Her eyelids fluttered in feverish fits. Cheeks scarlet against the pallor of sallow skin. He brushed a cool cloth over her brow and eyelashes, dripping chilly drops that snaked into her hair. Hot breath pushed heavily against his wrist before he pulled away. He looked into her eyes, blue and bright, steadily focused on him, a hint of a grimace or perhaps a tired smile on her peeling lips.
It's when she knew.
His tender hands were the only thing that didn't pain her sensitive skin as the sickness stayed its course. Chakotay had gotten sick last week, a virus. Not the virus that stranded them there. No, this was three days of him irritable, shivering, and sleeping under Kathryn's careful ministrations.
Then it was her turn, but on day four, he was still at her side as she panted, mewling, the medication they'd developed and her own immune system battling the invader.
Sweat emerged on her skin as she held his gaze, hand wriggling into his waiting palms.
She loved him.
Not because he's…
…the last man on the planet.
…taking care of her.
...worried.
…kind.
But because she read his soul, staring back at her, that very moment.