Kathryn leaned back in the warm water and let the bubbles brush gently against her neck and shoulders. She felt safe, and tired… and clean. Chakotay had already helped her wash her hair, and it was swept up on top of her head, cocooned in a plush bath towel that was doubling quite nicely as a pillow. Now, he was at the other end of the tub, bathing her feet, lifting each foot out of the water and running the wash cloth between each individual toe. She was touched by his careful ministrations, the concentrated look on his face, the tender care he took – like polishing fine silver.

"They're just toes, Chakotay," she smiled, watching as he lowered one foot only to pick up the other one again.

"Pink toes," he grinned, running the cloth over them for the second time.

Only her husband and perhaps the Doctor knew that under her black boots the Captain had rose-pink toenails.

"Do I need another pedicure?" she sighed. He'd watched her polish them before, but had never asked about the procedure.

"Pedicure?" he questioned the word.

"When you take care of your feet and trim your toenails, it's called a pedicure. Some people paint their nails, especially women."

He studied the toes on her left foot, then reached down with his other hand and lifted her right one, held them side by side. "All pink," he verified.

"That's good." She gave him another smile. "Come up here," she instructed, her left hand beckoning him closer with a curl of her fingers.

Gently, he lowered her feet back into the water and crawled to the head of the tub. Reaching out, she traced her fingers over his face, a frothy line of soap bubbles trailing across his cheekbone. "When was the last time you took a bath?"

He shook his head. "I'm not dirty."

And she laughed softly. "That's not what I asked."

"I'll take a bath…" He thought for a moment. "...when you're better."

"Oh." She instantly understood his reasoning. "So I can I help you."

"Uh-huh." He nodded, brushing at the wet bubbles on his cheek.

"You're getting so much better… you probably don't need my help anymore."

He moved closer, pressing his cheek further against her fingers. "I'll always need your help." And turning slightly, he kissed the palm of her hand.

~vVv~

And she would always need his, she thought as he took the towel from her hair, drying it gently as he pulled the terrycloth material away. He brushed the damp strands back from her face, then helped her out of the tub, one hand supporting her back as the other began to rub a larger towel along her arms and legs, smoothing gently over breasts and stomach, the shared intimacy of bathing another person's body helping to ease his initial hesitancy.

She was just the person who took care of him. The words were there, suddenly, in her mind. And she realized how comforting it was to know that he was still the person who could take care of her.

He walked her into the bedroom, and she stood beside him as he reached into the top dresser drawer and took out her peach nightgown. "Your favorite," he whispered, as he drew her towel away and carefully lowered the gown over her head, letting it fall around her body, his gaze reverent – as if he were anointing her.

She touched the silk of the nightgown, sliding her left hand across her stomach, then reaching out and taking his hand in hers, squeezing it softly. "It is my favorite," she agreed, so pleased that he knew.

And he smiled and guided her across the room. "Now – I'll tuck you in and bring you dinner."

"In bed?" she questioned even as she slid under the blankets that he held up.

"Well – some people have breakfast in bed, so you can have dinner in bed." He tucked the blankets around her, propping his pillow under her arm.

She looked up at him. "How do you know about breakfast in bed?" He hadn't eaten breakfast in bed since… well, since his time in Sickbay after the accident, and hand feeding someone in a biobed wasn't your typical breakfast in bed.

"Tom told me that sometimes he and B'Elanna have breakfast in bed – after the toast pops out of the toaster."

She nodded in understanding. Chakotay was fascinated by Tom and B'Elanna's quarters – the old-fashioned lamps, the toaster, the television.

"So, are we having toast?" she smiled.

"Do you want toast?" he asked seriously.

"I guess – maybe toast and soup?"

"Okay. I'll be right back." And he disappeared into the other room.

"Chakotay, be careful," she called after him. He could use the replicator by himself, but usually for simple things, like cookies or tea. He'd never replicated a complete meal.

She could hear his voice, speaking to the replicator, although she couldn't make out the words. And she waited. A few minutes passed, and then he appeared in the doorway, holding a tray in his hands, each step slow and careful. She could see two bowls, two glasses of milk, and a stack of toast.

"I got a tray," he explained when he reached the side of the bed.

Using her left hand, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and helped him lower the tray onto her lap.

"Tomato – good choice!" She balanced the tray with her hand as he settled on the side of the bed.

"It's Tom's favorite." He picked up a spoon and handed it to her. "Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes. It's one of my favorites, too." And she dipped the spoon into the nearest bowl and took a bite.

"Tom says the replicator can make fourteen kinds of tomato soup. This one's called hot plain."

"Umm… It's good." She dipped up another spoonful and held it out to him. "You try."

Leaning forward, he let her spoon the soup into his mouth. He swallowed and smiled, then picked up a piece of toast and held it out to her. "And I didn't burn anything."

"Not a thing," she agreed, trading her spoon for the toast and watching as he started to eat, his head bent to the task.

She set the toast on the tray and gently ran her fingers over the short hair at his temple. "Thank you – for taking care of me."

He lifted his head and looked at her. "Eat, Kathryn, before it gets cold."

"Yes, sir." And she picked up the other spoon and enjoyed dinner in bed with her husband.

~vVv~