Archive of Our Own

Secret World 1: What the Wind Feels Like

Prologue
Day 257: November 28

As soon as he materializes on the upper deck of the Bridge, the acrid smoke of burning equipment closes on Chakotay's nose and throat. Through streaming eyes he takes in the damaged Bridge, almost unrecognizable now, and the lone figure in the center of it. He darts toward her, giving silent thanks that he has found her alive and whole. He'd guessed her plan as soon as he realized she'd put Tuvok off the ship. He is profoundly glad to have the chance to stop her.

"Kathryn," he begins, but she whirls on him with flashing eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

He blinks against the smoke or the intensity of her glare. "Captain," he tries again, watching her stalk toward him. "You don't have to do this."

"It's the only way to stop him," she grinds out. It's been a long time since he heard her voice so deadly intense. "And I intend to stop him."

"I see that. But there may be another way."

Paris materializes on the Bridge behind him. Her gaze flicks to the Lieutenant, then back to him. "Explain."

Chakotay takes a careful step toward her. "One of the Mawasi ships is unsalvageable. We've already removed its surviving crew so we can use it as a battering ram to destroy the timeship. There's no need to sacrifice Voyager."

Tom moves to the Ops station. "Sixty seconds, Chakotay," he says. "The Nihydron commander is ready to use his deflector shield to throw the derelict at Annorax. Just give the order."

Chakotay nods without taking his eyes off her. Through the smoke he can see livid scars on her face but he does not flinch from them. What hell must she have gone through to get them? He cannot spare the time to ask but hopes that someday she will share her story.

She stands less than a meter from him, her eyes hard on his face. "Please, Captain," he says. "The Mawasi have offered us a place in their drydock if we can pull this off. We can repair Voyager. We can stay on the Mawasi homeworld as long as we need to recover and wait for our crew to return."

"But the timestream-"

"It's possible that the timestream will reset when we destroy Annorax's ship," he concedes. "But there's a possibility that it won't. We aren't that certain of the implications."

She shakes her head. "Look around you, Commander. Voyager is broken."

He stares at her, shocked at her willingness to concede defeat. "But not bowed," he whispers. The arcing light from a sizzling circuit flashes off the silver watch at her waist. When he sees it hanging there, he softens. "Still proud. Still fighting." He places a hand against her ravaged cheek, his fingers in her hair. "Still strong. I'm not ready to give up on her yet."

She presses her face into his palm and closes her eyes, as if undone by the human contact. Her lips tremble.

Then she straightens and nods. Her eyes are very bright when she looks up at him. "Do it," she says. "Give the order. Bring our crew back, Chakotay. Bring them home."

Day 274: December 15
First Officer's Log: As crazy as it was, our plan worked. The Nihydron threw the derelict at the timeship and destroyed it. But the timestream didn't reset. If we hadn't talked Captain Janeway out of sacrificing herself and Voyager, we would have lost them both. We were very fortunate.

The Mawasi have been as good as their word and more. We expected the base they offered to be nothing more than a place to repair the ship. In fact, it's part of a large network of spacedocks, planetary bases, embassies and facilities for visiting dignitaries. The Captain says it reminds her of Camp Khitomer – if Camp Khitomer were on Risa, with the Utopia Planitia shipyards grafted on. As thanks for our help with destroying the timeship, we've been given an honored place among them. We landed the ship at one of their bases, where we've been ever since.

Until Voyager is livable again, the entire crew has moved into resort cabins. There's a lodge available for staff meetings and crew gatherings, and the resort's staff have placed themselves at our disposal for meals and any other needs. We're within walking distance of the base and an impressive engineering complex. Mawasi engineers have joined B'Elanna and her staff, and repairs are well underway. We have a lot of work to do to make the ship spaceworthy again. But we couldn't have asked for a better place to be right now. We'll be safe and comfortable here until Voyager is ready to resume her long journey home.

We've sent out word of our location via Mawasi and Nihydron networks. In the first two weeks alone, we've heard from more than half of our displaced crew, and the escape pods have already started returning. Captain Janeway is determined to stay here until we've heard from everyone – or at least until we know their fate.

As for the crew... They've been through a lot. As comfortable as this place is, I can see that some of them are unable to relax. After ten straight months of constant danger, turning off the flight-or-fight reaction is not an easy prospect. Repairing the ship is the priority, of course, but we also need to take this time to heal. For some of us, simply acknowledging the need to heal has been a battle of its own.

End First Officer's Log.

It reminded him of Earth.

Kathryn had likened it to Camp Khitomer, and while he saw the resemblance in the purpose of the place – hosting off-world dignitaries and interplanetary negotiations – Chakotay was reminded less of a bustling, modern spaceport and more of a summer resort on the northeast shore of Lake Michigan, from the clear blue sky to the golden strip of sand at the edge of a vast lake. He'd visited the Lake Michigan shore in his Academy days with a fellow Cadet, a girl with mischievous green eyes and and easy smile. She'd shown him sandy beaches that surged up into rocky, scrub-covered bluffs that in turn gave way to stands of tall, straight pines. And a kilometer or so inland, a rolling cherry orchard, her family's livelihood for generations. He'd spent a week with her swimming in ice-cold waves, playing among the sand dunes, chasing her barefoot through the rows of cherry trees. Gorging himself on sweetcorn, fresh tomatoes and cherry pies. Lying with her under the pines, the Perseid meteors streaking through the sky above them. Her name was Eileen, and he hadn't thought of her in years. But jogging along the beach two weeks after Voyager's arrival on the Mawasi homeworld, Chakotay had a sudden strong memory of her hands, sticky with sap, brushing pine needles from his hair.

He ran along the empty beach in the pre-dawn stillness, dodging driftwood and rocks until he came to a secluded cove that he'd found the week before, a place protected from the wind where he had come to enjoy the spectacular Mawasi sunset. Before sunrise, though, the cove was too dark to provide safe footing, so he turned around and headed back the way he'd come. When the resort came back into sight he turned away from the rolling blue waves, shortened his strides and headed up the bluff toward the buildings. He avoided the stone path in favor of the sandy soil beside it. The softer surface was easier on his bare feet, unaccustomed as they were to running outdoors. Before the Year of Hell he'd run in the Holodeck whenever he could manage the time, but the Holodeck had been one of the first systems to go offline. There wasn't time or space to run on the timeship, and he found that in the intervening months, his feet had softened and weakened. So he kept to the sand, cool and soothing in the faint light of early morning. He dug his toes into the soil with each step and climbed to the top of the bluff, where he stretched his legs again and loped through the trees alongside the cabins and lodge. These, too, reminded him of northern Michigan – rough-hewn buildings fashioned after log dwellings. Their rustic exterior hid comfortable beds and state-of-the-art technology that rivaled anything the Federation had to offer, and even outstripped a good deal of it. Tom Paris had been especially delighted by the Mawasi's advanced holography. He had personally worked with the resort staff to program the trappings of the lodge's main rooms, which now resembled a centuries-old North Shore hunting lodge in late autumn, right down to the antique snowshoes hung over the stone fireplace and the moose motif in the decorations. He'd gone overboard with the realistic-looking deer heads mounted on the walls, though. Kathryn had nixed those at first sight.

Chakotay crossed behind the lodge, where he heard the first faint stirrings of breakfast being prepared for them. The resort staff, accustomed as they were to serving off-world visitors, had been very accommodating in their service. They had so far produced passable Human, Vulcan, Bajoran and Talaxian dishes. But the Mawasi chefs really shone on their own native dishes: Hearty breakfasts of rich pastries and hot cereals dotted with exotic fruits and nuts; spicy vegetable lunches, supplemented with the fresh catch of the day for the non-vegetarians; filling, multi-course dinners followed by decadent desserts that left them all overstuffed. The crew were beginning to regain the weight they'd lost during the Year of Hell when the replicators were often offline and fresh food was scarce. And Chakotay and Tom, who had eaten well enough on the timeship, were verging on chubby. After just four days on Mawasi, Chakotay noticed his uniform was tight around the middle for the first time in years. That night he'd found salvageable workout clothes among the charred remains of his quarters, set his alarm 90 minutes early and resolved to go for a long, hard run the following morning. Barefoot, the way he'd always preferred. He'd run nearly every morning since, alone with his thoughts in these quiet moments before dawn.

After an hour of fighting through dense, golden sand and over the bluff, he felt energized – and not too winded for a man his age. Mawasi's slightly lower gravity and slightly higher oxygen count probably had as much to do with that as anything, but he was happy with his effort. Was it enough to allow him a glass of the rich local brew at the crew's nightly beach bonfire? Maybe a couple more kilometers, he decided, and turned away from the resort, climbed another short hill and crossed into denser forest.

The trees were taller and straighter here than the wind-blown vegetation nearer the water, rather like the pines he remembered from Michigan. But these particular trees were deciduous, their dark green leaves mostly gone. This hemisphere was readying for its coldest season. Many animals had already headed to warmer climates for the winter. The ones that didn't migrate were fattening themselves on fallen seeds and vegetation. There were small predators native to the area, but the resort staff had assured him that the most dangerous were kept off the property with a combination of natural deterrents and high-tech fencing. All the same, he kept a wary eye out for fauna. This place was so like Earth he half expected to see a bear lumbering over every rise.

At the tree line he emerged from the forest and stopped, panting, looking down into the valley and the Mawasi drydock facility below. The rising sun glinted off Voyager's hull.

She was the largest ship in the facility, dwarfing the handful of ambassadorial skiffs and boxy utility vehicles sitting idle in her shadow. At the moment, no one was working on her. The Doc had insisted that, for the duration of their stay and as part of their healing process, all Voyager personnel would observe a normal workday in concert with the planet's day and night cycles, with meals and rest at predictable intervals. Chakotay had set out from his cabin before the work day had begun. In an hour or so B'Elanna's team and their Mawasi counterparts would descend on the ship, as would most of the crew. But for now, she sat alone and untouched in the early morning stillness.

Chakotay ran a critical eye over the ship's exterior. He was no engineer, but he knew enough to see that she was in dire shape. There were dark burns along both nacelles, deep gouges in the hull, hatches blown out of their housings... It was a wonder any of them had survived. That most of them had made it was a testament to their iron will, and the will of their Captain.

Running a hand through his sweaty hair, Chakotay frowned. He knew very little of what Kathryn had gone through during his six months away from Voyager, but not from lack of asking. He'd approached her in every way he knew how – professionally, First Officer to Captain; clinically, tactician to commander; casually, friend to friend. Her responses had ranged from guarded to evasive.

When the responses became dismissive, he'd stopped asking.

She'd been through a lot. That much was clear, and not just from the visible scars. But for reasons he couldn't fathom, she wasn't interested in sharing her thoughts and experiences with him. For most of a day after coming to that realization he'd nursed an overwhelming sense of rejection.

The next morning, he'd invited Tom Paris to go for a run.

For the first couple of kilometers they'd moved at an easy pace and chatted about repairs to the ship, Tom's programming efforts, the messages they'd begun to receive from the returning crew. At the 5k mark they turned and raced up the bluff. On the flat, their natural competitiveness and years-old rivalry took over until they were sprinting through the resort, each trying to outpace the other. Chakotay had to suppress a grin; he had ten kilos and more than ten years on Paris, but was still managing to match him stride for stride. They ran on through the tall, straight trees and along the crest of the valley before looping back through the resort and down the bluff again. At the beach, Paris slowed and collapsed in the sand, panting. Chakotay skidded to a halt beside him, hands on his knees.

"Nice run, Old Man," Paris wheezed.

Chakotay scowled. "'Old Man.' Did you pick that up from B'Elanna?"

Paris nodded. "She says it's a term of respect."

"It's not. Not entirely."

"I know." Paris grinned up at him. "You don't run like an old man, though."

"Thanks." Chakotay wandered down to the water's edge and let the waves roll over his bare feet while he bent to stretch his hamstrings. He might not run like an old man, but he was pretty sure he'd feel like one in a few hours, thanks to the spontaneous burst of speed.

He eyed Paris surreptitiously. After the last rebuff from Kathryn and a few hours of careful consideration, Chakotay had begun to form a theory about what was happening to the crew. But the only person he could talk to about it was Paris. They'd never been close, exactly, but over the years they'd come to a grudging respect for each other. On the timeship, Paris had been insubordinate, disrespectful, hot-tempered – and correct about it all, from Annorax's true motivations to Chakotay's own irrational response to the older man's obvious flattery. Paris was a perceptive man, and as much as he hated to admit it, Chakotay had need of his insight.

Chakotay scooped up cold water in his hands and let it fall over his head and face, shaking the droplets from his hair. Then he strolled back up the beach and sat next to Paris in the sand. The rising sun warmed their backs as they gazed out over the water. "Good run," Chakotay said. "Thanks for joining me."

"Thanks for the invite."

They were both quiet for a time.

Chakotay dug his toes in the sand. "Tom, can I ask you a question?"

Paris chuckled. "I knew there was a reason for this," he muttered.

"A man can't ask a shipmate to join him for a workout?"

"Sure, a man can. But a man who prefers to run alone usually doesn't. Not without an ulterior motive."

Chakotay tugged his earlobe. Hell yes, Paris was perceptive. "You're right. I do have an ulterior motive."

"Ship's business? You could have just called a meeting."

"Not this time. This is...complicated. I need an opinion – off the record."

Now he had Paris's full attention. "Everything okay, Chakotay?"

"No," Chakotay sighed. "Far from it."

Paris punched him lightly on the arm. "B'Elanna loves and respects you. And I love and respect B'Elanna. You need something, you ask. Now, what's up?"

Seeing his opening, Chakotay leaned forward. "How's B'Elanna doing?"

Paris frowned, as if this was not the topic he was expecting. "Okay, I guess. Working hard."

"You haven't seen anything unusual?"

"I don't think so." Paris looked out over the water. "She's pretty focused on the repairs right now, but that's understandable."

Chakotay sighed. "Forgive me if this is too personal, but... How has she been... when she's with you? More distant than usual, maybe? Or..." Chakotay grimaced. "More affectionate?"

Tom's face hardened. "What do you want, Chakotay?"

Sighing, he wrapped his arms around his knees. "Tom, what do you know about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

The younger man's eyes widened in sudden recognition. "Damn." He ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know much, but I know enough. I should have seen it. Who else?"

"I noticed Harry hasn't been attending the crew gatherings. Neelix isn't cooking anymore. I'm not sure about Tuvok and Seven because they've been spending most of their off-duty time together."

"Avoidance. Classic symptom." Paris scratched his chin. "Jorno Flagg came back with a bad attitude and a broken nose and doesn't want to talk about it – but I heard Gloria Young Bear kicked him out of their cabin pretty fast." Paris shook his head. "And B'Elanna has been... very aggressive lately."

Chakotay nodded, pretending not to notice Tom's blush. "That's a typical symptom, too. Especially for B'Elanna, given her genetic background."

Paris carefully looked back out over the water, his face neutral. "Chakotay, I have to ask... How's the Captain?"

Damn the man's insight.

They'd talked for another half hour, formulating a plan to reinstall the Doc's psychiatric subroutine. Chakotay had carefully steered the conversation away from Kathryn, but he knew Paris must have seen some of the same symptoms in their commanding officer that he had—when they'd seen her at all, that is. The next day, Chakotay had gone to Kathryn with a proposal: Every member of the crew would submit to evaluation for PTSD, including the command team.

To his shock, she had agreed to the plan without a single word of protest.

Chakotay shook off the memory and jogged back through the densest part of the forest toward the resort.

Since that day he'd had his evaluation and been declared free of PTSD. The Doc had left the door open for more counseling if he felt he needed it, but he'd never gone back – not for himself, anyway.

Kathryn had been back at least twice.

This, too, had surprised – and pleased – Chakotay. But after two weeks on Mawasi and three counseling sessions, the distance between them was still there. It bothered him more than he cared to admit, and on much more than a professional level.

He slowed to a cool-down walk at the edge of the resort property, now bustling with activity both in the lodge and among the cabins. At the corner of his own cabin he stopped suddenly and leaned against the wall. Kathryn was standing on the porch of the cabin next to his, looking out over the resort.

Her face was in shadow, but the rays of the rising sun shone on her body. Chakotay narrowed his eyes. Her uniform hung from her hunched shoulders like a sack and sagged at her waist. Two weeks surrounded by rich Mawasi cuisine, and she still wasn't eating. She wasn't sleeping enough, either; the lights in her cabin usually remained on long after the rest of the crew had turned in for the night. It had proved pointless to talk to her about her physical health as much as her emotional health, but Chakotay still felt helpless to know she wasn't taking care of herself properly. But until she stopped avoiding him, there was nothing he could do about it.

"Good run, Commander?"

She had turned her head to look at him. In the soft morning light he saw dark circles under her eyes. Her forced smile hurt him almost as much as her silence had. "Yes, thank you." He moved around to the corner of her porch and looked up at her. "Join me for breakfast?"

The forced smile tightened. "I have a counseling session with the Doc in fifteen minutes. I wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

"Of course." Chakotay shuffled his feet, watching her. "Lunch?"

She shook her head. "I promised Seven I'd help her in Astrometrics all day. We'll probably have something sent over to the ship."

The knowledge that she would spend time with Seven but not with him cut him, but he suppressed his reaction. At least she was interacting with someone. "Fine, Captain. I'll leave you alone, then."

The smile vanished. "Have a good day, Commander."

He watched her walk up the stone path toward the drydock. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered.

Before he could turn back to his own cabin, a hand fell on his shoulder. "Don't worry about that, Commander." Neelix stood beside him. "She'll come around."

Chakotay kept his eyes on her retreating back until she was out of sight. "Maybe."

"She just needs time."

"I know."

"Talking to the Doc helps. I know it helped me."

Chakotay sighed. "I'm sure it did. I just wish..."

"You wish it were you she was talking to."

Chakotay nodded. "I know that's probably selfish."

"Not at all, Commander. The two of you have a special bond."

"Neelix..." Chakotay warned.

"Don't deny what makes you strong, Commander. You know it does. In time, she'll remember it, too."

"I hope you're right."

Neelix squeezed his shoulder. "Did you know I was there when she found your watch?"

Chakotay finally looked down at him. "You were?"

Neelix nodded. "She missed you. I saw it in her face. And I'm sure you noticed she's still wearing the watch."

Chakotay couldn't deny the feeling of warmth he felt every time he saw her wearing his gift. "I noticed."

"Your patience will serve you well, Commander. Never doubt it." Neelix gave him a final pat on the back and then drew away. "Coming to breakfast?"

"Are you cooking again, Neelix?"

"I am indeed." The little man's grin was infectious. "Made-to-order omelets today." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And the resort's head chef promised to give me his pastry secrets this morning."

Chakotay laughed softly. Under the Mawasi's tutelage, Neelix's culinary skills had nowhere to go but up. "I wouldn't miss it. Give me fifteen minutes to clean up."

A small hand looped through his arm as Neelix headed up the path. "Make it half an hour, Old Man. You smell like a targ."

"Good morning to you too, B'Elanna," he laughed. "Save me a place at breakfast?"

Paris took B'Elanna's other hand and pulled her toward the lodge. "Always, Chakotay. Will we see the Captain this morning?"

"Not today." When both of their faces fell, Chakotay forced a smile of his own. "But maybe tomorrow."

They both nodded, accepting the evasion. "Maybe tomorrow," Paris echoed, and they turned up the path, too.

Chakotay lingered for a moment, enjoying the morning light on his face. He was still worried about her, but his shipmates' words had eased his fears just a little. Counseling sessions had clearly helped both B'Elanna and Neelix. Harry had started joining the nightly beach bonfire, and Gloria and Jorno seemed to be on better terms. Kathryn had been through much more trauma than her crew. Of course it would take longer for her to return to her old self.

Chakotay closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer that her recovery would be swift and thorough, and that soon, she would let him back in. Then he retreated to his cabin to clean up for the day.

=/\=

Every time she turned her back on him, it got a little harder.

She saw the pain in his eyes when she brushed past him on the path and headed across the resort. It gnawed at her, the knowledge of what she was doing to him. Of what she was doing to them both. But it wasn't time. Not yet. She had too many demons to exorcise, too many decisions to reconcile. The six months away from the ship had been hard on him – she could see that. He didn't understand why she was keeping him at arms' length now, and it was hurting him.

Someday, he would understand that she'd had no choice.

Kathryn hiked up the hill and through the trees to the rim of the valley, where she stopped to catch her breath. A sudden breeze blew up out of the valley, pulling a whirlwind of leaves in its wake. Kathryn watched them bobbing on the breeze, whipping through the air one moment, hovering in the next, then swirling out of sight. What must it be like to be pushed and pulled by gentle breezes, high and then low, never following a straight course? What must it feel like to be weightless and unburdened, to be buoyed up by the tender mercy of the wind?

What would it be like to let go?

She pushed the melancholy thought away and headed down into the valley where Voyager rested. She barely took time to notice the ship's scars and injuries. She'd studied them, mourned them and made peace with them days ago. "Badges of honor," she called them now, much like the scars on her own face and arms. At the edge of the lower hull she climbed up the temporary stairs and through the open hatch.

The interior of the ship wasn't in much better shape than the exterior, but the cleanup job was well underway. Fallen hull plates and girders had been removed, repaired and stacked neatly in place, just waiting for crews to put them back into position. The emergency lighting was functional all over the ship. Communications were intermittent at best, but getting better. B'Elanna's team had most of the bio-neural gelpacks back in place and functioning again. Navigation was nonfunctional, the deflector control center was still in shambles, and crew quarters were unlivable. There was still at least a month's worth of work ahead of them, probably more, but the work was progressing at a satisfactory pace. Voyager would be spaceworthy again – something Kathryn had despaired of just a few short weeks ago. She was proud of her ship and proud of her crew. They'd come a long way together. And although she knew that after the Year of Hell nothing on her ship would ever quite be the same, she'd begun to believe that they would emerge from it stronger than they'd been before.

The ship would be whole again. She would be whole again, too. Soon. But not yet.

Sickbay, her destination, was quiet and dark. The medical replicators were still down and the Mawasi, a race whose natural regenerative powers and robust immune systems made medical technology virtually unnecessary, seemed completely unable to help get the systems back online. There were other troublesome problems, too. There wasn't a single workable dermal regenerator left on the ship, their stores of antibiotics were dangerously low and the small blood supply they kept in reserve was rendered useless when the medical stasis units stopped functioning. Kathryn hoped that once they left Mawasi their journey would be free of incident for a while. The implications of serious injury or illness were more severe than they'd ever been.

In the center of the main bay, she stopped and raised her head. "Computer, raise lights to fifty percent and activate Emergency Psychiatric Hologram."

The Doc shimmered into existence before her. He smiled. "Good morning, Kathryn. Right on time as usual. Shall we go to my office?"

Kathryn nodded with a small smile. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the differences between the EMH and the EPH. They sounded alike...but they were wildly different, from the warm smile and the kind eyes to the tweed suit and the goatee – no doubt Paris's custom additions. The differences made the EPH easier to talk to than the prickly EMH, and for that the crew had been grateful. Still. It was...oddly unsettling. Kathryn wondered what they would do with the EPH when they didn't need him anymore. Store him away in a databank, never to be reactivated? It didn't seem right, somehow.

Another conundrum for another time.

She followed him into his office and sank into the guest chair. He settled himself behind his desk, where a mug of hot Mawasi "coffee" awaited her, as always. "How are you this morning, Kathryn?"

She shrugged and took up the hot drink. "I can't complain."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You could complain, but you won't," he corrected.

"Touché."

"Are you sleeping any better?"

"A little. I still have trouble falling asleep, but I'm at least sleeping soundly."

"No nightmares?" he asked. "No flashbacks?"

She shook her head. "No, nothing like that."

"Is there anything in particular you would like to talk about today?"

She waved her hand at him. They'd already talked about her obsessive behavior during the Year of Hell, her trauma at having to put the crew off the ship, and her apparent death wish when she had initially refused to leave Voyager at the end. While she hadn't completely reconciled those darker parts of her personality and how they had come to the fore, she had started to feel more like herself again lately. There was no need to cover that territory again, not today. "Your choice."

"Very well." He cocked his head at her. "Tell me about the fire."

Kathryn swallowed hard. She had known this topic would come up eventually, but even so, she found herself unprepared to go back to that day. The memories were still hard to bear, and while she'd tried to put them behind her, they were still there every time she looked in the mirror, every time she stared down at her scarred hands.

"The fire?" the Doc prompted again.

"Right. The fire." She took a sip of the Mawasi concoction and grimaced. The ship's replicators were at least a week away from being operational and though the Mawasi chefs had tried, they still couldn't quite reproduce the rich, layered flavor of a decent Kona. She folded her hands around the mug and stared into the swirling liquid. "It was about...six months into the Year of Hell. Lieutenant Paris and Chakotay had been gone for almost four months by then, and I had already put most of the crew off the ship in escape pods."

"So you were down to a skeleton crew."

She nodded. "Senior officers only. Voyager was badly damaged and barely keeping us alive. We came across a field of micrometeoroids and the deflector array went offline."

"Leaving you vulnerable to hull erosion."

"Yes. So I went down to Deflector Control to find out why the array was offline." She took another sip of her drink. "It was on fire. Hazard level 4. The doors were jammed open so I couldn't close it off to remove the oxygen and starve the fire. The only way to make repairs was to go through."

"Were you afraid?"

Her gaze snapped back to him. "I didn't have time to be afraid. I grabbed a piece of bulkhead, used it as a shield and went in."

"What was it like?"

Kathryn rolled her eyes. "It was hot."

The Doc stared at her calmly.

She sighed and looked inward again. They'd already discussed her tendency to deflect his questions with flippant answers. "It was bad," she said at last. "The touchpad burned my hands and the flames melted my uniform to my arms." She held her arms out in front of her and pulled up her sleeves, revealing livid burn scars. "And my face..." She touched her right cheek and closed her eyes. For a moment, she felt the flames licking at her again, white-hot and angry. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "But there was no time to spare. I brought the array back online and alerted the Bridge. Then I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was in Sickbay with you." She waved her hand when he started to protest. "The EMH, that is."

"And yet you have had no nightmares about this? No flashbacks?"

She shook her head, surprised by the repeated question. "No. Is that unusual?"

"Not necessarily," he said. "You were resolved that you were doing what had to be done. Your conscience seems to be clear on that point, so you may have no need to make peace with the decision. You have always had an exceptionally high pain threshold, so the physical trauma hasn't significantly affected you either. And the Medical Doctor was able to stop the pain, even if he couldn't do anything about the scarring." He shrugged. "So the lack of nightmares and flashbacks is a good sign."

She stared at him. "And yet?" she prompted.

"And yet..." He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "Why haven't you gone to any of the bonfires, Kathryn?"

"Bonfires?"

"You're aware that the crew has a bonfire on the beach every night, weather permitting."

"Of course." The fires were another of Chakotay and Tom's suggestions, an informal way for the crew to reconnect with each other at the end of each workday. Some of the gatherings had also become rather raucous welcoming parties for the returning crewmembers. She'd heard through the grapevine about the return of Megan and Jenny Delaney, and the crew's sudden discovery that Mawasi ale packed quite the wallop.

"And yet you have not attended a single gathering."

She frowned at him. "What has that got to do with anything?"

He leaned toward her across the desk. "Do you fear the flames?"

It was all she could do not to lie back in her chair and howl with laughter. "Not at all."

He blinked at her in surprise. "Then why have you been avoiding the bonfires? Surely you know it would do the crew good to see you there."

She brushed imaginary lint from her uniform. "I'm sure it would."

"Then Kathryn-"

"I don't want to talk about it." She folded her hands in her lap.

The EPH sat back with a look of grim satisfaction. "Finally," he murmured. "We come to it."

"What do you mean?"

"This is our fourth session, Kathryn, and you have yet to push back against any question I've asked you, any topic I've broached. And yet I knew there was something you were avoiding. Is this it? The bonfires?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. He was skirting dangerous territory. "I've told you I'm not afraid of the flames."

"Not the flames. The gatherings. You're avoiding them, even though you concede that the crew needs to see you there. Perhaps it's not the flames you're avoiding, or the gatherings. But there is something..." He stared at her levelly. "Perhaps someone."

Her head snapped up.

"In fact, you have stayed away from all of the informal crew gatherings," he continued. His gaze was cool and clinical. Knowing. Kathryn swallowed hard. "You attend meetings, of course, and you have dropped in on every work detail as well. Except one."

"Who have you been talking to?"

"Who do you think?" The Doc sat back in his chair, arms folded across his holographic chest. "He won't come to me on his own behalf, but-"

A bolt of cold fear ran down her spine. "Does he need to? Should he be coming in for counseling?"

The Doc blinked at her sudden intensity. "No. I declared him free of PTSD at his initial evaluation. He's fine."

"Then why is he coming to you?"

"Because he's worried about you."

She grimaced. "He's always worried about me."

"And why is that, do you think?"

"He's my First Officer," she said coolly. "It's his job."

"True," he conceded. "But there's always been...something more. Hasn't there?"

"We're friends."

"A friend might suggest counseling, Kathryn. But he comes to me every few days, consumed with worry for you. He wants to help you, but he doesn't know how. And he's afraid you wouldn't let him even if he did know how. That's more than friendship. That's-"

"That's enough." She stood up and headed out of the office. "I think we're finished here."

"No, Kathryn, I don't think we are."

She whirled on him, unsurprised to find him standing as well. "Computer, end EPH."

Nothing happened.

"You can't shut me down," he said. "It's a fail-safe in the program. Tom and Chakotay knew that eventually someone might try to turn me off instead of talking about something uncomfortable." He smiled grimly. "Tom even speculated that it would be either you or B'Elanna. He was right on both counts."

"Damn him. Damn them both." She rubbed her forehead. "I could just walk out."

"You could indeed. But stay and hear me out. You don't need to tell me anything else, but you need to listen to me, just for a minute. You're not the only person to have found yourself in this position, Kathryn."

"What position?" she asked, hoping to deflect attention from herself.

His gaze was steady and unnerving. "Wondering if your feelings for someone are real or only PTSD symptoms."

She blanched.

"I think I know why you've been avoiding the bonfires, Kathryn," he continued. "And the meals at the resort, and his work detail. It's him, isn't it? You don't want to be alone with him."

She swallowed hard. It was too soon for this. She had resolved to work through this on her own, to come back to their friendship in her own time, when she was less keenly aware of how much she'd missed him while he'd been gone. "Doctor, I can't-"

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to," he said kindly. "But I do ask that you listen very carefully."

Clearly, there was no avoiding this conversation. She supposed that if things got too personal, she could always delete the information from his data banks.

Not that she would.

Probably.

She fell back into his guest chair with a sigh. "I'm listening."

"Very well." He sat down, too, and folded his hands on the desk again. "Increased... affection... can be a symptom of PTSD. It's not unusual, and it's nothing to be ashamed of or worried about. Do you understand what I mean?"

She nodded. Her cabin was near Tom and B'Elanna's, after all, and she'd heard about other couples' reunions. "Affection" was a polite euphemism for what was really going on.

"Good," he said. "The need to do something life-affirming after a near-death situation is completely normal. For committed couples, it can be a healthy outlet. For casual couples... As long as both parties understand that the relationship may not be permanent and no one gets hurt, there is nothing wrong with exchanging a little 'Friendly Fire' as part of the recovery."

Another euphemism. Kathryn suppressed a smile. She was not about to exchange "Friendly Fire" with her First Officer – or anyone else. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll take it under advisement."

"I'm not finished."

She ground her teeth and sat back down. "Fine."

"PTSD can also be followed by a period of post-traumatic growth as the patient re-evaluates her priorities. Trivial, external influences can fall away, leaving behind a new appreciation of what is really important. This leads to a truer, more authentic self as she becomes more attuned to and accepting of her own innermost feelings."

Kathryn kept her face carefully neutral. "I don't understand."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I think you do. I think that right now, you're avoiding Chakotay because your feelings for him are very close to the surface. You believe these feelings are nothing but PTSD symptoms, and they will go away in time."

"They will."

He ignored that. "I submit to you instead that you will soon emerge from acute PTSD and enter a period of growth. You are rediscovering your place, your purpose, and realizing that your relationships with the people around you may be more important to you than they ever were before the Year of Hell – more important even than maintaining the propriety of distance, or following the rules of a Starfleet that is still 50,000 light years away."

"So you're saying that these feelings – if I have them at all – might not be PTSD symptoms?"

He shook his head. "Wanting to exchange Friendly Fire would be a PTSD symptom. If you were concerned about compromising your command relationship with Chakotay, or afraid one of you might become...permanently attached, I'd tell you to go into the Holodeck or onto the Mawasi resort, find a suitable companion and do what comes naturally."

"But?"

"But..." He hesitated. "The fact that you had feelings for him before the Year of Hell complicates matters."

She wanted to deny it. Every command class she'd ever had, every second of her training told her she should deny it.

But her own voice came back to her from a time long ago, before the Year of Hell but indelible in her memory. Three years ago I didn't even know your name. Today I can't imagine a day without you.

They had disagreed about the Borg just a short time later, a professional rift she had turned into something ugly and personal.

But that moment, that unguarded, quiet moment – his dark, intense eyes, the feel of his solid body under her hands – had sustained her through six months without him. Much later, she realized that the disagreement mattered far less than the connection they had made in that moment.

And there were other moments, too. Breakfasts in her quarters. Dinners in the galley. Hours spent in Sickbay at his bedside, waiting for him to wake up and reassure her that he was all right.

A late night sail on the day he'd watched her die.

A transparent and touching story told on a planet they'd left behind so long ago.

A meaningful gift, kept against orders and carefully set aside to give another day.

A warm hand on her cheek, gentle fingers moving through her hair – a tender touch even as he begged her to save herself.

Kathryn closed her eyes.

The Doc's voice, when it came, was surprisingly mild. "Wanting to tell him how much you missed him and how much he means to you is not a PTSD symptom. It's a normal, healthy reaction to the trauma you've been through. It's a strong step in your recovery, Kathryn. It's nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear."

It was the fear that kept her awake late into the night, that made her avoid anything other than perfunctory contact with him, that tore at her every time she turned her back on him: Fear that if she let him know how she felt, she would lose herself. Fear that if she didn't, she would lose him. Her own privateKobayashi Maru.

She took Chakotay's watch in her hands. "And you don't think that feeling is temporary? That it won't just go away with time?"

"No. I don't believe it will, given your history together." The Doc hesitated. "And until you deal with this one way or another, your command relationship with him will be compromised, Friendly Fire or not. You can't keep avoiding him. It's hurting you both."

"I know," she whispered. "But I don't think I'm ready to face this yet."

"Then you must do the work until you are ready to face it," he said. "Acknowledging your feelings would be the best place to start. And then... You must decide whether the support and companionship you would gain from a deeper relationship with Chakotay is greater than what you think you would risk, from a loss of objectivity to the crew's disapproval – neither of which I anticipate, incidentally. And you must decide whether Starfleet's censure still matters to you on this side of the Year of Hell, whether we find a way back to the Alpha Quadrant next week, next year, or next decade."

"Do the work..." she mused. She opened her eyes. "How do I start?"

The Doc put his hands flat on the desk between them. "I'm going to ask you a question," he said. "You don't have to answer it now. You don't have to giveme an answer at all. But you need to be honest with yourself before you can decide upon your next steps."

She steeled herself, uncannily afraid of the question – and of her answer. "Go ahead," she said softly. "Ask it."

He nodded, as if grateful for her permission. "Captain, how long have you been in love with your First Officer?"

=/\=

"Try it now, sir."

"Computer: Activate tactile interface, Bridge Security station."

Silence.

Harry threw down his scanner and sat back against the console. "I'm sorry, sir. I've tried reinitializing the system, reinstalling the protocol and rerouting the power. I don't know what's wrong with it."

Tuvok placed his hand flat against the dark console. "Nor do I, Ensign. But I thank you for your attempts."

Harry rubbed his hand over his face. The day had started off well enough with breakfast at the resort with Tom and B'Elanna. Chakotay had stopped by later with altered duty assignments for the day. They'd all sat together chatting for half an hour over plates heaped with fresh fruit, omelets and Neelix's first attempt at Mawasi pastries – surprisingly tasty pastries at that. For just a minute, things had seemed normal. They were all enjoying shore leave together, or down time in the Holodeck, and would return after breakfast to their stations on a Bridge that was whole and functional.

Not to this...this shell.

It made him almost sick to look at it – the charred furniture, the broken consoles, the burned-out displays. Not because of the work that was ahead of them; he'd never shied away from hard work. No, it made him sick because Voyager had been beautiful once, her Bridge the nerve center of a gorgeous little ship that had become home to him.

He pulled his knees to his chest and sighed. After four hours of patching relays, replacing circuitry and working on Tuvok's tactile interface, that sunny breakfast at the resort seemed a thousand light years away.

"Are you quite well, Ensign?"

Harry picked up his scanner again. "I'm all right, sir. Just tired, I guess." He clambered to his feet and stood next to the older man. "Maybe if I reinitialize from the backup server..." he muttered.

Tuvok stood very still at his non-operational console. "Ensign...

Harry didn't look up. "Yes, sir?"

"There is no need for you to repair this console now. I know this is not the detail to which you were assigned today."

"No, sir, but I don't mind." He reconfigured his scanner. "Let me just -"

"Mister Kim. Please stop."

Something in Tuvok's voice made Harry lower his hands. Maybe it was the note of gentleness, of concern. Whatever it was, it caught him off guard. "Sir?"

"Why are you so fixated on repairing my console?"

Harry took a deep, thoughtful breath. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I just...I feel like I need to accomplish something today."

"Have you accomplished nothing before today?"

"No, I have. I've helped out all over the ship. It's just that..." He looked around the broken Bridge. "The repairs I've worked on have all been ongoing things. You know?"

"No, Ensign. Perhaps an example?"

Harry shrugged, realized Tuvok couldn't see it and continued, feeling his way around the emotions as he went. "It seems like everything is taking too long. I can spend days ripping out damaged bulkheads, and days more replacing them. The end of every task feels so far away." He placed his hand on the dark console. "But if I could just fix this, just get this one console up and running for you, it might feel like I did something. I finished something." He sighed. "That's not very logical, is it?"

"No, Ensign, it is not." Harry slumped a little in shame, but then Tuvok continued. "It is, however, quite understandable. It is important," Tuvok said slowly, "to see oneself as useful."

Harry mentally kicked himself. While wallowing in his own sense of futility, he had completely forgotten that Tuvok was, in actual fact, useless – until the console was repaired. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't-"

Tuvok gave his head a small shake. "I only meant that it can seem as though we will never be finished with the repairs."

"Of course, sir." Harry decided to accept the evasion. "That's it exactly. It seems like there's no end in sight. But today, if I could just do this one thing..."

He trailed off, watching Tuvok's face. The older man's eyebrows knit together for an instant, then his face relaxed. "Could you rig an aural interface, Ensign?

Harry stood very still, thinking. The console wasn't damaged beyond repair, it just wasn't recognizing the tactile subroutine, possibly because it required too much power to run the holographic matrix – and the holosystems weren't reliable right now, anyway. Maybe with an infusion of the Mawasi's superior holographic technology, they would be.

But for now... An aural interface? Harry smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I think I could do that. And sir, I might know a way to get the tactile interface going in a couple of days, too."

"That would be quite the accomplishment, Ensign."

Harry chuckled. "I guess it would. Thank you, sir."

"You are very welcome, Ensign."

Harry picked up his scanner and dived back under the console. He'd been working for half an hour, exchanging quiet words with Tuvok, when the Bridge doors groaned open.

"Hello, Tuvok," said Commander Chakotay's voice. "And who have we here?" Chakotay's booted feet stopped right next to his head. The Commander leaned down and peered underneath the console. "Harry. Weren't you assigned to Engineering today?"

Harry shimmied out from under the console and stood up. "Yes, sir. But when I came up to the Bridge to test the power monitor, I found Tuvok having trouble with his console, so I asked B'Elanna if I could stay here and... I hope that's all right?"

Chakotay placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's fine, Ensign. We all have latitude to judge the situation and change priorities, when necessary. It'll all get done eventually."

"Thank you, sir."

"How goes it with this console?"

"The tactile interface is down, sir, so I'm trying to rig an aural interface so Tuvok can work here. And then..." He took a deep breath. "I'd like to spend some time working with the Mawasi holographic technology, sir. I think maybe we can come up with a more flexible and useful tactile interface if we incorporate some of their tech."

Chakotay gave a quick nod. "That's a good idea. Good work, Ensign. I'll see that you're reassigned tomorrow. If you want help, let me know who you need."

Harry stood up a little straighter. "Yes, sir. Thank you sir."

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "I would like to volunteer for that assignment, Commander."

"Of course, Tuvok."

Harry suddenly remembered that Commander Chakotay wasn't assigned to the Bridge today, either. "What brings you here, sir?"

Chakotay smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "A special project I'm working on," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be in the Ready Room."

Harry watched him disappear into the Captain's office. "What's he doing in there, I wonder?"

Tuvok gave a tiny sigh. "I believe he is cleaning it, Ensign."

"Cleaning? Really? He assigned himself to Deflector Control today."

"Indeed. For the past four days, he has come to the Bridge at approximately the same time, worked in the Ready Room for sixty minutes, and returned to his primary assignment."

"That must be why no one has seen him at lunch. He's giving up his break to clean her office."

"Indeed."

Harry drummed his fingers on the console. "Does she know he's been in there?"

"No. I do not believe she does."

"It's too bad," Harry mused, and knelt down beneath the console again.

"Why is that, Ensign?"

Harry cocked his head to one side. Chakotay was a Grand Gesture kind of guy. He sometimes didn't say a lot, but his actions spoke for him. And in this case, cleaning the Captain's office was a gesture that spoke volumes about his loyalty to her, his worry, his absolute devotion. There was no good way to communicate all of that to Tuvok, though.

"Ensign?"

"Because it would make her smile," he finally said, and went back to work.

=/\=

The ship's air was suddenly stifling.

Kathryn swept out of Sickbay and down the corridor with no clear direction in mind. Just... off the ship. Out into the open air, where she could breathe freely and think clearly, away from the walls that reminded her of who she was and what she couldn't have.

Or thought she couldn't have. The EPH had been very clear on that point. The barriers she put up between herself and her First Officer were hers, not Starfleet's, not this far away from HQ and all their rules and regulations – most of which she'd broken repeatedly anyway. No, they were walls she'd constructed all on her own.

How and when had this happened?

She'd spent the better part of two additional hours with the EPH trying to puzzle it out. "How" turned out to be the easier question. Chakotay was an attractive, intriguing man, that much was certain. And there was no subterfuge in him at all when it came to his feelings for her. What she'd thought at first was simple respect for her position was clearly more. Far more.

As for when... She'd known practically from the start. The memory of their conversation about fraternization – so early on in their journey – had stayed fresh for years. He'd asked her outright if she was planning to "pair off," and at the time she'd thrown Mark up as a wall between them. She'd believed it, too – but she'd stolen a glance at his face, his downcast eyes, just the same.

Is that when it had first happened? That long ago?

Kathryn rubbed her forehead and turned down another dark corridor, sucking in stale air. And what of Mark? When had he become less a reason not to get involved and more of an excuse? Mark was a dear man, and loyal, but he'd always been the safe choice. The solid, simple lover back home who took care of her dog when she was away and warmed her bed when she was home – which was not that often, given her career path. Had he been an alibi even then, even before the Caretaker? Was he just an excuse to play at marriage without working at commitment?

Just a safety net?

Chakotay was far from safe.

I can't imagine a day without you...

She'd never said such a thing to Mark.

And in fact she had imagined days without Mark. Many of them. They'd both known from the start that they would be apart at least as much as together, maybe more. Even before Caretaker, he'd been little more than a pleasant thought in the back of her mind for months at a time. Someone to return to for a brief, intense reunion... and then leave behind.

Oh, she'd missed him in those first Delta Quadrant days. But she couldn't recall the last time she'd thought of him as anything other than a distant, fond memory.

Had he been nothing more than a diversion?

An excuse not to risk herself on something deeper and more intense – whether in the Alpha Quadrant or in the Delta Quadrant?

Mark was little more than an abstraction now. If they found a way home tomorrow, she would be glad to see him. She had no doubts about that.

But he was not the man she had missed fiercely every day for six long months while her ship and her crew and her life fell apart around her. He was not the man she had looked forward to seeing every morning for the last four years. Not anymore.

Maybe he never had been.

The shame of that realization had caused the walls of the ship to start closing in on her.

Had she accepted Mark's proposal because there was no real risk involved, a simple way to keep herself safe?

Had she loved him at all?

Had she ever loved – really loved – anyone since Justin's death? Had she even tried?

No. She realized it at once. She had never risked her heart so much again.

She wasn't sure she remembered what deep, joyful love felt like. It had been too long.

She rounded the last curve before the access hatch with tears in her eyes.

So many questions, none with good answers. And then one final question, forced from her throat in a half-whisper, half-sob.

"Am I a monster?" she had asked the EPH. "For using Mark this way?"

The Doc's eyes had been so kind, she had to look away. "No," he'd said. "Not a monster. But human. Very human. And maybe you're realizing it for the first time in years."

The words – the regret she felt at hearing them – had sent her flying from the office. That and another sudden epiphany: She wasn't just using Mark. She was using Starfleet, too. Her career had become a convenient excuse not to let herself get too close to anyone ever again, not even Mark. She would gladly risk life and limb and tell herself she couldn't risk her heart because her career was too consuming and too dangerous. She didn't want to hurt anyone by running off and dying somewhere. Not even Mark. Poor, sweet Mark, who deserved better than half a marriage, half a heart.

But out here, that was meaningless. They were all in the same boat, literally. By closing herself off, she was protecting only one person. Herself.

Not her ship – the ship had run just fine for four years while she quietly fell in love with her First Officer.

Not her crew, who had been through the same trauma she had, who were experiencing the same realizations about their lives and who probably knew exactly what was going on.

Not her position; she was too experienced, confident and professional to be anything other than the Captain she'd always been whether or not she acted on her feelings.

She was only protecting herself. But from what? The fear that she might someday have to order him into terrible danger? The fear that he might not come back? The fear that she might lose him whether she acted on her feelings or not?

How would that be any different from the way things currently were? She already worried about him, worried about them all whenever they were away from the ship. It was her job.

Would a relationship with him make that worry more acute...or would it make it easier to send him away, knowing that if the unthinkable happened he would at least know how she'd felt?

And what was the alternative?

A life of no risk, no hurt.

And no reward.

Safe.

And dull as hell.

She had to get off the ship. She couldn't think there, not with the walls and responsibilities – real and imagined – closing in on her.

She keyed open the access hatch, intending to bolt down the steps, race across the drydock, and...

To the beach. Yes. She suddenly had an overwhelming urge to smell the fresh air, to feel the cool spray on her face and the wind in her hair.

But someone was coming up the steps. Neelix, beaming and carrying a PADD in his hands.

"Captain!" he squealed. "I was hoping to find you!"

She forced herself to give him her full attention. "What is it, Neelix?"

He thrust the PADD at her. "The ship's comm system is still down, so this came over the Mawasi network. Captain, it's Sam and Naomi! They'll be here this afternoon!"

Kathryn's heart lifted, for what felt like the first time in months. "That's wonderful news, Neelix." She activated the PADD and scrolled through Sam's report, an account of their flight from Voyager, finding refuge on an inhabited moon, intercepting news of Voyager's location. And finally, a flight plan that would land them on Mawasi in just a few hours.

She grinned at the Talaxian. "We need to throw them a party."

The little man bounced on his toes. "I was hoping you'd say that, Captain. I've been working with the Mawasi chefs, and -"

She cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. "Do it. Pull anyone you think you need. In fact, I'm going to give the whole crew the afternoon off to celebrate. They all deserve it. Since the ship's comm is down, we'll need to tell everyone personally. I'll go find Chakotay first and -"

She stopped suddenly.

And I'll tell him. Because it'll make him smile. And I haven't seen him smile, really smile, in almost a year.

She did know what deep, joyful love felt like.

She'd been feeling it for years, never more acutely than the moment he had materialized on the Bridge with a mad plan to save the ship, to save the crew, to save her from herself.

"Captain? Are you all right?"

Kathryn blinked back tears. "I think I am, Neelix. Finally." She squeezed his shoulder one last time and withdrew her hand. "Start spreading the word. We'll meet them at the landing, and then," she nodded once, decisively. "Party at the resort. Go."

"Yes, ma'am!" He darted down the stairs and out of sight.

Kathryn scrolled through the padd until she found the day's duty roster. She found the name she was looking for under Deflector Control.

How long have you been in love with your First Officer?

That wasn't even a relevant question anymore.

The more important question was: What are you going to do about it?

She headed back the way she had come, a cool breeze from the open hatch at her back.

=/\=

Astrometrics was strangely quiet.

It had never been a bustling center of activity like other areas of Voyager, but today it seemed even quieter than usual. The background hum of the massive viewscreen was absent, and the main console was silent and dark. The illumination was minimal as it was on most of the ship, but Seven's ocular implant compensated for the dimness.

She had already removed the console's access panel and was pulling out its components one by one, arranging them in a pattern on the floor that would allow her to test them individually and replace them in as efficient a manner as possible.

She was alone in the room.

Tuvok, who had been her constant companion for the last few months thanks to his blindness and her responsibility for it, was on the Bridge today. And the Captain, who had promised to work with her in Astrometrics, had not yet arrived. In fact, the Captain was now two hours and twenty-seven minutes late. The ship's comm system was down for the second day in a row, so short of walking through the ship and locating her manually – and inefficiently – Seven had no way of knowing why the Captain was absent, or when she would arrive.

Perhaps she had been called away unexpectedly.

Perhaps she was simply avoiding contact, as she had since their arrival on Mawasi.

Seven had overheard the crew's murmured speculation about their leader's avoidance of anything other than cursory, line-of-duty contact with them. The Captain had visited most of the work teams, of course, and led senior staff meetings with her usual level of professionalism. She had not, however, been seen in the lodge for meals, nor had she joined any of the less-formal crew gatherings. Seven had even heard Lieutenant Paris describe her as a "ghostly presence," a silent specter at the edges of their gatherings and a melancholy thought in the back of their minds.

Seven had rejected the fanciful description, of course.

Nevertheless, her own observations were in line with the rest of the crew's. The Captain had removed herself from them, and no one knew precisely why. They were concerned for her.

Commander Chakotay's concern was especially evident.

His work was never anything less than thorough and efficient, but it was clear that he was emotionally compromised. Even Seven, as unfamiliar as she was with human emotions, could see the evidence without resorting to her remaining Borg implants and sensors. It was there in the slump of his shoulders whenever the Captain rebuffed him, the set of his jaw when the crew wondered about her. He was worried.

Worry was, of course, inefficient.

The Captain was an adult and fully capable of taking care of herself. His worry was irrelevant. As long as her work was thorough and efficient as well, there was very little point in anyone – the Commander or the rest of the crew – concerning themselves with her well-being.

Seven herself had more pressing concerns.

Tuvok's well-being, for one. He was also an adult, but no longer capable of looking after himself. Her concern and care were, therefore, necessary. And so she had devoted most of her off-duty time to helping him in whatever way he would allow. He needed her.

A curious sensation, being needed. Like being part of a Collective again.

And in addition to Tuvok, Seven had Astrometrics to contend with. It was vital that the system be fully functional before they left the Mawasi homeworld. So far the system had proved to be... non-compliant. She had requested the Captain's help because the Captain, unlike Ensign Kim, was far less prone to taking the system's recalcitrance as a personal affront.

Yet the Captain was absent today, and now two hours and forty-three minutes late.

And Astrometrics, as a result, was strangely quiet.

The whole ship was quiet, and had been since their arrival on the Mawasi homeworld.

Upon landing, the crew had evacuated immediately to the Mawasi resort cabins. Seven had directed the removal of her regeneration unit to a cabin near Tuvok's. She had thought that she would be assigned a roommate, given that she had no intention of using the soft bed. Occupying the cabin alone was an inefficient use of resources.

The Captain had given her an unreadable look when Seven had questioned her assignment.

"Is there someone you want to room with, Seven?" she had asked. "Someone in particular?"

Seven had blinked rapidly, unable to understand the reason for the question. "No, Captain. But I will not be using the cabin's full range of resources. Would it not be more efficient to assign a second crewmember to the space?"

The Captain had smiled. "The Mawasi have plenty of room, Seven. Enjoy it while you can. Soon enough we'll be back on the ship, living on top of each other again."

And so Seven worked alone most days, spent a few hours caring for Tuvok, and retreated alone to her regeneration unit in her inefficiently occupied cabin.

The Captain, however, had worked with her for the past two days in Astrometrics, and while she was not especially talkative, she had at least conversed about the repairs at hand. Seven, also not prone to idle conversation, had nevertheless found it...comforting to have another voice to listen to while she worked. The Captain seemed to understand this.

Seven pried another component from the console, scanned its serial number into her PADD and set it aside. This operation would be far more efficient if she had help.

She suppressed the very human urge to sigh and worked in silence for another seventeen minutes.

At 1100 hours, three hours later than her scheduled appearance, the Captain arrived in Astrometrics.

She breezed through the open doorway, offering an apology even before Seven could acknowledge her presence. "Seven, I'm so sorry," she began. "I had an appointment with the EPH this morning that ran longer than I expected."

"Apology accepted, although irrelevant, Captain." Seven stood up. "I have finished removing the components from the console so that we can -"

The Captain waved a hand. "Wait, Seven. I'm afraid I won't be working with you today. I just came to let you know." She cocked her head to one side. "And I came to give you and everyone the rest of the day off."

This time, Seven frowned. There was still much work to be done. "May I ask why, Captain?"

"Because Sam and Naomi are on their way, Seven. They'll be here in a few hours, and we're having a party."

Seven stood very still. "I am...gratified, Captain."

"I knew you would be." The Captain smiled, something none of them had seen her do for months. Seven found herself relaxing at the sight. Interesting. She would have to ask Tuvok what it meant that her commanding officer's expression could affect her in this way.

"So just leave this here, Seven." The Captain waved vaguely at the components lined up neatly on the floor. "We'll start in again tomorrow. For now, though, maybe you can help me with something else."

"Of course, Captain."

"Have you seen Chakotay anywhere?

Seven blinked. "I believe he had assigned himself to Deflector Control today."

The Captain raised the PADD in her hands. "I have the duty roster. I stopped in Deflector Control but he's not there. Has he been here today to check on you?"

Seven pondered her answer for a long moment. Knowing as he did that the Captain was to have been assigned to Astrometrics, the likelihood of his checking in on them was virtually nonexistent. The Captain might be avoiding him...but he was also clearly attempting to "stay out of her hair," as Lieutenant Paris might say. The fact that she was actively seeking his company for the first time since their arrival on Mawasi was a fascinating development indeed.

"Not today," Seven finally said, her face carefully devoid of expression.

"I see." The Captain slumped a little and her smile vanished. Seven filed this information away for discussion with Tuvok as well. "I guess I'll just keep looking, then."

"May I accompany you?"

The Captain looked up at her. Seven read her round-eyed expression as one of surprise. "Of course, Seven. I'd like that."

"Then I place myself at your service, Captain."

The Captain gave her a quick nod and headed out into the corridor, Seven following in her wake.

=/\=

Environmental Control was hotter than Vulcan's Forge.

Ironic.

Tom wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve, cursed mightily and sat back to stare at the console in front of him. The damn thing just wouldn't cooperate. He'd been trying all morning to get the ship's air recyclers up and running again. Nothing. Not even a wheeze.

An hour into the task he'd stalked down to the shuttle bay and opened the hull doors manually, just for a breath of fresh air. He'd found Chell there pulling spare parts from one of the shuttles. Together they had gone through the ship him deck by deck, opening as many access hatches and hull doors as they could find, hoping to let the fresh air in.

It wasn't helping. At least not in Environmental Control. Tom wasn't pleased about being assigned there in the first place. Chakotay seemed to have made a point of giving everybody else tasks they'd enjoy. Seven was in Astrometrics with the Captain, B'Elanna was elbow-deep in the warp core, Harry was working on the Ops system in Engineering, Neelix was in the galley. Even Chell, a scavenger of the highest order, got to do what he loved.

Tom had asked Chakotay why he couldn't be assigned to the Holodeck or Navigational Control. "The Holodeck is nonessential right now," Chakotay had replied, "and Nav is no good to us until the engines are running anyway."

"But why Enviro Control?" Tom asked.

"Because you're a man who appreciates creature comforts, Tom," Chakotay had said with a wicked smile.

Damn the Old Man anyway.

At least it was almost time for lunch. The incredible meals at the resort had just about become the highlight of his days. Well, the meals and the long, hot showers with real water. Along with the bonfires on the beach. The wide variety of Mawasi ales. And the soft, comfortable bed in the cabin he shared with B'Elanna.

Hell, maybe he was a man of creature comforts. Tasty food, a comfortable bed, a pretty woman, and time to enjoy them all. That was all he really wanted out of life. Maybe an occasional drink and a fast ship to pilot. He'd found them all on Voyager. And it was all so unlikely, he'd learned not to question it too much.

Even now, with the ship in shambles around him, he wasn't questioning it. They'd get the ship up and running eventually. Tom had complete faith in his shipmates' dedication to the cause. In the two weeks on Mawasi they'd all thrown themselves into the work without complaint, pulling together to make repairs, design replacement parts and come up with new ways to use resources. The hard work was a part of the crew's recovery process. Even those who weren't battling PTSD needed something to focus on in the aftermath of everything they'd gone through. The daily routine of meals together, hard work and gatherings at the resort and on the beach helped. The predictability gave them time to figure out what life after the Year of Hell was going to be like. Priorities were shifting. Tom could see it in their faces as they rediscovered who they were as individuals, who they were as a crew, and what they could be together.

There was still work do be done, of course, and Tom knew the healing process was an ongoing thing. Some of them would probably still be dealing with the consequences of everything they'd gone through for the next couple of years. Maybe longer. But at least they were getting there together.

Tom's stomach growled. He glanced at the chronometer and decided it was close enough to lunchtime to justify leaving his assignment a few minutes early. Just for good measure, he gave the Enviro console a good kick as he passed by it. It emitted a sad little wail.

"Serves you right," Tom muttered, and went off to find B'Elanna and Harry.

The corridors were dim and hot. The Mawasi sun had been shining on the hull all morning, and because the recyclers were offline the air had become stagnant. Tom unzipped his uniform jacket and slung it over his shoulder. No sense in arriving in Engineering a sweaty mess. B'Elanna's hypersensitivity to smell – his smell in particular – would probably send her into orbit. Tom grinned. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

Creature comforts, indeed.

Just outside Main Engineering, he started to whistle. Since the Year of Hell B'Elanna did not like to be startled. He'd found that out the hard way shortly after their arrival on Mawasi and spent their first days there being teased mercilessly about his black eye.

Now whenever he was about to approach her from the blind side, he whistled a warning. Today's musical selection was "We're Having a Heatwave," Irving Berlin, 1938. Seemed fitting, even if B'Elanna wouldn't recognize it.

He stopped whistling as soon as he entered the room.

B'Elanna wouldn't hear it anyway, given that she was cursing at top volume.

Tom was instantly on Red Alert, heart pounding. Not again.

He hadn't been completely truthful with Chakotay two weeks ago. B'Elanna's aggression hadn't been confined to their private interactions. Not by a long shot.

He trotted through Engineering toward the sound of her voice, hoping that she was just shouting in general and not at someone this time.

No such luck.

She was standing next to the dark warp core, screaming at Vorik. The young Vulcan looked startled – as startled as a Vulcan can look, anyway.

Tom slowed and listened.

The EPH had run a workshop for the friends and partners of PTSD sufferers on how to deal with these outbursts. Listen to the tone as much as the words, he'd said, which was especially good advice for Tom given that B'Elanna tended to scream in Klingon almost as much as Standard. Today Tom could make out only something about the warp core, and a mistake Vorik had made while performing a series of tests.

Wait, no, not a mistake. Vorik hadn't been working fast enough for her.

Tom listened to her tone again. Impatient. Frustrated. Desperate.

He took a good look at her. She'd stripped off her uniform jacket and turtleneck and her tank top was drenched. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and her cheeks were flushed.

She wasn't angry. She was hot. She'd always been a little hypersensitive to stimuli – heat and smell in particular – and even more so since the Year of Hell. It was possible the PTSD was causing her to express that sensory overload as anger. Screaming, in fact.

Tom caught Vorik's eye and nodded. The Vulcan gulped and nodded back.

"B'Elanna," Tom said softly. "It's okay. It's not Vorik you're mad at."

She whirled on him, cursing in two languages.

He held up his hands. "It's hot in here. You're just hot."

She bared her teeth. "Vorik's an idiot," she spat.

"No, he's not. He's a good engineer and he's been working hard." Tom searched his memory for the steps he'd learned in the workshop. "Take a deep breath," he murmured. "In and out. Remember where you are."

B'Elanna stopped stalking toward him. She took a deep breath. Then another.

"Good," he soothed. "Now think. Are you really angry at Vorik?"

She finally looked at him clearly...and started to relax. "He was working too slow."

"Or was he just being careful?"

Her face fell. "He was being careful," she said. "Damn."

Just like that, her aggression was gone. Tom felt as drained as she looked. They'd gone through this every few days since landing on Mawasi, and it never got any easier. At least the outbursts were becoming less frequent with counseling. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Last step," he reminded her.

She nodded once and turned to Vorik. "I'm sorry," she said. Tom hoped Vorik could hear the sincerity in her voice. "You were doing fine. I was trying to work too fast."

The young Vulcan straightened. "Apology accepted, Lieutenant." He nodded at Tom and withdrew.

B'Elanna collapsed against him, her face pressed to his chest. She wouldn't cry. She rarely did. So he just held her close and let her breathe until both of their heartbeats slowed and steadied.

Finally her arms tightened around him. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's all right," he said.

She clutched at his uniform. "But this shouldn't be happening. Not anymore."

"You have to be patient with yourself, B'Elanna. You're not going to get better overnight. This is a process. You have to take it one step at a time. Don't try to do too much too fast."

She nodded against him. "You're right. But there's so much work to do."

"And the whole crew is helping. We're all doing the best we can."

"I know."

They held held each other tight for a few more minutes, until she drew back and looked up at him. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Any time. You know that."

She nodded and stood up on her toes to kiss him. When she drew back, she was wearing a small smile. "Why is it so hot in here anyway?"

He sighed and let her go. "Sorry. I've been trying to get the air recyclers running all morning."

She gave him a grin. "This is what happens when you assign a pilot to do an engineer's work. Want me to come take a look?"

He grabbed her hand, relieved that she seemed to be back to normal again. It never failed to amaze him how fast she could recover from one of these outbursts. Later, they would sit down together with the EPH and puzzle out what had caused it – although Tom was pretty certain it was the heat – and come up with a strategy for dealing with the same type of situation in the future. One step at a time. "Actually," he said, "it's time for lunch." He looked around. "Where's Harry?"

"He's up on the Bridge with Tuvok. I think he's working on the tactile interface."

"Think we can coax him to lunch?"

She shrugged. "It's worth a try. He's been more sociable since he started sessions with the EPH."

"I noticed. Maybe we can even get Tuvok to join us."

"Let's go."

Hand-in-hand, they headed toward the corridor – and nearly ran headlong into Captain Janeway. She sailed into Engineering at full impulse power, Seven right behind her. All four of them had to jump back to avoid a collision.

"Sorry, Captain," Tom yelped.

She gave him a crooked smile. "I seem to be moving too fast for my own good today."

Tom stared down at her. Something was different. She seemed...softer, somehow. "Everything okay, Captain?"

"Yes, thank you. But have you seen Chakotay anywhere?" She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to speak. "And before you ask, I've already looked in Deflector Control. He's not there."

Behind her, Seven spoke up. "And he was not in Astrometrics."

The Captain nodded. "We've also looked in Weapons Control and the main Transporter Room. We can't find him. But I need him right away."

B'Elanna squeezed his hand. Tom returned the gesture in answer to the silent question. Yes, he'd noticed the Captain's phrasing, too – and the fact that for the first time since he'd materialized on the broken Bridge two weeks ago, the Commander was apparently no longer persona non grata with the Captain.

"He's not here," B'Elanna said. She turned back to Engineering and raised her voice. "Anybody seen Commander Chakotay today?" she called. "The Captain's looking for him."

Heads popped up all over Engineering. There was a chorus of "No, ma'am" and "Not since breakfast."

Vorik stepped forward. "Perhaps he is at the resort for the midday meal."

Joe Carey's voice wafted down from the upper deck. "He hasn't been at lunch all week."

Tom watched the Captain's face carefully. Her expression went from hopeful to frustrated to worried in five seconds flat. "He's skipping meals?" she said. "That's not like him."

This time, Tom squeezed B'Elanna's hand. "How about we help you look for him, Captain?" he suggested. "And we'll send a runner over to the resort to see if he's there."

Gerron joined them. The young Bajoran was bouncing on his toes. "I'll go, Captain."

Joe descended from the upper deck. "I'll stay here in case he turns up."

Megan Delaney scooted out from under a nearby console. "Jenny's in Cargo Bay 2. I could go check with her."

From all over Engineering, crewmen stepped forward with offers to help her look for the wayward Commander. Tom kept his grin in check. Apparently everybody on the ship had noticed the seeming rift between the Captain and her right-hand man, and wanted to help fix it just as much as he and B'Elanna did.

She gave them all a look of surprise. "I..." she began, but faltered, gazing at each of their faces in turn. "Thank you," she said softly, then seemed to recover herself. "And you're all free to help me look for him, of course, but I have other news." She held up the PADD in her hand. "Sam and Naomi Wildman just contacted us. They're both fine and will be here in a few hours."

Just as there had been every other time a new arrival was announced, the news was met with a din of happy shouts. The Captain raised her voice over the noise. "We're throwing a party for them at the resort. So everybody, take the afternoon off. Go eat lunch, relax, and meet us at the landing pad at 1500 hours. Then, party at the lodge."

There was another round of whoops. Gerron darted out into the corridor, a man on a mission. The rest of them crowded around the Captain. She gave a quick nod. "Let's go find Chakotay," she said, and turned on her heel.

Tom and B'Elanna fell into step behind her, along with Seven and Vorik and a few others. Tom noted the surprised and delighted expressions on all his shipmates' faces as they wound their way among the disassembled consoles and out into the corridor, where the air suddenly seemed cooler and fresher than it had in days.

=/\=

By the time she reached the Bridge, Kathryn was hot and tired and felt as though she were leading a parade.

Seven had been with her since Astrometrics. They'd picked up B'Elanna, Tom, and Vorik in Engineering. Chell and Gloria Young Bear had joined them in the shuttlebay. Somewhere along the way both Delaney sisters had fallen into step with them. Without turning around, Kathryn knew there were at least half a dozen others besides. For almost an hour they had followed her through corridors, up and down Jeffries tubes and into little-known storage spaces, collecting more crewmen along the way. Suggestions had wafted up from the back of the group to the front for new places to look; news of Chakotay's absence passed from the front to the back every time they entered a room only to come up empty.

Kathryn felt lifted up by their unwavering support.

And also vaguely ridiculous when they all crowded into one turbolift for the ride to the Bridge.

When the lift stopped they all tumbled out behind her, startling both Harry and Tuvok at their work.

"Captain!" Harry exclaimed when he turned and saw them all surrounding him. "Something we can do for you?"

"I have news, Ensign, Lieutenant," she said. When Tuvok nodded at her, she continued. "Sam and Naomi are on their way. I'm giving everyone the afternoon off to meet them at the landing pad. And then -"

"Party?" Harry laughed.

Kathryn squeezed his shoulder, pleased at the sound of his laughter. He'd been withdrawn when they'd first arrived, and she was glad to know he was recovering. They all were. It wasn't going to happen quickly, but it was going to happen. She could feel it now, more strongly than ever before. "Party," she confirmed, and turned to her old friend. "You too, Tuvok. Seven's here to take you back the resort."

"Thank you, Captain," the Vulcan nodded.

"Before you go," she said, "have either of you seen Chakotay today? We've looked everywhere. I'm beginning to think he's left the ship."

Harry ducked his head. "Um," he said, and looked at Tuvok.

"Tuvok?" she asked.

Kathryn watched, fascinated, as Tuvok paused, head cocked to one side, then raised his chin as if coming to a decision about something. "The Commander is in your Ready Room, Captain," he said quietly.

All the air went out of Kathryn's lungs in a rush. "My Ready Room?" she whispered. She looked from Tuvok's serene expression to Harry's nervous one. "What's he doing in there?"

Harry took a deep breath. "We think he's cleaning it, Captain. For you."

Of course he was.

Kathryn's throat constricted.

She should have realized it sooner. The man had once built her a bathtub because of an offhand remark, after all. Cleaning her office? Just another gesture among four years of them – four years of the ways, large and small, that he had tried to make her life easier.

A hush had fallen over the Bridge behind her. Kathryn felt every eye upon her, heard every indrawn breath. She knew that her crew had noticed her absences from all their informal gatherings. She didn't think they'd noticed the way she was avoiding her First Officer. Belatedly, she realized how naïve she'd been, and just how disconnected.

She gave her head a little shake. "I should have known," she said. "Thank you both."

Harry leaned down to look into her eyes. "Don't be too hard on him, Captain. He's just doing it because -"

"I know why he's doing it, Harry." She patted his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. "And I don't plan to be hard on him at all."

Harry nodded and stepped away, giving her a clear path to the Ready Room. I'm ready for this, she thought, then crossed the Bridge and rang for entry. When nothing happened, she raised her hand and knocked, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.

The doors slid open and she stepped into her office for the first time in two weeks.

Behind her, the crew exchanged expectant glances and settled in to wait.

=/\=

With the late morning sunlight streaming in through the windows, the Ready Room was like a sauna. Clearly, Paris hadn't gotten the air recyclers working again. Chakotay had long ago stripped down to his undershirt, which was now soaked through with sweat. He had half a mind to abandon what he was doing, peel off the rest of his uniform and go jump in the lake.

But there was work to be done, here and elsewhere, and he wasn't about to leave it undone.

Especially this work.

So far he'd managed to clean most of the grime from the office, and even though he was convinced the room – the whole ship, in fact – would smell like burned electronics for at least a year, at least the place was starting to look normal again. Familiar.

And that's all he really wanted: Someplace familiar for her to go. To work. To recover. To do whatever it was she needed to do.

He wiped a trickle of sweat from the back of his neck.

At the sound of the knock, Chakotay reached behind him and hit the override on Kathryn's desk without looking up from the disassembled console beside it. "I'll be with you in a second, Harry," he called. "Just let me put this back together." He heard Harry take two quick steps into the room, then the doors slid closed behind him. Chakotay snapped the console's components back into place and was reaching for the panel cover when he realized Harry hadn't said anything yet. "Everything all right, Ensign?" he asked, holding the cover over the open console.

"I don't recall ordering maid service to my office, Commander."

Her voice hit him like a punch to the gut. Startled, he dropped the panel cover, which glanced off the console, slid down and clipped him in the shin before clattering to the floor. He barked out a curse and grabbed at his leg, already feeling blood trickle into his sock.

Before he could inspect the damage, Kathryn had come around the desk and pushed him into her chair. "Let me see," she ordered, knelt down and yanked up his pants leg. Sure enough, the panel had left a six-centimeter gash across his shin.

He sighed. "I'll go to Sickbay."

"Nonsense," she said. "Without a dermal regenerator the Doc can't do anything for you I can't do with a medikit. Can you make it to the sofa?"

"It's just a scratch, Captain," he said, but lurched up and headed for the sofa anyway. She pulled a medikit from her desk and sat down beside him, motioning for him to prop his foot up on her coffee table.

Chakotay sat back on the sofa and watched her work. It was the first time he'd been alone with her in two weeks, and he found himself staring at her profile in the bright sunlight. A few hours ago she'd looked drawn and pale to his eyes, tired and weighed down with care. Now, though, she seemed lighter. He wondered what had made the difference. "Did your session with the EPH go well?" he asked.

"It did." She held up an antiseptic spray. "This is going to sting."

"Go ahead." She sprayed the gash and he hissed.

"Sorry," she said, and followed the spray with a cooling gel. "The session went long," she continued. "I had a lot to talk about today."

"Is everything all right?"

She wrapped a pressure bandage around his leg, then pulled his pants back into place and settled beside him on the sofa. He noticed she didn't answer the question. "I've been looking for you all morning," she said.

"You have?" He was surprised; she'd stayed as far away from him as possible for two weeks.

"You're supposed to be in Deflector Control."

He gave a half shrug. "I started out there today."

"You've been giving up your breaks to clean my office."

He looked away, unable to face her disapproval. "I'm sorry. I should have asked permission first." He took his foot off her coffee table and started to rise. "I'll leave you alone, Captain."

"Hey," she said softly, grabbing his elbow. Startled again, he sat back down. "Don't apologize. I'm not upset. In fact, it means more to me than you probably know."

He finally looked into her eyes, pleased to find them unclouded for the first time in months, maybe since before the Year of Hell. "I just wanted to do something to help you."

"I know. " She slid her fingers down his arm and took his hand in hers. He fought not to clutch at it like a lifeline. "Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Of course."

She took a deep breath. "First, I know you've been worried."

"It's hard," he acknowledged carefully, "not being able to do anything for you."

"I shouldn't have shut you out. I'm sure that didn't make it any easier."

"No."

"I know now that it was the wrong choice. It wasn't healthy for either of us, and I'm sorry."

He gave her a small but genuine smile. "Apology accepted."

She took his other hand in hers and held them together. "Second, you don't need to worry about me anymore. I'm all right, and I'm not falling apart. I just need to...come to terms with the Year of Hell."

"And have you?"

"Somewhat. I'm still working on it."

"You'll continue to see the EPH?"

"For the time being, yes. I'm hoping eventually I won't need to. But only with your help." She took a deep breath. "From now on, I'm hoping I'll have you to talk to so I won't need to see the EPH as often."

He swayed toward her, an instinctive, protective impulse that he had never been able to stop. "You know I'm always here for you," he said quietly. "Whenever you need me."

"I know. I forgot that for a while, but I won't anymore."

He nodded in acceptance of her promise.

"Third," she began, and stopped, her eyes on his, her expression timid and almost fearful.

His heart thudded in his chest. What could possibly have her so nervous? "Kathryn?" he asked. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She stared at him for a long moment. He held his breath. Finally she seemed to come to a decision, and with a small smile raised his right hand and interlaced the fingers of her left with his, palm to palm. "Third," she repeated, "we're going to be all right. Eventually, I think we're going to be better than we've been in a long time."

He inhaled sharply. There were suddenly a thousand things he wanted to ask her, wanted to say, but he couldn't find his voice. Instead, he stroked the soft skin of her wrist with his thumb, hoping his eyes would say all the words he couldn't.

"But I need a little more time," she continued. "And you have to trust me."

He nodded silently.

She lowered their hands into her lap again. "We're going to be fine," she said. "You and me."

Somehow, in spite of the lump in his throat, he found his voice again. "You and me," he echoed.

He could have happily sat there with her for the rest of the day, just listening to the sound of her voice, but she gave his hands one last squeeze and rose. She retrieved the PADD she'd left on her desk when she'd come around to look at his shin. "Word from more of the crew," she said with a wide smile. "Sam and Naomi are on their way. They'll be here in a couple of hours."

Chakotay knew how worried she'd been about Voyager's youngest crewmember and her mother. When Kathryn handed him the PADD, he couldn't hide his smile. "That's wonderful news, Kathryn," he said.

She gave a little gasp and placed a hand on the side of his face. "I've missed that," she whispered.

His heart lurched again. "What?"

"That smile." She sat back down beside him.

He put his hand over hers and held it to his cheek. "Kathryn..." he began, but she stopped him.

"After the party," she said softly. "We'll talk more then."

He blinked. "Party?"

"For Sam and Naomi," she said, slipping her hand from his.

He chuckled. "I should have known. Neelix's idea?"

"And mine." She headed toward the Bridge, then looked back at him. "Coming with me?"

"Always," he said, and fell into step at her side, almost overwhelmed by how good it felt, how right, to be back there.

=/\=

The Nihydron shuttlecraft hovered over the landing pad, kicking up a cloud of dust that caused Harry and Seven and Tom and all the rest to cover their eyes until it touched down and came to rest.

A ramp opened on the side of the craft.

A small child emerged, paused to search the gathered onlookers, and bounded down the ramp until she stood before Captain Janeway. She snapped to attention. Her voice, though childish, was clear and confident when she spoke. "Captain's Assistant Naomi Wildman, reporting for duty."

The Captain returned the salute with tears on her cheeks. "Acknowledged, Crewman Wildman," she said. "And welcome."

Naomi raised her chin. "We lost the escape pod, ma'am."

The Captain whisked Naomi up in her arms. "I don't care about the escape pod, Naomi. As long as you're safe."

Chakotay stepped up the ramp and pulled Sam into a rough hug. "We were worried about you," he said. "Welcome back."

There were hugs all around, then, and explanations about the loss of the escape pod, the discovery of the inhabited moon, the journey back to the Mawasi homeworld. Naomi was passed from adult to adult for hugs and kisses and words of welcome.

Eventually, Neelix took the child by the hand. "There's a party," he said. "And I made milkshakes!"

"Let's go," Naomi squealed. Sam took her daughter's other hand, and they headed out of the valley toward the lodge, the Voyager family falling in behind them like a parade.

=/\=

By the time Chakotay finished negotiating with the Mawasi staff for an additional cabin space for their newest arrivals, the party was in full swing.

The lodge's holographic decorations were still in North Shore hunting lodge mode, but now the room sported a long wooden table piled high with Naomi and Sam's favorite foods – or the Mawasi equivalent: Ice cream sundaes, fresh bread, mushroom crepes, stuffed peppers, cheese pizza and miso soup. There were plates of Mawasi fruits and vegetables, too, and at the end of the table a cooler full of chocolate milkshakes.

Chakotay helped himself to several mushroom crepes and a pile of fresh fruit. He'd skipped lunch and breakfast was hours behind him. And, if he were being honest with himself, he had to admit that the talk with Kathryn in her Ready Room had gone a long way toward easing his stress and bringing back his appetite.

After the third mushroom crepe, he surveyed the room and found her standing on the wooden staircase that led up to the smaller meeting rooms, leaning against the wall with a pensive expression. She looked...melancholy. He grabbed two milkshakes from the table and headed her way. When she saw him coming she smiled, but it was fleeting and she immediately went back to gazing at the party.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs, noting that he now stood eye-to-eye with her. "Milkshake?" he asked.

"Another one? I'm not sure my poor stomach can take it." But she accepted the frosty glass anyway and took a sip through the long straw. "Do our new arrivals have a place to stay?"

He nodded. "They'll be in a cabin near Neelix. We can show them after the bonfire."

"Perfect. Thank you, Chakotay."

He turned and looked over the party as well. Naomi was sitting on Tom's lap, laughing at the story he was telling, while Sam chatted happily with the Delaney sisters. "It's always good," he said, "when one of them returns."

"But there are so few of them."

So that's what had caused the melancholy. "More than sixty, and it's only been two weeks. I'd say that's a pretty good record so far."

"Do you think they'll all come back?"

"I think they'll all try."

"Those who can, you mean."

He turned to look at her again. "Kathryn," he said slowly, "I'm sure everyone who can will either come back, or find a way to let us know why they prefer not to. But we may never know what happened to some of them."

Her eyes, suddenly pained, shifted from the party to his. "But how long do we wait for word? How long do we stay before we know we've stayed long enough?"

"You don't have to decide that yet. The ship won't be spaceworthy for at least a couple of months."

"I don't look forward to making that decision."

"When the time comes, you'll look at all the information at hand and make the best decision you can. You always do."

She nodded. "Thank you." Her eyes were very bright.

He took her empty glass from her and set it on an empty tray with his. "Let's go outside."

She followed him through the main room and out onto the lodge's grand veranda, which overlooked the beach and the lake. The breeze had picked up again, blowing whitecaps on the lake and whipping Kathryn's hair around her face. She tried to tuck her hair behind her ears, gave up and folded her hands on the railing. Her eyes were very far away. He assumed that she was thinking about her absent crew. She was worried about them. He understood the feeling; he worried about them, too.

But he wouldn't let her wallow in her worry. Not today.

Slowly, he reached out and stroked the backs of her hands with gentle fingertips. "How did you get these scars?"

She blinked, as if coming back to herself from a great distance. "There was a fire in Deflector Control."

"What happened?"

She tried to pull her hands away but he held on until she relaxed again. "I talked to the EPH about it this morning. There's no need-"

"You probably told him that you did what you had to do, you weren't afraid, and you don't think about it anymore."

She stared at him, her eyes steely, then gave her head a little shake. "How long have you been able to do that?"

"What?"

"See right through me."

He smiled. "How long have we known each other?"

"Five years."

He rubbed his chin and pretended to think hard. "Hmmmm. I've been able to do it for about...four years and eleven months, then."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Really. That long."

He nodded. "Ever since I asked you if you would've served under me if we were on my ship instead of yours."

"But I didn't even answer the question."

"Yes, you did. You said, 'One of the nice things about being Captain is that you can keep some things to yourself.'"

"That wasn't an answer. That was...an evasion."

"And it said a lot."

"Oh really?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "And what exactly did it say?"

He grinned. "First, you reiterated your authority over me. That told me you didn't completely trust me yet."

She inclined her head. "I'll admit to that. It was still early in our journey. I didn't know you."

"I'm not finished."

She waved a hand at him. "By all means, Commander."

He chuckled. "It also told me you wouldn't have given me an honest answer either way."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because even though you were starting to trust me, the bigger issue was that you didn't trust yourself with me."

Her mouth fell open. "You can't possibly think -"

"And stop trying to change the subject."

"I'm not trying to -"

"Kathryn."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "We are going to revisit this topic of me supposedly not trusting myself with you. Not now," she added when he started to interrupt her again. "But soon. I will not just let that comment slip by."

"I'm sure you won't." He took her hands again, brushing his thumbs across her scars again. "Now. Tell me how you got these."

She sighed and drew her hands away from him. "It was in Deflector Control. We hit a field of micrometeoroids and the system was offline. I couldn't spare anyone from the Bridge, so I had to go check it myself. I'd already put the crew off the ship by then. Only the senior officers were left." She closed her eyes. "There was a fire. I didn't have time to put it out and the doors were jammed open. So I went through."

"What were you thinking when you went in?"

"That if it was to be my last act as Captain, I hoped it would be enough."

"Enough for what?"

"To save them one last time."

He squeezed her hands. "It was enough. You saved them."

"Barely. I knew that the next time something catastrophic happened, it would probably mean the end for all of us."

"And how did that feel?"

She was quiet for a long time, staring out at the water. The longer she stayed silent, the more certain he was that even though she had talked to the EPH about the facts of the incident, she hadn't worked through the emotions. "It felt like a betrayal," she finally said. "I'd done everything I could to keep the ship running. We all had. But she couldn't protect us anymore, and she was about to exact her pound of flesh from me anyway." She leaned her elbows on the railing. "When I went into that room, I was certain I wouldn't be coming out alive. I lost consciousness right after I brought the array back online."

"Who pulled you out of Deflector Control?"

"Harry and Seven. When I didn't return to the Bridge, they went looking. I was surprised to wake up with the Doc. I thought I had reached the end of my journey." She gave a mirthless little chuckle. "Ironically, the Doc tried to warn me about PTSD then. I didn't listen to him. I didn't have time."

Chakotay studied her profile in the late afternoon light. She'd never been a particularly vain woman, at least not in his observations, and had made no attempt to hide or cover her scars. He'd been shocked to see them at first, but steeled himself not to react. Now, taking them in with fresh eyes, knowing how she had earned them, he realized that they symbolized both her fragility and her strength.

He reached out tentatively and brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "What do you feel now? Still betrayed?"

"No," she said without hesitation. "Grateful."

"Grateful?"

"That I was able to save them. That she protected us after all. That you came back for us."

He turned his hand over and pressed his palm to her cheek. "And this? What does this feel like?"

She closed her eyes. "At first it felt...foreign. It wasn't my skin. But now... It's just a part of me. A reminder of everything we went through."

"Everything you survived."

"Yes."

"But there's no pain anymore?"

"No. It's uncomfortable. The skin is tight around my eye and mouth. But sometimes..."

He pushed his fingers through her hair. "Tell me."

She closed her eyes and raised her head. "Today, for instance. This wind... Where the skin is uneven, the wind feels like ripples across my face." Her brows knit together as she searched for the right words. "Feathers. Fingertips." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Without the Year of Hell I would never have experienced that feeling. I'm not happy about what we went through, and if I could turn the clock back and avoid it, I might."

"But it did happen."

"It did. I accept that. It was terrible and traumatic. But good will come of it." She placed her hand over his heart. "Good already has come of it."

He smiled "You're healing, Kathryn."

She nodded and turned back toward the water, her hands resting on the railing again.

After a time the crew began to spill out of the lodge, across the veranda and toward the water, no doubt intending to begin the nightly bonfire a little early. By unspoken agreement, Kathryn and Chakotay stayed behind, allowing the crew time to themselves without their commanding officers.

Soon he offered his arm; she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and they began to make their way down to the beach. After they took a few steps together on the rocky path, Chakotay secured her hand closer to his side. "I have a confession to make," he said softly.

"What's that?"

"If we had wound up on my ship instead of Voyager, I wouldn't have asked you to serve under me."

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "You wouldn't?"

"I wouldn't have turned my ship over to you, either, so don't get any ideas, Kathryn." He shook his head. "No. But I trusted you. My instincts told me that you were tough but fair, and that you were going to look out for my crew as if they were your own. So if we had been on my ship..." He stopped walking and turned her around to face him. "I would have asked you to be my co-Captain. Not my subordinate. My equal."

She stood very still for a long moment, staring up at him. Then she gave him the crooked, wicked smile he'd missed for six months on the timeship. "That's good," she said. "Because I'm not sure I could have taken orders from you anyway."

His mouth fell open in shock. Then he threw back his head and howled with laughter.

=/\=

It took them almost half an hour to get the bonfire started.

The wind off the lake kept blowing the kindling away until B'Elanna, tired of Tom's incompetence, grabbed the lighter out of his hand, directed her engineers to form a Human/Vulcan/Bajoran shield around the fire ring, and lit it herself. It sputtered and sparked while she patiently added more kindling, then small sticks, and finally a dry log that caught quickly. When the flames leapt up to her satisfaction, she waved the engineers away and tossed the lighter back to Tom. "That, Helmboy, is how you build a fire."

Tom chuckled. "Yes, ma'am," he said, saluting her with a glass of fine Mawasi ale.

Across the fire, Naomi piped up. "Does Tom have to call B'Elanna 'ma'am,' Mom?"

Sam grinned at him. "Only when he wants to, honey. Only when he wants to."

Tom gave her a mock salute, then turned to look over the group in the waning daylight. There were close to seventy of them now, with more arriving every day. A few people weren't accounted for yet, and Tom knew they were a persistent worry at the back of everyone's mind. But for now, they were all just glad to be together, and to welcome two more back into the fold.

They sat in small groups, leaning on each other, talking and laughing together. Some of the groups were familiar to him, having formed long before the Year of Hell. But others, especially a few of the couples, were new. This is the way it's going to be from now on, Tom realized. We're all figuring out how important we are to each other, and how easily it can all be taken away.

B'Elanna sat down next to him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "Better," she said.

"Did you talk to the EPH?"

She nodded. "I have an extra half hour tomorrow." She elbowed him in the ribs. "You're supposed to come, too."

"I'll be there."

She settled against him. "Good party," she said. "Even Harry seemed to enjoy it."

"Once we dragged him away from Tuvok's console."

She kissed his cheek. "You worry about him too much."

"Someone's got to."

They were both quiet for a time. "You think they'll come to the fire?" she asked.

"Who?"

"The Captain and Chakotay."

"They came to the party."

"That's different. That was for Sam and Naomi."

Tom glanced back toward the resort and shrugged. "I don't know. He always comes eventually."

"But he doesn't stay."

"No." Usually Chakotay came alone, looking like he was missing a limb without the Captain there, and left early to watch the sunset by himself. "If he's with her, though..."

"If he's with her, then it'll be all right if he doesn't come." B'Elanna finished his thought.

"Right."

They watched the flames dance in the wind. "What do you think they talked about in her Ready Room?"

Tom chuckled. "No idea," he said. "But judging from his expression, it must have been quite a conversation."

B'Elanna laughed, too. "He looked like somebody had handed him the sun and moon on a silver platter."

"He sure did."

"Do you think she's okay?"

Tom sat very still for a moment. B'Elanna admired the Captain fiercely and tended to judge her own strength by comparison. "I think she will be," he said carefully. "In time, and with help."

B'Elanna snuggled into his side. "I think so, too."

Tom let out a long breath, grateful to have come up with the right diplomatic answer.

Soon Seven and Tuvok wandered by, arm in arm. Seven was talking with as much animation as Tom had ever seen in her. Tuvok was listening carefully, eyebrow raised. Tom and B'Elanna watched them go by. "What do you suppose that was all about?" he asked.

"Who knows? They're probably talking about how illogical this all is."

"Probably so."

Harry trotted over and stood next to them. "Some of the Security guys think we need another fire. Do you still have that lighter?"

B'Elanna grabbed it before Tom could make a move. "Stay here. I'll take care of it."

"Yes, ma'am," he said again, and winked at Naomi. The little girl giggled.

Tom sat alone and watched the waves roll in, enjoying the cool breeze off the lake. Around him, his shipmates chatted about everything and nothing. They still had a mountain of work ahead of them to get the ship up and running again, and to deal with everything they'd been through for the last year. But they were well on their way.

We are so lucky, he thought suddenly, to be here, in this safe place where we can heal together.

He glanced over to where B'Elanna was bossing the Security staff around and smiled. And I'm lucky to be here with her.

He took a long drink of his ale and stared back out over the water. The Mawasi sun was sinking lower by the minute, painting the sky red and gold.

The conversations around him quieted suddenly, and he looked up.

The Captain and Commander were making their way down the path toward the bonfire, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. Chakotay was still wearing that surprised expression Tom had recognized on the Bridge, somewhat muted now. The Captain looked a little apprehensive. She took Chakotay's silver watch in her free hand.

Tom started to wave them over, but Naomi darted forward and grabbed the Captain's arm, babbling about sand castles. Chakotay let her go very reluctantly. At least he didn't look like he was missing a limb anymore without her.

Tom grabbed another bottle of ale and ambled over to the Commander. "Beer, Chakotay?" he asked.

Chakotay took the bottle from him, the smile vanishing from his face. "Let's take a walk, Tom," he said slowly. "I need to talk to you."

Tom blinked. "Everything all right?"

Chakotay inclined his head up the beach. "Walk," he said.

Mind spinning, Tom obeyed and walked away from the fire. What could he have possibly done?

Once they were out of earshot of the rest of the crew, Chakotay turned and looked out over the water. Tom stopped beside him. "What's going on, Chakotay?"

The older man took a long drink of his ale. "How's B'Elanna?" he asked quietly.

Oh. Tom closed his eyes. "Who told you?"

"Joe Carey. He was standing on the upper deck and heard most of it."

"Did he file a report?"

"No, he just came to me to talk. He's worried about her."

Tom watched the waves. "Tell him she's all right."

"Is she?"

Tom sighed. "She has nightmares sometimes. When she doesn't get enough sleep, she's more prone to flying apart during the day. And it was hot in the ship today, which couldn't have helped. I probably should have warned Joe to keep the rest of the staff out of her way."

"This wasn't the first incident, was it?"

"No."

The Commander raised his ale again. "Rank aside, she's my friend, Tom. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You've got enough to worry about without worrying about B'Elanna, too."

Chakotay looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Tom shrugged. "A half-Klingon engineer is one thing. But you're trying to help a starship Captain put herself back together."

Chakotay said nothing.

Tom glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "They're a lot alike, actually. They both tend to take on too much, then beat themselves up when they realize they can't handle it all without help."

Chakotay turned back toward the water.

Tom hid his smile behind his ale. In addition to changing the subject, the remark had clearly hit home. He let the Commander chew on it for a few minutes, then glanced toward the bonfire. "Speaking of the Captain," he said lightly, "it's good to see her out and about."

Chakotay turned, too. Tom saw the exact instant Chakotay's eyes found the Captain's across the distance. The Commander's face lit up, just for a second, before he spoke again. "She wanted to be here for Sam and Naomi."

"Are you sure that's the only reason? She seemed pretty glued to your side when you got here."

"Paris..."

"Hey, Old Man. Don't forget I followed her through the ship for an hour today looking for you. I saw the look on her face every time we went into a room and you weren't there." Tom drained his ale, rolling the rich brew around his tongue before swallowing. Later, he would wonder if it was the alcohol that made him so bold. "When you came out of the Ready Room, you looked like two completely different people. Or maybe not different. Maybe back to normal, or at least closer to it. We all wondered what you were talking about in there."

"Don't," Chakotay warned.

"'Don't?' Don't what?"

"You were going to ask what we talked about. Don't bother."

"I'm offended, Chakotay. Do you really think I'm that nosy?"

Chakotay snorted. "Hell, yes."

Tom chuckled in spite of himself. "Okay, maybe I am. But B'Elanna and I were talking earlier, and you should know..."

Chakotay finally turned away from staring at the Captain where she knelt with Naomi in the sand. "What, Paris?"

"You should know that no one would object. No one. Not after everything we've all been through. Things are changing. We are changing. Everybody feels it." He turned his back on the bonfire and met the Commander's gaze solemnly, awkward with the seriousness of the conversation but resolved to see it through. "If you and the Captain wanted to make a change, too, it would be all right."

The older man stood stock-still for a long moment, staring at him. Then he grinned that wicked, arrogant grin that drove Tom insane. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Paris," he said, "but you be sure to tell the Captain at the earliest opportunity."

Tom experienced a moment of utter confusion, but then the voice behind him made everything clear. "Tell me what, Commander?"

Tom had a sudden urge to wipe the ridiculous smirk off Chakotay's face. He turned around to find the Captain gazing up at him with an expectant expression. How much of the conversation had she heard? Tom had no idea. But turnabout was fair play, even after the Year of Hell. Maybe especially after the Year of Hell.

He favored his Captain with the most innocent smile he could muster. "Only that I'm thrilled to see you tonight, Captain, and I'm about to die of jealousy that you arrived on the Commander's arm and not mine."

"Aren't you sweet?" she said with a smile. She patted his shoulder. "But I think B'Elanna might have something to say about that."

Tom allowed his grin to turn almost as wicked as Chakotay's. "I think Chakotay might, too, ma'am." He nodded at both their startled expressions. "Captain, Commander. I'll leave you to it."

And he sauntered toward the bonfire and B'Elanna, leaving them both to wonder what he meant.

A few minutes later he looked back and saw them strolling along the beach away from the fire toward the cove where Chakotay usually watched the sunset, arm-in-arm again. He smiled to himself and let them go.

What was it Chakotay had said on the Bridge two weeks ago? That Voyager was "broken, but not bowed."

Maybe they all were.

The Year of Hell had tested them all, brought them all to the brink of their endurance. But they were finding the path back to themselves, slowly but surely.

The Captain and Commander were finding their path, too. Back to their friendship, back to their professional rapport, back to themselves. And maybe, now that they were safe and healing, maybe they would find a new path to walk together.

A sudden cool wind off the lake lifted his hair. When she shivered, Tom pulled B'Elanna closer to his side and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

She craned her neck to look up at him. "Everything okay, Helmboy?"

"Not yet," he said carefully. "But getting there. Soon it'll be fine. Just fine."

Epilogue

I can hear them, but they do not know that I am here.

I am some distance from the bonfire and cannot leave of my own accord, given my unfamiliarity with the terrain. Seven of Nine escorted me here but was called away and has not yet returned. She has left me seated on a log of driftwood some fifteen meters from the water, if I have correctly judged the distance to the sound of the waves upon the shore.

Decorum dictates that I alert them to my presence, given the personal nature of their conversation.

And yet...

I would not interrupt this conversation for something so trivial as my own comfort. It is long overdue.

"I missed you," the Captain whispers. "So much. I knew you were probably safer on the timeship than you would have been on Voyager, but I couldn't help but wish you were with us. Selfish, I know."

"Not selfish, Kathryn," the Commander answers, his voice equally soft, but clearly audible to my superior auditory sense. "Perfectly human. It's natural to want our friends with us in times of stress." I hear a rustle of fabric, followed by a quiet exhalation. He has touched her, possibly placed a hand on her shoulder; she has sighed in response. I have observed this interaction between them so many times that I can see it, even in my darkness. "I missed you, too."

They are quiet for one minute, then two. I have not heard footfalls in the sand, but for a moment I wonder if they have moved on down the beach. Then he speaks again, his voice pitched very low. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," she answers quickly. "Anything."

He inhales deeply. "Why were you avoiding me?"

She does not answer. He continues. "Until today you turned down every invitation to spend time with me. Even just breakfast in the lodge seemed to be more than you could bear."

"Oh, Chakotay," she whispers. "I'm here with you now."

They are quiet again. When she finally speaks, her voice is choked with emotion in a way I have not heard since the moment she decided to sacrifice herself with the ship. "I haven't been avoiding you because I couldn't bear to be with you. Far from it." She sighs. "I have some very strong, unresolved feelings that I thought were nothing more than PTSD symptoms."

He is silent for a long moment."And are they symptoms? Or are they something more?"

"I think they might be something more. But I have to be sure before I act on them, because once I do, there will be no going back."

He makes a sound in his throat that I cannot interpret. "Kathryn-"

"Not yet," she says, stopping whatever he was going to say. "I'm not quite ready to have this conversation. Soon, but not yet. Can you accept that?"

"I'm a very patient man."

"I know." I hear the rustle of fabric again, but cannot fathom who has moved, or how. "Thank you for coming back for me," she says.

"I couldn't have lived with myself if I hadn't."

"I was ready to give up. You threw me a lifeline."

"It was my lifeline, too, Kathryn."

Now I hear the brush of skin against skin.

There is silence again, this time for many minutes. I hear only the waves on the sand and the quiet of two people who are standing so close together, I cannot distinguish her breathing from his.

He finally breaks the silence. "You're shivering. Come back and sit with me by the fire," he says.

She does not respond verbally, but must have assented. I hear their footfalls in the sand as they return to the gathering at the bonfire. I could call out to them to help me return, but I do not want them to know that I have overheard them. So I continue to sit, listening to the waves.

Starfleet would not condone the change they are poised to make to their relationship.

Starfleet would be wrong.

Captain Janeway has given everything that she is in service to Starfleet, from her fiancé and her father to her best years as a commander. And yet they would deny her this, if they had the opportunity. They would forbid her the companionship of one who is worthy of her in all ways, one who has given everything that he is in service to her.

Starfleet's position may be justifiable in the Alpha Quadrant. But here, it is irrelevant. I am gratified that she has begun to realize this.

I hear quiet footfalls behind me. "Tuvok? Is that you?"

"Yes, Neelix," I respond.

"May I join you?"

"Of course."

He sits beside me on the driftwood. "They didn't know we were here, did they?"

I cannot reprimand him for eavesdropping, given that I am as guilty as he. "Clearly not."

"It's good, though, isn't it? Good that they're finally getting their feelings out in the open?"

"Yes. I believe it is."

"Me too. It's important to have someone you can turn to who understands and accepts you. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. This will make them stronger."

"I agree."

I hear him turn an object over in his hands. "I got a holoimage of them," he says. "Would you like me to describe it for you?"

"Please."

"They're facing each other at the edge of the water. He's holding her left hand in his right, and she has her right hand pressed to his heart. They're just standing there quietly with the sun setting beyond them." He stops speaking for a full minute, then sighs. "They make me miss Kes so much," he whispers. I have never heard his voice so soft.

Vulcans do not have the same need for companionship that humans and so many other beings do. And yet, since the accident that blinded me, thoughts of T'Pel have never been far from me. "I understand, Neelix," I say, equally softly.

We sit together in silence for a time.

He clears his throat. "Even though I support their decision," he says slowly, "your Starfleet wouldn't, would they?"

"No."

"It's too bad," he says. "Theirs is a bond for the ages." He is quiet for another moment. "The crew will be happy for them. But even so... I don't think we should tell anyone what we overheard."

"Nor do I."

"In fact," he continues, "I'd like to make sure this is kept quiet until they're ready to tell the crew themselves. They deserve some time together before -"

"Before Mister Paris knows."

"Exactly."

"There is much that I can do from the Security station to ensure their privacy."

"I had hoped you would say that, Mister Vulcan," he says. "And I'll do what I can in my own small way. I'm glad we're agreed."

"Indeed."

He stands. "Say, where's Seven? She didn't just leave you here, did she?"

"In fact, she did. She thought she would only be gone a moment, but has not yet returned."

"I think I'll head back to the fire for a while. Would you like to come? Or I could walk you back to your cabin, if you prefer."

"Thank you, Neelix." I stand. "The fire would be acceptable, if you please."

"Of course." He places my hand on his elbow and we make our way slowly over the sand and back to the gathering, where he leads me to a chair near the fire.

I listen to the voices around me. Neelix pulls together groups for more holoimages. Sam Wildman sings softly to Naomi. Megan and Jenny Delaney plan a welcome party for Mike Ayala and Ethan Baytart, who are scheduled to arrive in two days. Tom Paris, B'Elanna Torres and Harry Kim discuss refinements to the ship's replicators, now that they are making progress at bringing the system back online. Captain Janeway requests an upgrade to the ship's coffee selections; Commander Chakotay asks if he will be granted a larger ration of replicator credits to cover the Captain's resurgent caffeine habit.

The banter continues until the chill of the wind off the water forces us all back to our cabins. The pattern of footfalls tells me that no one leaves the gathering alone. We all depart in pairs and groups, including me. The Captain places my left hand on her right elbow and I feel her hook her left arm through the Commander's right. Together, the three of us make our way up the beach and along the path back to the resort. He points out obstacles along the rocky path; she guides me around them with her touch.

There is much about our journey that Starfleet would not condone.

There is much more that they would never understand.

-END-