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She walks out of the bathroom, yawning and mussing up her still wet hair, and is about to slide the robe off her shoulders and crawl into her temporary, Starfleet-issued, yet remarkably comfortable bed, when a sound of somebody screaming bloody murder makes her turn instantly to red alert mode, ready to strike at whatever danger made one of her crew that terrified. (It has to be someone from the Voyager gang, they’ve all been put on the same wing in Starfleet Medical facility for standard quarantine period of five days.) They were supposed to be safe, now that they have finally reached home, and yet…
Another scream bounces off the walls of the tiny room, and she makes up her mind, tightening the belt of her robe and walking resolutely out the door, armed in a particularly ineffective pair of peach-colored slippers and a slightly more intimidating aluminum roll that contained some of the documents HQ had sent to her a few hours ago, packed in accordance with decontamination protocols. In any case, the emptied tube should at least be able to break a few…
A third scream, even more desperate. She quirks her head, localizes the source and pushes her CO override code (thank goodness for Starfleet unification rules) into an access panel of a door to the right of her quarters. The thin metal slides open, revealing… Kathryn has to hold onto the jamb in order not to fall over from laughter.
There, in the middle of the compact, yet efficiently organized space, standing barefoot on the bed much like her own, and wearing only a standard issue towel (the size of a typical handkerchief) and a horrified expression, is her (former?) First Officer—and by the foot of said bed, scrambling desperately to climb up the sheets, is a black, furry shape the size of a grapefruit, with very many legs and a well-defined rump.
A Torrachian spider.
A baby Torrachian spider.
Chakotay looks up from said arachnid, his eyes wide and full of barely contained terror. “What are you doing? Get out of here, or it will—“
Kathryn wipes a few stray tears off her face, swallows the last remnants of her laughter and whacks at the spider with her tube, the wet, satisfactory sound announcing the end of Chakotay’s unwelcomed visitor’s life. “So much for cleanliness and decontamination,” she remarks dryly, walking into the bathroom to grab some tissue paper, wrapping up the body of the unfortunate spider and dumping it in the recycler. “It’s like being back at school all over again.”
Chakotay gapes at her, one of his arms (sadly, not the one holding up the knot of his towel) hanging limply by his side. “You mean—you’ve seen one of these things before?”
She shrugs, dropping the aluminum tube and walking over to close the door, previously held open by her override command. “Haven’t you? My Academy dorm was positively infested with these buggers.”
He shakes his head, folding his legs under himself and sitting heavily down on the covers. (She’s certainly not trying to sneak a peek under the towel, no, that would have been completely inappropriate.) “I lived in the Hestia Building, it was brand new at the time.”
She clucks her tongue, giving him a nod that conveys gentle connivance. “I always knew luxury was what makes one soft. Here’s the ultimate proof: my brave, valiant XO jumps up onto his bed and screams like a baby girl, whereas I, the fragile female, barge in for the rescue and slay the monster.”
Chakotay’s eyes slide down her form, the last signs of terror long gone from them, and Kathryn suddenly feels very, very warm in her sheer, silk robe. “And all that in a nightgown,” he says, his previously shaky voice taking on a quality that makes certain parts of Kathryn’s anatomy tighten as she shivers in anticipation of something. “You’re clearly the hero here, Kathryn,” he bows his head in a respectful salute, scooting forward on the bed until he’s sitting on its edge, feet planted firmly on the floor. “Perhaps I should consider asking you to stay, and extend your rescuing skills on more than one area of my humble, valueless life.”
Kathryn feels her cheeks grow hotter by the second, and toes off her slippers as she takes a step towards Chakotay, pulled in by a force as primal as fear and sadness and joy, but much, much stronger. “And how would you pay for my services, I wonder?”
He finally drops the towel, almost casually, and reaches out to hook a finger behind the knot of her silk belt. “I’m sure we can work something out, to our mutual satisfaction.”
She sighs happily, dragging her nails up his chest, and the sound seems extremely loud in the tiny space of the room. “We would have to be really quiet, or else half of the crew might barge in here,” she points out, the last words coming out in a breathy moan as Chakotay’s lips close around a nipple, sucking through the silk.
He looks up at her and grins, positively breathtaking in his rapture. “I’m afraid I cannot guarantee that…”
/end