Dim. Grey. Lights flickering. The hazy smell of ash in the air, filling her lungs.

Battered bulkheads, frayed wires, fire, smoke.

She looked around; there was no one.

"Chakotay?" She called out. The milieu felt hazy, as if the whole world were in slow motion.

No answer.

"Chakotay?" She kept walking through ravaged decks. No one, not even an ensign walked past in greeting.

What deck is this?

Three, she noted – says so on the bulkhead.

Ah! There was Chakotay's door. She rang the charred chime. Why won't he answer? She tapped her comm. badge again. "Janeway to Chakotay."

No answer.

Intuitively she punched in his access code. But once the door slid open, her breath caught. No one lived here; there was too much damage. A leaden weight settled in her stomach – its origin or reason for being unknown, but gnawing nonetheless. She stepped over the threshold, taking in more of the damage as she walked over broken bits and pieces of her beloved ship.

He wasn't here. Somehow she knew that. But where did he go? She didn't know. She tried in vain to remember as she tripped over the upturned chair.

A glimmer of silver caught her eye. What's this? She bent low and uncovered the hidden gem from its bed of soot and rubble. An old timepiece, she mused as she turned it over, much like a prop from one of her silly Victorian holodeck schemes.

Funny, its weight felt familiar in her hand, like she'd held it before.

Suddenly, without warning a loud crash riveted her attention. Automatically, she quickly fixed the old pocket watch to her belt and ran towards the cacophony.

And that's when she saw it coming towards her: obliterating her ship was an oncoming holocaust. She felt the tell tale burning in her throat as the white-hot atmosphere singed her lungs.

"Kathryn!" A voice called – so distant as if in a dream.

"Chakotay?" She looked to her left, her right hand palming the timepiece as her eyes riveted away from the oncoming fire. The heat was getting closer; its hellish temperature was becoming unbearable.

"Kathryn!" The hazy voice called again. "Kathryn, wake up!"

Her eyes shot open, momentarily disorienting her. "Kathryn," he called again, his voice louder this time.

Cool. That's the first thing she felt. Cool. No fire. No flames.

"Chakotay?" Reflexively tears filled her eyes. He wasn't gone – he was here, holding her up. "You're here," she smiled. Wait. "You're here?" Propriety took over and she jerked away from him, covering herself. "What are you doing here?"

"You were screaming, and crying my name," he moved back, giving her space. "You didn't respond to hails, so I came to wake you."

A dream. It was a dream.

"I had a dream," she looked down, her hand coming up to wipe the moisture that was drying on her cheeks.

"A nightmare," He half smiled as he moved to stand from her bed. "I'm sorry, Kathryn, would you like me to go?"

"No," she shot, before she could think of it. It was good to have him here. For a second she thought of the impropriety of him being in her bedroom. But somehow, she cocked her head – somehow it felt right to have him here; almost as if he belonged.

"Voyager…" She looked at the smooth, intact bulkheads of her quarters, momentarily juxtaposing their cohesiveness to the jagged, broken ones in her dream.

"She was destroyed." She looked up at him, his features open, concerned.

"You were gone," She whispered, looking away.

"Where was I?" He sat tentatively again on the bed next to her.

"I don't know," She rasped. "I went looking for you, calling your name, but you didn't answer. And then…" she looked up briefly before continuing. "And then, I remember stumbling into your quarters. There was glass everywhere, broken bits of somethings, upturned tables and chairs," she gestured as she continued. "I found something – a timepiece, an old –"

His breath caught, riveting her eyes to his. "What?"

"The pocket watch…" He started.

"Yes," She interjected, eyes wide in astonishment. "How did you know?"

He got up, pacing the room, looking anywhere but at her. "It's a gift. I was going to give it to you for your birthday in a few weeks." He faltered, "I must have told you about it…"

"You didn't…" She whispered.

He looked straight at her and smiled, still baffled and unsure himself. "I'm sure it's just a coincidence."

"Mmmm," she hummed confusedly.

"Well," he got up again. "It was just a dream," he smiled, not wanting to appear stilted or cold. Being here with her, though –seeing her like this, tousled and matted with sweat was like some sort of exquisite torture. She was scared, afraid, and as much as he wanted to stay and comfort her, he wasn't in the mood to be turned away again – to have his kindness and concern for her rebuffed for the hundredth time. And, not only that, he was aroused. "I'll leave you. Sleep well, Kathryn."

And with that the hydraulic doors opened and closed and he was gone.