Author's Note: From QS, at Cheshire6485.
Rating: T
Cells
High-pitched squealing awakens her. Captain Janeway snaps open her eyes and instantly wishes that she had not: an overhead light centimeters from her face blinds her.
She notices the pounding afterward. Hard, head-encircling throbs that squeeze like a vice around the inside of her skull. The pain is bad enough to make her gasp; massaging her temples is instinctual as she sits up around the dangling light fixture, subsequently increasing the pounding. Trying to remember how she got such an incredible migraine only hurts even more, and she comes up empty.
She already knows one thing from the feel of the bedding under her, the smell of the room, and the proximity of this light alone:
She has no idea where she is.
When her bleary, light-bleached eyesight adjusts, it only proves her right. And she's never seen anything like this room's construct before. Dark floors are separated from a dark ceiling. The cot she's lying on is the only thing inside of the enclosed space. Instead of being square, the room has five walls. Four are solid. One is not.
There's a familiar shape across the room, on the other side of the glass wall. A shape she'd know just about anywhere.
"Chakotay," she tries to call out to him. He doesn't respond. The echo inside of this room, or chamber, whatever it is, makes her voice sound fuller and louder than it normally is.
He doesn't stir. She notes that he's in his undergarments, all grey undershirt and shorts and nothing else. She's fully dressed, from boots to pips and combadge. Pressing it, of course, yields no response. Not even a faint chitter that tells her something might be just out of range but not quite close enough to establish a link. Her sweaty finger jabs again but nothing. Not a chirp.
Janeway's gaze slides back to Chakotay, whose back is to her. His chest rises and falls rhythmically. He seems to be in a deep sleep and she can't see any wounds or marks anywhere on him. However, his state of undress is unnerving. He's got no shoes, no long-sleeved undershirt, nothing. Glancing around in his space reveals that he seems to be in a cell identical to hers. It has the same dark, seamless ceiling with the same centrally-placed cot on the same dark floor and with the same opaque walls on the four sides except for the wall separating them.
She can't see his missing clothing anywhere. It could possibly be bunched or folded on the floor on the other side of his cot, but if it isn't, it's gone.
So then who has it? Who stripped him of his clothes and placed him in this room, beside her?
The domed overhead light squeals suddenly, sending her into a defensive crouch over the black cot. It's only receding up into the seamless dark ceiling. Janeway uncoils cautiously.
Heat. She notes that next. The room is far too hot for human comfort. Sweat is rolling in beads down her neck and shoulders, gathering at the small of her back. Rivulets have gathered in her chest and under her thighs.
And almost as soon as she thinks it, a sudden blast of cool air kicks in overhead. Now where had that come from?
"Hello?" she tests the waters, so to speak. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway and that is my first officer, Commander Chakotay in the next room. Where are we? Why are we being detained here?"
Again, the echo, but by way of response - nothing. Not even a reaction from scenery this time. Perhaps it was coincidence, then. Her sweat begins to cool immediately, and the moisture it leaves behind is cold in contrast. If the air stays at this level, she'll be chilled soon.
She waits a moment, but the air does not lessen.
There goes that notion.
Sliding off of the dark, hard plastic cot, the sounds of her wet flesh being suctioned by plastic seem to resound loudly against the chilled air. Her legs are perfectly steady, unlike what she would have expected from alien sedatives, she notes, as she crosses the tiny room in less than eight steps.
The wall separating her from Chakotay does in fact exist, and it is solid. Janeway raps it with her knuckles. Once. Twice. A third time.
The light squeals again behind her, lowering back to the table and making her damned near ferociously annoyed at the resounding throbbing of her head. What she wouldn't give to introduce these people to a proud engineer like B'Elanna. She'd never allow that kind of negligence. The light squeals to a belated halt, and Janeway frowns deeply, furrows pulling at her aching forehead muscles. Hell. Maybe just a drop of good old-fashioned cooking oil would do the job.
But why did it move? Is it because she did?
Frowning, Janeway calls, "Hello? Is someone there?"
Again, nothing. She raps the glass again. Once. Twice. And then again. The light squeals back up another twelve to fifteen centimeters and stops, bright as ever.
Chakotay gives no indication that he hears any of it. Ignoring the light, she balls a tight right fist and pounds against the wall.
A door opens on the other side of the glass, on Chakotay's side, and more blinding light filters in through the opening.
Next scene. 850 words max, no physical violence?