A/N: Surprise! I guess I'm not done telling this alternate J/C's story yet. Set a year after "Memento" and contains minor spoilers for chapters 16 & 17 of "Collective." Note that this is not the entire work; I cut out the naughty stuff from chapter two. Head over to AO3 to read the whole thing.

My sincere gratitude to Helen8462 for her beta work, to MiaCooper for her encouragement and pointers on writing good sex, the ladies of the Pervy Chakotay Fanciers Society for inspiration and support (and general J/C debauchery), and to CBS & Paramount for giving us the Star Trek universe.

A Great and Terrible Passion

1. Kathryn

The first thing Kathryn Janeway noticed when the sickbay doors split open in front of her was just how small the room really was. The weight of casualties left by their showdown with Annorax pushed the space to its limits, and kept the small staff very busy. A great deal of floor space had been dedicated to setting up rows of emergency cots, though they were not all occupied anymore.

She hoped they had never been filled to capacity.

There had only been one death so far. Only. As if that one life lost had been insignificant. Kathryn knew it was a blessing, if not an outright miracle, that the count was stuck at one. Still, every life she lost cut that much deeper into her soul. She would be in tatters by the time they finally got home.

If they ever got home.

Stop it, Kathryn, she stubbornly commanded her own mind. There was no time and no use for pity.

Suddenly, her eyes fell upon the man who was her main reason for coming straight to sickbay after Tuvok had all but relieved her of duty—Chakotay. Five months it had been since she saw him last. For a while, she had not known if he was even alive. Earlier that very day, she had practically dared Annorax to go ahead and kill him, because she was not about to let that mad general turn him into a bargaining chip for terror.

Yet, there he was, propped up against the wall—just to the right of a cot erected near the surgical bay—dozing quietly. He was completely unscathed. The cot held not a patient, but rather the wife of one; Eelo Talia, Voyager's Chief Science Officer and licensed counselor, was hard asleep as she waited for word on the results of Harry Kim's surgery.

Just when Kathryn was about to step forward, Kes emerged from behind the partition blocking off the surgical bay, looking quite exhausted. The petite Ocampan doctor cast a compassionate glance at Talia's peaceful form, then knelt beside Chakotay and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, rousing him easily. Given the relieved smile that graced his features as she spoke with him, Kathryn knew that Harry had come through surgery, and she inadvertently let out a breath.

Although she cared for each and every member of her crew, losing Harry would have felt like losing a son. If anything had the power to rend her soul in a single maneuver, it would be the loss of one of her protégés. Such a thought was even more terrifying to her than the prospect of losing Chakotay. Thankfully, it was not something she would have to face just yet.

It was something Kathryn hoped that she would never have to face. With sixty thousand light-years yet to go in their journey, she knew the odds were stacked against her. Shaking her head, she forced herself back into the present. Sickbay. Chakotay. Talia. Kes.

Harry.

With a tired smile and a final squeeze on Chakotay's shoulder, Kes raised herself to full stature once more and slipped easily away. Kathryn watched as he turned his head towards Talia's cot, probably considering whether or not to wake his former Maquis comrade. The look on his face spoke volumes.

Talia was to Chakotay what Harry Kim was to Kathryn—his mirror, his younger self, his protégée. He avoided talking about her with Kathryn, given their brief and volatile turn at fulfilling one another's sexual needs in the Maquis. Talia, too, generally tried to keep her silent, respectful distance. In difficult times, though, the protective instincts of love cannot be held back. Talia was every bit the hesitant soldier that he was—torn between family traditions, peaceful moral ideals, and a fatal attraction to battle. It was a complex combination that the ambitious, eager, idealistic likes of Kathryn and Harry simply could not help but fall in love with.

And, oh, how Kathryn loved Chakotay with a great and terrifying white-hot passion.

Suddenly, as if he had sensed her watching, his gaze shifted up to where Kathryn stood, still as a statue, by the sickbay doors. Immediately, that captivating face filled with the glow of a whole different kind of love as he smiled at her, imbuing her hardened stone body with the lifeblood of pliant flesh once again. She had not consciously thought or willed it, yet she became aware that her feet were carrying her to him as he stood and silently extended his arms.

Wet. His shoulder was wet. How did he get moisture on his clothes? And when had she buried her face into him? She couldn't even remember doing it. Suddenly, as she sucked in a strangled breath and released a quiet sob into his chest, she realized that the moisture had come from her own tears soaking into his shirt.

"Kathryn," she heard him murmur against her hair. He was home. He was really, truly home. For the first time in months, she felt that she was home as well.

When Kathryn finally relaxed her vice-like grip on his shoulders, steadying herself with a few deep gulps of air, she shifted her weight back onto her own feet again and looked up at him with a weak smile. "I'm not dreaming, am I?"

The smile he gave her in return brought out the dimples in his cheeks, and she felt herself sway slightly at the sight. It almost felt like seeing that most beloved of features again for the first time. "You're not dreaming, Kathryn," he answered. With one hand, he reached up and touched her hair. "You cut it."

She nodded. "It felt like time for a change."

"I like it," he said decisively, allowing his hand to drop. "It looks like you."

"Thank you. I'm glad you think so." Feeling her humor begin to return, she let slip a small, wry smile. "Although, I should warn you that it's not a pretty image in the morning."

He chuckled. "I think you're beautiful, always."

Kathryn felt her cheeks flush with heat in their brief moment of joy until the silence stretched thin and the reality of their present setting began to reenter her consciousness. Soon, her face grew cool once more, and her eyes wondered downward towards the Bajoran woman sleeping on the cot next to them. "How's Harry?" she asked quietly.

"Out of the woods," Chakotay replied. "Kes had to amputate his arm, but she's confident he'll have no problems with a biosynthetic replacement."

"I suppose it could have been worse."

"Much," he agreed. "Should I tell her?"

Kathryn shook her head. "Let her sleep. She's been through a lot these last few months."

"So I hear," Chakotay murmured. When Kathryn looked up, she could tell that he wasn't sure whether to be concerned or amused about whatever bits and pieces of the mission he had overheard. "Something about a Maquis mutiny to plan out my rescue?"

"It's a long story."

"I look forward to reading everyone's reports." He glanced down at Talia before looking up once more with an apologetic expression. "I said I'd keep her company until we knew something. She should have a friend here when she wakes."

"Then we'll stay," Kathryn declared, squatting down to claim her spot on the floor. With a grateful look, Chakotay did the same.