A/N: So, I've been playing with this story for a little while, and I'm finally getting it down! It's another A/U, as I'm really feeling those lately. I'm tapping along at it at a good pace though, so I wanted to start posting it. The whole story is relatively planned, so nothing should stop me from finishing it in a timely fashion. It won't be super long, nor really short. It is not an installment in my AinT: series.

CheyF

oOoOo

He wasn't a light sleeper, so he knew something must have woken him up. He couldn't have been sleeping for more than a couple of hours. The back room of the pub was still pitch black in the night. He'd closed the door to the office tonight because Kate planned on leaving to run errands early in the morning and she told him she didn't want to wake him when she came down.

The noise hadn't been the creaking of the floor above him or the stars, the underside of which cut into the wall right next to his cot.

There it was again, the breaking of wood.

Was someone breaking into the building?

Quietly, Chakotay swung his feet out of bed to land silently on the floor.

Sidestepping the noisy parts of the floor, he slid open the desk drawer and felt for the knife he knew Kate kept nestled between the stapler and the scratch paper. She didn't like guns, but she kept one behind the bar. In the office though, she kept the knife under the guise of a handy letter opener, but she felt just a little safer with it at hand.

Unsheathing the blade, he inched to the office door, holding his breath as he listened to the people now inside, walking towards the office. They never came to his door, but carefully started to pick their way up the back staircase, towards the small studio on the second floor.

Maybe it was Kathryn and a friend. Maybe she'd changed her mind and gone out after he shut in for the night. He breathed, relieved, and walked back to the desk to return the knife.

Sometimes he freaked out about the smallest things, and this was no exception. His mind always focused on the worst possible circumstances if even the smallest thing seemed out of place.

Just as he was shaking his head to himself, pushing the drawer closed, he heard a crash above him, followed by a shout. A man bellowed and Kathryn screamed. Feet plodded across the floor so hard above him, that the lights in the office rattled with the vibrations.

Furniture scrapped and tumbled through the apartment, shrieks and yells rising in volume.

Chakotay, worried that someone was taking advantage of his boss, hurried up the stairs, the knife left in the desk.

The door to the little apartment swung ajar. Inside, a scuffle between three people blurred across the living space. One of them was in a pair of light grey knit pants and a t-shirt, almost reflective in the street light coming through the windows, pinpointing her in the shroud of the shadowed room. The other two were nearly indistinguishable, dressed in black from head to toe, masks over their faces, teeth showing white as they grunted, frustrated that their charge wasn't succumbing easily.

Kathryn fought fiercely.

He heard her panting in the darkness as he froze just inside the doorway.

She pushed one of the men back and he lost his balance over the low coffee table, tumbling. She spun around as the other barreled toward her, arm held high. She ducked out of the way, but his arm came down hard on the back of her neck as he flipped around.

What was happening?

She stumbled to the floor, hands going up to protect her head. Rolling, she kicked at the man and used the bed to crawl to her feet.

After only a moment of hesitation, he ran towards the bank of windows where the fight continued.

"Kate!" He grabbed one of the men's arms and pulled, knocking the stranger off balance again as he lunged for her. Chakotay swung around and landed a punch on the downed assailant's throat. Chakotay heard a wheeze as the man curled into himself.

"Get out of here!" She shouted, the sound turning into a huff of pain as other man used her distraction to drive her into the wall, knocking the breath from her.

He looked back at her briefly, seeing the man before her take her by the throat, lifting her from the ground until her legs dangled, drawing his fist back.

He didn't have a chance to go help her. A loud pop echoed in his ears and he felt a blooming pain through his arm. He twisted his head to look at the man at his feet, gun in steady hand, barrel dark and hollow.

He looked back to Kathryn, seeing her slumped, unconscious on the ground. A fist came up to meet his jaw, knocking him out cold to sprawl across the rough floor, blood pooling from the hole in his shoulder.

The man who'd tackled Kathryn picked her up and dropped her heavily onto the bed. One of the masked attackers held her hands together while the other took a flattened roll of duct tape from his pocket to secure her wrists. They repeated the process with her feet after removing her socks. Finally, they tore two foot-long pieces from the roll, securing one strip over her bleeding mouth and the other across her eyes.

Throwing her over a shoulder in a fireman's carry, the taller of the two men led the way out of the room, leaving through the front door and throwing their unwilling passenger into the trunk of their car.

oOoOo

The help wanted sign had been in the window for eight days. Ten long days ago that bastard had been gone to wherever he went when he felt like disappearing and leaving her here to take care of his responsibilities. Quincy was an awful human being and an even worse boss. Hell, he made a despicable cousin, and family was supposed to mean something!

Her grandfather had always stressed the importance of their ties to their Irish heritage and the pride they had as a family in this town, where he'd founded so much of this very neighborhood.

She should have left Q to ruin himself and the bar, but she cared for this shithole, even if she thought it should have been hers and it would never be as good as she could make it.

God but she wished his whiney ass would just disappear for good some day and get out of her hair so she could run this place how she really wanted to. He may be her cousin, but she felt no warmth towards him and his bad choices and she didn't see what her grandfather saw in him when he decided to leave him the bar. Men. She was sick of men.

The clock in the office chimed ten times, interrupting her angry thoughts. Kathryn carried the container of silverware from the table to the bin behind the bar and grabbed the keys for the front door.

Flipping the dead-bolts and unlocking the built-in locks with each of their respective keys, she pushed the door out and propped it with the green brick near the frame.

A man sat a few feet from the door, resting against the wall under her windows. His dark hair was close-clipped, and she could see the bottom of an intricate anchor tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his white t-shirt on one side. He dozed, his arm resting protectively across the drab sea bag across his lap, tanned skin starting to glimmer with sweat in the early morning warmth.

"You can't sit out here. Either come in, or go down the street to the mission, sailor." She stood there in front of him, hands on hips, frowning down as he opened his eyes.

"I'd like to come in. Actually, I wanted to inquire about the help wanted sign. Do you still need someone?" He pushed the bag from his lap and stood, holding out his hand to her. "I'm Chakotay Mendez."

Hesitantly, she accepted the proffered hand. "I'm Kate. I'm the manager. You're in luck, I do still need help. Let's talk." She walked into the bar, clicking the neon "Open" sign to "on".