Author's note: This little bit of angst-y fluff was written for the lovely and talented Sareki02, who, about a year ago, took me under her fanfic wing and has helped me, with much patience and encouragement, to become a better writer. I am happy and blessed to call her my friend and Ideal Reader.

Since I couldn't let her beta read this one, I had to rope some others into it this go-round. So many thanks go to rsb, Delwin, and (as always) Photogirl1890 for all their help!

Lastly - 'jIQos' means 'sorry' in Klingon.

"The Doctor says you've been ignoring his medical advice."

"The Doctor is being such a mother-hen I should adjust his holomatrix to give him feathers," B'Elanna countered, shoveling in a forkful of eggs to keep a nastier retort from escaping. She should have known better when Chakotay asked her to join him in his quarters for breakfast. Of course he had an ulterior motive. Since she'd left Sickbay, it seemed like everyone that talked to her did.

"B'Elanna-"

"I'll tell you the same thing I told him and Tom and Harry and Neelix - I'm fine!" She reached across to grab the coffee pot and pour herself a refill only to find that her hand didn't feel like cooperating. Her grip loosened without warning, causing the pot to tip and dump its contents all over Chakotay's dining table. "Damn it!" She jumped up and started sopping up the mess with her napkin.

"B'Elanna." Chakotay put his hand over hers until it stilled. "Forget the coffee. Just talk to me, will you?"

The half-Klingon eased back into her seat, still holding the drippy napkin. Now that she'd convinced her stupid hand to grab something, it had cramped up and was slow to let go again. Damn it. She looked up to meet Chakotay's worried eyes. "I'm fine," she repeated, more quietly this time.

"You're on medical leave."

"I know." Her hand, which had apparently decided to start communicating with her brain again, fiddled with the handle of her fork.

"Then why did Carey comm me last night to tell me you'd been in Engineering for nearly six hours and refused to leave?"

"I had things to do." Now her feet were tingling. Wonderful.

"The only thing you're supposed to be doing is recuperating." She heard Chakotay let out a frustrated sigh as she stared fixedly at the lake of coffee that lay between them. "Your body has been through a terrible ordeal. The Doctor has made it very clear you need to rest in order for your nervous system to recover. That means you, in your quarters, not picking up anything heavier than a PADD until the EMH says otherwise."

"I'm half-Klingon!" she protested. "I've been resting for the last two days! I don't need more time off. He's treating me like I'm human."

Chakotay ran a hand through his close cropped hair. "I'm pretty sure the Doctor is aware of your hybrid genetics, B'Elanna. And it's not just your physical recovery I'm concerned about." When the engineer only played with her utensils in silence, he continued. "How are things with you and Tom?"

"Fine." If you counted 'had a huge fight and aren't currently speaking to each other' as fine.

"Then why did he ask me to talk to you, do you think?"

Her head snapped up. The cowardly son of a bitch. "Tom asked you to talk to me?" It came out as more of a growl than intelligible words.

Chakotay gave her the little frown of disappointment he always did when she got a little too Klingon for his taste. "He thought maybe you'd be more open to sharing your feelings with me instead of him. That maybe you're still too angry at him for going against your wishes to talk."

"Fucking petaQ," she muttered to the rapidly cooling eggs that still sat in front of her.

"It sounds like Tom may have a point." He sighed again. "He's just worried about you. We all are. That you're not really dealing with what happened to you. That you just want to jump back into work like it was nothing. Especially given your tendencies towards self-harm-"

"I'm so glad everyone is discussing my mental state behind my back," she snarled, dropping her fork with a clatter as she stood. "This has nothing to do with what happened after the Maquis. If you're worried that I'm angry, then yes - I'm angry! I was forced, against my will, to get a treatment I ethically objected to. I have every right to be angry!"

"I agree."

"Then what the hell is this about?" she demanded. She hated how calm he was. What happened to the Maquis Mauler? The most feared terrorist in the Alpha Quadrant? Sometimes it felt like Janeway had had him neutered the day he accepted the job as first officer.

"It's about me reminding you that you have a safe place to talk through your anger. That you don't have to hide it or bury it away. That I'm here to help you."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes before heading for the door. "Trust me, Chakotay. I'm an old pro at being angry. I don't need help - yours or anyone else's." She left without waiting for his response.

She was halfway to the turbolift when her right leg suddenly buckled, nearly sending her to the floor. "Shit," she muttered as she braced herself against the bulkhead in order to stay upright. She closed her eyes and breathed through the painful muscle spasms in her quadriceps, praying to Kahless or whoever else might be listening that Chakotay wouldn't leave his quarters before the cramping stopped.

Fortunately, the corridor remained deserted as her thigh muscles recovered enough for her to hobble onto the 'lift. "Deck Nine," she barked. Back to her quarters to rest she supposed. There was no point in going to Sickbay, after all. The Doctor would just subject her to another lecture on getting adequate rest, that there was no shortcut to recovery and no way to accelerate the re-myelination of the affected nerves, that overexertion only made things worse.

It was all so ludicrous. No matter what Chakotay said, she was convinced the overbearing hologram wasn't taking her Klingon side into account. She'd been injured dozens of times since coming aboard Voyager and always recovered in half the time her human crewmates would. That insane isomorph from Seros had actually punctured one of the chambers of her heart, and it certainly hadn't affected her activities with Tom later that same day. Hell, if you didn't count those macroviruses that had taken over the ship that one time, she hadn't even been sick since she was four. So she damn well wasn't going to let a single giant life-sucking bug slow her down now. Her leg had even stopped cramping.

"Computer, alter destination. Take me to Engineering."