OUT OF THE ASHES

Kathryn Janeway sat alone in the dimly lit living room of her quarters, staring at the small doll in a stand on her dining table. It was only about five inches tall and was clad in the traditional garb of ancient Russia. The china face was surrounded by curly brown hair and topped with a white Cossack fur hat. White leather boots covering the tiny feet, and a red velvet coat and white fur muff completed the doll's outfit.

Kathryn recalled the first time she had seen the doll. Irena and her roommate, Che'eana, had decided to hold a sleepover for any of the female crewmembers who wanted to join in. It was to be a fun, lighthearted time complete with replicated popcorn, chips, and ice-cream, along with the painting of toenails, and of course, gossip. A few of the women, mostly those on the Alpha shift the next day, had decided just to drop in rather than stay overnight. Kathryn had been one of those. Besides, as Samantha Wildman had whispered to her, she well beyond the stage of finding it fun to sleep on a hard floor when it wasn't necessary. Leave that for the younger women.

But it had been an enjoyable evening, including the requisite food fight involving popcorn flung around the room at each other. It had done Kathryn good to see the women so happy, relaxed and at play. Opportunities for downtime like this were so scarce in this quadrant that it was essential to take them whenever possible, just to remain sane.

It was then that Kathryn had spied the little doll standing on a shelf. When she went to examine it, Irena joined her, explaining that the doll had been in the Tikenova family for a number of generations. Because it was so small, she took it with her wherever she went. Like most of the crew, Irena had only brought a few small tokens of home with her on this trip that was intended to last only three weeks, but was now into its fourth year.

Prior to the evening nearly two years ago, when Kathryn had performed the dying swan at talent night, she had had little interaction with Ensign Tikenova. Irena had approached the captain at the reception afterwards and shared that she too had endured the embarrassment of parents who insisted she learn the traditional arts - ballet, music, gymnastics, and even figure skating. The two women, so different in age and rank, had discovered many similarities in their upbringings. Both were 'Fleet brats, and neither had considered any other occupation. Both had lost their fathers. Kathryn had been aware of Captain Tikenova's death at Wolf 359, but had not known that the strong captain had been the young woman's father. Irena's uncle had also died in that battle. The close-knit family had barely recovered from those blows when her oldest brother was killed at Utopia Planetia when the new prototype warp core of the shuttle he'd been test-piloting had suddenly destabilized and ruptured.

And now Irena. Her twenty-fifth birthday would have been in two weeks. She had been a very pretty, vivacious girl, catching the eye of many of the single men on board. She hadn't been pretty by the time the ruthless aliens had finished skyrocketing her blood pressure, blood vessels rupturing over her face and neck. Going into hypertensive shock, she had died in a matter of seconds right there on the bridge. If it was possible to choose a way to die, for many Humans it would be quietly of old age in their sleep; Klingons preferred what they saw as the glory of dying in battle. Irena Tikenova had died at the hands of amoral aliens, used like a twentieth century lab rat.

Kathryn gritted her teeth. She despised those unknown, unidentified aliens who had subjected her crew to their barbarous experiments for weeks, all supposedly in the name of science. Mostly, she hated them for making her feel as she did. She'd never experienced the burning of hatred like that before. When Seven had informed her that one of the vessels attached to Voyager's hull had exploded before escaping the powerful gravametric pull of the binary pulsars, she had silently rejoiced. Kathryn Janeway, Starfleet captain, rejoicing in the deaths of other beings. She loathed them for reducing her to that level.

Last night had been the first sleep she'd had in four days, and even that had only been with the help of a hypospray from the doctor. Then this morning there had been the memorial service for Irena. After the reception, a number of the crew had been called together to hear Ensign Tikenova's last will and testament. Kathryn had been surprised to find herself among those called to the meeting. It had been surreal, watching the pretty face of the young blonde woman in her recorded message on the console, hearing the almost child-like voice that would speak no more. The doctor had been able to restore Chakotay to his younger handsome self in time for the reading, and he had been very touched when the ensign entrusted to him a small carving that had belonged to her father. Irena stated her father had given his life for his principles and she knew that the commander, also a carver, could appreciate that better than most. Then she had astonished Kathryn by asking her to take custody of the little Russian doll until they reached home. The young woman hesitantly requested that if her mother or someone in her family was still alive when they returned to Earth, that the captain would see that it was delivered to some family member. A small part of Kathryn sincerely hoped that Irena's mother, who had already lost so much, would no longer be alive by the time they established contact with Earth.

It wasn't a long will; after all, how many possessions could a twenty-four-year-old amass on a starship thousands of light years from home? Irena had given her bold red dress to B'Elanna, saying she'd never worn it again after the time B'E had borrowed it for a date with Tom, insisting it looked too good on the lieutenant. She said she hoped that if she had died an honorable death, that B'Elanna wouldn't mind wearing it sometimes. When she bequeathed her flute to Harry Kim, shyly smiling that they had made beautiful music together in their duets, Harry had been overcome with emotion and cried openly. She left a few things to her roommate and some other close friends, but the last bequest surprised them all.

At one of the tournaments that had been held onboard, Ensign Tikenova had won the hand-to-hand combat for her weight class, astonishing everyone, including herself. She wanted Lieutenant Commander Tuvok to have the award she'd won that day. She thanked him for his assistance with her training, saying that she'd won the competition using a particular move that she had never been able to master at the academy. It had been Tuvok who had patiently broken the move down and demonstrated it step-by-step, over and over until he was sure she had it. She related that one time while on an away mission when the team had been attacked, that move had saved her life.

Although Tuvok's visage had shown no change, Kathryn knew him well enough to know that the Vulcan was deeply touched. As the two old friends had previously arranged, they went to Tuscany on the holodeck for glass of wine after the will hearing. The agreement had been made in her ready room, right after Tuvok cajoled her out of her anger toward slack department heads with his acerbic query, "Shall I flog them as well?" On the holodeck, they sat together, mostly in silent contemplation of their own private thoughts. After that, she checked on Chakotay in his quarters, and they wound up sharing an early quiet dinner.

Now Kathryn sat alone in her quarters, staring at the little doll given into her hands for safekeeping. She hoped she did a better job with it than she had at protecting the life of its owner. She knew that both Tuvok and Chakotay were concerned for her, but she felt completely unable to express her thoughts and feelings. There was an overall numbness at the realization that to the aliens, the ensign's death was nothing more than a scientific experiment. It could have happened to any one of the crew. It made it seem so inhuman, so arbitrary and so pointless. She couldn't help wondering whether it had simply been part of the aliens' regular 'schedule,' or if it had been deliberately done to break Janeway and drive home the point that she was not in control. That thought just added to the load of guilt already piled on her back.

Somehow, whether it was Tuvok's Vulcan physiology, or simply that they hadn't got around to him yet, the lieutenant commander had escaped unscathed. But Chakotay. She pressed her lips together in a thin line. How much longer would it have been before he died of old age when he was only in his forties? As she thought of how bizarre the doctor's final log would have sounded, she had to clench her jaw to hold back the hysterical laughter that almost burst forth.

To lose him. When had he become so essential to her life, to her wellbeing, to her very sanity? Recalling what she'd said to him before their encounter with the Borg, that she couldn't imagine a day without him, she knew it remained true, despite their intense arguments during that period. She thought of the other thing he had said at that time; was the cost becoming too high? Was it time to find a place to settle? The list of the dead was getting longer and longer, and she could recite the name of every single last one of them, from Cavitt and Stadi all the way through to Tikenova. The idea that the list could one day include Chakotay was almost more than she could endure. It could just as easily have been him whose blood vessels exploded in his head right there on the bridge. It could have been him who died right before her eyes. Right there on the bridge, right before her eyes. Right there.

The headache was back. So was the heartache, but then, that never, ever really went away. She stood and began pacing. She could just picture it, standing as she was now, but in front of a stern-looking board of inquiry made up of sanctimonious admirals, commodores and judiciaries, expecting her to justify each action she had or hadn't taken in the last three and half years. They would pick apart and analyze her every breath.

"Captain Janeway, perhaps you could tell the panel why…?"

"Captain Janeway, your logs indicate that on the date of…"

"Captain Janeway, don't you think you could have…?"

"Captain Janeway…"

How in the world could she explain to anyone else what it was like out here when she could hardly explain it to herself? And especially to a group composed primarily of desk jockeys? How could she adequately describe a quadrant that had more ways of serving up evil than a Ferengi had Rules of Acquisition?

Kathryn raked her hands through her hair and rubbed her temples. She should probably call the doctor for another hypospray. The pressure building up behind her eyes was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

There was a familiar deep voice resounding in her head, loud and clear. "Kathryn, get a hold of yourself. You're a Janeway and a Starfleet officer. Act like it." Not Daddy's little golden bird any more. Not the perfect officer her father had always expected her to be. She could clearly imagine what his frown would be like if he could see her right now.

What had she been doing when she was about to turn twenty-five? Forging ahead with her career, carrying on the Janeway tradition, doing her best to climb out of her depression over the deaths of the two men she'd lived to please. And what of this other Starfleet brat? Irena Tikenova. Rank: Ensign. Dead: age 24. Cause of death: the whim of vicious aliens testing some theory. Kathryn stood with her fists clenched. Such a waste. Such a stupid, frigging waste.

The rage that burned in her at the injustice of it all exploded, and she hardly knew what she had done until the nearest PADD hit the wall with a crack. Then her hand was reaching for another missile. She didn't know what she grabbed until it too struck the wall. An empty coffee mug. The book she'd been trying to read. An ugly figurine some official had given her. Another PADD. And another. Always more PADDs. Reports that never, ever ended.

As she grabbed for something else to throw, her console beeped, freezing her motion as if she was a holodeck simulation. Whoever it was, she didn't want to talk to them. It was actually surprising that she hadn't been contacted before now for something or other. Couldn't she even be alone long enough to have her own temper tantrum? The hysterical laughter again threatened to burst from her throat. She lifted her hand to brush her hair from her eyes and stared at the item she'd been about to heave at the wall. And started to shake.

It was Irena's small doll. The doll that had been entrusted to her for safekeeping. Tears threatened at what she'd been about to do and she ruthlessly stamped them down. She surveyed the shattered mess of her living room, looking like so many ashes left after an inferno. This was what happened when she lost control - death and destruction. It was a luxury she simply could not afford. Way too much was at stake.

Carefully setting the doll back in its stand on the table, she quickly backed away from it. She could just imagine the advice she would receive from some of her senior staff over her little hissy fit. The doctor would tell her she needed to get more rest and stop drinking so much coffee. Tuvok would suggest meditation to learn to control her emotions. Neelix would try to cheer her up. Tom would undoubtedly tell her she needed to get out and have some fun and Chakotay…

"You're not alone." Chakotay would just sit with her, and be there for her and hold her hand and…

Feeling a little calmer, she looked at the blinking light on the console. She sighed. No rest for the wicked, as they said. "You wanted to be a captain, didn't you?" Great. Now she was talking to herself.

When she tapped the console, she was surprised that no face appeared on the screen, nor was there a voice message. Instead, what she heard was the strum of a guitar. Someone had sent her a music file. Fine, she like guitar music and this sounded pleasantly upbeat. Then the vocals began. By the end of the first line, her knees were gone and she plopped ungracefully into her desk chair.

Cry if you want to
I won't tell you not to
I won't try to cheer you up
I'll just be here if you want me

There's no use in keeping a stiff upper lip
You can weep, you can sleep, you can loosen your grip
You can frown, you can drown and go down with the ship
You can cry if you want to

By the end of the first verse, Kathryn's shaking hand was pressed over her mouth. By the end of the second, tears were running down over her fingers.

Don't ever apologize venting your pain
It's something to me you don't need to explain
I don't need to know why; I don't think it's insane
You can cry if you want to

The windows are closed, the neighbors aren't home
If it's better with me than to do it alone,
I'll draw the curtains and unplug the phone
You can cry if you want to

By the instrumental interlude, she was shaking and her other arm wrapped around her ribs as though to hold herself together in one piece.

You can stare at the ceiling, tear at your hair
Swallow your feelings, and stagger and swear
You can show things, throw things and I wouldn't care
You can cry if you want to

No, I won't make fun of you, I won't tell anyone
I won't analyze what you do, or you should have done
I won't advise you to go and have fun
You can cry if you want to

When it's empty and ugly and terribly sad
I can't feel what you feel but I know it feels bad
I know that it's real and it makes you so mad
You can cry

Cry if you want to, I won't tell you not to
I won't try to cheer you up
I'll just be here if you want me
To be
Near you

The son of a bitch. There was no question as to who had sent this, and she was going to kill him. She'd toss him in a shuttle and direct it back to Borg space. She'd throw him out an airlock, or grab the nearest phaser and set it to kill. If she didn't hug him to death first. But before any of that, she had to stop bawling like a six-year-old.

*****

Chakotay sat waiting, drumming his fingers on the table before him. He'd programmed the music file to let him know as soon as she picked it up. The notifying beep had sounded ten minutes ago. He had no doubt that she knew who it was from and he wondered if she was just going to let the suspense kill him, or if she was having a hard time trying to choose the perfect method of execution for him.

It felt good to have a body that was once again the same age that he was. Talk about getting old before your time. He was still a little tired, although when the doctor removed the aberrant genetic tag from Chakotay's DNA, the EMH had said that was to be expected after the shock his body had been dealt. He'd certainly gained a new appreciation for geriatrics.

His head told him it wasn't his fault, but he still felt somewhat guilty for not being able to support Kathryn through this whole ordeal. As Tuvok would say, it was illogical, considering he had neither caused the situation nor could he have done anything to change it - yet there it was. He grinned ruefully. His feelings were just about as logical as Kathryn blaming herself for every difficulty and every death that struck Voyager. Yet there it was.

He knew that's what she was dealing with right now; grief and guilt burning her over another loss as a result of being in this hostile quadrant. She wouldn't see the terrifyingly gutsy move she'd made to save them all by driving the ship right through the binary pulsars. No, Kathryn Janeway would only see her failures. He wondered, and not for the first time, if it was the nature of the woman, Starfleet's training or her upbringing in the Janeway home. Probably all three.

Her dedication, brilliant ingenuity, and conscientiousness made her the incredible captain she was, but those qualities also made her believe that every problem that touched Voyager was her fault and her responsibility alone to fix. But sometimes things just couldn't be avoided and weren't fixable.

Tuvok had come to him over an hour ago, expressing his concern for the captain's wellbeing. He felt she was not dealing well with the recent events. Chakotay was also concerned, having seen how introspective she had been during their dinner. The Vulcan surprised the commander when he stated he felt that only the captain's closest friend would be able to help her at this time.

Since then, Chakotay had been racking his brains what to do, how to reach her. He could picture her in her quarters, pacing, vigilantly tamping down every emotion that threatened to break her control. As irritating as the EMH could be, it was undoubtedly only his good care of her that had prevented the captain from having an ulcer before now. He knew that a direct confrontation with her would never work. He could hear it now.

"Kathryn, I'm concerned for you. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about? I'm here for you, you know."

"Thanks Chakotay, but I'm fine. How are you doing?"

She'd change the subject quick as a New Earth plasma storm. No, that wouldn't work. He initiated a brief vision quest and his guide had cryptically said, "Music soothes the savage beast." As soon as he emerged from the quest, a song that he'd heard from Tom Paris's collection of old tunes had come to mind. It had taken a while to hunt it down in the database, but once he found it, he knew it was perfect.

And so he sat waiting. Twenty minutes had now elapsed since she'd opened the music file. At thirty minutes, he resigned himself that she wasn't going to contact him. With a sigh, he rose from the table and headed for his bedroom.

"Janeway to Chakotay." The voice would have been barely loud enough to activate the communicator.

"Chakotay here." There was no response, just shuddering breaths. "I'll be right there, Kathryn."

*****

The doors to her quarters swished shut behind him and he stood still for a moment allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. At first he was shocked, and then relieved at the evidence of the emotional conflagration that had ripped through her living room. Good. The stranglehold of her unhealthy, rigid control was being broken.

He still couldn't see her, but he could hear the last part of the song playing again.

No, I won't make fun of you, I won't tell anyone
I won't analyze what you do, or you should have done
I won't advise you to go and have fun
You can cry if you want to

When it's empty and ugly and terribly sad
I can't feel what you feel but I know it feels bad
I know that it's real and it makes you so mad
You can cry

Cry if you want to, I won't tell you not to
I won't try to cheer you up
I'll just be here if you want me
To be
Near you

When the last strains of the guitars faded, the small sound of a ragged breath drew his attention to the far corner of the couch. She sat with her knees drawn up, arms tight around them and her head bowed. He hesitated just moment before moving to sit beside her. Tonight the fearless Starfleet captain of the USS Voyager was just a small woman in need of comfort. Even the bright color of her hair seemed to have been dulled under her pain.

"I see you got my message," he said quietly.

Her head slowly raised from her knees. The usually brilliant blue eyes more resembled a pair of black holes. "You bastard." Her voice was raspy.

He made a face at her. "Yeah, I love you too, Kathryn."

Then she was in his arms and he held her while she cried. She wept so hard and so long, that he thought she might make herself sick. Her small fists occasionally pounded his shoulders in frustrated despair and he knew that she was releasing far more than just her grief over the unfortunate death of one young woman. All he could do was hold her and rub her thin back.

When she began to calm, he smoothed her hair back from her face and handed her the packet of tissues he'd grabbed before leaving his quarters. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "Well, I'm sure I must look a sight." Her voice was very rough.

He tucked her hair behind her ear. It wasn't often he got to see it loose like this. "You look like you've had a good cry."

Her hands fluttered and he could tell she was embarrassed. "Just what this crew needs. A blubbering, emotional captain. Maybe Tuvok should have remained in charge after they picked us up from New Earth."

"Kathryn, that's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Although his tone was gentle, his words were like a slap in the face to her. "Well, aren't you just Mr. Sympathetic tonight? Is that how you counsel our crew, Commander?" She stood to walk away from him.

He grabbed her wrist to stop her. "All I'm saying is, this crew does not need a captain who can't feel or understand their pain. They need someone who can show them how to suffer and grieve, and then still go on. They need to know that the next time, if it's one of them, that they will be missed, that their loss will mean something." He knew his words penetrated at least somewhat because she didn't pull away from him.

Gesturing with her other hand around the room, she shook her head at him. "Look at this place, Chakotay. This is what happens when I lose control. I was hardly even aware of what I was doing." She pointed at Irena's doll. "That was the next thing in my hand. If you hadn't sent that message right at that moment…" She turned away, unable to finish.

He rose to stand beside her. "No, Kathryn. This is what happens when you force your feelings down and don't let loose often enough." He could tell she was exhausted; one night's rest did not make up for four sleepless ones, especially coupled with four days of unrelenting pain and pressure. He went to her replicator and got them both mugs of herbal tea.

He watched her expression go from suspicion to surprise at her first hesitant sip. "This is good. What is it?"

He couldn't help smirking at her. "A replicated blend from home. See, not all herbal tea tastes like seaweed." He chuckled at her glare as he returned to his spot on the couch.

Kathryn continued to sip her tea as she bent to retrieve one the PADDs she'd flung in her fit of fury. She examined it carefully. "I think I broke it." She handed it to him.

"Yep. You did. Pretty hefty pitching arm, you've got there, Captain. You would have been hell on wheels if you'd ever taken up the old sport of baseball."

"No, tennis was my game. I managed to smash the skull of a vicious charging guard animal with one swing of a stick back when…" She went still and he knew she was remembering her time as a prisoner of the Cardassians. She shook herself out of her reverie and quickly changed course. "I'm surprised I've not heard any complaints from my neighbors about the noise in here tonight."

He smiled at her over the rim of his mug. "I happen to know that your neighbors aren't home." He looked a little smug. "Also, Tuvok and I took the liberty of," he paused slightly, "unplugging your phone."

She recognized the phrases from the song that he'd sent her. "So that's why it's been so quiet this evening. You and Tuvok colluding together, huh?" He nodded. "What about…?"

He interrupted. "If there's a red alert, you'll know about it right away. Otherwise, both of our calls have been routed to the bridge, with instructions to contact Lieutenant Commander Tuvok when in doubt. Only his authorization can overrule the lockout. I think you can trust your chief of security, don't you, Captain?"

He had her. She took another swallow of tea, not quite sure if she should berate him or kiss him. He was constantly taking care of her, and she knew it wasn't entirely in the capacity of a first officer. She settled on a quiet, "Thank you." She picked up another PADD and set it on the dining table. Studying the little doll solemnly for a minute, she murmured half to herself, "If we had returned through the Caretaker's array, she'd still be alive. They all would be."

"I think you're wrong, Kathryn."

Her head whipped around. For the second time that evening, he'd managed to shock her with his comments. "Explain." Her voice had almost taken on its usual command tone. He set his mug on the coffee table and spread his hands. "Just look at the damage that happened to Voyager and the number of deaths that occurred when the Caretaker pulled the ship from the Badlands. And all of that happened when the array was working in the direction it was intended to. Do you think it would have been any different going back? Remember what the Caretaker said, that what we were asking for was very difficult and complicated? What if the array was like an old fashioned door on hinges that only swings one way? In order to change the way the door swings, you have to literally take the door off, reset the hinges and then put the door back on. It's a lot of work, and then it would have to be done all over again to make it function in the original direction once more. There is no way that The Liberty and Voyager were the only ships he ever pulled through from the Alpha Quadrant. The Caretaker said he'd been looking for a long time, and we both know of ships that just disappeared without a trace. But we never heard of one coming back, did we? We have to assume that the damage to Voyager would be have been equally severe on the return trip, and perhaps more so, even to the point of destroying the whole ship."

Kathryn leaned her hip against the table. She'd never considered this at all, but it sounded immanently logical. Tuvok would commend him for his thinking. Chakotay was still talking.

"Besides all that, we've had the dubious pleasure of making the acquaintance of the Kazon. If we had left the array intact, do you really think a race like the Ocampa would have survived?" Chakotay was more familiar with the delicate touch of the Kazons than any of them. "And then, think of our crew. You would never have liberated Seven of Nine from the collective. The doctor would still be the capable, but inadequate EMH he was three and a half years ago. They probably would have replaced him with a 'new improved' model by now. All of the Maquis…"

She picked up his tale. " - would have gone to prison. Tom Paris would either have gone back to prison, or returned to pouring his life down a bottle."

He nodded. "B'Elanna and the others would never have had the chance to develop into the people that they are." His eyes locked with hers and he spoke quietly. "And you and I…"

" - would never have become friends." It was impossible to imagine her life without him. The whole bizarre trip would have been just another completed assignment to her, and she would have gone on with her life, gone back to Mark, never even knowing what she had missed. Chakotay looked away from her and she had a terrible sense of foreboding about what he was going to say next.

He picked up his mug again, studiously regarding its contents. "Since the Federation was all nice and cozy with the Cardassians, and all of my targets had been against Cardassian holdings, it is quite probable that I would have been extradited. After all, I was the captain of The Liberty."

She couldn't suppress the shudder that passed through her, and closed her eyes. They both knew what that would have meant; a horrible, hellish, agonizing existence where he would have yearned for the release of death long before it ever came. The very thought of this wonderful man being subject to such atrocities was unbearable.

He looked up at her and gave a small smile as he observed, "I think I'd rather die of old age. Although I don't think I look very good bald."

That brought her back to the most recent batch of brutal aliens. She began pacing again, pushing her empty hand through her already disordered hair, raging indignantly. "You wouldn't have believed that, that…" She searched for an appropriate word. " - that female. To call her a bitch would be an insult to my dog, Molly. Cool as a cucumber, she was. Had the audacity to say that she and I were alike because we're both scientists. She didn't even react when I nearly shoved her right through the brig wall."

Chakotay would have liked to see that, especially after witnessing the condition of some of the crew who showed up in Sickbay before Tom released Neelix and him to their quarters. As badly off as the two men had been, their cases were minor compared to the suffering of many of the others. He had already read the captain's report, but he made no move to stop her talking.

"She told me that if we didn't interfere any more that the fatalities would be minimal, although there'd be some deformities. Actually offered to share the results of their research. Very generous, wouldn't you say? Like we were supposed to be honored to be brutalized in that way."

The rage building up in her was as visible as a pressure gauge reaching the critical zone. Again Chakotay felt a prick of regret at not being there for Kathryn through this ordeal. She turned to him with a mutinous expression.

"You know what she said when I told her exactly where she could put her data? She said if we didn't cooperate, the entire experiment would be terminated, along with its subjects. That's all we were to her, Chakotay - you, me, Neelix, Irena - JUST SCIENTIFIC SUBJECTS!" She was yelling by that point, and violently whipped her mug across the room at the wall where it hit with a crash.

She was breathing hard when she turned to him, her expression almost daring him to comment on her explosion. He finished the last swallow of his tea and silently offered his empty mug to her. She looked at the cup, looked at him, then back at the cup. Her face started to crumble. "Oh, God, Chakotay, if they had killed you, I…" She shook her head, unable to continue.

He quickly set the mug down, reached out and pulled her back down to the couch into his arms again. Tucking her shaking form under his chin, he kissed her hair and murmured, "Shh, Kathryn, I'm fine. You saved us all again. Once more, you pulled a hat out of a rabbit."

She went still. "Don't you mean a rabbit out of a hat?"

"No, considering what you did to get rid of them, I'd say it was more like a hat out of a rabbit."

"Ooh."

"I think that's what the rabbit said, too." He felt her relax slightly against him so he touched her chin to lift her head to meet his eyes. "Kathryn, you need to let go, to release all that you keep bottled up inside. Everybody needs that, or else we'd all either implode or explode, one or the other. You don't do yourself or the crew any good this way. Believe me," he looked at her tenderly, "I won't make fun of you, and I would never, ever tell anyone anything you say to me."

Kathryn looked into the face of this strong, gentle man, her first officer, her friend, and in reality, so much more. She again recognized the words that he spoke as being from the song he had sent her. Trusting him with her ship and her very life had never been a problem. But now, in a moment of clarity that was so strong it resembled the click of a key opening a lock, she knew there was no one else in the galaxy that she could trust so completely with her fears, her secrets, and her heart. The rush of freedom was so exhilarating that she felt a little lightheaded and had to lay her head back against his chest. How soothing it was to hear the distant thrum of the engines in one ear and the steady beat of his heart under her other ear. The real parameters of her life; Voyager and Chakotay. And she began to talk.

He wondered if perhaps she was just too tired to fight any more, or if it was the lateness of the hour. Perhaps it was not looking at him, having her head tucked under his chin. But whatever it was that allowed her to open up, he just thanked the spirits and listened while she shared her secrets. From within the safe haven of his arms, she recited a jumbled montage of memories from the recent and distant past.

She confessed how, while not actually being glad, she had definitely been relieved when Seska died and the doctor had revealed that the baby had not been Chakotay's. He didn't interrupt her to say he had felt the same. As much as he hoped some day to have a child, there was only one person he wanted to create a life with, and it certainly wasn't the likes of Seska.

She shared how she and her sister had not been close for the longest time until a slight accident had revolutionized their relationship. On a family camping trip, Phoebe's roasted marshmallow had fallen from its stick onto Kathryn's bare leg, burning her. Phoebe had been more traumatized than Kathryn had, and somehow that little misfortune had irrevocably cemented the bond between them.

When they had first been pulled through to the Delta Quadrant, the news of where they had wound up, as well as that her first officer, pilot, doctor and nurse, chief engineer and so many others were dead had rattled her badly. She'd had to retreat for a couple of minutes to what was left of her ready room in order to throw up. Then she'd rinsed her mouth, fixed her hair and gone back to work.

She told him how she'd known in her head that her father loved her, but had always felt he was somehow disappointed in her and that she didn't measure up to his expectations. Chakotay finally understood her constant support of Tom Paris. What was it, he wondered, with these Starfleet fathers that left their kids feeling the need to earn their dad's approval? Kathryn's reaction had been to constantly strive for perfection, while Tom had unconsciously recognized the impossibility of it and simply dissolved into snarky rebellion.

Anger rolled through him and he strove to keep his breathing even when she shared how badly her first love, Cheb, had treated her. Then he had to close his eyes and clench his jaw against the pain of her whispered words, telling him what she'd never spoken aloud to anyone, what had really happened to her so long ago in that Cardassian prison when she and Admiral Paris had been captured. He just tightened his arms around her and pressed another kiss against her hair.

It was a long time before she stopped talking. All that she told him made him understand so much more the who, the what and the why of Kathryn Janeway. It just made him respect, admire and love her even more than he already did.

Eventually, he could tell from the sagging weight of her body that she had finally fallen asleep. She still clung to him and he grinned wryly; even in her sleep she wouldn't completely let herself go. He shifted a little and rose easily with her in his arms. She was far too light. He was going to have to do a better job of getting her to eat regularly.

He'd never been in her bedroom, so he quietly instructed the computer for lights at ten percent. He didn't want to take a chance of stumbling over something while carrying his precious cargo. He was surprised to see a picture of the two of them on her dresser. It had been taken on the holodeck during Neelix's pool party. Even more surprising was the picture of him on her bedside table, one that he'd not seen before. He recognized the setting. It was New Earth, a picture she'd obviously managed to take when he hadn't been aware. It was from the one and only camping trip he'd successfully persuaded her to take with him. She'd captured him as he was seated on the ground, one arm propped on his knee as he watched the sunset. Such memories. Chakotay looked around her bedroom once more and realized there wasn't a picture of Mark anywhere.

When he bent to slide her into bed, her clutching hands refused to release him, so he was left with the choice of either waking her or lying down beside her. He carefully eased himself onto the mattress. She was half draped over him, so he held her all through the night. Eventually his tired mind took over, and he too slid into slumber.

His dreams were a strange collage. Himself as a boy, suddenly morphing into an old man, wrinkled and bald. Kathryn running away from plainly garbed aliens chasing her with what looked like knitting needles in their hands. Deep blue eyes turning black. The sound of weeping. Holding Kathryn under a table as a storm raged around them. Tuvok's smooth voice calmly saying, "Music soothes the savage beast." The warmth of a small pale hand on his shoulder; the caress of soft lips on his.

The lips were gentle, sweet and tender, brushing his again and again. He wanted this segment of the dream to go on, never to end. He parted his lips and at the light touch of a wet tongue on his, his eyes flew open. The dream had become reality, or the dream was reality. His startled gaze met two eyes that were clear blue once more, and delight sizzled through him.

"You were snoring," she whispered.

He smiled gently. "I like your method of stopping me. Much nicer than an elbow in the ribs." He twisted his neck to look at the chronometer. "How long before we have to get up?"

She was still close enough that her breath was a puff on his cheek. "We're both off duty, doctor's orders, remember?"

"Ah, yes. You're recovering from being turned into Frankenstein's daughter, and I'm recovering from becoming Rip Van Winkle, or in my case, Wrinkle."

She laughed lightly and then sighed as her smile slipped a little. Here was a man who had lost everything and everyone dear to him, yet he had continued to move forward. "Life goes on, doesn't it, Chakotay?" she observed quietly.

He regarded her solemn face as he stroked her cheek. "Yes, it does." She seemed to have settled some issues, perhaps even banished a few of her demons, although he was pretty sure it was safe to conclude that there would be more exposed along the way of their turbulent journey through the Delta Quadrant. He inquired, "I suppose Tuvok will have the bridge today?"

"He was one of the few who was unharmed in our latest lovely first contact." She hesitated for just a moment, seemed to make a decision, then dipped her head to plant a small kiss beside his mouth.

His eyes were on her lips. "So, what are we going to do today?" He decided to go for broke and touched his tongue to the seam of her lips, drawing a tiny gasp from her.

She murmured, "It's still quite early. We should probably sleep some more. But we should get out of yesterday's clothes first so we can be comfortable." She brushed her lips over his temple, his cheekbones, his eyelids.

He took a deep breath, stilled her head with both his hands, studying her face. "Did I tell you that I love you?"

He saw her blink at the sudden moisture in her eyes and she gave a little shrug. "Sort of." He felt the movement against his chest.

He recalled his snide remark to her after she'd called him a bastard last night. "Well, let me clarify. I love you." He waited to see if she would pull away. She didn't. In fact, she set about exploring his mouth some more and he was happy to accommodate her.

When she broke for air, she asked, "Did I mention that I love you too?" At his negative head shake, she corrected her oversight. "Well, I do. Is that okay?"

His eyes were suspiciously bright, but he seemed to consider. "Should be." He rolled their bodies so she was underneath him. He liked the feel of their bodies together, and from her sigh, he thought she did too. "Kathryn, about getting some more sleep…"

Sliding her arms around his neck, she drew his head down and murmured against his lips. "Later."

The End

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© Brianna Thomas, October 2001 Please email me to post/distribute elsewhere.