AN: I don't really know where the inspiration for this came from, but I hope you enjoy. I wrote it so that each segment is a 100 word drabble, and originally the third stanza was supposed to be a stand-alone, but I figured that the story would want a beginning and a conclusion. Anyway, please enjoy, and like any author, I love feedback.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
They have no names, no faces, no leader, and no sense of negotiation. The ambushed landing party is subject to their control, no compromises. Interrogation of the command team leads nowhere, and their mounting frustration becomes evident when Kathryn is subjected to agonizing torture under Chakotay's helpless gaze. Not understanding the power structure, they assume the male is the leader and she is his mate, hoping that by torturing her they will coax what they want out of him. But she holds her tongue, and in a last-ditch effort, they order him to either kill her or be killed himself.
"You have to do it, Chakotay," she orders in a whisper so their captors won't overhear. Not that it will matter anyway—they seem to have their minds made up, and no amount of pleading has worked so far. He shakes his head, violently disapproving, but she will have none of it, leaning in close and forcing his eyes to meet hers. "I'm responsible for the safety of my crew," she reminds him, and he would tease her about her obsessive need for control in any other circumstance but this. They are hauled to their feet, and the execution begins.
His hands are trembling, sweat coating the slick handle of the gun as his finger slips on the trigger. The cool metal barrel shines in the low light, and his vision is blurring, he's going to be sick. She stands no more than twenty feet away, and he can see the determined set of her jaw, the resigned glint in her eyes. "Chakotay," she says, just loud enough for only him to hear, "please." She's accepted her fate; there's no hint of desperation in her tone. She spreads her arms out wide, and he flinches as he pulls the trigger.
She imagines she can see the silvery bullet streaking through the air. Time slows to a crawl, and she catalogues the expression on Chakotay's face as one of fear and anger. She knows without a doubt he wishes their roles were reversed, and regrets nothing. But her scientist mind wants to know why. She's not afraid of death, but that doesn't mean she welcomes it. Her musings are cut short when the bullet tears into her, ripping through flesh with ease. Her vision dulls, and as her knees buckle, an odd feeling of weightlessness overcomes her. Then all is black.
Chakotay paces incessantly, and despite the doctor's reassurances that his shot hadn't killed her, he won't pause until she awakens. He thanks the gods for B'Elanna; she had managed to locate the pair using the fragmented remains of their comm. badges. They'd been beamed up as Kathryn had fallen, and he'd stood in shock, weapon still clenched in his hand, gun smoke stinging his nostrils and the near-fatal ricochet ringing in his ears, as she was whisked away. But nothing eases his tightly-coiled body until he sees Kathryn's weary smile as she comes to in Voyager's sickbay, very much alive.