A/N: This was originally written in 2014 and is pretty much the only thing I haven't re-posted. Since I seem to be incapable of buckling down to anything I actually should be doing at the moment, I thought I'd go back to this.

Be warned: much of it is very dark and angsty. Set in season seven, when things (for my money, anyway) were pretty sour between J/C. The original was beta'd by MissyHissy3. I've tweaked it here and there for the re-post.

Ooh, and of course, Happy Birthday Star Trek! The world would not be the same without you. Live long and prosper, indeed. #StarTrek50

One

There were times when being on Voyager was so stressful that it felt as if the ship itself was at breaking point. There were times, of course, when it was. Seven years without respite for both vessel and crew. Seven years of running – away from something, towards something. The distinction hardly even seemed relevant any more, if indeed there was one to be made at all. Seven years of a journey with a destination so distant it occasionally seemed to be nothing more than a figment of the imagination. It took its toll – on the ship and on her inhabitants. How could it not?

This was one of those times. The mother of them all, really. The last battle, the final showdown, even though in the end it had come with a whimper rather than a war. Captain Kathryn Janeway sat in her ready room after yet another sleepless night, staring at a screen that resolutely refused to give her good news. They'd known for months that their stores of dilithium were running low. At first, they'd all been optimistic – they'd been in this situation before and something had always come up: an alien race with enough minerals to trade, a planet with veins rich enough for them to mine and refine themselves. Surely, something would come up again before things became desperate. As the time passed, they'd resorted to rationing, but the optimism, though dented, had remained. Then more time passed. Then still more, still without the needed solution in sight, still with the levels dipping lower and lower. The news had inevitably filtered out of the tight circle of senior officers and down to the lower decks.

Whispers filled the dim corridors, the lighting by then running on half-power for much of the time. In some ways it made it easier that the crew at large knew what trouble the ship was in. It made acceptance of the announcement easier when stricter rationing kicked in. For a time, anyway. As Voyager's pace slowed to a painful limp, as the lights went out and even visits to Neelix's kitchen were reduced by command order, the crew began to voice the fears that stopped their Captain from sleeping.

Pretty soon, the ship would be dead in space. And then what?

Pretty soon, it was.

"It's too far."

"Captain, we don't have any other option. You know that."

She looked up at him. His face showed the same exhaustion that she felt. "Do I? And how do I know that? Oh – wait. Let me guess…"

"Captain…"

"We're going back to that again, aren't we? You're still questioning the last decision of mine that you disagreed with."

A shadow of the anger she remembered from weeks ago passed over his face. Oh, how he had fought her then. It had been their last true debate and their last proper conversation. The memory of it lay between them like an open wound, one that she couldn't stop probing though no good could ever come of it.

"All right," he said, keeping his voice even. "If we had landed on the last M-class planet we passed, this wouldn't be an issue. But we didn't. You refused to contemplate doing so. So now we are faced with this issue anew and now this is the only solution."

She shook her head. "We couldn't do it. It would have been wrong."

"No," he answered, sharply. "No. You were wrong. If we had landed, we would at least have had the option of –"

Janeway stood, holding up one hand. "Enough. We've been over this. We went over this. The planet was not ready for First Contact. It would have been in violation of-"

"Don't even try that one. Don't even try it. It had nothing to do with the Prime Directive. You can lie to yourself, but Captain – don't you try lying to me. It had nothing to do with the Prime Directive. You were scared that if we put down, we'd never be able to take off again. Because getting Voyager home is more important to you than –"

He stopped short. They stared at each other.

"Say it," she grated. "Finish your sentence, Commander. That's an order."

His eyes narrowed, the growing fury in them radiating towards her like heat. His voice, when he spoke, was that of a stranger. "Getting Voyager home has become more important to you than the welfare of your crew. Captain." Chakotay spat her rank as if it were a slap in the face. It may as well have been.

Janeway wondered, briefly, when this had happened – how it had happened. How her closest ally aboard this ship had become the person who could wound her so deeply without even batting an eyelid. When was it that they had stopped being the first person each of them turned to, and instead became the first from whom they each turned away? It had been years, she realised, in that moment. Years.

Perhaps it was inevitable, she told herself. Command is a lonely place to be. On Voyager… well. It was everything pushed to the limit. Something had to give, sometime. What had given had been them.

"Dismissed," she said.

He didn't leave. Instead, Chakotay rested both hands against the edge of the desk and leaned forward, reminding her of his bulk. "I need permission to take the Delta Flyer on this mission."

She glanced down at the PADD again. The planet the sensors had located was a four day round trip away at Warp Four. It had shown no signs of dilithium deposits, but there was plenty of vegetation. Meanwhile, a moon light years in the other direction held out hope of dilithium, but no atmosphere. Chakotay wanted to take their one remaining intact shuttlecraft to the planet to collect supplies. She knew, without him voicing the words, that he also intended it as a recce for Voyager's final resting place. The ship was, to all intents and purposes, a wreck. They did not have enough power to reach Warp One. They could coast, perhaps, riding the last sparks left in the drive long enough to reach the planet's orbit. But then again… if they had the dilithium, this would all be moot.

"We can't do both," she said, tiredly. "The Flyer's systems are too low on power."

"The crew has to eat, Captain."

"I know that!" She shouted the words and was shocked to hear her voice breaking, not at the words themselves but that she needed to use them. How could he think he needed to remind her of that? How could he, of all people- "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I-"

For a second, she almost blacked out. It was as if someone had tilted the deck on which she stood at an angle acute enough to make her stumble. Her vision dimmed. Janeway felt her knees buckling and went for the desk, hands flat against it to hold herself up. The next second she felt a strong grip on her upper arms, his hands manoeuvring her into her chair.

"When was the last time you ate?"

Janeway waved a hand vaguely, the darkness hovering close, but at bay. "I had some of Neelix's leola root soup."

"He hasn't served soup for two days."

"I'm fine. I'm just tired."

Chakotay ignored that, and crossed instead to the replicator. "Computer, emergency nutritional supplement Starfleet Alpha-three, with additional iron and B-6."

"Don't," she said. "There's not enough power. That's an-"

The replicator deposited the supplement before she could finish the order. Chakotay retrieved it – unappetising gel contained in a compact silver bag – and tore off the corner even as he returned to her side.

"Eat it," he told her, handing it over.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said, as she took the proffered supplement and squeezed it into her mouth. It had a tang like orange juice, but far sharper. "That was a meal for someone else. Or a sonic shower. Or a bio-neural conduit for B'Elanna."

Chakotay dropped down to her level, crouching beside the chair. "You think you starving yourself helps the crew?"

His voice was the softest she had heard from him in weeks. Janeway squeezed the last of the supplement into her mouth and felt it slide down her gullet. She didn't look at him. "I'm not starving myself. I'm saving power. It's all I can do."

He was silent for a moment, and then stood. "Let me take the Flyer. If we don't run it at top warp it'll take longer, but we won't risk burning out. When we get back we'll find some way of harvesting enough dilithium from somewhere and I'll take it out again myself."

Janeway picked up the PADD again. She thought for another moment. "Very well, Commander. Permission granted. Dismissed."

He nodded curtly and walked to the door. Midway there he paused and turned back. They looked at each other in the rationed light. For a moment he was the man she had known, way back when hope was still something she wore instead of sorrow. Back when she had dared to believe that the future would be better, instead of worse.

For a moment it seemed as if they might apologise to one another. But it passed, as those moments so often did.

[TBC]