Ch. 2

Katrine really wanted to sit up. In fact, it was number one on her list of things to do because being facedown in wine-soaked dirt was not the most pleasant sensation she'd ever experienced. Not to mention that lying on her side was doing horrific things to her battered ribs.

Another explosion sounded outside, and dust from the low ceiling rained down on her, but she could tell this time the impact was further away. She almost felt like smiling as she felt the dust land on her cheek. That dust had probably saved her life.

Thankfully, the Nazis hadn't been very imaginative in the short time they'd questioned her so far, but that didn't mean that their blows had not been punishing. Katrine's left eye was almost completely swollen shut, and she was pretty sure her jaw was broken, but those injuries felt somewhat numbed. The body blows, however, were wreaking the worst pain. The simple act of breathing had become excruciatingly painful. The two Nazi officers had not been pleased when she'd laughed at them for looking up nervously after a nearby explosion shook dust from the ceiling. The retaliatory kicks for that faux pas on her part had been particularly nasty.

Now they were becoming hasty in their questioning. A punch, a smack, a question, and then barely a pause before hitting her again. In their haste to leave the basement, they no longer seemed to care if she actually answered them. Which was fine with her, really. She had no intention of giving them any information anyway.

A hard right cross connecting with her face had her and the chair falling over, and she grunted as she once again landed painfully on her bound wrists. Katrine tensed the muscles in her stomach, waiting for the lurching sensation of her chair being righted, but instead the toe of a boot sunk once again into her abdomen, followed by a boot heel slamming into her thigh.

As artillery shells continued to land nearby, the officers stepped back, conversing amongst themselves as Katrine lay on the floor panting. Rationally, she knew that, given time, they could break her. She'd seen it happen to others firsthand and knew the cruelty they were capable of, but for once, time was on her side. The shelling outside was being walked in, landing closer and closer to what she hoped was headquarters. The Americans were coming, and Katrine simply had to hold out long enough. The Nazis would probably kill her, but better to die than to give up the information they wanted.

Another artillery round shook the building they were in, and dust fell heavily from the ceiling, worrying the two officers enough that they decided it was time to leave. Katrine steeled herself for the sound of a pistol being unholstered, a sound that would herald her ultimate demise, but she never heard it. Instead, the ropes binding her to the chair were loosening and falling away. Her heart sank into her stomach; they were going to take her with them.

Apparently they were going to abide by the strict order the Kommandant had left about who would ultimately kill her, but she was damned if she was going to make it easy on them. The smaller of the two officers hauled her to her feet, growling in her ear that she had better play nice. Katrine had no intention of playing at all, and she slammed her head backwards, feeling a satisfying crunch of cartilage. It felt good to be the one giving pain for a change, even if it didn't last long. Wrenching herself free of his stunned grasp, she lunged for the other officer and managed to rake her fingernails down both sides of his face, tearing into the soft skin and leaving trails of red. The officer yowled in pain, shoving her away, and just that quickly Katrine's luck ran out.

The shorter man had withdrawn his pistol and, with blood streaming from his nose down his chin, he whipped the barrel of the pistol across her face. Katrine dropped to the floor, barely conscious, curling in on herself as a flurry of kicks rolled her across the floor. Glass shattered, and she felt a spray of liquid as the heady aroma of merlot filled the air. One of the men growled, and Katrine looked up into the face of devil himself.

Eight streaks of red lined the face that looked down on her. The officer she'd clawed held the broken neck of a bottle in his hand. He turned it slowly in his wine-soaked fingers, allowing her to see all of the sharp, jagged edges of the dark green glass. "I'm going to carve you up."

Katrine watched as a single drop of red wine fell from the end of one of the sharp tips. She knew it would be her blood that would stain the glass next. The other man hauled to her feet, wrenching her arms behind her, and despite the terror that thought shot through her heart, she refused to look away from the devil. "Go back to hell."

As soon as she'd hissed the words, the world outside seemed to explode. The entire building shuddered, throwing all three combatants to the floor. Her ears rang in a deafening silence as she covered her head with her arms. The entire room seemed to be swaying and dust choked the air. She watched in mute shock as the flood lamp fell over, its bright bulb smashing against the floor as the two Nazi officers scrambled past it and up the stairs. More explosions rocked the building, and she saw the dropped and apparently forgotten bottle neck on the floor in front of her. The shadow of it grew from side to side as the single bare bulb light swung back and forth on its short chain. Obviously fearing that the building was about to be brought down upon them, the two officers had abandoned her. She laughed silently as another blast made the ground beneath her tremble and more dirt rained down on her from the ceiling. But she was past caring as her body gave in to the punishment it had been dealt and dragged her mind down into the darkness of unconsciousness.

But she was awake now, and she felt worse than she had before – and that was saying something. She should have moved while her adrenalin was still high, before now, when she could feel where each and every fist or boot had landed on her body. A crunch of glass sounded from the floor above her, and she swore at herself. Someone was walking around up there. She'd had a chance to get out of here and she'd missed it. If she died now, she deserved it for her sheer stupidity.

Another step sounded, followed by two low voices. Shit. They'd come back. Spying the broken bottle neck, Katrine reached out a shaky hand and wrapped her fingers around it, dragging it towards her and tucking it unseen against her body. She was still on her side with her back to the doorway. Usually not an ideal position, but this time she'd use it to her advantage. She might be able to get in one good slash before they realized she was conscious.

The footsteps were coming down the stairs now, and she tried to control her breathing, allowing herself to grimace unseen at the pain that simple action caused. The first boot hit the floor, and she heard a quick intake of breath before a shout startled her. "Captain, down here! I found someone!"

Katrine frowned, but before she could reflect further on the oddity of what she'd just heard, hands were pulling on her shoulder, rolling her body, and she instinctively lashed out with the only weapon she possessed.

"Hey! Whoa!" A strong hand caught her around the wrist, struggling with her. "Cut it out, lady! I'm trying to help you."

Now that she was turned on her back, Katrine could see her foe's face, and she stopped struggling against his grip. God bless him, he was wearing the rumpled OD green uniform of the Allies. She felt like laughing. "American?"

He gave her a quick nod, and she relaxed her grip on the bottle, letting him take it from her hand. Before he could say anything more, another American appeared at his side. Katrine stared with her one good eye at both of the soldiers. They could be brothers they were so alike in build.

"Captain," the newcomer asked, dropping to his knees at her side, "are you okay?"

Katrine frowned, noticing belatedly that his skin tone was darker than the other soldier's. Not brothers, she mused, but if she had her ranks correct, he was the captain, not her.

He reached out with his hand and gently pushed wet hair that was clinging to her face aside. "Kathryn, talk to me, please. Are you okay?"

His gentle touch felt really good, but she haphazardly tried to brush his hand away. "I'm fine," her words came out slightly slurred, "but my name's not Kathryn, Captain. It's Katrine."

He exchanged a look with the soldier next to him before repeating her name. "Katrine?"

"Yes," she said tiredly and began to push herself up. Both men immediately moved to help her. The room spun, and Katrine had to grit her teeth against the nausea before she was able to speak again. "I'm the leader...of the Resistance here in St. Claire. We're your allies."

She expected the captain to reply to her in some way, but a curious look that she couldn't quite discern was his only reaction.

"Ma'am, can you walk?" the other soldier asked.

"Of course I can walk," Katrine grumbled, although she wasn't entirely sure she could even stand yet.

"Captain, we need to get out of here," the soldier said, getting to his feet, "this building has been taking a lot of shelling, and it might not be stable for much longer."

Chakotay recovered himself and nodded his understanding to Ayala. Grasping Kathryn by the arms, he pulled her to her feet as he stood. He was glad he'd still been staring at her face in concern, or else he may have missed the slight roll of her eyes just before she collapsed against him. She groaned as he caught her, easily lifting her into his arms. Her head fell limply against his shoulder, and he could feel her warm breath against his neck. He jerked his head towards Ayala. "Get us back to the command post, Corporal. This woman needs medical attention."

Ayala, still believing he was actually in France, nodded and started up the stairs, rifle at the ready with his commanding officer right behind him. Chakotay looked down into Kathryn's bruised and bloodied face and hoped like hell B'Elanna had thought to bring the doctor into their program.

Tom pushed open the hatch of the jeffries tube and found himself staring into the barrel of a gun. He swallowed dryly. "Uh…I come in peace?"

B'Elanna lowered the weapon. "It's about time you got back."

"Well, I had to wait–" he heaved himself out of the hatch and stopped dead when he saw B'Elanna. He pointed at her once again rounded middle. "You weren't pregnant when I left."

She scowled at him. "Don't remind me." She pushed him out of the way so she could close the hatch. "We got the captain back."

"That's great!" Tom said, following her out from behind the bar. "But that still doesn't explain why you're pregnant again."

"She's...not exactly herself right now."

"Oh." Tom's face fell. "You mean she's–"

Torres nodded. "She still thinks she's the leader of some Resistance that's fighting against an army. Since this building is the coordinates you and Chakotay had for the Resistance, and this is where you found me..."

"You're part of the Resistance," Tom finished for her. "And she thinks you're pregnant."

"Or at least she will when she wakes up," B'Elanna nodded. "She was beat up pretty bad when she came in and was kind of out of it. Chakotay and the doctor took her upstairs to a bedroom."

Before Tom embarrassed himself by admitting he was happy to hear the EMH was around, Chakotay descended the staircase and saw him.

"Where's Neelix?" he demanded.

"About that..." Tom started and just shook his head, "Neelix had no idea who I was, and given the circumstances I found him in, I didn't feel comfortable trying to drag him back here with me."

"What simulation was he in?" Chakotay asked.

Tom cast a glance at B'Elanna. "Let's just say he and B'Elanna now have a whole lot more in common."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"He's a Klingon."

B'Elanna's eyes widened in surprise. "Klingon? Who could be less Klingon than Neelix?"

"Don't judge," the doctor remarked, coming down the stairs and taking in all of their stunned expressions. "You've all been there."

Tom opened his mouth to ask a question about that comment when Chakotay cut him off. "How's the captain?"

"She's stable," the hologram huffed, "so far as I can tell. With the replicators offline and my inability to enter my own sickbay, I can only do so much. Her pulse is strong, and while she has some broken bones, there do not appear to be any life-threatening injuries."

"Broken bones?" Tom repeated the words and heard B'Elanna growl low in her throat.

"Yes. Two to three ribs and the lower bone in her jaw from the feel of it. Judging from the swelling and bruising, I would also expect some fracturing of the left eye orbital." He glanced at the ceiling above them with something of a grimace. "I imagine when she wakes she will be quite...formidable."

B'Elanna snorted. "Like a wounded targ."

"Quite," he agreed. "If I could give her something for the pain or even keep her sedated I would..."

"Doctor, what happened? Why does she still think she's this 'Katrine' person?" Chakotay asked, unable to keep himself from looking, once again, towards the bedroom where they'd left her.

"I'm not sure. I only had a few minutes to work at the console unobserved, and I was trying to get as many of you as I could."

"What do you mean 'get us'?"

"I needed to disable your neural interfaces," he explained. "I had six of you pulled up when I was interrupted by the Hirogen that was working in sickbay. Despite his sudden appearance, I managed to execute the command to disrupt your implants."

"Six?" Chakotay questioned. "Did you include the captain?"

"Of course."

"But, Doc, something obviously went wrong if she still thinks she's in France," Tom complained.

"Obviously," he agreed dryly, "but without diagnostic tools, I'm at a loss as to why that is the case."

"What about the rest of the crew?" Chakotay asked. "How do we free them from these...neural interfaces?"

"The controls are routed through the surgical console in sickbay, but it'll take time to disable them all."

"We don't have time," Chakotay stated curtly.

"We could blow it up," Torres commented, causing all eyes to turn to her.

"Blow up sickbay?" The doctor sounded aghast.

"We've got enough explosives lying around this place," she shrugged. "Using the jeffries tubes, we could set a few of these charges underneath the deck plating. Take out the whole console in one quick blast."

Chakotay shook his head. "It won't work. I doubt the Hirogen have put holoemitters in the jeffries tubes."

"But there are holoemitters in sickbay," Tom contributed. "So the explosives would still work there. We just have to place them next to the console."

"Get the explosives in and then get out. It could work." Chakotay nodded. "As soon as Seven and Tuvok get back, she can enhance the explosives. Tom, you and I need to figure out how we're going to get past the Hirogen. B'Elanna, keep trying to reach Harry, and see if he can find a way to shut all this down."

Katrine slowly regained consciousness, opening her eyes as best she could and peering at the peeling paint of the ceiling above her. She knew where she was, at least. The small bedroom over the bar that she'd stayed the night in on more than one occasion. She found it fitting that this was where the American had brought her. The room had often served as a hideout for fugitives of the Third Reich, which she supposed she was now.

Although she was more than a fugitive, she was an escapee as well, and she knew the Nazis didn't take too kindly to that sort of thing. At least on the one occasion before that she had been a guest of the state, they hadn't determined who she was before she'd managed to leave their care. Damn that American for bringing her here. He'd endangered her entire cell with just her presence, but at the time she'd been too out of it to argue with him. Thinking about it, she supposed it didn't really matter anyway. LeNeuf would've told the Nazis everything about the place and the cell already. Hatred burned inside her chest, and Katrine pushed herself to a sitting position on the small bunk. Bile rose in her throat, and she closed her eyes against the spinning of the room.

She'd passed in and out of consciousness from the moment they'd left the basement. The pain in her side had flared hot and bright each time the American captain had jostled her, but oddly enough she'd also enjoyed the feel of his arms around her, the warmth radiating from his chest as he'd carried her through darkened streets. It had been a fleeting thought before she'd passed out again, but for a moment, in his arms, she'd almost felt safe for the first time in years.

Illumination had shone bright red through her closed eyelids, and his chest had rumbled against her cheek as he'd barked out orders for a doctor, and she'd known she was back inside somewhere. She hadn't wanted a doctor though, never had liked them, but her mind hadn't been moving fast enough to tell him so. The way he'd demanded that someone find a way for the doctor to appear, she didn't think he'd have listened to her anyway. But it was only when she'd heard Brigitte's concerned voice answering him that she realized she was back in the Coeur de Lion. She'd wanted to open her eyes and reassure her young friend that she was all right, but she didn't think she'd succeeded.

Somehow, a doctor had been summoned, and she'd felt herself being carried up the steps that were hidden in the back. Strange words had floated around her. Words like Hirogen and holograms, and something about a bridge. She'd wanted to question what was going on, but the American captain had been settling her onto the small bunk and pain flared through her body, blotting out all thought.

Katrine opened her eyes again and surveyed the room. The doctor hadn't been able to do much for her. She'd heard him say as much. The captain's gentle touch had brushed her hair away from her face just as he'd done in the basement. She'd marveled that he could touch her face without causing pain. He'd whispered to her to come back to him. An odd phrase from a man she'd just met, but the words had been offered with such concern that she hadn't minded. Then he'd squeezed her hand and allowed the doctor to shoo him away. The doctor's more clinical touch, probing her injuries, caused the throbbing in her head to explode to the forefront of her thoughts and she'd slipped back into oblivion.

But, now, she was done with resting. Injured or not, she needed to make sure her people knew it was no longer safe in St. Claire. Even with the arrival of the Americans, the Nazis would still be looking to capture members of the Resistance. She pushed herself to her feet and swayed for a moment before stumbling over to the sink. Catching her reflection in the mirror above the sink, she couldn't help but notice the swelling and dark bruises that were beginning to form. Dried blood and wine stained her shirt front, but at least someone had washed her face clean. Judging solely by the appearance of her clothes, she must've looked a mess.

Voices echoed quietly up the staircase, and she felt the burn in her chest reminding her of what she needed to do. Steadying herself by holding onto the porcelain, Katrine reached underneath and behind the sink, hissing as the cuff of her shirt slid against the raw skin on her wrist before her searching fingers found the butt of the gun that was concealed there. Tugging it out, she checked that it was loaded and racked back the slide. LeNeuf had put them all in danger; she had to be eliminated.

Another explosion rocked the building, and Tom narrowly avoided a bottle of wine as it crashed from a shelf to the debris-strewn floor. "They just don't give up, do they?"

"That was one of ours, sir!" Ayala yelled from his guard position by the door.

"Thanks," Tom replied then turned to B'Elanna. "Do you think he'll still call me 'sir' when he remembers who he is?"

She snorted. "Did he ever call you 'sir' before?"

"Seven," Chakotay stood at the end of the bar, "how's it coming?"

"Your repeated questions are not an efficient use of your time or mine," she replied curtly. "However, without further interruption, I will have this task completed in three minutes."

"Consider this an interruption." Kathryn Janeway's gravelly voice washed over the small group of people at the bar who turned as one to face in her direction.

"Captain, you shouldn't be out of –"

The doctor's voice trailed off as his petite captain stepped out of the shadows and into the light, holding a pistol that was aimed straight at Seven of Nine.

"Step away from them...or I'll kill you."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I believe your intent is to kill me regardless."

"This woman is not your enemy," Tuvok said calmly, positioning himself in front of Seven. "Lower your weapon."

"Remy, move out of the way." Katrine breathed, bringing her other hand up to support the shaking hand holding the pistol. "She's an infiltrator. You were right about her."

"I believe that you are mistaken," he paused, reflecting further on her comment, "as was I."

She shook her head. "No. The Nazis said her name. They knew who I was. She's working for them."

"Katrine!" Chakotay snapped her name with authority and got her attention as he moved around the bar towards her. "She was working with us," he indicated one of the patches on his uniform, "and unfortunately, one of our people got captured and compromised her. That's how the Nazis knew her name."

"No," Katrine shook her head. "No, that…that wasn't it. They knew her."

He doubted that anyone else could hear the uncertainty that had crept into her voice. "You don't want to kill her, Katrine. It would be a mistake. She's on our side."

Still not lowering her arm, Katrine glared at him. "Who are you?"

"My apologies, mademoiselle," he smiled slightly in an attempt to alleviate the tension, though his features felt tight wanting to fight the uncalled for expression. "I forgot we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Captain…Miller," he said, remembering what Ayala kept calling him. "My men and I found you in a basement a few houses away from here. I brought you here for medical treatment."

"I don't need medical treatment. I'm fine," she bit out.

"I stand corrected." Chakotay tipped his head to her, fighting a grim smile. Whether she knew it or not, the woman in front of him was most certainly Captain Janeway. "Will you please hand over the pistol? You're making my corporal nervous." He indicated Ayala with a jerk of his head.

Katrine glanced towards the window to see the soldier she had fought with over the broken bottle aiming his rifle at her.

"You sure gave those Krauts that left you in that basement a helluva time, ma'am. I'd hate to have to shoot you now," he told her.

Her eyes flicked over everyone in the room. Remy had not moved from in front of LeNeuf. Brigitte, with an indescribable look on her face, stood at the other end of the bar with another American soldier. The captain near her never took his eyes off of her, and she could feel the intensity of his stare. She gave one last hard look at LeNeuf before slowly lowering her arm. The blond nodded at her and went back to working on the explosives. Slowly, everyone began to move again. The corporal lowered his rifle and returned to looking out the window. Remy kept his position in front of LeNeuf but turned his back to Katrine. Brigitte cast her a furtive look before being distracted by the tall American standing over her shoulder.

"May I have that?" Chakotay asked, breaking into her thoughts. He indicated the pistol Katrine still held.

"No," she huffed and tucked it into the waistband of her pants, staggering back a step as she did so. "I don't trust her and I don't know you. I'm not about to walk around this place unarmed."

"Fair enough." He watched as she took another unsteady step backwards, before sinking heavily onto one of the chairs. He sighed, "You need to rest, Katrine."

"I'm fine," she spat, "and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not wearing one of your uniforms. I don't follow your orders."

Chakotay stopped himself from rolling his eyes and settled for trying to reason with her instead. "All I'm saying is that we don't need you right now–" he held up his hand when she started to object, "but we may need you later. You should take this opportunity to rest, get cleaned up," he took a chance and eyed her outfit, "maybe change your clothes. Something a little less...conspicuous."

Katrine looked down at herself. Even though her clothes could hardly be called white anymore through the myriad of colors that stained them, they were, as he pointed out, still rather obvious.

"You may have a point about the clothes," she conceded tiredly.

"There's a first time for everything," he said lightly, trying to remember to be grateful that Kathryn's character was as much like her as she normally was, although that was going to be a mixed blessing in any circumstance. "Do you have anything you can change into?"

She nodded and looked wearily back at the steps she'd have to climb to reach the bedroom again.

Chakotay followed her gaze and knew her energy was waning. Not that she'd ever admit to it. "Would you allow me the honor of escorting you back to your room?"

"That's rather forward of you; we just met," she quipped, realizing that maybe she was a little punch drunk.

"I've already carried you over the threshold," he motioned towards the front door. "Seems to me, we're old friends by now." He offered her his hand.

Katrine stared at it for a long moment before accepting. On her feet again, she had a terrible time not leaning into him as they walked across the bar. She really was tired, and she needed him to talk so she'd stop thinking about how much she really did want to just lie down and not get back up. They reached the staircase and his arm circled around the back of her waist, supporting her. It was a rather intimate gesture but she was thankful for it. She leaned her head back to look up at him.

He noticed her scrutiny. "What is it?"

"I don't even know your name," she closed her eyes briefly and then clarified, "your first name, I mean."

"Chakotay."