, and she hoped that if this is so, he had the sense not to let her see him.

Chakotay and Seven. Why did she not see that coming? Why didn't he tell her?

Why should he have?

It was the shock of it, more than anything. You were prepared for this, she tells herself, you must have been.

Even as she though it, she realised she hadn't been prepared, at all. Sure, she'd told herself that someday, Chakotay would find someone, but she realised now that she's mistaken acknowledgement for acceptance. She had never seriously considered it, because she had never let herself consider the alternative. She'd clamped it all down, locked it off. For years she'd never let herself seriously consider anything to do with Chakotay and that, it turns out, had been her undoing. Ignorance is not bliss. Not by a long shot, and what she thought she had put aside she had merely obscured from sight.

The pain, though. Where the hell had that come from? It was actually physical, as if she'd taken a disruptor blast full in the belly. Come on, Janeway, she told herself, dropping her hands from her face and trying to calm the shakes. It was never going to happen. You made sure of that. How many times had you made it clear to him? What did you think was going to happen? That he'd stay celibate for the next sixty years? That somehow the mere sight of you was enough?

But Seven. Seven?

Eyes shut, her inner darkness was suddenly pervaded by an unbelievably explicit image of the two of them. His mouth, open over her. His tongue…

"Captain?"

His voice forced her eyes open with something like an electric shock. She splayed her fingers against the rock behind her, searching for something to grip. Chakotay was watching her warily from several feet away.

"What is it?" she asked, as if he had merely walked into her ready room.

He didn't say anything for a moment, and she could see the war going on in his mind playing out across his expressive face. This is so indicative of them, she thought, bitterly. They both knew what the other was thinking about, but neither of them would acknowledge it. They'd talk of something else, instead. They'd move the conversation on. This would fade into the background collage of every other such moment that they had shared and would not talk about, ever.

"Tuvok told me you had left the camp. Captain, it's not safe for you to be out here alone."

"I'm fine," she said. "I'll be back in a moment. We will need to call a senior staff meeting to discuss the situation." She intended her words as a dismissal, but he did not leave.

"Kathryn," he said, eventually, in the soft voice she had always thought was only meant for her. "Look…"

She held up one hand. "Don't, Commander. There's nothing more to say."

He made a sound in his throat that hovered close to annoyance. "What do you mean, there's nothing more to say? What exactly has been said?"

Her eyes flashed to his, surprised beyond measure.

"I am sorry," he said, then. "I should have known you would realise as soon as you saw us together. If I had known–"

She shut her eyes, shook her head. "Commander. There's really no need-"

"Dammit!" In a second, he was directly in front of her. "Look at me."

She opened her eyes and did so, setting her jaw in as hard a line as she could manage. He had the conscience to look abashed and moved away again.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, quietly. "I didn't think…" Chakotay trailed off.

She meant to dismiss him, to send him away so that she could collect the pieces of herself together and reassemble them into something she recognised. But when she opened her mouth, the words that came out were, "You didn't think – what?"

"It's been years since we've even really spoken," he said, after a moment. "Not in the way we used to. That invitation to dinner the other day? That was the first time in… I don't know how long. I thought you were past it. I thought you were past me. I could have lived with hope, Kathryn, but I thought even that was gone. I didn't think you expected-" he stopped.

The pain in her gut suddenly coalesced behind her eyes. She blinked, trying to clear away the tears before they could take hold. She shook her head.

"I don't expect anything from you, Chakotay. I never have. You have been a better first officer than I could have possibly wished for, and as equally a good friend. And as a good friend, I wish you very happy."

"But?"

"No buts."

He shook his head. "I saw your reaction, Kathryn."

She sucked in a breath and tipped her head back against the stone, raising both hands to her forehead. "You aren't the only one who needs hope, Commander, even if it's so latent that it occasionally takes you by surprise. And that's all my reaction was, I assure you. Surprise. Which I am now over. I am very happy for you, Chakotay, and also for Seven. She deserves – and is extraordinarily lucky – that her first adult relationship is with a man like you."

He said nothing for so long that she thought he had gone and straightened up, dropping her hands. He hadn't gone. Chakotay was standing in exactly the same place as he was before, and he was looking at her with such undisguised desire that Janeway felt as if he has physically pushed her back against the rock. The pain in her deeper self instantly translated into something else under his gaze, something hot and needy that knotted itself into the pit of her stomach and pulsed like a star about to go supernova.

Out here I feel more helpless
with you than without you
You mention the danger
and list the equipment
we talk of people caring for each other
in emergencies – laceration, thirst –
but you look at me like an emergency

"She deserves better than I can give her," he said, his voice quiet and more dangerous than she thought she had ever heard. "She deserves someone who isn't always, despite his best intentions, struggling not to think of someone else."

"Don't," she whispered, desperately, because he was saying what she wanted to hear and she couldn't want it. Must. Not. Want. Him.

"Don't what?" he asked, moving closer. "How can I stop doing something I have never done?"

When he got within a step of her she tried to move sideways, but he trapped her with one arm. She tried to pull herself together enough to issue an order or at least speak, but his proximity was suffocating her reason. She smelled the sweat of the long day on him and the pulse of heat inside her reacted so strongly that she was sure some sound escapes her lips, but she couldn't hear herself for the blood rushing in her ears.

When their lips met she sagged a little and he pushed one leg between hers, wrapping one arm around her as he pressed her closer to the rock, opening her mouth with his. Her hands somehow located the waistband of his jacket and her fingers found their way beneath his roll-neck and tank top until they connected with his skin. He reacted with a hiss and stroked his tongue into her mouth. She could feel his heat between her legs and found herself pitching closer to a precipice she hadn't teetered on for a very long time. Chakotay left her mouth to trail his lips down her neck to the edge of her jacket, and then he was pulling the zip down, following its progress with his mouth, trailing over the clothes beneath with breath so heated she could feel it on her skin through both layers.

Your dry heat feels like power
your eyes are stars of a different magnitude
they reflect lights that spell out: EXIT
when you get up and pace the floor

They were lucky that it wasn't at a later point they heard Tuvok's voice calling them. It really could have been much, much worse. His voice floated to the small part of Kathryn's brain that was still capable of registering something other than the pleasure of touch. Chakotay's hands had opened her jacket and found their way beneath her undershirts, the simple touch of them on her torso so electrifying that she would have cried out loud enough for Tuvok to hear if her mouth hadn't once again been occupied by his lips.

"Captain Janeway. Commander Chakotay. Can you hear me?"

They both froze against the rock, tangled among each other's limbs, staring into each other's eyes in shock. Another beat, another shout from Tuvok and whatever the spell was that has bound them both was broken. They parted, shaking and disoriented. Kathryn zipped up her jacket as Chakotay turned, tucking in the clothing she had so recently disarranged. He kept his back to her and walked away into the deep cleft between the fallen boulders. Her whole body flushed as it occurred to her that he couldn't face Tuvok in his current state of arousal without their conduct becoming instantly and completely transparent. She touched her swollen lips and ran her hands through her hair, taming its disarray.

"Here, Tuvok."

The security officer appeared a few seconds later. She clenched her fists to stop her hands shaking and forced a smile.

"Where is Commander Chakotay?" he asked. "He followed you out here. Is he not with you?"

"He is – we found this group of boulders and were conducting a basic survey," she lied, smoothly. "I had hoped that there would be caves to provide shelter, but it seems we're out of luck," Raising her voice, she shouted. "Chakotay? Are you there? Any caves where you are?"

"Here, Captain." His shout preceded the man by several seconds. He walked out of the darkness, perfectly composed. "No luck, I'm afraid. Looks like we'll be spending tonight out in the open after all."

Tuvok raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Janeway thought there was probably some Vulcan sensibility that had already told him everything – by reading the dilation of her eyes, perhaps, or the erratic breathing that she was trying desperately to control.

"You efforts are appreciated, but not necessary, Captain," Tuvok told them. "The fires will suffice. Also, I am pleased to inform you that we have received a communication from Neelix."

Janeway started. "A communication? How?"

"Seven concealed the components of a communicator on her person. The Mazen mistook it for parts pertaining to one of her residual Borg implants."

"Seven," Janeway whispered. She was acutely aware of Chakotay, standing silently behind her.

"Are you well, Captain? You seem somewhat… disoriented."

"Yes – yes, I'm sorry, Tuvok. This is good news. Let's see what we can do with it, shall we?"

The three of them walked back toward the camp and their crewmates. Their boots stirred flurries of dust that trailed in their wake. As they moved, Janeway slowed her breathing. She looked up at the stars and forced herself to count them. She formulated speeches in her mind, she listed the names of her crew, she performed a mental diagnostic of the warp coil – anything to get her back on the right track. Anything, in fact, to fill her mind with something other than the memory of her fingers stroking the naked skin of Chakotay's back.

The first person she saw when they arrived was Seven of Nine. She was speaking with B'Elanna, the two of them leaning over a stone, on which were piled the components that may mean the difference between their lives and deaths. Janeway swallowed hard as shame suffuses her, a hot, bitter taste of guilt that rises from the pulsar that was still spinning in her depths.

Chakotay moved ahead, putting distance between them as if nothing had happened at all. Janeway saw Seven lift her head, her eyes searching him out. She didn't smile, but to the Captain at least, it's clear where the younger woman's thoughts lay. Janeway wondered what was going through Chakotay's head at that moment. She wondered, in fact, what the hell had come over the two of them - her, especially - to throw away almost seven years of the most carefully plotted relationship she had ever had. But perhaps it was inevitable. These things happen, after all. A kiss and a fumble on a desert plain after such a tense experience… it was to be expected, really, and surely nothing that could not be forgotten. She pushed away the knot that kept growing, tells herself it was worry for the situation and nothing else. She'd clear the air when they had a chance, assure the Commander that she had no intention of spoiling his prospects with Seven. He deserved to be happy, after all, and what could she offer him?

In retrospect, she thought, she should have seen this coming.

talking of the danger
as if it were not ourselves
as if we were testing anything else.

[TBC]

('Trying to Talk with a Man' by Adrienne Rich, collected in 'Diving Into The Wreck, Poems 1971-1972'.)

Chapter Text

Later, as Chakotay attempted to meditate himself back into some semblance of calm, it was not the fiery memory of how her body felt pressed against his that perverted his every attempt, but the sound she made in the fraction of a second before their lips first met. In the 47 troubled years of his existence, he had made love to countless women, but he could not recall any moment of any such interlude searing themselves into his mind the way that single sound had imprinted itself onto his psyche.

It wasn't a word, or a statement, or even an exhalation of surprise.

It was just… want. Such want.

Even with the benefit of hours and in the coldest reaches of the desert night, the echo of it drew an answering throb from his groin that let Chakotay know with absolute certainty that the meditation just wasn't working. And it had to work. It had to, because he had to get past this. He had to be able to look his Captain in the eyes without remembering the heat of her mouth opening so readily under his. He had to forget how it felt to press his lips to her neck and have the scent of her perfumed sweat fill his lungs so completely that he would willingly have drowned in it.

"Commander Chakotay."

The voice was Tuvok's, the Vulcan appearing by his side and dropping to a crouch beside him. For a moment, Chakotay wondered what he knew. Tuvok had been right there, after all, stepping into the charged aftermath of their encounter. But there was no sign of anything in the security officer's face other than its usual stoicism.

"I apologise for interrupting your meditation, Commander."

"None needed, Tuvok. Report."

"There are security teams positioned around the camp and I have also established patrols. I would suggest that we move at first light, in order to cover as much ground as possible before the suns rise once more. Their heat will reach dangerous levels at their zenith."

Chakotay nodded. Tom Paris, slotting back into his role as medic in the Doctor's absence, had already done his best to treat the sunstroke some of the crew had already suffered. "I'll advise the captain. When we move will likely depend on how the modifications go. I think they're proving a bit of a struggle at the moment."

Tuvok inclined his head in agreement.

"Was there anything else, Tuvok?"

"No, sir."

"Then I suggest you try to get some rest. We all need it."

Tuvok took his leave, slipping away quietly.

Chakotay looked around. The crew were trying to rest despite the frigid temperatures. They were laying curled in the dust around the fires, each group taking shifts among themselves to keep the flames burning so that the others could get some sleep. It wasn't working too well – it was too cold, and they were all too badly on edge. They shifted and turned, trying to get comfortable on the rough desert ground, murmuring to each other.

A movement caught his eye from the outskirts of the camp. B'Elanna and Seven were still working, trying to boost the signal of the communicator components by interfacing them with the Borg neural interlink. Given that the only tools available to the women were the slim metal pins Seven used to dress her hair, the going was slow. Still, if they were to have proper communication with Neelix instead of the odd burst of static, it wes vital to find a way of making the link work.

Another movement from their direction, and Janeway's face flickered out of the shadows – she was there too, forming a triumvirate of the smartest women Chakotay had ever met, working on yet another technological miracle that could save their lives. He watched the dim play of orange flame-light dance across Kathryn's features, creased in concentration as her quick fingers worked on something so small he couldn't see it from this distance. In another moment, she was looking up at Seven, holding out whatever lay in her palm. Their two heads bent close together, talking over their work.

Chakotay looked away, because he did not want to compare them. Both of them deserved more respect than that, particularly from him, who was sitting here trying to wrestle his wayward body into check like some hormonal teenage boy while they worked to find a practical way to save them all. And yet as he stared hard into the fire in front of him, the memory of Janeway's involuntary, wanton moan echoed in his head again, throwing the differences between them into such stark relief that it was the answer to a question he hadn't dared ask himself.

His relationship with Seven, as fledgling as it was, was as much of a surprise to him as anyone. Two years ago, if someone had suggested that they would end up where they are now, he would have laughed, or perhaps even dismissed the notion as a little insulting. Not that he had been unaware of her physical attractions. A person would have to be dead not to notice her extraordinary, sultry beauty. Half the crew had lusted after her from the moment she exited sickbay looking far more human than Borg. Chakotay, though, hadn't been one of them. No, any idle moments of fantasy he'd had – which he had spent years trying to suppress, with varying degrees of success – had always reached in another direction.

It wasn't even as if, when he had finally accepted that Kathryn had apparently ditched whatever speculations of her own she might have once entertained toward him, Chakotay had instantly turned his attention to Seven. But she had shown an interest. To say it had taken him completely by surprise would be an understatement, and her approach had been as blunt and lacking in nuance as all her interactions. He had agreed to their first date because there weren't enough reasons for him not to, and if he were absolutely honest, he was so out of touch with the dating game that he'd thought it would be good for him. His acceptance of Kathryn's position meant that if he didn't want to be alone for the rest of his life, he had to move on, as difficult as that notion may be for him to contemplate. Seven, at least, was unlikely to be insulted if his charm was, at least to begin with, as rusty as his battered heart. He'd assumed that her interest in him was investigative, rather than emotional, even if she was exploring one in order to eventually reach the other.

As ungallant as it made him sound, he really hadn't expected to enjoy himself. He hadn't expected to laugh as much as he did, even if much of that laughter had been, at least at first, at her gentle expense. He hadn't been prepared for just how refreshing it would be to have someone state exactly - without obfuscation, caution or caveat - what they were thinking and feeling.

Spending time with Seven was in some ways surprisingly easy.

If any aspect of dating her was difficult, it was her lack of experience and habit of analysing everything as if it were a scientific experiment. She had spent the five minutes following their first kiss breaking down the gesture minutely into muscular and vascular reactions. The first time he had taken her hand during a holodeck date, she had related just how she had anticipated his action as a result of her 'research' into human dating rituals. Later on that same day, as they sat beside a river watching a summer sunset, he had pulled her into his arms, but she hadn't relaxed against him. Instead she had asked whether this was an indication that he was prepared to move their relationship onto the 'copulation stage'.

He understood that this awkwardness was not merely a result of her Borg background, but of the lost years of her formation. Chakotay found it endearing – Seven was, though she would not recognise it in herself – actually very sweet. But in some ways it also made him deeply uncomfortable. With Seven, it was always up to him to lead, which made him constantly careful. He did nothing spontaneously where she was concerned – he thought through every gesture and every move he made. It was often difficult to work out whether her actions were driven by genuine emotional or physical desires, or merely part of some kind of roadmap Seven thought she was supposed to follow. These were things Chakotay was trying to address as they went along. He cared about her, and more so every day. It may not have been the kind of instant attraction he'd found elsewhere, but it was something – a foundation to build on. They were taking things very slowly, which was fine by him – he was still getting used to the idea of a different woman dominating his thoughts. As he had confessed to Janeway earlier, he hadn't yet succeeded. Now, he doubted he ever would.

Kathryn. A woman who, it was clear from their encounter earlier that day, would need no leading whatsoever. Perhaps that was why her little gasp had so completely obliterated Chakotay's equilibrium. Buttoned-up Janeway already held an air of mystery and hidden promise that had captivated him almost from the first time they'd met. Yet that incoherent sound had apparently signalled the slipping open of just a couple of those buttons, and it seemed that what lay beneath them was a depth of passion greater than he'd even imagined. The brief, stolen minutes that had followed were a universe away from his stilted courtship of Seven, who concealed nothing and yet still seemed infinitely unknowable, perhaps because despite her expansive knowledge, she had so much yet to learn about herself.

The same could never be said for Janeway, who was surely a woman who knew her own mind. Why else would she keep so much under lock and key? Now, though, Chakotay had an inkling that Janeway unleashed would be a force of nature even more overwhelming – and more scintillating, which he wouldn't have thought possible – than the one he was daily in awe of as she marshalled and managed her ship and crew. Their brief, desperate fumble was the least controlled he'd ever seen her, and the knowledge that he'd been the one to draw that passion out of her was staggering. The idea that he'd be able to move himself past that knowledge now that he had it… Well. It was laughable, really. No wonder the meditation wasn't working. Chakotay sighed. He didn't want to hurt Seven. He didn't want to hurt anyone.

The spirits only knew what was going through Janeway's head. She'd hardly looked at him since they returned to camp. Although, given his own struggles in the wake of that kiss, he supposed that wasn't surprising. And, as always, they had other, far bigger things to worry about. He turned to look at her again.

As if she'd read his mind, Janeway got to her feet and raised one hand to wave him over. As Chakotay started to pick his way through the camp, B'Elanna began fiddling with the implant over Seven's eye.

Duty calls, he thought, and took a very deep breath.

Chapter Text

The twin suns rose with a ferocity that would put the greatest warriors of Sto'Vo'Kor to shame. With the first touch of light came the heat, bursting furnace-like across the scorched dust with barely a pause for dawn. It found the crew of Voyager already on their feet, pressing onward across the scrub behind their captain. Rest had come easily to no one, and with the neural interlink stable and broadcasting at last, the command team had made the decision to move out even while it was still dark. The greatest danger, they had realised, would come not from overwhelming fatigue but from the searing temperatures of full day.

Seven of Nine strode through the tortured landscape with an easy grace, the remaining nanobots in her system working to combat the stresses wrought by the environment on her body. The makeshift beacon in her temple had already been active and transmitting for several hours, sending out a locator signal bearing a Starfleet signature that would be recognisable to Neelix's shuttle if it came within scanning range. It was clear from his attempts to contact them the day before that Neelix was already searching for them. Quite what he could accomplish once he found them was undetermined, but Seven could not argue with Captain Janeway's assessment that 'he's all we've got'.

Seven could see the captain ahead of her, and although her legs were sufficiently long enough to easily close the distance between them, she felt no need to do so. She had nothing to report, and besides, she had observed something in the other woman's demeanour that was proving puzzling to interpret. Ordinarily, Seven would simply ask the captain the nature of her current thoughts. But Janeway had proven elusive, if not in presence then in mind. As they had worked together on the beacon, the captain had seemed unable to keep still. The musculature of her face, arms and shoulders constantly tensed and released, and although her attention to the task at hand could not be faulted, Seven had the sense that Janeway was having to struggle to achieve her usual levels of concentration. Several times, too, the captain's fingers had paused in their work. It was a brief enough hesitation that B'Elanna Torres had no doubt failed to note it, but on each occasion, Seven had looked up at the captain to find her expression one of absence and her face bearing a curious, if brief, flush.

The former borg drone wondered what had caused these interruptions. When they had arrived on the planet, Janeway's anger had been obvious. This, though, was an indication of a different emotion, one that Seven did not recognise or understand.

She made a note to ask Chakotay about it at the earliest opportunity. She would have asked him already, but he had busied himself constantly with the needs of the crew since their arrival here. Her own was no exception – prior to his conference with the captain and Tuvok the evening before, the Commander had approached her to reassure himself that she was not in need of immediate regeneration. She was not, and would be able to proceed for several days without further need for her alcove. He had clearly been relieved, which she took as a sign of affection quite apart from the physical gesture of comfort he had offered as he'd touched her hand.

Seven found the human need for physical contact even when it had been established that there were no immediate physical requirements to be met puzzling. Nevertheless, she had resolved to work hard at her relationship with Chakotay, and this seemed to be a key aspect to human social constructs. In any case, the sensation of his fingers touching her hand had not been an unpleasant one. This assured her that her first choice of partner with which to explore the sexual aspects of her humanity had proven appropriate. She had chosen the Commander for this purpose for several reasons. One, his tall stature and strong build appealed to her sense of aesthetics – he would have made an excellent drone. Two, she had on several occasions heard other women among the Voyager crew remark favourably upon his appearance and express their own desires in his direction, which in the absence of any other collective, helped to reinforce her own assessments as being correct. Three, she had observed his patience with the crew, which suggested that he would also exhibit this same quality in his social life. Seven was not unaware that she regularly caused the crew extreme exasperation, and therefore it would seem prudent that her choice of mate be proficient at suppressing this reaction. Four, his age indicated that he would have considerable experience in the areas of courtship and sexual activity.

She had explained this reasoning to him in detail on their second date, along with her intention to perhaps also date outside her gender in the future, at some point as yet to be determined. Chakotay had been silent for some time after that, staring out of the window of his quarters as if contemplating something far distant. His face had been composed but laced with an expression that she recognised as vague sadness, and she wondered whether he was considering taking their relationship no further. Eventually, though, he had looked back to her and smiled slightly, tugging on the lobe of one ear before nodding. The rest of their meal on that evening had passed without further comment on the subject, and as they bid each other a good night at their date's conclusion, he had been the one to suggest the setting for their third such encounter.

As their association had continued, Seven found that she had grown used to spending time in his company. She had also discovered that Chakotay laughed far more often during his social hours than when on duty, was unfailingly considerate, and always sought to put her desires first. It had been some few weeks now since Seven had started to find herself thinking about him when they were not together. The first such incident had taken her by surprise as she worked on enhancements to Voyager's power couplings in Engineering. She had caught herself, during a tedious moment of repetitious testing, reflecting with regret on the fact that she had not seen him during that entire duty shift. The momentary wandering of concentration had disturbed her, but recognising it as such had not prevented it from happening again on several occasions, until thinking about him had become as much a part of her day as her other activities.

Seven's ruminations were interrupted by an abrupt burst of static echoing directly inside her head. She stopped dead, thinking for a moment that the interlink had malfunctioned. It took her approximately 15 seconds to correct this assessment and realise that in fact, the static heralded a data stream encoded to a feedback loop designed to bounce back to her interlink along the locator transmission.

"Seven?" The voice came from Harry Kim. The Ensign stopped beside her, concern showing on his face. "Are you all right? What is it?"

Seven ignored him until the message had been safely downloaded. "I must speak to the Captain."

Chapter Text

The oasis bloomed on the horizon not a moment too soon. The crew stumbled towards it in desperation and at the very end of their endurance. Janeway had ordered them not to leave their flesh uncovered to the sun no matter how hot they were in their uniforms, but most had stripped to their tank tops anyway. They held their jackets over themselves like cloaks, wrapping their heads in turbans made of their roll-necks. Seven's news had been forced to take second place behind the necessity of reaching shelter before they all expired. There was not a crewmember among them, from Captain to Ensign third class, who had energy or mental acuity to spare in the face of the incessant heat.

They were so exhausted that when their parched toes finally touched the fine green grass that seemed to be sprouting straight from the scorched sand, they made not a sound. They stumbled onwards, dragging with them those who had almost given up before the goal. Janeway raised one dry, shaking hand to her face and tried to wipe the blur from her eyes. The verdant patchwork of varying greens was such a shock after so much scorched orange that it was difficult to comprehend. She could smell water and hear it too, and her body was so desperate for fluid that the pull toward it was almost too difficult to resist. Yet she forced herself to stop at the edge of the greenery, a fading angel at the gates of Eden, and waited as her crew passed into its shelter. She wanted to make sure that every one of them was there and had survived with her.

Janeway saw Chakotay making up the rear of the group. He was moving slowly, with deliberate, unsteady steps as if having to force each one from his exhausted limbs. He was cradling the small figure of Naomi Wildman in his arms, the girl's mother at his side. His jacket was draped over the child, one small foot dangling from beneath its shelter. There was a wide welter of burned red flesh on Chakotay's neck where the suns has wrought their revenge for not being able to have any other part of him. The last reserves in Janeway's body turned themselves into stinging tears at the sight. She was so tired that she could not even summon shock at herself for such an inappropriate reaction.

When this last little knot of exhaustion reached her, Janeway rested her hand on his arm and they walked the last distance together. Beneath her fingers, his muscles were trembling with the effort of holding the child.

"Let me take her," Janeway murmured, though she wasn't sure how she could. Chakotay shook his head, apparently unable to give a verbal reply.

Another large, toppled boulder joined the dotted, leafy trees and spreading pastures that made up the oasis. This one had split in two, and from its cleft gushed a waterfall that cascaded into a large, clear lake. The crew had collapsed around its edge, scooping water into their mouths or simply immersing their heads into its depths. Chakotay sank to his knees and between them Janeway and Samantha Wildman eased Naomi to the ground.

"Is she all right, Sam?" Kathryn asked, watching as the Ensign checked her daughter over.

"She will be. Thank you, Commander," Wildman said, her voice a rasping, dry whisper. "Thank you."

Chakotay nodded and then slumped forward, too exhausted to reach for water. Janeway took her own roll-neck from around her head and shoulders and immersed it in the lake, the dazzle of the ripples blinding as she pulled it out. The sensation of water running down her bare arms was sensuously exquisite. She draped the wet garment over her first officer, pulling at his shoulder with shaking fingers. He rolled sideways, until his head rested against her hip. She brushef the pad of her thumb against his bottom lip and then squeezed water into his mouth, waiting until he had accepted this before reaching over him. Cupping her hands into the lake, she helped him to drink properly. His eyes remained closed, too exhausted to open them.

When she finally tipped water into her own mouth, the taste was so sweet that for a moment Janeway doubted that it was merely water at all. She drank and drank, greedily sucking it in, splashing her face and chest and soaking her hair. Had it not been for the fact that Chakotay was still slumped heavily against her she may have launched herself fully into the lake, as some of the other crewmembers have done. They were too exhausted to play, but their relief was still clear to see and hear. She laughed to see Harry Kim roll from the bank and into the water with a loud and joyful splash, quickly followed by Tom Paris.

Chakotay stirred, and she looked down to find his eyes open and gazing up at her. Something seismic shifted within her and she couldn't stop herself briefly touching his cheek, despite the fact that they were there within full view of the crew and his head was resting in her lap.

"You've got a nasty burn, Commander," she said, to cover herself. He moved, sitting up with difficulty. "We'll have to keep an eye on it to prevent infection. I believe Tom Paris has a basic first aid kit. I'll send him over – once he's back on dry land, that is."

A trace of a smile ghosted its way across Chakotay's face as he dipped her top in the water again and held it to the raw burn with a wince. Janeway forced herself to her feet, refreshed enough to turn her attention to other pressing matters. Seven of Nine was making her way toward her, apparently having been in conversation with Tuvok.

"Captain," Seven said, as she reached them. She glanced down to Chakotay, who was not yet recovered enough to stand. "Commander. Are you well?"

He nodded with another faint smile, but didn't look up at her. "I'm fine, Seven. Just need a few more minutes."

"Very well. Then, Captain, I suggest we discuss Neelix's plan. We do not have much time to prepare."

Janeway nodded. "All right, Seven. Hit me."

Neelix's 'plan' was stunning in its audacity. Since he would not evacuate the crew from the surface with only a single shuttlecraft, he has devised a plan for an assault team to re-take Voyager, with the Doctor helping to run interference. Since Voyager was no match for Mazen firepower at full pelt, the Talaxian has surmised that the only way the ship will escape Mazen space once it is re-taken is if it is cloaked as successfully as the Mazen ships themselves.

"How does he propose we accomplish that?" B'Elanna asked, as the senior crew held a briefing in the shade of a large tree laden with ripe fruit that look a little like apples. "If he thinks I can just conjure one up out of replicated parts, he's going to be disappointed."

"It would appear that Neelix's plan involves taking a cloak generation unit from another Mazen vessel," said Seven. "Apparently he has faith that you will then be able to integrate this technology into Voyager's systems."

"What do you think, B'Elanna?" Janeway asked her chief engineer. "Is that likely to be possible?"

B'Elanna blew out her cheeks with a shrug. "Given time, Captain, almost anything is possible. But we won't have time, will we? If this plan is going to work, the cloak has to be up and running within minutes of us re-taking Voyager. And it won't be a case of simply plugging it into our systems, either. I'm going to have to modulate their frequency so that the cloak is still effective, but they can't detect it. Otherwise they're going to know exactly what they're looking for and will be able to scan for it accordingly."

Janeway nodded thoughtfully. "Does Neelix say how he thinks we're going to be able to get a hold of this cloak generator? It's not as if we have any experience of Mazen warships at all, and those we saw when we lost Voyager seemed pretty impenetrable."

"He has the schematics and the location of what he terms a 'vulnerable' Mazen vessel. Apparently it was damaged in a severe ion storm while in dry dock. Neelix believes that is still in a sufficient state of disrepair to be penetrable by a small force."

"Tell me, in sequence, the chain of events Neelix is proposing."

"In approximately 12 hours, Neelix will arrive at our location with the Delta Flyer II," Seven related. "He believes the planet is being monitored by Mazen security forces, but since they have yet to find him, he also believes that he will be able to successfully transport a small team to the shuttle and leave the atmosphere before they can detect the shuttlecraft. This team will then arm themselves from the shuttlecraft's supplies and proceed to the location of the Mazen craft."

"Where we'll waltz in and steal one of their prize pieces of technology," Paris interjected, dryly.

"I fail to see the relevance of dancing at this juncture, Lieutenant Paris."

"That was a little joke, Seven."

"I do not believe this is an appropriate time for levity."

"No, you're probably right."

"And once we have the cloak generator?" Janeway interrupted. "What then?"

"Lieutenant Torres and myself will utilise the journey from the Mazen ship to Voyager's location to modify the technology to Starfleet parameters. Once within range of the Starfleet vessel, Neelix will deploy a signal that has been prearranged with the Doctor, who is still active. The Doctor will disrupt Voyager's shields for just long enough for us to beam aboard undetected. We will then re-take the ship, integrate the shield, retrieve the crew, and remove ourselves from Mazen space at maximum warp."

There was a brief silence once Seven had finished speaking.

"I will remind you of your own words, Captain," Seven added. "He is, as you said, 'all we've got'."

Janeway nodded. The temporary refreshment provided by reaching the water's edge had ebbed, replaced once again with abject exhaustion. "Very well. I think we have to go with it. Tuvok?"

"It is an illogical plan than that is far more likely to fail than to succeed," said the Vulcan. "Nevertheless, at this point I cannot see a viable alternative."

"I am inclined to agree with you," Janeway said, "in which case: Torres, Seven, Tuvok, Chakotay, Kim and myself will form the assault team, along with two capable security officers – I leave their choosing up to you, Mr Tuvok."

"Captain?" Tom Paris began, his face showing his confusion. "What about me? I should-"

"You will remain here, Lieutenant," said Janeway, firmly. "I'm placing you in command of the crew. Keep them safe and keep them alert. If the Mazen find out what we're doing, the rest of the crew may become a target. Plus, they must be ready to move at a moment's notice when Voyager comes calling."

"Captain-"

"That's an order, Lieutenant. I'm putting a lot of faith in you, Tom. Live up to it, won't you?"

She saw the objection in Paris's eyes fade, and he nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I won't let you down."

Janeway clapped him on the shoulder. "I know you won't. None of you will. Make no mistake, people, this is going to be one hell of an operation. But we have to pull it off. We have no choice. Now, we have fewer than 12 hours before Mr Neelix comes to our rescue. We all need rest, so I suggest that becomes our immediate priority. Get comfortable and get some sleep."

Seven, being the only crewmember without need of sleep, took sentry duty. Chakotay, as exhausted as he was, found rest elusive. He could see the captain from where he lay. Kathryn was several feet away, reclining supine, her legs crossed at the ankles and one slim arm resting across her forehead. She was awake, staring up at the stars as if they could whisper to her the outcome of this particular chapter in their story. He wanted to lie beside her and stare up in the same way at the very same point in the cosmos, to see if he could read her thoughts and follow the tumble and drift of them through the clear air. The night there in the oasis was no warmer than it had been out in the desert, but her arms were bare. He had not given her back her roll-neck – it was ruined - and her jacket was pillowed under her head, so that she wore only her tank top, dry after the soaking she had given it earlier.

He stood and picked up his jacket, moving toward her quietly so as not to wake the slumbering crew around them. If she heard him coming she didn't let on, her eyes only finding his once he was crouched beside her. Chakotay tried not to let his gaze drift to her nipples, which had hardened in the cool air and were tantalizingly visible through the fabric stretched taut across her breasts. She didn't move, didn't drop her arm from her forehead. Her fingers were long and delicate, and he could not stop the memory of how they had brushed across his spine and then, later, across his cheek. Her eyes were dark in the dim light, but they were fastened on him.

"You should be asleep," he whispered.

"I can't."

Chakotay draped his jacket over her. "You're probably cold."

"What if we fail?"

"We won't."

They stared at each other, surrounded by the sleeping figures of their crew.

"Chakotay-"

"Kathryn-"

Their words stumbled against each other's, and they both fell silent.

"We have to talk," she said, then.

"Yes."

"Not now."

"No," he agreed.

"When this is over."

"All right."

Her eyes drifted shut and he watched her fall asleep. There was something unbearably beautiful about the way her fingers curled gently as her body relaxed.

Chapter Text

Janeway woke before dawn, jolting into consciousness from a dream of violence that skittered away from her even as she opened her eyes. She breathed deeply to calm her jitters and found herself inhaling a scent at once deeply familiar and passing strange. It took her another few seconds to realise it came from the jacket she lay beneath. Chakotay's jacket. She lay still for another moment, staring up at the stars and breathing him in. It had been seven years since Kathryn had woken to the intimacy of another person's scent so close to her. Deliberately trying to taste the essence of him on her tongue felt deeply transgressive. That didn't prevent her from filling her lungs with him.

She remembered talking to him the previous night, but not falling asleep. Something hot twisted in her gut as she recalled his dark gaze brushing over her body. Kathryn flushed a little at the memory. She hadn't moved to cover herself, though she knew what had drawn his attention. She'd wanted him to look at her. She'd wanted to feel him looking at her.

Disgusted with herself, Janeway sat up and shrugged off his jacket, reaching for her own instead.

Get a grip, she told herself. Now, of all times, get a goddamn grip.

In seven years, this was one of the worst situations in which they had found themselves. Now was not the time for the emotional dam she had maintained so meticulously during that time to suffer a breach. For God's sake, this was exactly why any form of relationship with Chakotay beyond professional friendliness was out of the question. Here she was daydreaming like a schoolgirl, just hours before they were about to embark on a desperately critical mission.

She found him at the water's edge, splashing water over his face as Seven stood beside him. Chakotay rose from his crouch as Janeway approached.

"Commander," she said, clamping down on the urge to retreat until Seven was safely out of the way. Yet another reason why this entire situation was untenable in the extreme. "Many thanks for the loan." She held out the jacket, deflecting any awkwardness by immediately asking, "What's our status?"

From the corner of her eye, Janeway thought she saw Seven's eyes linger on the jacket for a moment as it passed between them. She hoped she was mistaken.

"The assault team is ready, Captain," Chakotay told her as he pulled on the missing item of his uniform and fastened it. "Tuvok has chosen Ensigns Nikat and Stevenson to join us."

Janeway nodded her approval. "Seven, any more communication from Neelix?"

"Yes, Captain. It was necessary, in the absence of our communicators, to arrange a position from which he will transport the assault team. These coordinates have been determined."

"Very well. By my calculations we have four hours until Neelix is due to rendezvous with us?"

"Correct, Captain."

"Then, Commander, I suggest we call a senior staff briefing now and then address the crew."

Later, as B'Elanna thinks back over the events that dogged Voyager in Mazen space, the thing that sticks in her mind most is her conversation with Tom before the assault team's departure. It was an illustration, painted in the hot, bitter dust of sacrifice, of just what all of them had to go through out there in the Delta Quadrant.

"We have to tell them, B'Elanna. We have to tell them now."

"We can't, Tom. What do you think will happen if we do?"

"They'll leave you here, with me. They'll take another engineer."

"Exactly!"

"And so what? You're not the only engineer we have!"

"But I'm the best. What they're going to have to do out there – what it's going to take to integrate that cloak generator into Voyager's systems – you know that it's a long-shot at best. Without me…"

"Come on, B'Elanna – Seven can probably manage it on her own."

She crossed her arms at that. "That's targ crap, and you know it."

Tom sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Let someone else go. Let someone else take the risk for a change. B'Elanna – you're pregnant. You can't do this!"

"Klingon women go into battle pregnant. It's considered a blessing on the baby's life for it to experience its' first fight before birth."

"You're only half Klingon, with half the strength of a full Klingon female. And anyway, that's just ridiculous."

The debate ran out of steam by that point. They each knew that they were both right, and the point was moot. For this plan to have a fighting chance, Voyager needed her best engineer. That was B'Elanna, no question. The fact that they'd only discovered she was pregnant two weeks previously… well. It would have been lovely if they'd had the opportunity to have a normal pregnancy, with the normal ups and downs entailed, but how could that have ever been, under the circumstances in which their child was conceived? In the Delta Quadrant, behind every silver lining loomed a cloud that was quite possibly lethal, as their experience with the Mazen had perfectly highlighted. Their attempt to build a full existence in the middle of the uncertainties of life aboard Voyager had its own consequences, of which situations like this was one of the starkest examples.

B'Elanna laid a hand on her husband's arm. He reached out and pulled her to him, looping his arms around her waist to press her still-flat belly against his, as if he could already feel the nascent baby within.

"I love you," he said. "I love you both, so much. I just wish…"

"I know. I love you too. But unless we want to spend the rest of our lives – unless we want the baby to spend the rest of its life - stuck here, I have to do this. You know I do. There's no one else."

Tom nodded, the stubble of his unshaven cheek scraping roughly against hers. "Yeah. My wife, genius tinkerer, saviour of the galaxy, defender of the weak. Captain Proton's got nothing on you."

They pulled back far enough for their lips to meet.

"Look at it this way," she smiled, when they separated. "If I stay here I'll outrank you, Lieutenant, and you won't get to play at being in command."

"That's a very good point, Lieutenant Commander. How soon do you leave?"

The Delta Flyer II appeared, dipping into the atmosphere above their heads, gleaming in the reflected light of two suns. Seconds later, Janeway felt the familiar tingling sensation of the transporter taking hold. Anxiety mixed with relief as she rematerialised inside the small ship. She was anxious to be leaving the majority of her crew behind but relieved to once again be surrounded by technology she knew and could operate to their advantage.

"Captain! Is it good to see you!" Neelix shouted over his shoulder from the pilot's seat, his whiskers quivering. "Hold on just one second…" he turned back to the controls and input a series of commands before nodding to himself in satisfaction. "I've just beamed a large package of replicated supplies down to the planet for the crew. Emergency tents, blankets, medical supplies, ration bars – that kind of thing."

"Good thinking," said Janeway, clapping a hand to his shoulder as the rest of the assault team congregated around them. "In fact, you've already outdone yourself, Mr Neelix. Without you we'd have no hope of rescue at all."

Neelix looked them all over, evidently taking in the toll that the desert planet had taken on them all. "I'm only sorry I couldn't reach you sooner, Captain. And what's ahead…"

Janeway held up a hand with a brief shake of her head. "I think you've done a remarkable job under the circumstances. Now, why don't you fill us in? We know the broad strokes of your plan, Neelix, but that's it."

"Well, Captain, I've laid in a course that will take us to the second moon of the system the Mazen call Trillax," said Neelix. "The Mazen have a dry dock there. It's where the ship I've targeted for the operation is currently situated."

"What made you choose this vessel?" Tuvok asked. "And from where did you receive your information?"

"Some of the traders I had dealings with. Don't worry," said Neelix, before Tuvok could say anything else. "They had no idea of why I was really interested. This ship is currently undergoing a full upgrade. Its shields and cloak haven't been installed yet, and aren't due to be for another week. It's as unprotected as we're going to find."

"And you have schematics?" Tuvok enquired.

Neelix nodded, passing around PADDs. "These are actually of a slightly earlier model of Mazen warship, but it's the best I could do. The model names have merely been given additional suffixes, though, so hopefully the changes to the layout are minimal."

Tuvok looked as if he was about to say something else, but B'Elanna beat him to it. "And the cloak itself? You have schematics of that? Please tell me they're up to date, at least?"

Neelix nodded. "You'll find them all there."

"All right," said Janeway. "How long until we reach our destination, this moon?"

"It'll take us five hours at the Flyer's top speed, Captain."

"In that case, I suggest we form two groups. Neelix, I'm sure you could use a break, but can you stay at the helm a little longer?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Thank you. Commander Chakotay – you, Tuvok, Nikat and Stevenson develop a tactical assault plan using the schematics we've got. B'Elanna, Seven and I will go over the cloak blueprints. In three hours we'll reconvene and pool our knowledge. I know space is at a premium, but we'll have to make do. All right?"

There was a chorus of 'Aye, Captain'.

"Excellent," said Janeway. "However, before we do any of that, I for one need hot coffee and a new shirt. Where's that replicator?"

Chapter Text

The Delta Flyer II hung silent in the shadows on the dark side of the second moon of Trillax. Chakotay sat at the helm with Tuvok seated at his left and Janeway standing at his shoulder. The atmosphere in the small ship was tense, but controlled. They'd gone over everything a hundred times, until every member of their small team knew the assault plan inside out. The only thing left to do was put it into action.

It was fortunate, given the limited dimensions and equipment of the Flyer, that the ship's diminutive size was actually an advantage in the execution of their plan. The Mazen warship they were to penetrate was roughly one and a half times the size of Voyager. The Delta Flyer II, despite being considerably bigger than a standard Starfleet shuttle, was dwarfed by its target. It was also dwarfed by the transport shuttle whose emissions they were counting on to mask its approach.

"Time to intercept?" Janeway asked, her gaze on the still-distant planet. There were three dry-docks hanging above its atmosphere, but only one was occupied. From this distance the spider-like nature of the Mazen ship was somehow even more sinister.

Chakotay checked. "Two minutes 28 seconds, Captain."

He felt her hand rest on his shoulder briefly as she said, "Time to give the helm back to Mr Neelix, gentlemen. Chakotay, Tuvok – places, please. Harry, take ops."

Chakotay slid out of his chair, handing over to Neelix. The Talaxian didn't look as rested as he might have, but the few hours' shut-eye he'd managed to get combined with the stimulant shot he'd taken would have to do. The first officer briefly wished that Tom Paris was there, but put the thought out of his mind almost immediately. It was easy to forget that Neelix was a decent pilot in his own right and had captained his own ship for years before joining Voyager's complement. And although Paris was never reluctant to slip out of the bounds of Starfleet regulations, for this mission it would certainly help to have Neelix's knowledge of sticky situations working in their favour – their planned method of entry to the Mazen ship being a perfect case in point.

"All right?" Chakotay asked Seven and Torres, who were standing ready at the back of the shuttle with Nikat and Stevenson. All four were fully armed with holstered phasers as well as a phaser rifle each. Along with the weapons, Seven and Torres also had belts packed with the tools they'd need to extricate the cloak, and in addition Seven had a pack in which to carry the stolen cloak generator strapped to her back. Chakotay's standard-issue phaser was already holstered at his hip, but now he bent to picked up his own phaser rifle, clipping it into its sling and checking the settings.

"As ready as we'll ever be, Commander," said Torres, wryly. Chakotay couldn't help but smile slightly. It had been a long while since he'd carried out a guerrilla-style mission such as this with B'Elanna. He wouldn't call those memories pleasant, but he did remember her studied air of nonchalance before each one. It seemed that even seven years on a Starfleet ship hadn't smoothed out every Maquis habit. Given their current predicament, that was probably a good thing.

Janeway and Tuvok were similarly armed as they came to join the group, taking up the standard stance of an away team beaming into a potentially hostile situation – in their case, a three-two-two formation, facing outwards so that all angles were covered.

"Phasers ready," Janeway ordered, drawing her own. "Set to level two stun. We want them down for a decent amount of time, but let's avoid killing for as long as we have to."

"Aye, Captain," Chakotay answered, for the team.

"Transporter coming into range, Captain," Neelix announced. "Time to intercept 24 seconds."

"We're in your hands, Mr Neelix. Do it."

Neelix didn't answer, but his fingers flew over the shuttle's controls. The shuttle began to move, turning in the close shelter of the shadowed moon as it slowly left its orbit. Nothing was visible through the shuttle's forward windows but a myriad of stars. Chakotay felt his gut spark sickly for a second, wondering if his faith in the Talaxian had been misplaced. He glanced at Janeway from the corner of his eye, but her face was impassive, a mask of concentration and calm that betrayed nothing.

He needn't have worried. A second later something large loomed beneath them, a hulk just appearing in the lower half of the shuttle's window. For a second Chakotay thought it was the moon coming into view again, but then he realised it was the transport ship. Neelix had dropped out of the moon's shadow so smoothly that it had felt as if they weren't moving at all. Within ten seconds the Delta Flyer II was riding in the torrent of emissions trailing the larger ship's passing, like a water skier bumping along in a motorboat's wake.

The shuttle shuddered. "Report," Janeway ordered, immediately.

"Nothing to worry about, Captain," Neelix reassured her. "Compensating for the turbulence…" His chubby fingers darted over the controls again, and the shuddering ceased.

"Radiation levels?"

"Within acceptable parameters, Captain. Time to site-to-site transport range – 32 seconds."

"Stay safe, Neelix," were Janeway's parting words to the pilot. "We're counting on you and Harry for a clean getaway."

They materialised in an empty corridor, which was Janeway's first cause for relief. Given the outdated nature of the schematics they were working with, they could have ended up anywhere. The second relief was that no sirens went off on their intrusion. With any luck, the Mazen had no idea they had been boarded, and indeed would have no idea until it was far too late. The assault team moved off immediately, Janeway taking point with Chakotay and Tuvok on either side of her. Their route to the cloaking generator was seared on the Captain's mind like a blueprint, and she ticked off the way points one by one. Third corridor, right turn. Second corridor, left turn. Pause at entrance to third junction in case of troop activity. Use access panel on right to descend one deck via maintenance corridor. Exit maintenance corridor, turn right. Fourth corridor, left turn then immediate right turn into cloak generation facility.

It became clear early on that the ship, being in dry-dock, was operating under a skeleton crew. Most of the Mazen soldiers they encountered they were able to avoid rather than confront. Those that they couldn't were stunned and concealed as quietly as possible. A level two phaser stun should be enough to put an averaged-sized humanoid out cold for three hours. If the assault team weren't back at the transport site with the cloak generator in exactly 40 minutes, their plan would fail anyway, since Neelix would have to ride the emissions of the next transport scheduled to travel past the dry-dock to collect them if they were to have any hope of avoiding detection.

They reached the cloaking facility 13 minutes after boarding the Mazen vessel, which was almost a full minute behind schedule. Janeway gave a brief thought of thanks to Neelix that his assessment that the schematics would still be viable – on their route, at least, nothing had varied from what they had been expecting. It made her wonder why this particular ship had been given a later designation at all. The cloak generator room was large, but empty of personnel. The team moved in silently, checking the area warily.

"All right," Janeway said to Torres and Seven. "Get to it. Chakotay, Tuvok - make sure the entrances are covered. We don't want to be surprised."

"Dammit," hissed B'Elanna, as they regarded the vaguely boxy mass of the cloaking generator, set into a coving in the metallic black wall.

"What is it?" Janeway asked, the anxious ball of tension in her stomach knotting tighter at the woman's curse.

"The cloak is already integrated into the Mazen ship's systems," said Seven.

Janeway's spine prickled. "It's operational?"

"No, not yet," B'Elanna told her. "But we were hoping it wouldn't be wired in at all. This is going to take some time – we can't just rip it out."

"All right," Janeway said, "we knew this was a possibility. We know what we have to do. We have 20 minutes to get this thing out in one piece, or all of this will have been for nothing."

B'Elanna nodded, her lips set in a thin line as she and Seven went to work. Janeway's task was to disable the power couplings while the other two removed the generator. Several minutes later, as the final power relay disconnected in her hands, Janeway glanced the two doorways from which a possible attack could come. Tuvok and Stevenson knelt at one, Chakotay and Nikat at the other. There was no sign yet that they'd been detected, but the longer they stayed, the thinner their luck stretched. She wanted to be gone.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

"That's it," said B'Elanna, with an audible sigh of relief. We're –"

The siren cut her off, blaring overhead with deafening volume. The sound screamed in Janeway's ears as her heart rate went off the scale.

Their luck had just reached breaking point.

Chapter Text

"Go!" Janeway bellowed over the melee, as she helped Seven stow the cloak generator. "Go, go, go!"

Tuvok led the way out of the room, heading back the way they had come. Nikat and Stevenson were close on his heels, phaser rifles primed and at the ready. Chakotay and Torres came next, with Seven and the Captain making up the rear. They got as far as the first turning before the Mazen forces caught up with them, erupting from passages left and right, firing energy weapons at the fleeing Starfleet personnel. Nikat and Stevenson dropped to their knees, laying down cover fire as the rest of the team charged ahead before they followed to defend from behind. The heavy pack hardly slowed Seven at all, her long legs carrying her tirelessly as she dodged the incoming fire. The siren continued but she managed to tune it out, concentrating only on aiming her weapon as surely as she could as she ran. Ahead, she saw Chakotay dip his broad shoulders suddenly, dropping to the ground as a volley of enemy fire ricocheted off the bulkhead. His knees hit and he rolled, coming back up again in an instant to return fire.

A close scream broke Seven's concentration and she glanced back to see that Stevenson had been hit. There was no point stopping – the energy weapon had sliced through his midsection and he was dead before his body hit the deck. She saw Captain Janeway firing off an answering volley of phaser fire that felled one Mazen soldier but didn't stop the rest coming.

The Voyager team slalomed around another corner and plunged into the maintenance shaft, taking the metal rungs up a deck as fast as they could. Seven was surprised to see Torres tiring slightly as she climbed. Chakotay was forced to hang back so that he could haul the engineer to her feet at the top. Seven was stronger, faster – she didn't need help. Neither did the Captain or Nikat, who was the last on the ladder. But the young Ensign had obviously made an error – perhaps he had not replaced the panel correctly, alerting their Mazen hunters as to their whereabouts, as suddenly the narrow climbing space was filled with enemy fire. Seven glanced down to see the bottom of the shaft burning. Her last glimpse before reaching the top of the ladder was of Nikat far below, writhing in agony as an energy weapon incinerated his leg. Janeway reached for him, but before her fingers could grasp them, he slipped, plunging back down to certain death.

Seven paused just long enough to make sure the Captain had exited the maintenance corridor. The older woman was breathing hard, but Seven knew instantly that the fleeting pain in Janeway's eyes was emotional, not physical.

Ahead, Chakotay, Tuvok and Torres had turned another corner when a cacophony of static crackle exploded in Seven's head. The sound was so loud and close that it was painful. She stumbled in shock, narrowly avoiding smashing into the wall as disorientation overtook her. Her concentration broken, the sirens crashed in around her with deafening alacrity. She put her hands over her ears, trying to tune everything out, but the static remained, so close she couldn't escape it.

It was Neelix, sending another message via her neural interlink. Seven blinked, trying to register the message even as she saw Janeway slide to a stop and vault back towards her.

"Seven! Move! Move!"

"I-"

Janeway looked back the way they had come. The sound of heavy boots clanging against metal joined the chaos in Seven's brain and she realised there were Mazen soldiers behind them, closing fast. She shook her head, trying to clear it. The Captain grabbed her arm, attempting to drag her along the corridor.

"Voyager's here," Seven managed, gasping as she tried to force her legs into action.

"What?"

"The ship – the Mazen have brought it to dry dock. It's-"

A volley of enemy fire interrupted as they turned into another corridor just in time to see the rest of Voyager's assault team vanishing ahead of them.

"Seven, just run. Go!" Janeway pushed her ahead as she turned to fire at their pursuers. Seven stumbled onward as another sound overlaid itself over the general discordance – another klaxon, even closer, followed by a loud and heavy scraping sound.

Seven staggered around the corner to see the rest of the team in place, ready for transport. Chaoktay turned, seeing her, a flash of something unreadable passing across his face as he stepped forward and gripped her arm.

"Where is she? Where's the Captain?"

Seven, confused, turned. "She was – she was-"

"Stay here," Chakotay ordered them all. "Get out of sight. Four minutes until transport."

"Commander-" Tuvok began, but Chakotay shut down his protest with a stiff jerk of his chin. In another second he had vanished back down the corridor, his phaser primed.

Chakotay cursed himself for charging ahead. He should have hung back, he should have taken up the rear himself. Where was she? What-

All thought died in his mind as he turned another corner and skidded to a halt. What had once been an open corridor was now truncated, sealed off by a massive emergency bulkhead. It had slammed into place from overhead, sealing off part of the route they had taken.

This was most definitely not part of their outdated schematics.

Time seemed to slow until every millisecond stretched for an eternity as he realised what had happened.

Kathryn.

He could see her through the bulkhead. She was cut off – trapped behind a foot-thick wall of solid metal and reinforced glass. Two strides took him to it, and in another second he was searching for the controls, trying to find a way to get her out. On the other side, she was already doing the same. She'd slung her phaser rifle over her shoulder to free up her hands, trying panel after panel. It seemed forever before she found one that would open, her long fingers prying off the metal plate to reveal a hopeless tangle of wires underneath. He saw but could not hear her exasperation as she realised there was no way to know what she needed to do. She wrenched out a handful, severing them, but that achieved nothing. She looked over her shoulder down the corridor they had fled along. Beyond it Chakotay could see another identical bulkhead and through it the enemy were approaching. Kathryn was trapped in a space no bigger than the Delta Flyer II was long, and the Mazen knew where she was. He saw Janeway yell, a silent bellow of frustration that he couldn't hear but felt echo in his core.

Chakotay blasted at the metal with the phaser, but it was useless. He dropped the rifle and hammered at the airlock with his fists. He searched for another panel but couldn't find one anywhere. He yelled his anger and frustration incoherently as nothing worked. Nothing. Worked.

It took him a second to realise she had stopped her own efforts. He looked up to find her standing at the square glass panel, watching him with infinite sadness.

Chakotay, she was saying. Stop. Stop.

He stared at her, mesmerised by the silent movement of her lips. He could understand her perfectly, but couldn't hear a word she said.

It's no good. It won't open. You have to go.

"No," he said, flatly. "No."

Go, or you'll miss the transport rendezvous.

"No!"

That's an order, Commander.

"NO!"

He shouldered his phaser rifle again, bellowing in impotent rage as he fired off another volley of useless energy that didn't even make a mark. He couldn't leave her there. He wouldn't.

Kathryn tipped her head to one side and raised her left hand until her fingers were pressed gently against the glass. His heart shook as he recognised the gesture. So many years since the last time she had raised her hand to him in that way. So many years, so much water under so many pointless, pointless bridges.

Please, Chakotay, she mouthed. Please.

Numb, he lifted his own hand, spreading his fingers against the glass to mirror her gesture. She blinked and he saw tears welling in her eyes, turning them luminous in the dim light. Her hair was dishevelled, her uniform was torn, her face was smudged with dirt, and she was beautiful. So, so beautiful.

Get the crew home.

"I can't-"

You can. Do it for me. I have to believe they'll make it home.

"Kathryn-"

A shower of sparks erupted behind her. The far end of the corridor exploded and a second later a squadron of Mazen fighters was blasting their way into her prison. She was going to die, he realised, with a horror so absolute that it collapsed his soul. She was going to die, and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop it.

Janeway didn't even turn to look. She stayed facing him even as the Mazen poured into her prison. She squared her jaw and primed her weapon with such calm determination that his heart shattered. Then she looked him in the eye and spoke her last silent words so clearly that he would have heard them in another galaxy.

I always loved you. I'm sorry I made you doubt it. Live. Please, live.

RUN.

Chapter Text

The tingle of the transporter beam had barely subsided before Chakotay was making for the helm.

"Harry, scan the Mazen ship for human lifesigns." Maybe she's still alive, maybe-

Kim glanced back toward him, his eyes taking in who was there and who was not. "I can't, Commander. They'll detect the scan and know we're here."

"They know we're here anyway!"

"No sir, they don't. We're still riding the transport's emissions wake. They won't be able to trace us as long as we stay inside it."

Chakotay gripped the back of Harry's chair so hard that his knuckles turned white. "We have to-"

"I tried to get a message to Seven, Commander," said Neelix, looking up at him grim-faced. "The Mazen have brought Voyager to one of their dry docks. She's here." The Talaxian pointed out of the Flyer's viewscreen. They were coming up on another of the alien space docks. It had been empty on their ingress, but was now filled by the sleek white lines of Voyager.

Tuvok stepped up beside Chakotay. "Commander, if we wish to complete this mission, we must act quickly. Once they realise what we removed from their vessel it will not take long for the Mazen to understand our intentions. We have minutes to act, at the most."

Chakotay shut his eyes. The raw pain that now squatted where his heart used to beat was slowly being subsumed by something he hadn't felt for years. It poured into his veins, a frigid flood spreading out like a drug from the broken, pulsing mess in his chest. Chakotay turned to ice in its wake, until he felt brittle enough to crack at a single word. It was anger. No, more than that – it was rage. Cold, hard, rage. With it came a clarity that carried its own warped kind of calm. Her voice echoed in his head, so clearly that he could have sworn he'd actually heard the words, instead of only seen them.

Get the crew home. Please. I have to believe that they'll get home.

He let go of the chair back, his fingers numb from the grip. "Harry, time to transporter range?"

"Three minutes, 42 seconds."

"Neelix, you're ready to contact the Doctor?"

"Standing by, Commander."

He stepped away from the helm, turning to where B'Elanna and Seven were working on the Mazen cloaking generator.

"Did you hear that?" Chakotay asked. "Will you be ready?"

"We're doing our best," B'Elanna said, voice tense as she bent over a complicated relay.

"I need better than your best this time, Torres," Chakotay ordered. "There's no margin for error here. Understand?"

She nodded, but didn't raise her head.

"I want everyone to replenish their weapons. Double complement. Set phasers to kill."

He felt the momentary frisson that passed through the ship at that particular order. Tuvok stepped to his side, but Chakotay met his eye before the Vulcan had a chance to say anything.

"Don't even think about it," he said. "They've taken our ship. They've killed our people. They've stranded the crew on a barely-habitable planet. Frankly, right now I don't care how many Mazen have to die for us to do it, but we are taking Voyager back, and we are three team members down. Set phasers to kill. Got it?"

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. Just for a second, Chakotay thought he saw something like sympathy flit through the security chief's eyes, but convinced himself he must be mistaken.

"Neelix," he called to the helm, "you can you handle the Flyer alone?"

"Yes, Commander."

"In that case, Harry, I need you. Time?"

"One minute thirty one seconds to transporter range," Neelix reported immediately, as Harry dashed out of his chair. "Message transmission in one minute ten seconds."

"Let's hope the Doctor's listening."

Chakotay stilled himself as they waited for transport. Every fibre of his being told him they were moving in the wrong direction. He wanted to go back. He wanted to find her. But in the coldest, deadest part of himself, he understood that all he would recover was a broken body that would hold nothing of the Kathryn Janeway he knew. Whatever was left of her in that Mazen corridor bore no connection to the woman who had moved so vibrantly in his arms, who had kissed him with a passion great enough to sear the memory of it into his very being. What she had asked of him in her final moments – even then, thinking of her crew – that was where she now lived. And if he went back, would she thank him, were she able to, for refusing to abandon her body instead of helping them? No, he knew her well enough to know for certain that she was as dismissive of sentimentality as she could be of her own heart.

I always loved you.

He shut his eyes.

Fingers brushed his hand lightly. Chakotay jumped, jerking his hand away from the unexpected touch. Opening his eyes, he realised it was Seven. He stared at her, uncomprehending. She'd never been the one to reach out before.

"Message sent and received. Ten seconds to transport."

Seven looked away, though not before he'd seen a flicker of understanding pass over her face.

Chapter Text

The first blast caught her forearm a glancing blow and sent her crashing against the bulkhead, screaming with the pain. The corridor filled with blinding, noxious smoke. Janeway dragged herself upright and pulled her phaser rifle across her body, firing blindly into the approaching fray. The answer was a dozen more flashes of the Mazen energy weapon discharge. She ducked and dived, avoiding another hit but aware that her efforts were useless. Kathryn didn't expect to survive, but she'd be damned if she'd go down without a fight.

She coughed as the gas grew ever thicker. Bent double, hacking her guts out, she avoided another blast by nothing more than inches. It burned into the bulkhead beside her instead, searing one of the panels she'd previously tried to open with white-hot energy. There was a cracking sound as it split, a shearing of metal against metal as it expanded beneath the heat. Janeway sent another blast of phaser fire at her attackers, the force of her own weapons discharge sending her stumbling against the wall behind her. She was getting weaker. The pain from her injured arm was sucking at her reserves of strength and the lack of oxygen in the air combined with whatever gas had been released from the ruptured conduits around her was sending her light-headed. Her vision was blurred and she could hardly see. The Mazen klaxons were still wailing overhead. It wasn't very difficult to imagine that she'd stepped over an invisible threshold into the kind of fiery hell in which her pioneer ancestors had staunchly believed.

She struggled to drag air into her lungs and fired the phaser again, but was too slow to fully avoid a Mazen blast coming the other way. The pain was so intense when it hit that Janeway assumed her lower leg had been severed. She dropped the phaser and fell to the floor, blind with agony. A split second later her head connected with something hard lying perpendicular to the wall.

Kathryn dragged her head up, blinking to clear the tears streaming from her eyes so she could see what she'd hit. It was part of one of the square wall panels, identical to the one she'd dragged off when trying to find a way out of her prison. This one had been torn in two by the force of a Mazen blast. Part of it was still in place, part of it was lying under her head on the floor. And behind where it was once fastened to the wall was a crawl space.

Jeffries tubes.

The Mazen soldiers were so close she could feel the ringing of their boots through the deck. With the last reserves of her strength, she dragged herself to her knees, ignoring the screaming pain in her leg and arm. Looking down, she noticed that she'd been lying in a pool of something, and realised belatedly that it was her own blood.

The Mazen were still firing as she pulled herself through the gap. Inside there was less smoke. It glowed with dim red strip lighting. Janeway forced herself along the narrow metal tunnel, scrambling as quickly as her battered body could manage until she reached a turn. Dragging herself around it, she slumped against the wall. She could still hear the Mazen blasting holes in their own ship in an attempt to kill her and wondered how long it would take before they realised she'd stopped firing back. Absently she noted that she'd left a blood trail that a blind sloth could follow, but that couldn't be helped and she'd only pulled herself into this space to escape the Mazen fire, not death itself. The best she could hope for was to fade out quickly before they found her again.

Kathryn shut her eyes and leant back against the cool metal. She wished there was some way of knowing that the assault team had got away. She had to assume that they had and that they were currently in the second phase of their plan to take back Voyager, but she'd willingly hasten her last breath to know for sure.

Chakotay's face floated to her out of the growing murk in her fading mind. The predominant feeling that accompanied the vision was guilt. She shouldn't have told him what she had, not when she knew there was no way to follow through on her confession. Not when it would be the last thing she ever said to him.

I always loved you.

It was true. It had been true for a very long time. She'd done her best to push it aside, suppress it, to squash it into a box so small that she could pretend it wasn't there. Nothing had worked. Her efforts and the years between them had only tempered it, moulded it into something so familiar that it was an indivisible part of her. It had become an element of her being so natural that she'd almost forgotten it even existed. But she shouldn't have told him. It would haunt him now, the ifs, buts and maybes, the knowledge of what they could have had and yet never did. It had been selfish of her, especially given his recently-found happiness elsewhere. But she'd wanted him to know. Uselessly and too late, she'd wanted him to know.

The klaxons stopped. The silence that followed the absence of the horrendous noise was as welcome as the cool water of the oasis had been in the desert. Janeway opened her eyes, breathing in the quiet as she realised that the Mazen had stopped blasting away at the corridor, too. She listened, expecting to hear the sounds approaching as they followed her into her hiding place, but there was nothing.

A moment later, a tiny but recognisable judder ran through the ship. She sat up a little straighter, ignoring the pain. The judder settled into a hum, not of noise, but of motion. It suffused the metal around her in a way that would be imperceptible to anyone who hadn't served on a starship for the entirety of their adult life. The Mazen ship's engines were powering up.

Janeway raised one ragged, shaking hand to her forehead and wiped away the sweat she found there. She dragged burned fingers through her tangled, dirty hair. If they were starting the ship's engines, they'd be starting up the rest of their systems too. Shields. Tactical. Weapons.

What had Seven told her? That the Mazen had brought Voyager to dry dock. That their ship was here. Janeway's heart began to thump, causing an echoing throb in her aching head that she added to the others she had to ignore just to enable thought. If the Mazen had worked out that the assault team were from Voyager's crew, it wouldn't take them much to figure out what they were intending. If Chakotay's team had got away and had entered phase two of the mission, they'd be on Voyager now, struggling to integrate the cloak and fighting off the Mazen occupiers. The ship in which Janeway now languished was the closest warbird their enemy had. Neelix had told them it was in for a refit. If the weapons hadn't been a part of that, or if they'd been reintroduced first, Voyager was sitting, defenceless, beside a hostile ship that could take her out with a single volley. And Kathryn had no doubt that if the Mazen thought they were losing Voyager they'd rather destroy her than let her go.

She looked down at herself. Her leg and arm were both mangled, seeping blood through burns that were only partly cauterised. She could hardly think straight, let alone stand. But she was still alive. For the moment.

Better to die trying, she told herself.

Chapter Text

B'Elanna lay on her back beneath the console, her fingers deep within the workings of shield control while the noise of all-out war raged around her. She was trying to compensate for the power differential between the Mazen cloak and Voyager's systems. It might have been easier to concentrate if not for the full-bore firefight going on at the door of Engineering. The Mazen had them pinned down and she had no idea how they were going to get out of this one.

An image of Tom floated into her head, and with it came the spark of warmth that had existed in her thoughts ever since they'd found out about the baby. She pushed it away, cold guilt drowning her happiness. She had her family, and she still had a chance to get back to them. But the Captain…

Dead. B'Elanna couldn't believe it. No, it wasn't that she couldn't. She knew full well how cruel life could be, and yet… she didn't want to believe it. The woman that had enabled her to have the life that she now had, with Tom, with the baby, was dead. There one minute, and gone the next. Death was brutal that way. She hoped for Chakotay's sake that he hadn't seen it actually happen. Although she knew from experience that imagination was sometimes worse than knowing for sure, she'd give a lot of herself to keep that knowledge from her old friend. Their years on Voyager had changed both of them for the better, and that was down to Janeway. Without her…

Torres snapped another relay into place. "Try it again," she shouted to Seven, over the noise. Her head was millimetres from the other woman's calf, where she stood at the still-active console above B'Elanna's head. She saw Seven's elbows move as her fingers flew over the console. Ten seconds passed like an eternity. B'Elanna was beginning to get her hopes up when a high-pitched whine signalled an EPS coupling overload.

"Dammit!" Torres twisted herself over and rose to her knees, reaching for the offending article. If it burned out, there'd be too much to repair and too little time. She swore and let go as the hot metal burned her fingers. Ignoring the pain she grabbed the conduit again, trying to separate the connections as the whine became louder and louder.

"Lieutenant Torres!" Seven dropped to a crouch beside her. B'Elanna ignored her warning shouts until the other woman looped one strong arm around her stomach and hauled her backwards, both of them landing in a heap on the deck as the conduit reached breach point. It exploded in a shower of sparks that would have hit B'Elanna full in the face if not for Seven's intervention.

Torres disentangled herself from Seven and pushed herself up. The console was still smoking. "Now what?"

Before Seven could answer, there was a particularly loud blast from the door. Both women turned just in time to see Harry stumble backwards, a spurt of blood spraying into the air from the blast he'd taken in his arm. He fell to the ground, face ashen, as Chakotay and Tuvok moved to cover the gap left by his absence.

We're never going to get out of here alive.

The stray thought hadn't even had time to fade from B'Elanna's mind before the EMH materialised in front of her. His face was harassed and he carried two hyposprays.

"Doctor! Harry's hurt-"

The EMH glanced at the injured Ensign, his jaw set grimly. "I'll treat him as soon as I can. This is more urgent. Seven – take one of these, you and I are the only ones it won't effect."

"What?" B'Elanna asked, as he threw one of the hyposprays to Seven. "What is it? What are you doing?"

"We're never going to take back Voyager like this," said the Doctor. "I've rigged the ship to release a gas that will take care of the Mazen. Actually, it'll knock all of you out. Hence the hyposprays. They'll counteract the effects."

"Wait," B'Elanna said, as another blast of Mazen weapons fire made it through the main doors, burning a hole in the upper deck. "But what about – Doctor, will it…"

He grasped her arm. "The baby will be fine. Trust me."

"You couldn't do this before we got here?"

The look he gave her could have felled Kahless himself. "Later, Lieutenant, I'll be happy to fill you in on just how many things I've had to do while waiting for you to arrive. But for the moment…"

A second later she felt her lungs constrict as the recycled air filled with something that really wasn't supposed to be there. Her throat burned and she slumped to the floor, darkness dancing at the edge of her vision.

"Now, Seven!" The Doctor's voice seemed very distant. Across Engineering, she saw that Chakotay and Tuvok were also on their knees.

A fraction of a second later she felt the cool press of metal against her neck and the pinprick as Seven activated the hypospray. It took another minute before her head cleared and she could breathe easily.

By the time she was on her feet again, the firefight was well and truly over.

The Bridge was a mess. It looked as if the Mazen had been systematically taking the ship apart from the inside out. Disconnected gel packs and untangled relays poured from the guts of every console. But at least they still had main power, even if the warp drive wasn't yet online. Harry, wounded but walking thanks to the Doctor's ministrations, took up his post at Tactical. Tuvok returned to Weapons.

Chakotay glanced around, barely even able to bring himself to look at the Captain's chair, let alone sit in it. Taking his place beside it at his usual post would almost be worse. The emptiness that she had left was palpable. He wondered whether the void was actually in the ship itself, or only in his heart.

He took the helm.

"Eyes open, Mr Kim, Mr Tuvok," he ordered. "Until B'Elanna and Seven can get the warp drive online and that cloak working, we're going to be visible to every Mazen ship out there."

"Long range scans indicate two Mazen warships moving in our direction," Kim reported.

"Time to intercept?"

"Four hours at their current speed."

Chakotay nodded grimly. "And they're just the ones we can see," he reminded them. "Let's get Voyager out of here."

The fallen Mazen had been stowed in the Brig, still safely blacked out thanks to the Doctor's dose of gas. Chakotay supposed they wouldn't have any objection to taking their crew's place at the oasis until their fellows could pick them up – always assuming, of course, that Voyager made it that far. He eased them out of space dock – something he'd never done before – and was just about to breathe a sigh of relief at clearing the pylons when Harry's voice carried across the Bridge.

"Commander, the Mazen ship in space dock is powering engines! Their warp drive is coming online."

Chakotay cursed inwardly, turning to look at the Ensign. "Weapons?"

Harry tapped a couple of keys. The look on his face told Chakotay everything he needed to know even before he said, "Their weapons are also operational."

Chakotay turned back to the helm. Through the viewscreen, he could see the warship, not yet moving, but sinister all the same. "Bridge to Torres," he barked to the computer, "We're going to have company sooner than we thought. We need warp drive!"

"Three minutes, Commander," she told him. "The Mazen have been tinkering with it, but as far as I can make out, it's not damaged."

"What about that cloak?"

"We're working on it!"

"Any ETC?"

There was a moment of silence. "Ten minutes?"

Chakotay shut his eyes. He heard the question in her voice. Ten minutes wasn't her best guess, it was a hope. And even then it would be too long. "Get it working, B'Elanna, or we're all dead!"

The commlink severed, he spoke to Tuvok. "We've still got weapons ourselves, right?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Ready the photon torpedoes."

"Aye, sir."

"All tubes, full spread. Taking us to full impulse…"

As Voyager slid into motion, he saw the Mazen ship move.

Chapter Text

Through the heavy fog of pain and fatigue, Janeway tried to remember how to reach the Mazen ship's engineering bay. She'd memorized the route of their assault, but not the ship's full schematics – there just hadn't been time. But, from the best that she could recall, she had to make it down three decks. Easier said than done with her injuries. The most she could be grateful for was that she had no broken bones.

Her uniform jacket became the latest casualty of her plight. The fabric was strong and absorbent and after taking it off she'd been relieved to see that it had already suffered a tear. Kathryn used her teeth and one good arm to rip it into thick strips that she then clumsily used to bandage her leg and arm. God only knew what infections she was introducing into the unclean wounds, but it wasn't as if she was thinking of this as anything other than a one-way trip. She tied her arm in a makeshift sling around her neck, which at least got it out of the way. The only weapon she had left was her standard issue hand-held phaser, but it was better than nothing.

She crawled to the end of the tunnel. Janeway listened for a second or two, but could hear nothing on the other side of the access panel. It took precious minutes for her to open it – the mechanism was stiff, and her injured arm was beginning to go numb. Her fingers tingled, signalling a lack of oxygen at their extremities. Kathryn pushed away the macabre thought that she was dying by degrees.

The corridor beyond was eerily empty. Janeway made her way to the nearest maintenance corridor as swiftly as her limp would allow. Once inside, she rested for a few seconds, then began the climb down. It was slow going, trying to use the functional metal rungs with just one good arm and leg. She tried putting full pressure on her wounded leg, but that resulted in a pain so intense that she almost blacked out and let go entirely. That meant the only way to make the trip was by gripping a rung by her one good hand and hopping down to the next, hoping that she'd be able to hold her weight until her boot had found its grip. More than once she slipped, slamming against the rungs between hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs. Janeway bit her lip against the pain, tasting blood, trying not to make a sound as the agony raged through her.

By the time she reached the bottom, Kathryn was so exhausted she had to pause, despite the risks. She sank down against the wall, noting that the blood had started flowing from her arm again, probably as a result of one of the hits it had taken as she'd almost fallen. It had soaked through her torn uniform and was now seeping into her rollneck. She couldn't move her fingers, and her nails were turning blue.

Let's hope I don't need to cross them again, she thought to herself, and then: Gallows humour? Come on, Kathryn, get on with it.

She was struggling back to her feet when the first jolt hit. It threw her across the corridor, her head connecting with the cold metal. Janeway braced herself, eyes shut as the ringing in her head subsided.

That was no engine warm-up. That was a photon torpedo strike.

Voyager!

The thought galvanized her into action and she made her way along the corridor as quickly as she was able. If Voyager was firing at the Mazen warship, it meant her people were back in charge. Her heart soared even as she realised what the torpedo strike had really meant. If Chakotay – and she refused to imagine that there was any reason it wouldn't be him in charge of her ship – was having to fight his way out, it meant their plan had failed and the cloak wasn't operational. Voyager unprotected, shields or no shields, was no match for even a single Mazen warship.

She had to find a way to help them. She had to find a way to stop this ship.

It had been too much to hope for that engineering would be abandoned. There were three Mazen soldiers manning the consoles, the screens they were looking at flickering with data. She took the first two out with the element of surprise, but her reaction time was slow with the final one. Before he fell to her final shot, he bellowed a warning into his version of a communicator. Now the whole complement of Mazen soldiers knew she still alive.

Another photon torpedo struck the ship a blow, but not hard enough that Kathryn could believe Voyager had brought down their shields. She crossed to the consoles the soldiers had been busy at. If she could find a way to drop them herself, a photon torpedo could finish the job, no problem. But the controls were too alien – impossible to understand without direction. She felt the ship swing beneath her feet, a minor jolt signalling that they'd manoeuvred fast enough to avoid a direct hit. Three wasted torpedoes, Kathryn calculated. Voyager couldn't spare more.

Janeway looked around, trying to work out what she could do. The Mazen knew where she was, which meant she was out of time. Her gaze fell on the warp core, glowing faintly blue in the dim space. Alien language or no, she knew how to do the one thing she had time left for.

The cascade failure blew out the control console almost immediately. She had to throw herself backwards to avoid the explosion, crashing to the floor as the fire burst over her head. The energy fed back toward the core, destabilizing the anti-matter flow in a matter of seconds. In under a minute, the power relays had blown, and even as she heard the sound of boots clanging against metal in the corridor outside, Janeway knew she had succeeded.

Warp core breach. Drastic but effective. Destroy their ability to eject it and bam – game over.

Score one to Kathryn Janeway.

She heard a deadened blast behind her and swung her head around to find that another of those damned emergency bulkheads had slammed into place, sealing off Engineering. No one in, no one out - quite a security measure. How was anyone in here supposed to get out in an emergency? Maybe they aren't supposed to, she thought. Maybe every Mazen engineer is expected to fix their ship, or go down with it. The soldiers outside continued to blast at the door, but it wouldn't budge. Certainly not in time to stop the warp core destroying itself, anyway. Janeway dragged herself up to lean against the nearest intact console as the energy in the core built and built. The last reserves of her adrenalin collapsed under the weight of her fatigue. Kathryn blinked, struggling against the pain and exhaustion. It'd be the last thing she did, but she'd see this out with her eyes wide open.

Hold on, Chakotay, she ordered him silently. Another minute and you'll be home free.

She blinked again, and as she did so, something caught her eye. It was a line of flashing red lights. They were embedded in the floor, and seemed to have activated with the emergency bulkheads. Kathryn watched, fascinated, as they blinked. It was methodical, almost hypnotic. She felt herself fading into that final twilight where pain gives way to release, exhaustion to blissful sleep.

It took her too long to register that the lights were intended to make one follow where they led.

Chapter Text

Voyager rocked as she took another hit from the Mazen ship.

"Shields down to 75 per cent," Harry yelled from his station. "And they're firing again!"

"Evasive manoeuvre Beta-1," Chakotay announced, keying the order into helm. The ship swung, dipping her nose and lifting her port nacelle as she came about, but the enemy fire still impacted against their invisible protective barrier.

"Shields at 50 per cent," Harry reported. "We're losing them fast!"

"Bridge to Engineering," Chakotay shouted, over the hiss of an EPS conduit venting into the atmosphere. "B'Elanna! Where's that warp engine?"

"I'm still working on it!" She was yelling too, and in the background he could hear the sound of the emergency fire system kicking into play. "I don't know what they did, but I can't generate a stable warp bubble longer than a few seconds. Every time I think I've got it, it collapses."

"What about the cloak?"

"Seven's getting there."

"We're sitting ducks out here, Torres!"

"I know, I know!"

Chakotay keyed in more commands to the helm, bringing Voyager about at full impulse. The Mazen ship was now clear of its dry dock moorings and was gaining on them fast. Voyager was nimbler on her nacelles than their war cruisers, but that was her only advantage. He ran through his dwindling options. Photon torpedoes held the biggest warhead yield of all the armaments they carried, but the ship only had a complement of 11. There were reserves, but no crew to load them, and the three they'd used already hadn't even made a dent. But what other choice did he have?

He swung around in his chair. "Tuvok, with what you've observed of their defences, where is their weakest point?"

The Vulcan frowned slightly, gripping his console as another Mazen blast overloaded the power couplings behind him. Smoke billowed around him; a shower of sparks adding sudden illumination to the dim status of red alert. "Without time for further analysis, I would have to conclude it is their aft nacelle," said Tuvok. "It is not a clear target, but its disruption will, if nothing else, slow them down. Concentrated fire may be enough to penetrate their shields if localised."

"All right. Harry, prepare to launch four photon torpedoes directly at their aft nacelle. Make it count, Harry, we'll only get one shot."

"Aye, sir," said the Ensign.

"On my mark-"

His countdown was interrupted by the biggest hit yet. It impacted from behind, hard enough to throw Chakotay out of his chair and over the helm console. He landed hard, his back cracking against the deck. He fought to drag air back into his lungs as he struggled to his knees, lights sparking in his eyes. "Report!"

"Direct hit!" Harry yelled, "Shields are down - hull breaches decks seven through nine! Emergency force fields are holding, but-"

"Reroute all available power to the deflector," Chakotay ordered, as he re-took helm. "Cut off life-support to all areas apart from Engineering, Sickbay and Deck one. Take power from the holodecks. Shut down airponics if you have to. Get those shields back up!" Ahead, they could see the Mazen ship charging at them. He pulled Voyager up, dropping to half impulse.

"Shields back up, commander," Harry reported, a moment later. "Holding at 87 per cent. That's the best I can do."

Chakotay rubbed a hand over his face. "Ready those torpedoes, Harry. On my mark…"

The Mazen ship grew larger and larger in the viewscreen. Chakotay felt as if he were playing chicken with a juggernaut. The enemy ship was gathering speed, apparently oblivious to the fact that Voyager had, conversely, slowed.

"Three," he shouted, dropping the ship to full stop briefly before pushing her nose down at half impulse. "Two!" The Mazen ship filled the view screen, sailing over their heads as Chakotay threw Voyager into full impulse and shot beneath their hull. "One!"

He felt the torpedoes launch, leaving their tubes in a smooth stream one after the other under Harry's command. In the view screen they were silver streaks in the black of space, travelling almost too fast to see. The first two impacted with the Mazen shields and exploded. The enemy ship shook but even without Harry's report Chakotay could see they'd failed to make it past the force field. The third and fourth fared a little better, the first two clearly having weakened the Mazen shields. They made it through but, deflected by the shield's residual energy, didn't make their target. Chakotay's heart sank as he saw hull breaches open up on the enemy ship, but nothing that would cripple her. Instead she swung around, searching for Voyager, already prepared to attack again.

Chakotay cursed inwardly. "Mr Kim, fire at will. Use everything we've got left."

Harry answered by firing phasers, aiming for the section of enemy shields that had been weakened by their torpedoes. Chakotay took them in on another run, but his hope was failing. Every minute they fought this single ship gave others time to join the fray. And if they had this much trouble against a single Mazen warship that wasn't even fully operational…

"Commander!" Harry's cry echoed across the Bridge. "Their warp core – it's destabilising!"

Chakotay swung around. "What?"

"It's in total failure – it's going to go into full breach in less than two minutes."

"Did we do that?"

"No, sir!"

"Are they ejecting?"

"It doesn't look like it!"

"How many Mazen on board?"

"Twenty."

"Can you get a lock on them?" Chakotay's brain was racing. Take a leaf out of Kathryn's book, he told himself. Fight when you have to. Use diplomacy when you can.

"Their shields are still up."

"Hail them."

"No response."

"Try again!"

"Still nothing! Commander, this close, Voyager won't withstand the shockwave with our shields at less than 100 per cent!"

Chakotay backed Voyager off at full impulse. Through the view screen, he could see the Mazen ship beginning to shake with the force of the collapsing warp core. Fires were breaking out on its long pylons as the ship began to disintegrate, lighting up the darkness of space as it burned.

"Reroute any and all additional power to the shields," he yelled to Harry, and then, "All hands – brace for impact!"

"An escape pod just launched from the Mazen ship," shouted Harry.

"Lifesigns?"

"Only one. Very weak. It's -" there was a fraction of a pause. "Commander – it's human. It's human!"

"What?" Chakotay stood, feeling the blood drain from his face. Kathryn? "Get a lock on her! Beam her out of there!"

"I can't drop our shields!"

Chakotay stared out of the viewscreen, mind racing even as the rest of him grew numb. The Mazen ship was coming apart at the seams, chunks of debris already flying toward them.

"Tractor beam!"

"We're too far away! Commander, that pod won't withstand the shockwave. It has no shields, only inertial dampeners!"

"B'Elanna," Chakotay bellowed, as a blue-white light of unbelievable magnitude bloomed at the very centre of the Mazen ship. "For God's sake, get that warp engine online!"

As if just waiting for his words, Chakotay felt the power surge as the nacelles came online. "It's up," came B'Elanna's voice, echoing over the comm. system. "But I don't know for how long!"

Chakotay didn't answer. On his sensors he could see the tiny pinprick that represented the escape pod, hurtling through space like a pebble turned helplessly by a turbulent ocean. Too small, too fragile. Too far away.

"Warp core breach in progress," carried Tuvok's calm voice, across the Bridge. "Shockwave impact in 8 seconds."

Not for the first time, Chakotay wished Tom were there. His fingers flew over the helm controls, setting a course.

"Harry, be ready with that tractor beam. We're going to pull that escape pod along with us, got it?"

"Commander, I don't know if it'll survive the stresses of-"

"Just do it," he ordered, as he engaged warp two. "It won't survive the shockwave, but it might survive the ride."

Come on, Kathryn, he begged, silently. Hold on. Please hold on.

Chapter Text

Voyager rode the edge of the shockwave, keeping just far enough ahead to avoid the worst of the energy displacement. The escape pod bobbed along below them, Harry's expertly timed transporter beam having plucked it from its erratic heading just as Voyager passed by. Chakotay kept his place at helm, forcing himself to concentrate on the task of holding the ship steady, even as his frustration grew. Every millisecond the escape pod remained tethered in their wake risked the fragile craft breaking up, but they couldn't beam the Captain aboard without dropping their shields, which was impossible all the while they were trying to escape the shockwave. Anything faster than warp two would be fatal for the pod, but it was only just keeping Voyager from the worst of the energy wave, which had yet to dissipate.

He made a course adjustment to account for a meteorite coming up on their starboard side, and realised his fingers were shaking. She was alive. Kathryn Janeway was alive. He had no idea how, but he begged every deity he'd ever heard of that he'd get the chance to find out.

"Tuvok? Vital signs?"

"Fading, Commander. The occupant must be gravely injured."

Occupant, Chakotay repeated to himself, as his stomach churned. How does he do that? How does he just turn it off? How does he stay so cold?

"Commander – long range scans have just picked up two more Mazen ships on our trail. They're gaining on us."

"One thing at a time, Harry," he said, through gritted teeth. "I need suggestions here." And where's that damn cloak? He added, silently.

"There's a planetoid coming up," Harry reported, tensely. "Class R, uninhabited. If we make a course correction so we run close to it ahead of the shock wave and then duck into its shadow, it may be enough to shield us from the worst of the energy displacement."

"Enough to drop shields?"

Harry shrugged, looking as frustrated as Chakotay felt. "It's as good as we're going to get."

"Bridge to Engineering. You know what I'm going to ask, B'Elanna."

"I think we've got it, Chakotay. Cloak coming online in… three… two… one…"

Chakotay automatically looked out at the viewscreen, but of course could see nothing. He checked his sensors just as Harry emitted a loud whoop.

"Looks like it's working, Commander!"

Chakotay heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, something seemed to be going their way. "Good job," he said, for Engineering's benefit. "Now see what you can do about stabilizing the shield array."

Cutting the connection, he turned to Harry and Tuvok. "Let's do this. Send me the coordinates of this planetoid, Harry. Let's hope it's big enough for what we need."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, his fingers slipping quickly over the controls. A second later a beep from the helm told Chakotay he had what he'd asked for.

It took just a second to lay in the new course. Sensors showed the shockwave was still on their tail. It edged ever closer as the ship altered attitude. Voyager shuddered slightly, and Chakotay winced. If Voyager felt that, for the pod it would have been like being thrown into the direct path of a twister.

"Bridge to EMH."

"EMH here."

"Standby to receive one patient. We don't know what injuries she's got, Doctor, but we know they're severe."

"Just get her to Sickbay, Commander. I'll look after the rest. Standing by."

Chakotay looked over his shoulder. "Tuvok, drop shields as soon as we're in the planetoid's shadow. Don't wait. Harry? Be ready with that transporter lock. There's going to be one hell of a jolt and I don't think the pod will take the stress. Ready?"

"Ready, Commander."

"Aye, sir!"

Chakotay nodded once and then focused all his attention on helm, trying to calm himself. They had to come up on the planetoid still in warp, then drop to full stop in its shadow. If he overshot they'd be at a standstill and right in the path of the shockwave.

"All hands," Chakotay shouted, as the ball of barren rock loomed large before them, "brace, brace, brace!" He pulled out of warp and banked the ship, slewing her tail around just shy of the thin layer of atmosphere surrounding the planetoid. He slammed to a full stop just as the shockwave caught up with them.

"NOW!"

Chakotay knew Tuvok had dropped the shields because despite the planetoid taking the brunt of its force, the shockwave ripped into Voyager like a phaser through fabric. Next to him, the secondary helm exploded as the power relays fused, and for a second he thought the very deck below his feet was giving way. He gripped his console as the entire ship juddered, watching on his sensors as the escape pod was buffeted beyond endurance. He brought it up on the viewscreen, ignoring the acrid smell of burning in the air. He watched in horror as the tiny craft disintegrated before his eyes. In a fraction of a second, it went from being whole to nothing more than a collection of debris swept along by the shockwave.

"Did you get her? Harry, tell me you got her!"

"The shockwave is interfering with the matter stream… trying to compensate…"

Chakotay stood up. "Doctor," he asked, addressing the comm. system. "Is she there with you? Have you got the captain?"

Seconds passed. Chakotay turned cold, clenching his hands.

"I've got her, Commander," came the eventual reply. "But I won't lie. She's in a very bad way."

He swallowed hard, nodding absently. "All right," he said. "All right." He sat down again, staring hard at helm. "Tuvok, get the shields back up and I want a full damage report. Harry, give me an update on those Mazen war ships. I'm setting a course for the crew. Warp nine for as long as we can hold it for."

Chapter Text

Apart from a brief call to the bridge to inform him that he would be taking Janeway into immediate surgery, it was more than three hours before the Doctor surfaced again. Chakotay had been almost grateful for both the amount and the urgency of the tasks that required his attention during that time. Faced with nothing to do but wait, he would have run mad. As it was, there was little that could be done about the hull breaches – they were too short-staffed and for the moment at least, the emergency force fields were holding. In a situation such as the one in which Voyager had found herself, looking after a starship was much the same as performing triage on human victims. You treated the worst to ensure survival, and then you moved on. Chakotay handed Bridge command to Tuvok while he and Harry tried to patch the worst that needed attention, leaving Seven and B'Elanna to manage Engineering repairs themselves.

Tuvok was keeping a weather eye on the pursuing Mazen. It seemed that despite the initial delay, B'Elanna and Seven had worked their usual magic, and the cloak had not only worked, but had been modulated enough to render the fleeing Starfleet vessel undetectable even to the Mazen. In fact, at the moment, the warp drive was more of a worry. They had been forced to drop to warp five, which would have been fine if not for the continuing concern that the Mazen would turn their attention to Voyager's stranded crew before they themselves could reach them.

A welcome extra pair of hands had appeared in the shape of Neelix. The Delta Flyer II had mercifully avoided detection – probably because the Mazen had decided they had bigger fish to fry elsewhere – and had set a course back to the desert planet. Voyager's trajectory had caught up with the shuttle an hour into their journey. Chakotay had been deep in guts of the deflector array when Tuvok called to inform him. The necessitated drop out of warp and brief absence of shields had been worth it for the feeling of relief that at least one of their number had returned home safely.

Chakotay had watched the changing expressions on Neelix's face as he told him of the Captain's return and current condition. He wondered how closely his own had mirrored the rainbow of emotions that he saw in the Talaxian.

When there was no more that he and Harry could usefully do elsewhere, he returned to the bridge. It seemed as empty as before. It is not an omen, he told himself. She'll live. Look at everything she has already survived.

But still he could not bring himself to look at her chair.

Entering the ready room was even harder. It still held her faint fragrance, a ghost so palpable that Chakotay almost expected to see her sitting at her desk. He paused as the doors shut behind him, the deep breath that should have been steadying only serving to shake him further. Of course it wasn't the first time he'd been in here alone – he routinely delivered PADDs to her desk, or retrieved necessary items before briefings. Yet this was different, somehow, perhaps because he was here only for himself. He couldn't be by her side in sickbay, but he needed to feel her presence, somehow. And she was here. Oh, she was here. His memories of her in this room were potent enough to wash over him like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep away the fragile control he had struggled to exert ever since he'd turned away and left her behind that bulkhead. The first time she had asked him to join her for coffee and they had sat, side-by-side, beneath the stars. The first time she had laid her hand on his chest, a gesture that had stunned him with its controlled intimacy. The time he had leaned over her desk and told her, heart thumping, just how unhappy Q's attentions had made him (and, by unspoken inference, why), not to mention the swing of her hips as she'd subsequently offered Q the retort he so richly deserved. The rose; her arm in his; her smile; her laughter; the good news; the bad; the arguments they had weathered; the debates they had shared... So many recollections of her, in this single room. So many reasons to love her.

The door hissed open and shut and he turned to see Seven standing just inside it. He felt the intrusion - and then a distinct unease at the emotion - keenly.

"Seven."

"Commander." She crossed to where he stood at the window. Over the weeks of their tentative union he had come to recognise emotion in her face, too subtle, often, for those not as close to her to read. Her clear eyes were shadowed with worry. "I was concerned about your well being."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, Seven. I should have come to Engineering."

She glanced away, out at the speeding light of the passing stars. "I did not expect you to. There were... Far bigger considerations to involve yourself with."

He smiled to himself, though the gesture held no mirth. The sculpted porcelain of her features in profile were painfully beautiful. And yet, he realised with a dismay that came as no surprise, this observation was accompanied only by guilt. There was no throb of desire, no feeling deeper than the affection he had deliberately cultivated and would never entirely abandon.

"Seven..." he began, with difficulty. "There's something...

She turned to look at him, silencing him with a look that held neither bitterness nor regret. "I have enjoyed our time together," she said, abruptly. "But I am aware now that I was in error."

"Error?"

"It is only in the light of recent events that I have realised what was already between you and Captain Janeway. If you had made me aware… I would have conducted myself in a different manner."

Chakotay resisted the urge to look away. She deserved better than that. He also couldn't lie. Not any more, and he realised that's what he had been doing. To both himself, and to her. "I'm not sure that we truly realised ourselves," he said, honestly. "Seven, if -"

"There is nothing to be gained from considering how things could have been different, Commander," Seven said, cutting him off. "I do not regret what happened between us. It is my hope that you do not, either."

"My only regret is if I have caused you pain, Seven," he said, softly. "Please believe that it was not my intention."

The smile she gave was small and fragile. "My research indicates that emotional pain is a necessary aspect of human mental development. I will… adapt."

He opened his mouth to say something, though what could possibly suffice, Chakotay couldn't imagine. Before he could find any words, he was interrupted.

"Sickbay to Commander Chakotay."

Chakotay tapped his communicator, instantly chilled. "Go ahead."

"Please report to sickbay as soon as you can."

"I'll be there momentarily," he answered, and then said, "Seven..."

She nodded, and then stepped forward to take his hand. "Captain Janeway is strong," she said, squeezing slightly. "If anyone is capable of surviving this ordeal..."

He nodded, dumbly, and she let him go.

He didn't struggle to justify the power expended by his site-to-site transport. It was the quickest way to reach sickbay, and that was all that mattered. The lights were dimmer than usual. Chakotay's eyes instantly flickered towards the small figure lying in the furthest medical bay, but the Doctor intercepted him before he could take more than a step in her direction.

"Commander. Thank you for coming." The sombre look on the hologram's face churned the bile in Chakotay's stomach.

"Doctor. Just tell me."

The EMH raised the PADD in his hand and read from it.

"Captain Janeway suffered first degree burns to 30 per cent of her body; deep lacerations leading to severe blood loss and the early onset of blood poisoning and serious contusions to her head, neck and back. The surgery was to stem the internal bleeding caused by a punctured lung, the result of several broken ribs," lowering the PADD, the Doctor added, "It is my belief that these last injuries were sustained in the moments prior to her transportation to Voyager from the escape pod. Frankly, Commander, it is beyond my comprehension that she managed to stay alive that far, let alone beyond."

Chakotay blinked, struggling to breathe. "The surgery? It was a success?"

The EMH looked at him steadily for a moment. "It stopped the bleeding. I have treated her other injuries as best I can."

"As best you can?"

"I cannot pretend that she is not still gravely Ill. It is important for you to prepare yourself, Commander. Captain Janeway is the strongest woman I have ever met, but there are limits even to her endurance."

Chakotay stared at him. "There – must be something more you can do."

The Doctor looked away. "I'm sorry to say that even in this day and age, medical science still has its limits. It's up to her body now. And also her mind. She has to want to live. She has to fight. I'm not sure she has that left in her."

"What-" Chakotay began, before his voice gave out and he had to try again. "What can I do?"

The look the EMH gave him was steady and shrewd. "I don't think you need me to tell you that."

Chakotay sucked in a shuddering breath. "Can you... Could I..."

"She's sedated. I'll leave you alone," said the Doctor. "Computer, set EMH reactivation for 20 minutes and deactivate on my mark. Mark."

For a moment after the EMH had vanished, Chakotay stood still in the silence of the dim room. He tried to calm his breathing and the beating of his heart, both of which were ragged and painful. This will not be the last time I see her, he told himself. It cannot be.

He walked toward her bed slowly, feeling as if he were caught in some terrible nightmare. Janeway was covered from shoulders to toes in a Starfleet-issue blanket, her mid-section obscured by the scanning equipment set to monitor her vital signs. Her arms lay by her sides, one completely swathed in bandages, the other so pale that her skin seemed almost translucent. It was her face, though, that finally succeeded in bringing the tears he had been fighting to his eyes. He blinked, forcing them back.

Her left cheekbone and right temple were tainted by bruises, fading after the Doctor's treatment, but still starkly visible on her white face. Her bottom lip was split, unbloodied but still slightly swollen. It was her stillness, though, that shook him the most. Her face always held such animation that watching it was a constant delight to him. But now he struggled to be sure that she was even breathing.

Gently, he lifted the hand that wasn't bandaged. It was cool and pliant, and there was no resistance as he wrapped her fingers in his.

For a few moments he simply stood there, trying to formulate what he should tell her, what he could possibly say that could counteract the suffering she had sustained. Then it occurred to him that the problem between them had always been too much thought. Thought of what might happen, what could happen, what would happen and what shouldn't happen. Round and round for seven years, thought with no action. Intent and hesitation, endlessly contained. And what had happened the moment they had let that slip? He could still recall the sound she made in the seconds before their lips met, the taste of her, the feel of his palms sliding against the hot, smooth skin of her stomach. The sheer way in which she had been so… present. She must have felt the same from him. In those moments, neither of them had been thinking at all, and look how alive they had been.

And so he began to speak. No plan, no formulation, no forethought. He just started to speak.

"Kathryn," he murmured, keeping his voice soft and his words slow even as he leaned in close. "The Doctor tells me that he's done all he can. He says that it's now up to you, and he's worried that you don't have any more fight in you. That you're tired, that you've been through too much. He thinks that you've had enough and just want to let go. But I know you better, Kathryn Janeway. I know there's not enough of anything in this universe for you, and I know you can fight. You beat the Borg. You've cheated the devil himself. You could go ten rounds with the best of them if you had to – you already have, more than once, and I'm telling you now that you have to again. Do you hear me?" Chakotay brushed his fingers through the hair at her temple. "I've tried never to intentionally add to the burden that you bear as captain of this ship," he whispered. "I haven't always succeeded. But I have rarely asked you for anything that you would find difficult to give. Well, I'm asking now. You have to fight, Kathryn. You have to live. Do it for the ship, do it for the crew – or just do it for me. If you need something to live for, do it for me. Because you can't tell me you love me in one breath and leave me forever with the next, only to come back and leave me again like this. We have so much to talk about. We have so much future. And you know as well as I do that that's worth fighting for. So fight. I'm standing right here, and I'm waiting for you. So you damn well fight."

His words went on and on, pouring out from a place he hadn't even known existed. He told her of his hopes for the future, for his plans if they ever reached the alpha quadrant. Most of them he hadn't even consciously acknowledged to himself, but they were obviously there somewhere deep within, because they tumbled out of his mouth as he spoke. Chakotay went on and on talking, his voice a warm susurration in the sterile atmosphere of Sickbay until the Doctor reactivated, twenty minutes later.

Chapter Text

Harry was tired. The blissful peace and rest of the previous three months had been entirely consumed by the stress of the events that had overtaken Voyager and her crew during the last several days. He stood at Ops and stared out at the damaged Bridge, his thoughts a dark mess churned by fatigue and worry. His arm still ached from the injury he'd got in the firefight in Engineering, but he ignored it. Captain Janeway was in Sickbay at this moment with far worse, so who was he to complain? A bubble of anger rose in his heart, tinged with fear. This ship was his home, this crew was his family. If the Captain died…

Not for the first time, Kim envied Tuvok's Vulcan detachment. The security chief was sitting in the Captain's chair – Commander Chakotay, the Ensign had noticed, had avoided even looking at it, but her oldest friend did not seem to harbour the same qualms. Over the seven years of their association, Harry had tried to emulate at least some of the older man's abilities. This one, though – this cool calm in the face of any and all distress – was a quality Harry had continually failed to imitate, perhaps because in his heart of hearts, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

The turbolift door opened and Chakotay stepped out, jogging swiftly down the steps towards the command centre. For the past few hours the first officer been absent from the bridge, first, Seven had told Harry, because he had been called to Sickbay by the Doctor, and then because he'd been working with B'Elanna, Seven and Neelix to formulate a plan for when they neared the desert planet. Now that they were doing so, Harry was relieved that he'd finally returned. Not that Harry didn't trust Tuvok in command, but there was something about the red flash of a command uniform that automatically instilled confidence. Plus, Harry was desperate for news of the Captain. No news is good news, right? At least, that's what he'd been telling himself for what seemed far too long now.

"Tuvok, report." The First Officer's voice seemed rougher than usual. "What's our status?"

"We are monitoring another Mazen ship that appears to be matching our trajectory, Commander. It is some way off and has remained uncloaked since we detected it. Other than that, we appear to be unaccompanied. Though it is more likely that we simply cannot see our pursuers. How advanced are Lieutenant Torres' efforts to develop an effective scan to detect their cloaks?"

"She's making progress, but I'm not sure she'll have it nailed before we arrive at our destination. ETA to the planet?"

"One hour, fifteen minutes at our current speed."

"All right," Chakotay nodded. "Let me fill you in on the plan for when we get there. We're unlikely to have much time to-"

"Sir!" Harry's interruption was unplanned and involuntary, but he just couldn't stay silent any longer.

The First Officer turned toward him for the first time. "Ensign? Something you wanted to add?"

Harry stared at his commanding officer's face. Chakotay's eyes seemed to have sunken into his skull. There were dark circles etched beneath them, shadows of anxiety of the like Harry had never seen there before.

"Commander. It's just… You haven't told us…" he began, as the fear bloomed in his gut once more at the sight of the other man's obvious yet controlled distress. "Captain Janeway… Is she – what's her…" Harry gave up and then tried again. "How is she?"

Chakotay was silent for a moment, as if considering how best to reply. When he spoke, his voice was distant and strained. "If you believe in a God, Ensign, then now would be the time to pray."

Harry blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd expected. A lie, perhaps, even if it had been a transparent one. Something along the lines of, 'You know the Captain, Harry – she'll pull through, no matter what.' Chakotay's words froze the beating of Kim's heart, and with shame he felt tears prick at his eyes. He looked down at his console, the usually bright colours a rainbow blur as he struggled to fight back his emotions. He heard footsteps and looked up to find Chakotay standing in front of him. The first officer reached out to lay a hand on Harry's shoulder with a firm but gentle grip.

"The Doctor is taking care of her, Harry," Chakotay said, softly. "What we have to do now is get the rest of the crew back. That's what she'd want us to be doing. Isn't it? So that's what we do."

Harry nodded, silently, just as a panel on his console began to beep. Adrenaline surged through his tired muscles as he realised what the warning was.

"A Mazen warship has just decloaked off our port bow, Commander," he said, hoarsely. "Its weapons systems are active."

"On screen. Have they detected us?"

"They're scanning now…" Harry held his breath as, on the viewscreen, the spindly hulk of the warship inched into view. "They can't see us," he said, with undisguised relief. "B'Elanna's modulation is holding."

The First Officer frowned. "Tuvok, is their heading matching ours?"

"Yes, Commander," came the Vulcan's immediate response from where he had taken a seat at helm. "Though their speed appears to be increasing."

"It is," Harry acknowledged.

"They're going to beat us there," Chakotay realised. "If they do, we won't be able to fight our way to the crew. We had enough trouble against their last warship, and that wasn't even fully functional. Harry – stick with them."

"I'm not sure the warp drive will remain stable if we increase speed, Commander," Harry told him.

"Chakotay tapped his communicator. "Bridge to Torres."

"Torres here."

"We need everything you can give us out of the warp core, B'Elanna."

"I can give you warp eight, but I can't guarantee it'll last for more than ten minutes."

"I'll take it."

"Commander – I need to warn you about the cloak. The adjustments I had to make aren't sitting too well. It's taking a lot of wear and tear and I don't know how long it's going to hold for."

Harry watched the muscles tense in Chakotay's face, but all he said was, "You know the score, B'Elanna. Do what you can. Chakotay out. Harry, lock torpedoes on that ship. Any vulnerability you can think of, focus on it."

Tuvok swung around in his chair, one eyebrow raised. "Once we fire, they will know we are pursuing them. It will not take long for them to estimate our position."

"I know, Tuvok. That's why I'm counting on your piloting skills. Be ready with whatever evasive manouvers you need to execute. We are not letting the Mazen reach that planet before we do."

"Aye sir," Harry said, dutifully, as he turned his attention to his weapons array. No pressure, he told himself. But don't miss or we're all dead.

The Commander strode away, heading back towards the command chair, tapping his communicator again as he went. "Chakotay to Seven of Nine. Report. How are those transporter modifications coming along?"

"They will be ready within the time parameters you gave us, Commander," Seven replied.

"Good work. We're not going to have much time to get our people off that planet. I'm counting on you and Neelix, Seven."

"Understood."

Harry glanced up to see Chakotay standing still in the middle of the bridge. He was staring at the Captain's chair, one hand clenching and unclenching.

"Commander," Harry said, quietly. "Target acquired."

Chakotay looked up at him with a brusque nod. Clenching his hand once more, he took the Captain's chair, looking out at the enemy ship.

"All right, Ensign," he said. "On my mark. Tuvok, engage warp eight and steady as she goes."

She was caught beneath a wave, submerged in a thick, inky darkness. Above her, the crest of the tide roiled and rocked, unseen but sensed in bursts of incoherent sound. She reached for it weakly, half her heart trying to pull herself up. The surface remained too far away, the weight she bore heavy to resist. She became aware, then, that the weight was on her chest. It was pressing down, forcing the last breath from her lungs, and there was pain. A deep, penetrating, all-encompassing pain - so tiring, so draining. She just wanted to sleep it all away, and somewhere beneath the pain, her own voice whispered to her from a place of infinite, final peace. What you could do, you have done. It is enough. The surface was too far away and too hard to break. And besides, she didn't need to. Not any more.

At one point, she had thought she'd made it to shore. To her ears came the lighter sound of surf on sand, soft and sibilant as it splashed over her in the shallows. She had stilled, no longer rolling helplessly beneath the waves, but free of them. Words seemed to float on the gentle breakers, though she couldn't quite make them out. She strained to hear them, convinced they were for her alone, but they remained distant, just out of reach. They were spoken in a voice she knew, but could not place. She felt, suddenly, as if someone was holding on to her – not a weight, this time, but an anchor. A voice in the darkness. A buoy in deep waters.

The voice stayed with her, colouring the unknown sky above her a glorious blue and the sand beneath her pure gold. In the white clouds that floated above her, she saw patterns – geometric lines that fanned from a curled half circle. They, too, were known. She tried to lift an arm, to trace them in the air with her fingers, but still she could not move.

The voice faded away, and with it went the shore. She sank again beneath the waves, the drowning weight around her chest once more, the voice within telling her to let go.

What you could do, you have done. It is enough.

She sank gratefully, deeper and deeper, the shore and the sky and the sand receding as she drifted into darkness.

But there was a memory. There was a sound. There was a voice, warm and soft and only for her. It echoed against the argument of her exhausted inner self, almost not there at all. And yet…

Fight.

I just want to sleep. Just let me sleep.

No.

Please.

Fight.

I can't.

You can.

I'm right here.

Fight.

She looked up at the surface. It seemed closer, somehow, more attainable. There seemed more point in trying.

I have to fight.

I am Kathryn Janeway, and I have to fight.

She tried to kick, the weight resisting her all the way. The surface dipped closer, only to rise again as the wave rolled. The motion grew more violent, and with its resistance grew her own. The voice echoed again, pushing her on.

Fight.

The weight dragged even as her fingers broke the surface, chilled by the vicious wind that blew there. Sucked back down again, the exhaustion was almost too much, but the words still echoed in her head, stronger now, easier to make out.

I'm waiting for you.

You damn well fight.

Fight!

Kathryn Janeway came around to find herself in hell. She stared up at the ceiling of a Sickbay lit in the dim scarlet hues of a full red alert. A shuddering impact was followed almost immediately by the sound and heat of something exploding very close by. An alarm went off nearby, and the harassed face of Voyager's EMH appeared beside her, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Captain!"

She tried to speak, but her mouth was deathly dry. She couldn't move either, and for a second she panicked. Was she still beneath the wave? Was she-

"Don't move, Captain," the Doctor ordered, waving a tricorder over her. "I can't believe you're awake!"

Another explosion ruptured a bio-neural conduit in the wall behind her. She felt the rocking of the ship as it was hit again, the whole room shaking with the impact. She tried to sit up, ignoring the pain that seemed to fill her entire being.

"Captain, if you move again I'll have no choice but to sedate you!" The EMH forced her back down, hands on his shoulders. He held a straw to her lips and she sucked, grateful as cool water flooded between her parched lips. "Please try to relax. You're in no fit state to move."

She batted the cup away. "Tell me," she croaked. "What-?"

"The Mazen have found us, Captain. But there's no need to worry. I'm sure everything will be fine. Just leave it to Commander Chakotay."

Chakotay.

"I have – have to-"

The EMH pushed her down again. "The only thing you have to do, Captain, is stay still. Final warning. Understand?"

She blinked, rocking on her sickbed as another volley crashed into her ship. The motion reminded her of something. "Talk –," she croaked, "Bridge. I need to talk to-"

"I believe the Bridge crew are a little busy at the moment, Captain." His face softened slightly as he pushed her back down yet again. "Although I'd imagine hearing your voice might prove something of a boon at this precise moment. Go ahead."

She nodded, weakly, and shut her eyes. Summoning every ounce of strength she had left, she spoke loud enough for the computer to hear.

"Captain Janeway to the Bridge."

Chapter Text

The Bridge was full of smoke. Yet another console had exploded. Chakotay struggled not to choke on the fumes while the exhaust system slowly cleared the air. It was a losing battle. The First Officer knew how it felt. The cloak had gone offline after their first volley, the warp core had given up after the second, and they'd been taking a pounding ever since. He seriously doubted the ship could take much more.

"Harry, Tuvok," he shouted, from helm control. Tuvok had gone back to Tactical as soon as the attack had renewed, "How are we looking?"

"Not good, Commander," Harry yelled back. "We've got two photon torpedoes left in the tubes and that's it."

"Overall power is down to 60 per cent," Tuvok reported. "Shields down to 70 per cent."

"Incoming!" Harry shouted.

Chakotay tried to evade the attack, but Voyager was sluggish. He braced himself as the strike impacted, and just managed to keep his seat. His muscles ached just from the strain of keeping upright at his post.

"Shields at 62 per cent," Harry announced, "returning fire!"

"Bridge to Seven of Nine," Chakotay shouted over the hiss of ruptured conduits. "Seven, I need you and Neelix to stop what you're doing and go to Projectile Control. Get what photon torpedoes we have in reserve loaded as soon as possible."

"Commander, we have yet to complete the transporter modifications."

"If we don't get the rest of those torpedoes locked and loaded, we're not going to make it as far as the planet. You two are all I've got, Seven."

"Acknowledged."

"Bridge to Engineering. B'Elanna? We can't carry on like this. They're taking chunks out of us with every shot."

"I know," said the Engineer. Chakotay could hear B'Elanna's absolute exhaustion in every word. "You can have the cloak, or you can have warp drive. One or the other – I can't work on both."

"Incoming!"

Chakotay tried to bring the ship about as another Mazen strike flew toward them. Voyager bucked against his orders, as exhausted as her crew. "Get the warp drive online," he ordered. "If we can't hide, we can at least give them a run for their money."

"Incoming!"

He pushed Voyager into full impulse and dipped her nose. How much more power can they have? he asked himself, exhaustion beginning to cloud his every thought. We can't win this. We're never going to get out of here.

"Captain Janeway to the Bridge."

For a fraction of a second, he thought he'd imagined it. It was faint over the noise of battle, and Chakotay shook his head. Now was not the time for auditory hallucinations.

"Captain Janeway to Commander Chakotay. Are you there?"

Stronger this time. Unmistakably her. He stood bolt upright, hot shock flooding his veins. He turned to see Harry staring at him open-mouthed, and realised he'd heard her, too.

"Captain?"

She coughed, breathlessly, painfully. "I believe I've had enough of being shot at for one day, Commander. Ensign Kim. The Mazen warp coil is situated behind their aft escape pod housing, between their secondary nacelles. A good shot should suffice."

Harry blinked. "Aye, Captain. But their shields…"

"Chakotay, tell B'Elanna…" she dissolved into a fit of coughing.

"Incoming!" Harry shouted.

Chakotay went back to the helm, avoiding a direct hit as the shot impacted the shields.

"Shields down to 55 per cent," Tuvok announced.

"Original cloak… modulation," Janeway rasped, with evident difficulty. "Not her modification. Look at… the original. The differential is what's throwing her calculations out."

Fear gripped Chakotay's heart again as her voice faded out completely. "Captain?"

There was a pause. "Right here…" she managed, weakly. "… waiting…"

If he hadn't been so stunned, he would have smiled.

Chapter Text

The white-blue light of the exploding Mazen warp core lit space as brightly as any star. Voyager shot through the debris at full warp, coasting the resultant shockwave like a pebble on the surface of a lake. As per Janeway's suggestion, altering the shield frequency of their photon torpedoes to match the original output of the Mazen cloak had worked. They finally had a defence against their aggressors.

"All right," said Chakotay, the relief in his voice undisguised. "Mr Kim, now we know how to beat them. I'm going to put it out there and suggest the odds just tipped in our favour."

"Aye, Commander," Harry replied, sounding more buoyant than he had for days. "I say let's grab our people and get the hell out of Dodge."

"You've been spending too much time with Tom Paris again, Harry," Chakotay observed. "But on this occasion, I agree with you. Chakotay to Seven of Nine. Be ready with those transporters on my mark. ETA to crew rendezvous nine minutes 35 seconds."

"We are ready, Commander."

"Bridge to Captain Janeway."

There was no reply. Chakotay frowned, a pulse of fear that was becoming increasingly familiar passing through his heart.

"Bridge to Captain Janeway."

When a voice finally answered, it was the Doctor's. "Sickbay here, Commander. The Captain is unconscious. I'm afraid one heroic burst of energy does not a full recovery make. Or in her case, the latest in a line of far too many bursts of heroic energy. "

"I wanted to let her know that we're about to pick up the crew," Chakotay told the EMH. "That soon all our people will be home."

"Understood," said the Doctor. "But it would be my hope that you can tell her that yourself in a day or two."

"Take care of her, Doctor," said Chakotay, "I don't want to take Voyager out of Mazen space without-"

"Rest assured, Commander," replied the EMH. "She's not completely out of danger, but I'd say her will is re-exerting itself. And we both know that once the Captain decides something…"

Chakotay smiled.

Voyager skirted the atmosphere of the desert planet just as B'Elanna was repairing the cloak. Once the engineer had been sure that she'd finally got the warp drive up and stable, it had been the next thing on her list. B'Elanna Torres was not in the habit of letting technology beat her. She was sweaty and tired, aching and stiff, nauseous because that's just what her body wanted to be right now - but she'd be damned if the blasted Mazen would have a chance to blow one more single chunk out of her beloved ship.

"Son of a P'taq!" she swore, loudly. B'Elanna was once again lying on her back, trying to manually re-sequence the tangled mess of wires that connected the alien technology to theirs. She was so nearly there, it was just this last stubborn relay…

Her communicator chirped. "Paris to Torres."

B'Elanna sat up so fast her head spun. "Tom? Is that you?"

"Certainly is, sweet cheeks," her husband drawled dramatically. "Just beamed aboard, safe and sound. Nice of you to clean up while the rest of us were gone, honey. What did you do, throw a party? This place is a mess! What kind of example is this for our kid?"

B'Elanna rested her head against the nearest console, her grin wide enough to make her face ache. "Are you going straight to the Bridge?"

"Yes, ma'am," Tom replied, and now that he'd dropped the daft accent, she could hear his fatigue. "Something about needing me to fly this thing. But I'll be there just as soon as I can. Everything's – you're OK? I mean, I hear it was pretty hairy, and the Captain... you're all right?"

B'Elanna knew what he was asking. She smiled, resting one hand on her stomach. "All OK," she told him. "I told you, Klingon women…"

"Yeah, yeah," he interrupted. "I know all about Klingon women."

"Is that right?"

"Would you care to disagree?"

"Frankly, right now I've got more important things to worry about than winning another argument with you, Paris," she teased, and then grew serious again. "What about you, Tom? Are you all right?"

"Now that I've heard your voice? Everything's fine, B'Elanna. Everything's fine."

The crew poured back into the corridors of Voyager, their relief both palpable and vocal. They were sunburned, exhausted, dirty, but ecstatic to be home, whatever state the ship was in. Chakotay stood as the Bridge crew stepped from the turbolift, led by a distinctly dusty Tom Paris.

"Welcome home," said the First Officer. "It's good to have you back where you belong, Mr Paris."

"Good to be back, Commander," said Tom, as he took his post at helm. "What about you, girl?" he asked, stroking the console. "Did you miss me?"

"Engineering to the Bridge."

"Go ahead."

"Cloak is operational, Commander," Torres announced. "It's running at full strength, although frankly it'll burn out before too long. But I figure that as long as it gets us out of Mazen space…"

"Acknowledged, B'Elanna," said Chakotay. "Good work. All hands, this Commander Chakotay. It's good to have you all board once more. I know that you're tired and want to rest. I know that you're dirty and want to clean up. But we're not out of the woods yet. So I need all of you to shake that desert dust of your feet and take your posts for battle stations. I for one have had my fill of Mazen 'hospitality'. I expect resistance, but we are getting out of here. So look sharp. Mr Paris, warp nine. Set a course for the Alpha Quadrant. Engage."

Chapter Text

B'Elanna had done her job well. Despite Chakotay's worst fears, the Mazen could not find them. Voyager slipped through their grasp – and out of their space - like water filtering through cupped fingers. The sigh of relief collectively given by the crew as the ship passed beyond the Mazen's borders was not shared by the ship's First Officer. Chakotay remained tense until long light years were between them and the furthest Mazen outpost. They had been tricked by these aliens once already, after all, and he did not intend for them to be fooled again. Not after all that had happened, and not when he was seated in that chair. Her chair.

Chakotay would have given anything to be able to visit Sickbay, to see for himself that Janeway's monitors were now beeping steadily, her heart growing slowly stronger with every new beat. But she was still unconscious and there was too much else to do. Once the adrenaline of their escape had passed, the crew were in desperate need of respite. Section by section he ordered them to work out rotas so that each could shower, change, eat and sleep. Neelix outdid himself with hot soup and sandwiches, delivering food to all decks, including the Bridge. At first Chakotay didn't think he'd manage a bite, he was still strung too tightly across the events of the past few days. But in the end, all it took was a mouthful for him to realise he was ravenous. It might not quite be within Starfleet regulations to eat at his post, but somehow he thought this was one parameter that the Captain wouldn't mind moving wholesale.

It was another sixteen hours before Chakotay himself was relieved of his post. It would have been longer, but the Doctor himself called the Bridge and ordered that he take a break.

"I've already got the Captain here," the EMH pointed out. "So please, Commander, hand the Bridge to Lieutenant Tuvok. Get some rest before you keel over where you stand and put our entire command team out of commission."

Chakotay issued a couple more repair orders, checked in with a few section heads, and then did as he was told. Almost.

"What are you doing here?" The Doctor demanded, when he appeared in Sickbay. "I thought I told you to get some rest?"

"I know Doctor, and I will." He looked toward Kathryn's bed. "I just wanted to check on the Captain."

"You could have just asked over the comm.," the EMH grumbled, "and I do believe I've been keeping you perfectly informed of her progress."

"You have," Chakotay reassured him, softly. His gaze was still fixed on her figure, lying still and quiet in the furthest biobed. He felt the Doctor's eyes on him, but did not turn around.

"I see. Well," the EMH said, after a moment. "She is still sedated, but as a matter of fact I was considering bringing her around for a few minutes, to check her cognitive reflexes. Just don't try to give her any information about the ship's status. She will likely not acknowledge it, but the road to recovery from her ordeal is going to be a long one."

"Understood, Doctor."

The EMH collected a hypospray and Chakotay followed him to her bedside. Kathryn was lying in the same position as the last time he had seen her, but he noted with relief that there were signs of improvement visible even to his layman's eyes. The bruises were all but gone from her face, and her split lip was now fully healed. The bandages on her arm had been reduced and replaced. A hint of colour had returned to her cheeks, a flush of soft pink against her pale skin. Chakotay felt his heart accelerate, and had to swallow a lump in his throat. Until this moment, he hadn't truly allowed himself to believe that she might actually pull through. He'd been trying to prepare himself, trying not to hope, because the devastation of losing her a second time would have been too great to bear. But seeing her like this… she was going to live. He put his hands behind his back, clasping one in the other to stop himself reaching out to touch her.

The Doctor pressed the hypospray against Janeway's neck, the soft hiss reverberating in the quiet of the room. For a second there was no effect, and then her forehead creased slightly, a minute frown passing across it. Her eyelids moved, and then she blinked once - twice.

The Doctor stepped back and turned. It took a moment for Chakotay to realise that the EMH was moving to allow him to step closer to her side. Their eyes met, and in the hologram's, Chakotay saw some kind of acknowledgement. He should have been embarrassed by the implied meaning in the Doctor's knowing look, but he wasn't. He refused to be. Life was too short. Chakotay stepped to Janeway's beside, one hand gripping the edge of the bed as he leaned over her.

"Kathryn?" He asked, softly. "Can you hear me?"

Janeway blinked again, and then opened her eyes. They were not as clear as usual, clouded by medication and the dulled edge of pain. But she was there. He could see it, the indefinable, inexplicable light of life; the unmistakable difference between life and death, between presence and absence. Chakotay looked down at Kathryn Janeway, and Kathryn Janeway looked back.

"Chakotay?" she whispered.

He smiled. "Hi."

She blinked again, and her eyes left his to flick to the ceiling. When she spoke again, her voice was still a whisper, barely there. "Sickbay?"

"Yes."

"Voyager?"

"Yes."

Kathryn sighed, a tiny exhalation of air that seemed to tremble through her entire body. She looked back at him, her gaze meeting his and then drifting to his temple. A second later she lifted her hand, slowly. Chakotay went to catch it in his own, but she evaded his touch and continued to raise her fingers until they brushed against his skin. He realised she was tracing the contours of his tattoo.

"I heard you," she whispered.

Her hand started to drop, exhausted by the effort. Chakotay grasped it gently and Janeway's eyes drifted shut. A second later they jerked open again, a look of anxiety flashing through the cloud.

"The – the crew. The Mazen," she said, her voice suddenly stronger. "Are they – are we-"

Chakotay squeezed her hand. "The crew are home. Voyager's safe. Don't worry."

"But I-"

The Doctor stepped forward. "That's it, Commander."

He nodded, still holding on to Kathryn's hand as another hypospray sent her back into unconsciousness. Chakotay watched her sleeping face for another moment.

"Well," observed the Doctor, into the silence. "I think we can safely say that there is no cognitive impairment."

Chakotay didn't answer. He preferred to pretend that the Doctor had already walked away when he lifted the Captain's fingers to his lips.

"Torres to Commander Chakotay."

Chakotay jerked awake, disoriented to find himself staring up at the ceiling of his quarters from a different angle than usual. He realised momentarily that he was sprawled across the middle of his bed, apparently still fully dressed. It looked as if he'd only managed to remove his boots before passing out through sheer exhaustion. Chakotay sat up slowly. He didn't even remember making it back to his quarters.

His communicator, chirped again. "Torres to Chakotay."

He tapped it. "Chakotay here."

"I'm sorry to disturb you."

"It's all right, B'Elanna. What is it?"

"The cloak has burned out, and this time I can't bring it back. I thought you should know."

"Acknowledged. Chakotay out." He thought for a moment, and then tapped his communicator again. "Commander Chakotay to the Bridge."

"Tuvok here."

"B'Elanna's just told me about the cloak. Any sign of Mazen pursuing us?"

"None, Commander."

"What's our status otherwise?"

"Power is fluctuating on all decks. Both warp nacelles are-"

Chakotay unzipped his jacket, sleep-refreshed but desperate for a shower. "Tuvok, I'll take a full report when I get to the bridge. Just sketch me in for now, would you? Anything I should worry about immediately?"

There was a pause. "Repairs are progressing very slowly, commander. If I may make a suggestion?"

"Go ahead."

"Lieutenant Paris has located an uninhabited M-class planet 60 light years from our current position. With no sign of Mazen pursuit, perhaps we should consider landing the ship so that the extensive repairs can be made in an orderly fashion."

Chakotay rested his hands on his thighs and looked out at the stars. "Good idea, Mr Tuvok. Set a course. I'll be on the bridge in 30 minutes."

Chapter Text

It was two weeks before the EMH lifted Janeway's sedation. The Doctor pointed out that, awake, the Captain would unlikely to be able to resist trying to help with the ship's extensive repairs. Chakotay suspected that once Kathryn realised just how long she'd been kept under, he'd be in for an earful, but he couldn't fault the Doctor's reasoning. When had Janeway ever been able to keep still where Voyager was concerned?

Between overseeing the repairs, he visited her often. He observed the Captain growing stronger in tandem with the ship's rejuvenation – her colour strengthened as the ruined conduits were replaced, her bandages were removed as B'Elanna finished the warp coil overhaul, her breathing eased as the hull breaches were patched. Chakotay could not help but think of the two things as synonymous – the Captain had been willing to go down for her ship, and now they slowly healed as one.

Voyager had put down in a wide valley of lush, untouched pasture on the M-Class planet's temperate southern continent. Chakotay was still worried about the possibility of Mazen ships following them, but thanks to Seven's ingenuity, the position afforded some protection. She had modified the ship's shields so that, when bounced off the surrounding mountains, they would scramble the sensors of any passing starship. Voyager was, to all intents and purposes, hiding under a virtual 'tent' held up by the valley itself.

Chakotay had declared the first two days of their sojourn on the planet as R&R for all crew, reasoning that there was little point in beginning repairs when they were all so fatigued that any work they undertook while in such a state would likely have to be done again. When repairs did begin, they did so in earnest. The ship was a hive of activity as crews crawled all over her, inside and out. The maintenance teams charged with external repairs set up camps outside on the ground, and it became a habit to light bonfires every night. The crews coming off shift inside Voyager often went down to join their colleagues planetside. Neelix took to the art of barbeque with gusto, and the air in the valley was often echoed with laughter and song long into the dark hours. The crew's peace was returning, though slowly. They were all still wary. Tuvok never allowed himself to relax for a moment. Instead, the Vulcan stayed long hours at his post, constantly checking and re-checking the long-range scans for any sign of Mazen activity.

Though he was glad that the crew were finding their feet again, Chakotay himself was another who rarely found time to join in the planetside festivities. There was too much to do on board. Not only that, keeping busy stopped him from thinking too much. Because, now that that the ship was safe – or at least appeared to be – and now that Kathryn Janeway was most definitely on the mend, his mind kept turning to the future, and he had no idea what that future would hold.

I always loved you.

She had said that. Plain as day, Kathryn Janeway had stood in front of him and told him that she loved him.

During the uproar of the previous weeks – her 'death', her rescue, their escape – he had held on to that confession like a beacon. It had echoed over and over in his mind, the tragic beauty of her face as she'd said it, the simple yet immense knowledge of what her words meant. He had been so caught up with sheer survival, not to mention the fear that she may not pull through, that he hadn't got any further in processing her words than letting them echo in his head over and over again.

Now, he had plenty of time to think about them: to contemplate, not only her words, but also what had happened between them on the desert planet. Now that Chakotay knew that at some point soon, Kathryn Janeway would be fully healed and back among them, he wondered what would happen next. And he realised that he had absolutely no idea. Because he knew her as well as he knew himself, and he had no doubt that if she hadn't been utterly sure she was going to die, those words would never have passed her lips. Which meant that it was entirely possible she would regret saying them. Given half the chance, Chakotay suspected she'd avoid the repercussions of her declaration – bury herself in ship's business until the moment had passed and joined the rest of the silent emotional baggage the two of them hauled between them on this journey. That would be very Kathryn. Ignore, repress, move on.

And yet, he remembered what she'd said on the two occasions that she had been conscious since her return. Her allusion to his whispered words as he tried to reach her unconscious self and later, the raising of her fingers to touch his face as he leaned over her. Could it be that this latest crisis was what would finally, finally, convince her that whatever difficulties may come, what was between them was worth exploring?

He didn't know. He hoped, but he didn't know, and the not knowing was hard to bear.

She opened her eyes, slowly. The familiar sight of Sickbay's ceiling came into view. A moment later, the Doctor's face appeared, leaning over her with a smile.

"Ah ha!" He said, cheerily. "Captain. Welcome back."

Kathryn blinked, and then began to lever herself up on her elbows.

"How do you feel?" asked the EMH, waving a tricorder over her.

She considered the question. "Fine, Doctor. I'm fine." It was true, too. There was no pain. She could breathe, easily and deeply, without an agonising weight attacking her chest. More than that, her mind was clear and rested. "Actually, I feel great."

The doctor smiled again, adjusting the biobed so that she could sit up. "Excellent. I'd say from my readings here that you're on your way to being as fit as a fiddle."

Kathryn looked around and then wiped a hand over her face. "How long was I out?"

"Fourteen days."

She jerked her head around to face him, flabbergasted. "What?"

"Trust me, Captain – if you hadn't been, you would be feeling nowhere near as good as you do right now."

"But – what's happened to the ship in that time? Where are we? What-"

The hologram shut his tricorder with a smart snap. "Captain. May I remind you that I am a Doctor, not your First Officer. I will tell you that Voyager is currently planetside, and has been undergoing repairs. Other than that, I believe you should speak to Commander Chakotay."

Kathryn looked down at herself and realised that she was in full uniform. "I can leave?"

"Unless you feel you need a few more days of rest?"

Janeway hurriedly swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Absolutely not."

"Then you can leave. Just take it easy. You've been off your feet for quite some time."

Her feet touched the floor. For a moment Kathryn wondered if she would feel her knees wobble, or muscle wastage in her legs. But she felt fine. Better than fine – she felt great.

She smiled.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"You are welcome, Captain. You did the hard work yourself," he busied himself with a PADD, adding, "with a little help from Commander Chakotay."

Janeway considered his comment carefully, and realised that she was surprised that Chakotay wasn't here. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she'd expected him to be. She had expected that, when she woke, he would be here.

"He's visited me a lot, hasn't he?"

"I think he would have slept here if I hadn't ordered him not to," the Doctor observed, mildly.

Kathryn clenched one hand, a flush of embarrassment creeping up over her shoulders. "I see," she said, softly. She turned to leave.

"Captain," said the Doctor, as she walked away.

Janeway paused, and then turned to face him. He was looking at her with compassion.

"He would have been here if I had told him I was going to wake you. It was a deliberate decision not to do so. I thought… that you might appreciate the chance for the first meeting following your waking to be under your terms."

She regarded him calmly, despite the anxiety twisting in her gut. "Whatever you think you know, Doctor, I can assure you…"

The EMH interrupted her. "I don't have much experience of First Officers, Captain, and so I have no comparison to make. Therefore I have no reason to believe that the level of devotion Commander Chakotay has shown since your return is any different to that in any other command team."

Janeway sensed she was being reproved. She narrowed her eyes. "I hear a lurking 'but' there, Doctor."

The EMH sighed. "It's none of my business, Captain-"

"It most definitely is not."

"-but your well being is, and I will say that I would have thought by now you would have realised that human life is - all too often - extremely short."

That floored her slightly. She clenched her hand again, the other resting on her hip, but when she spoke, her voice was softer than she'd intended. "Life is rarely that simple, Doctor."

He turned away, his next words coming at her over his shoulder. "Life is what we make it, Captain. I of all people know that for certain."

Janeway let the doors of Sickbay slide shut behind her and cursed herself soundly. She'd known, even before she'd asked, that Chakotay had been her most frequent visitor. She could remember everything with a clarity that took her breath away. And it was all her fault. All of it. She should have stopped their tryst on the planet, but she hadn't. God, she'd wanted that as obviously as he had. And then-

I always loved you.

Had she actually said it? That plainly? To him?

She had. Caught out by her own heart.

Well done, Kathryn. This time you really have screwed up.

"Computer, what is the location of Commander Chakotay?"

"Commander Chakotay is on deck two."

"All right," she muttered to herself, and began to walk.

Chapter Text

It had been a frustrating morning, to say the least. Chakotay had his head and shoulders stuck deep into a power conduit, and they had been there far too long. He and Ensign Baker had repaired the rupture, guided by B'Elanna's instructions over the comm., but the damn thing still wasn't functioning properly. He had an idea that one of the interface nodules had sheered off, but try as he might he couldn't get the thing to turn in its socket enough for him to see - and of course, the three hypospanners they'd had to hand were all the wrong size. He'd sent Baker back down to Engineering to pick up one that would work. A job that should have taken an hour at the top estimate was now running close to three.

Footsteps echoed along the corridor behind him. "About time, Ensign," he said, without turning. "Or is the turbolift out again?" He reached his hand out for the replacement spanner. There was no answer, and no spanner. "Ensign?"

"It's been a long time since I've been that, Chakotay. Or have I been demoted in my absence?"

Her soft voice startled him so badly that he almost bashed his head on the conduit's ceiling. Pulling out of the tangled mess of wires, Chakotay spun around to see the Captain standing a few feet away. She was perfectly uniformed, not a bobbed hair out of place. Her hands hung loosely by her sides and her head was tipped slightly to one side as she watched him with a closed, careful expression.

"Kathryn," he breathed, lost for words. "I – you're awake. I-" he took an involuntary step towards her, stunned and overjoyed to see her on her feet.

She took a hasty half-step back, maintaining the distance between them.

And he knew. That was all it took for him to know the path she had chosen. Even without the brief twist of discomfort on her face and the way her hands raised slightly as if to ward him off, he just knew.

He swallowed, hard, struggling to regain his equilibrium as his heart clenched painfully. "It's so good to see you, Captain," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Out of sickbay, I mean. On your feet."

Kathryn smiled up at him uncertainly, and in her eyes he saw a mixture of doubt and regret. For what, quite, he wasn't sure, and right then he didn't have the mental energy to speculate. "Thank you, Commander. In fact, I know–" she faltered slightly, glancing away. "I know I have a lot to thank you for."

He glanced down at his hands, smudged with the dirt of his day, and shook his head. "There's no need," he said, quietly. "It's just… such a relief that you're all right."

Her gaze slid past him, and she nodded at the open conduit and the mess of wires within. "Is Voyager being recalcitrant?"

He shrugged, with a slight smile. "Just a few minor things still to square away. Mostly, though, the repairs are coming along very well."

Janeway looked up at him. "Then perhaps you should fill me in, Commander. It seems I have a lot to catch up on. Will you give me the tour?"

He nodded, picking up a rag on which to wipe his hands before holding out one arm to usher her before him.

The bonfire lit that night was the largest yet, and the party that assembled in its orange light was particularly raucous. The Captain was back. It was the best reason to celebrate, and the crew of Voyager – led by an effervescent Neelix – did not hesitate to make the most of it. They sang and danced, ate, chatted and laughed. Janeway watched them with undisguised affection, the smile on her face plastered over the ache she felt in her deeper self.

Chakotay had shown her around the ship, his quiet, steady voice detailing every event and every piece of damage Voyager had sustained. And every time she glanced at him, she'd found his eyes on her, and her heart had flipped as if on a rollercoaster. She hadn't missed the flash of hurt on his face as she'd stepped back from what must have been intended as an embrace. But what else could she do? She had meant to find some way of doing it more gently, but he'd known instantly, without her having to say a thing. And really, what more was there to say? What could talking do to make it easier? Despite the events of the past few weeks, nothing had really changed. She was still Captain, he was still First Officer. And even if that were not the case, he was involved with another woman, also under her command. A young woman with more than enough damage in her life already – not to mention one she counted as a friend.

Janeway saw Seven a little way away, gilded by the light of the fire. The younger woman was holding a plate of something that looked a little like roasted chestnuts, and Neelix was beside her, urging her on to take a bite. As Kathryn watched, Seven turned, scanning the crowd until their gazes met. Janeway blinked as Seven handed the plate back to Neelix and walked towards her.

"Captain," Seven said, as she neared. "You are looking well."

"Thank you, Seven. I feel well. And you?"

The former drone looked at her feet, an expression of discomfort crossing her features. "In truth, Captain, I feel… guilty."

Janeway was surprised. "Guilty?"

"If not for my hesitation, you would not have sustained your injuries, Captain," Seven explained, matter-of-factly. "It was my actions that ensured you ended up trapped on the Mazen vessel."

Kathryn was genuinely non-plussed. She reached out, placing her hand on Seven's forearm. "Oh, Seven. You can't blame yourself for that. It wasn't your fault."

The younger woman looked at her, her blue eyes startlingly clear in the light from the bonfire. "You are mistaken, Captain. And my actions once again caused you unintended pain."

Kathryn frowned. "'Once again'? I don't think I know..."

Seven's attention flickered out into the assembled crowd. Janeway followed her gaze as it came to rest on the broad, shadowed figure of Chakotay. He was standing alone, staring into the fire with his hands clasped behind his back. Kathryn's heart gave a jolt at the implication of Seven's words.

"Seven…" she began, awkwardly, unsure of what to say next.

"Commander Chakotay told me himself that neither of you truly realised the depth of what was between you," said Seven. "Not until it was almost too late."

Janeway was stunned. "I – you discussed this? With him?"

Seven turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "Yes. When we discontinued our romantic association, I believe he felt he needed to offer an explanation."

"Discontinued?" Kathryn repeated, softly, her head spinning. "But why?"

Seven frowned. "He has not told you of this himself?"

"No, of course not, Seven. It's none of my business. Why would he tell me?"

The younger woman looked at her steadily, and there was no need for either of them to pretend not to understand the meaning in the gaze.

"Look, Seven," Janeway began, flustered in the extreme and desperately annoyed at herself for being so, "it's not what you think. Commander Chakotay and I – it's just not tenable. It's too difficult while we're in command together. And I honestly believe that… that you and he…" she trailed off, the lump in her throat too large to navigate with words she did not mean and was no longer sure she even believed herself.

"I believe Naomi Wildman is attempting to attract my attention," Seven observed, as the little girl waved excitedly from the area that had been become a makeshift dance floor. "Please excuse me, Captain."

Seven left her alone.

Kathryn stood perfectly still for a minute or more. Then she found her gaze drifting back towards Chakotay, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Twice she got to the door of his quarters and hesitated. Kathryn Janeway was not accustomed to second-guessing herself, but somehow, this conversation just seemed too impossible to start. It held too much that was too important, was of a magnitude she was not accustomed to approaching without being at full-on red alert and with the ship's weapons to back her up.

On her third attempt, she managed to press the door chime.

There was no answer.

Janeway pressed it again, wondering if he had gone to bed, but there was still no answer.

"Computer," she asked, eventually. "What is the location of Commander Chakotay?"

"Commander Chakotay is in the ready room."

She frowned as she headed for the turbolift. What was he doing there? Surely there was nothing requiring the First Officer's attention that could not wait until tomorrow? The added journey did not settle the butterflies of anxiety that fluttered in her stomach. What am I doing? She asked herself, repeatedly.

The answer had not occurred to her by the time she reached the ready room door. She paused outside, took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold.

The room beyond was dark, the only light coming from the large yellow harvest moon that hung low in the planet's orbit and her single desk lamp. Chakotay had been sitting on the wide bench beneath the window, but stood when she entered.

"Captain," he said, quietly, his voice weary. "Is there something that you need?"

"I was looking for you," she told him. "Why did you leave the party?"

He looked away, the clench of his strong jaw delineated by the moon's soft glow as he stared into the darkness outside. "I just needed some time to think."

She took a few steps forward, walking up the stairs toward him and then leaning against the rail. "It's been a tough few weeks," she acknowledged.

He smiled, wryly. "That's one way of putting it."

"I think we should talk. Don't you?"

Chakotay's eyes flicked back to hers, and despite the lack of light she read the surprise in them.

"Our run-in with the Mazen made for some… difficult… encounters," she offered, tentatively, kicking herself even as she heard the Captain in her speaking. "I know it's going to take time to sort out the emotional repercussions, for all of us. It's times like this I wish we had a counselor aboard."

Chakotay looked away with a gentle smile. He said nothing for a moment, and her heart turned over at the patience on his face. She knew then, without a doubt, that if she pushed him away now he would accept it, just as he always had. Despite everything that had happened, despite that hot kiss in the cooling desert night, despite her blatant confession in that Mazen corridor, despite her brush with death and his constant presence beside her sick bed, if she turned away from him now he would simply nod and deal with it. Whatever she needed, he would give her, no matter what it cost him. The realization was staggering.

"Permission to speak freely?" he asked.

"Of course."

"All right." Chakotay took a deep breath. "It's your call, Kathryn," he began, quietly. "If you really want to forget it all, then you can do just that. If you need to push it away, we'll pretend none of it ever happened. We'll move on. But…" he paused, as if wrestling with whether to continue.

"But?" she whispered.

He shook his head, a gesture of profound resignation. "Do you know when I first knew that I loved you? That I wasn't just attracted to you, or intrigued by you – but that I actually loved you?"

Kathryn could not have forced words through her throat just then had her life depended on it. She shook her head, dumbly.

Chakotay looked out of the window, watching dense white clouds scud across the night-dark sky. "We must have been about a year into our journey. I caught two crewmembers – Halley and Petersen, I think it was – kissing in a turbolift. I told you about it. I don't know what I expected… maybe that you'd issue an order about fraternization, or something like that. Plenty of captains would have. But instead you just smiled. I got the impression you thought it was sweet. Then you said you believed it was inevitable that people would begin to pair off, and the only thing I could think was, 'Does that include you?' It came out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. Your answer was that as Captain, you didn't have that luxury. That should have been the end of it, but it stuck. My question and your answer: they went around and around in my head for hours, and at first I didn't know why. I didn't know why I'd asked the question, and I didn't know why your answer bothered me so much." He turned to look at her. "And then I did. Since that day it's always been there, Kathryn. Probably even before, really. It always will be. I love you. That's all. I just… love you. It's clear now that nothing is going to change that. Especially not now that-" he stopped himself, falling into silence.

Kathryn's eyes had filled with tears as he was speaking, and when he stopped she drew a shallow breath. Every carefully constructed argument she had ever harboured in regards to their relationship seemed desperately inadequate in the light of his simple confession. She owed him the truth. He already knew it anyway: she'd been betrayed by her own words. And yet voicing it again now, at this cusp on which they stood, when it was not an ending but a beginning with all the attendant difficulties that every fresh start carries, held such a magnitude of meaning that she could not begin to contemplate it.

She was silent for so long that he obviously thought he knew what she was thinking. The disappointment was fleeting yet clear on his face. Chakotay made to leave, walking past her down the steps, but her heart lurched her mouth into action before she'd even realised she was speaking.

"Don't… ask me to tell you when I first knew," she said, haltingly, gazing out at the huge moon. "It's… Chakotay, the answer - it's… too terrifying for me to think about."

His stopped. It seemed an age before he moved again, walking towards her slowly, but without hesitation. He stopped when he was an arm's reach away. She felt the tears that had been in her eyes run down her cheeks, and wiped them away with a shaking hand. Then she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and met his gaze.

He laughed, softly and with affection. "You're not going into battle, Kathryn."

She drew in another breath. "I know."

"I'm not asking you for anything."

"Aren't you?"

He reached out and took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckle. "No. Hoping – for both our sakes - yes. Asking - no."

She looked down at their hands, their fingers entwined. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. For earlier. For everything. I don't know what to do, Chakotay. We've crossed a line, and I don't know if we can go back. But-"

"Do you want to? Do you want to go back?"

She looked up at him again. His dark eyes were deep and warm and full of her, and he was standing close enough that she could feel his body heat. The slow motion of his thumb stroking the skin of her hand sent a heated pulse spinning down to detonate in her gut. Her heart lurched into overdrive as she felt a trace memory of their lips meeting and the electricity of his hands working their way beneath her shirt. Then she once again saw his face, staring at her through the glass of that bulkhead, the desperation in his eyes as he realised he was going to have to leave her there. Then came the sound of his voice, reaching her at the very edge of death, telling her to live.

If you need something to live for, live for me.

Slowly, she shook her head.

"OK, then," Chakotay said softly. And he kissed her.

It was slow at first, tentative, but the touch grew deeper with every second. They kissed until the darkness that had hovered over them both was nothing but a distant memory, until the pain they had both harboured fled like the night before the dawn.

They kissed, in fact, until they both realised that somehow, this had always been inevitable.

And really… really…

They should have seen it coming.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

One Week Later

Chakotay woke with the dawn. He still wasn't used to seeing daylight instead of the darkness of space through Voyager's windows, but now, on the morning of the ship's planned departure, he realised he was going to miss the sun.

Or perhaps, he thought to himself, as the pink blush gave way to a brilliant sunrise, it was just that the events that had transpired while they'd been set down here in the sunlight would always make him remember this place fondly.

He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at the woman lying beside him. Kathryn was still fast asleep, tipped toward him on her side with one hand pillowed under her cheek. He studied her face, so youthful in repose, and then couldn't help letting his gaze drift lower. She was naked, as was he, since neither of them had bothered with nightclothes before falling asleep after their lovemaking of the previous evening. His movement had disarranged the sheets she had pulled around her, exposing her breasts. The sight of her combined with the memories of the previous night stirred in him a fresh arousal. Chakotay glanced at the timepiece on his bedside cabinet, calculating just how much time they had before they were due on-shift.

He spoke to her softly. "Kathryn?"

She mumbled faintly, turning onto her back but failing to wake. The dawn light shone on her pale skin.

He couldn't resist. Leaning forward, Chakotay laid his tongue against the underside of her breast, just where the soft skin met her rib cage. Lazily, he licked upwards in a slow curl that ended by curving over her nipple. His touch elicited a low moan. Kathryn arched her back, her eyes still closed, and he slipped his arms beneath her, sliding up to kiss her soundly on the lips.

"Well," she said, sleepily, eyes still shut. "That's one way to wake up."

He smiled against her neck, and then kissed it. "Coffee?"

"Do you have to leave the bed to make it?"

"That is the accepted wisdom, yes."

She opened her eyes to look at him. "Then no, I don't want coffee."

He grinned. "Truly a moment for the history books."

Chakotay felt her move beneath him. He watched with pleasure as she stretched languidly, lifting her arms above her head and flexing her feet, the motion pressing her bare skin even closer to his. When she relaxed, Kathryn reached down to run her hands over his back, smiling at him softly. The look in her eyes - happy, aroused, affectionate - was one he'd never forget.

"What time is it?"

"Just after 0600."

"Big day today."

"Certainly is."

"And yet," she added, before pressing her lips to his, "no need to rush, is there?"

Two hours later, Captain Kathryn Janeway stepped onto her bridge. Though over the past week she had been helping prepare Voyager for the ship's return to space, this was officially her first duty shift since the Doctor had released her from sickbay. Lieutenant Tom Paris turned at the sound of the turbolift doors opening, and stood as she walked down the steps. Commander Chakotay did the same, rising from the First Officer's chair with a smile on his face.

"Welcome back, Captain," said Paris. "Hasn't been the same without you."

Janeway smiled. "Thank you, Tom." She looked around at all of the Bridge crew. "Thank you all. Now, I think it's high time we got back to our journey. All hands, this is the Captain. Take your posts and stand ready. Mr Tuvok - code blue."

"Aye, Captain."

"Mr Paris, retract the landing pylons and disengage inertial dampeners."

"Aye, Captain."

Janeway walked toward her chair. Chakotay was still standing, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. She allowed herself a moment to note that he looked different, somehow. It took her a few seconds to realise that the tension she'd always seen in his shoulders had vanished. She smiled, and saw the gesture echoed in his eyes.

"Landing pylons stowed, Captain," Paris reported.

"Very well, Mr Paris. Let's take Voyager back up to where she belongs. Set a course for the Alpha Quadrant. Warp six once you've cleared the ionosphere."

"Understood."

Janeway took her seat and raised her chin. "All right, Lieutenant. Engage."