A/N: I must issue an apology as I've just got to let real life take precedence over fic again (tsk). This ended up being far longer and more involved than I thought it would be when I started. I will keep updating, but it may not be as frequently. But given a choice between 'quick' and 'good', I'm hoping 'good' is preferable. Sorry, and thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, I really appreciate it. I won't leave you hanging for too long, promise. I hope you'll stick around for the rest of it. Massive thanks to MissyHissy3 for betaing and encouragement.

Eleven

The inside of the Yal Morn is a dark morass of narrow corridors crowding a dense series of decks that require concentration to navigate. That's probably just as well, as it keeps my mind on the task at hand, instead of what I've left behind.

I hope that one day, he'll forgive me. I hadn't ever intended to drag him into this. I'm grateful that we parted with a better understanding of what we mean to each other, but I'm not willing to let him pay the price that he wants to for achieving that. I couldn't bear to see him die, especially not with the knowledge that there was no need for him to do so.

Now, I have a job to do. There's no point in wallowing in the past, or what-ifs. What might have been never helped anyone. I've got to find the room that houses the cargo transporter and make the required modifications. I'm on a countdown to the point when the orbit of the satellite inside the quarantine border will pass closest to the Yal Morn's passage.

It makes sense for the cargo transporter to be on the lower decks, somewhere near where the load the freighter's carrying is stored. Thankfully, the crew mostly seem to be busy – no one takes much notice of me as I work my way down from the boarding deck: a few glances, here and there, but no particular interest. Perhaps they assume I'm just another crewmember, brought on for the trip. Still, I stay as inconspicuous as possible, keeping to the shadows, avoiding corridors with much activity.

The cargo holds are stacked high with sealed crates of god knows what. I locate the transporter in an ante-room off the main deck and waste no time in getting to work. The controls are in Bolian – it's not a language I know, but when I learned of the Yal Morn and started to familiarise myself with the workings of their civilian transporters I taught myself enough to get around. I had B'Elanna – dear B'Elanna, who was so willing to follow me into the unknown, and would have done, I'm sure, had it not been for Miral – check over my modifications. She made a few adjustments. The calculations are all in my head: for the past weeks that I've been on the run to this point, I've recited them to myself daily.

I'm a fool. I'm so focussed on my task that I don't hear the footsteps behind me until it's too late. Suddenly there's a knife at my throat and a hand clamped onto my shoulder with a grip like iron. I'm dragged away from the transporter console and shoved up against the wall.

"Well, well, well," says a low voice, in my ear. "What have we here? Kathryn Janeway, I presume?"

The sound of my name sends a chill through me. I booked onto this ship under an assumed name, there's no way anyone here should know it. The knife at my throat begins to cut into my skin and then he turns me around to face him.

He's big - much bigger than me. There's a leer on his face as he looks me up and down. It's one of those looks that immediately makes one want a thorough sonic shower.

"What do you want?" I ask, keeping my voice even. "I'm a passenger on this ship, my name is Gretchen Halliday. I don't know who you're looking for, but it's not me."

"Oh, I think it is," he says, his voice softening into a level easily recognisable as dangerous. He digs in a back pocket and pulls out a PADD. Flicking it on he holds it up so I can see the screen. There's my face, and below it the Federation's seal. It's a search bulletin. They've issued a notice to all traffic that they're looking for me. My heart sinks. There's a reward.

"So," he says, stowing the PADD again. "Looks like I get an extra pay day. Come on. I've got somewhere cosy to lock you down until I can turn you over."

I lash out, lifting one fist to parry the arm holding the knife and kicking at his knee with my right foot. It's like landing a blow on Colossus – completely ineffectual. He just grunts and then laughs, tossing the knife away and grabbing my wrist, twisting me around and forcing me back up against the wall, pressing his entire body up against me until my breath is forced from my lungs.

"I was hoping you'd put up a fight," he says. "They don't say what condition they want you back in, after all."

I'm so busy trying to free myself that at first I don't realise that he's stopped moving. He goes completely still, and then, a moment later, steps back, letting go of my wrist. I swing around and see that he suddenly has other concerns. There's a disruptor pistol pressing into his temple.

"Chakotay!"

My attacker continues to move back. He's looking daggers at Chakotay and for a second I think he's about to lunge. Chakotay obviously thinks the same, because a moment later he presses the trigger. The man dies in a graduated glow of energy, his death screams echoing around the room. I've barely had time to catch my breath before Chakotay is at the door, scanning the cargo deck to see if anyone heard. I don't have any time to waste so I go back to the transporter.

A moment later he's back at my side, though his eyes flicker over me only briefly before returning to the door.

"You shouldn't have followed me," I tell him.

"Looks as if you're lucky I did," he observes, mildly.

I shake my head. "I gave a false name. I don't understand how he knew who I was."

Chakotay's silent for a minute and when I glance up at him he's wincing. "Actually, that might have been my fault." I raise an eyebrow at him and he shrugs. "You shouldn't have run, Kathryn."

"I wasn't running," I tell him, "I was implementing the plan. A plan that, I don't know how many times I have to tell you, does not involve anyone else."

I finish the modifications and breathe a sigh of relief. Chakotay reaches out and grips my arm, turning me to face him.

"Kathryn, if you don't take me with you I swear I will hi-jack this ship and fly it straight over the border after you."

I make a sound in my throat that under other circumstances may be a laugh. "Don't be absurd. You'd never make it to the flight deck. And even if you did, the ship would be shot down the minute you violated the quarantine."

He gives me a 'so be it' look.

"Chakotay – this is ridiculous. You really want to force me to take you to your death? Why? Self-sacrifice is one thing, but it would just be a waste – a waste of a life I happen to care about. I won't do it. I'm going alone."

He smiles, shaking his head. "What happened to hope, Kathryn? What happened to chance?"

"There isn't a chance. How many times do I have to tell you? This is a one way trip."

"Plenty of people would have said that Voyager being stranded in the Delta Quadrant was a one-way trip."

"That was different," I sigh, "and you know it."

"Yes, it was different. But the principle is the same. We had no way of knowing, for sure, what was coming. We just had to hope that whatever it was, we could get through it. You think there's no way off that cube once you find a way onto it. But maybe – just maybe – there will be."

"Maybe isn't enough. The odds are against me."

"Maybe is enough for me," he says. "The odds might be against us but there are still odds."

He steps closer, until we're standing toe to toe.

"I'm not leaving you again," he says, with complete conviction. "Either I go with you or I follow afterwards. Which do you think has better odds for my survival?"

I lean forward, resting my head against his chest. He lifts his hand and rubs the back of my neck. "I don't want you to die," I tell him.

"And I don't want you to die," he says. "But more than that, I don't want to live on knowing that you died alone and I could have been there. Maybe I can't help. Maybe it is inevitable. But if the tables were turned, if our roles were reversed right now, would that stop you?"

I pull back to look at him, his hand resting on my shoulder. "Not in a million years."

He smiles. "And there's your answer," he says.

[TBC]