Author's Note: Thanks again for all the reviews! I appreciate the comments and insights. I'm having a great time writing this story, and it's nice to be able to share it. JT

Long minutes later, she pulled away from his arms, brushing at the strands of hair that clung to her face, her cheeks still wet and hot from crying. She sniffled, ran a hand across her eyes and over her nose. "I'm sorry," she murmured, frowning slightly.

The Doctor smiled. "No need to be sorry. A healthy release of emotions is good for you. You may still be the captain, but you don't always have to be in control – with me or with Chakotay."

She shook her head, negating his words. "The last thing I need to do is fall apart with him," she resisted.

"Nonsense!" he scoffed. "It might be the best thing you could do. Right now, he's wrestling with fears and emotions – maybe he needs to see that you are, too. Neither of you has to be strong all the time."

Kathryn gave a hesitant smile. "There's no danger of that happening. I haven't felt very strong through any of this."

"But you have been," he assured. "Kathryn Janeway at her weakest is someone else on her strongest day."

She reached up and touched her hand to his cheek, cupping it gently. "Thank you," she said softly. As he started to respond, she continued. "And don't say you were just doing your job. Holding an emotionally distraught woman isn't part of the Emergency Medical Hologram's original programming."

"Yes, well," he glanced down, then back up, his eyes catching with hers, "according to Lieutenant Torres, I've grown well past my original parameters."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Haven't we all?" she whispered in his ear. And she felt him smile.

"It's late, Kathryn. You should get some rest."

With a soft sigh, she stepped back. "You're right."

"I'll be back in the morning – around 0800?"

She shook her head. "We'll be fine. You don't need to-"

He held up a hand to stop her words. "I promised Chakotay, remember? I'd like to talk with him some more about what he's feeling." He went over to the desk where he'd left his medical kit and took out a hypospray, brought it back to her. "He may need it in the morning," he explained.

Kathryn took the instrument. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"You might have to remind him that I was here." The Doctor arched his eyebrows. "I'm not sure how much of tonight he's going to remember."

"Not a lot, I hope," she returned.

"Then you tell him," the Doctor said, the tone of his voice insistent. At the look of surprise on her face, he continued. "He needs to remember. He needs to open up and discuss his fears. If you don't make him talk about this, then his plan will have worked – losing himself in a bottle of scotch. Don't let him run, Kathryn."

She pressed her lips together and nodded her head. He was right; she and Chakotay had a lot to talk about in the morning. She wasn't going to lose him – not ever again.

The Doctor retrieved his medical kit, tapped his commbadge, and called for a site-to-site transport. "Get some sleep," he reminded as he dematerialized a moment later.

And then he was gone.

Kathryn sighed and headed up the stairs. Sleep did sound like a good plan; she only hoped she could follow through. She took Chakotay's cane from the railing and went down the hall to the bedroom.

He was rolled over on his side, snoring softly, and she was glad that he was able to sleep. Of course, he'd had some help – several glassfuls of help.

She propped his cane next to his brace, then got ready for bed – the same motions as last night: nightgown, bathroom, brushing teeth, brushing hair. But, unlike last night, she realized that her routine was indeed very different. He was here with her. And that was the most important difference of all.

A few minutes later, she lowered the lights and slipped under the covers, pressing herself close to his back. His body felt warmer than usual, and he still smelled of scotch – smoky with a musty hint of fruit and licorice. She nuzzled her face close to his neck, breathed him in. And Chakotay – that indefinable scent that was his – fresh air and wind, pine and wood smoke. He'd always smelled like New Earth to her – sense memory, she supposed.

She carefully wrapped her arms around him, hands smoothing over his chest, resting lightly on his stomach. And with her cheek to his shoulder blade, she closed her eyes and slept.

~vVv~

The bed moved as he sat up, and she opened her eyes, instantly awake and reaching for him as he turned and pulled his legs over the edge and onto the floor. In the pale light reflected from the window, she could see him fumbling for his cane, and he gained his feet before her hand could make contact with his back. He managed two steps and then he fell, going down on his hands and knees, shoulders arching as he lost the meager contents of his stomach.

Kathryn was beside him immediately, her arms encircling him, holding even as he strained to pull away, her voice soothing in contrast to the harsh sounds of his retching.

"Shh, it's all right."

She felt him convulse under her hands, his head turning away as he heaved again, mostly liquid as she knew he hadn't consumed any dinner. She could feel him trembling, heat radiating through the thinness of his t-shirt. She draped her body half over his, smoothed one hand over his neck, the other holding his forehead. He arched again.

"I've got you, Chakotay," she whispered, her mouth to his ear, her cheek pressed to the back of his head.

He shuddered, and she held him firmly as his convulsions subsided. He maintained his position on hands and knees, but he leaned into her for support, hips and thighs against her chest and stomach, his body still trembling in her arms. He gasped for his next breath, and she felt the muscles along his back clench as he tried to control his physical reactions – another arching of his shoulders, but nothing came up – just dry heaves that went on for several long moments. She strengthened her hold on him, not letting go even when he tried to pull away, movements weak and uncoordinated.

Finally, his breathing grew steadier, more even, and his body relaxed. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders and held onto his arm as he tried to stand up, leaning almost all of his weight onto her, his body heavy in her arms. He managed to get to his feet, and with her help, he limped back to the bed and sagged onto it, lying back against the pillows as she lifted his legs onto the mattress, pulling the covers over him as he began to shiver, perspiration beading across his forehead. He turned his face away, drawing in each breath through his mouth, still fighting the nausea.

She took the hypospray from the bedside table and pressed it to his neck, then left him for a few seconds, going into the bathroom and returning with a cup of water and a warm wet washcloth. Setting the cup on the bedside table, she proceeded to bathe his cheeks and forehead, wiping away the dried blood as she had wanted to do earlier in the evening. He turned his head back, instinctively moving into the warm cloth, gazing at her from underneath half-closed eyelids, his expression still edged with pain and regret.

"Th-thirsty," he rasped, his tongue licking over dry lips.

She took the cup of water, and, with one hand supporting his neck, she lifted his head and held the cup to his mouth. He sipped eagerly at it.

"Easy, not too much," she warned, knowing that even with the hypospray his stomach might still be queasy.

He sighed and sank into the pillows as she took the cup away, setting it back on the table.

"'m sorry," he murmured, his eyes opened wider now, searching hers.

And she set the cloth aside, ran her hand over his cheeks and forehead, tracing the lines of his tattoo, needing to feel his skin under her fingertips. "I'm sorry, too," she whispered, massaging gently at his temple.

"Wh-why?" He drew in another breath. "You didn't… get drunk… and fall down the stairs," he managed, a slight embarrassed smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

She pressed her lips together, started to look down, but didn't – she maintained eye contact and admitted, "I left you. And I… I promised that I would never do that." She felt sudden, hot tears flood her eyes.

"Don't…" Chakotay breathed, reaching up, touching her cheek, wiping at the tears that began to fall. "This… isn't your fault." The muscles of his face hardened. "It's mine." He sighed. "I don't know why… Hell, I don't even drink scotch that much."

Kathryn couldn't suppress a small grin and a slight roll of her eyes toward the floor near the bathroom. "I can tell." He sighed again. And she took hold of his right hand, squeezed it hard. "We're going to be all right, Chakotay. We just have to talk to each other, and not-"

"Run away?"

She nodded.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked back at her. "I'm scared, Kathryn. I love you so much, and if I can't…" He drew in another deep breath, let it out slowly. She could feel him starting to shake again, saw tears fill his eyes as well. "If I can't show you… If I can't make love to you, then I…"

"Shh." She touched her finger to his lips. "You've been home for two days. We don't have to rush anything." She trailed her finger up over his face, brushing at his tears now.

He covered her hand with his, held it close to his cheek. "I want you," he breathed.

"You have me," she sighed. "You've always had me." And she leaned over and pressed her lips to his.

~vVv~