Standing in the middle of the majestic holographic hotel, soaked, cold, and half-dressed, Kathryn Janeway stared down Justin Tighe.

"Kathryn, please," he begged, "I'm getting cold just looking at you. Sit." She didn't move.

He frowned. "Fine," he said calmly, and turned to shrug back into his own blue t-shirt before handing her back hers. "You'll be warmer with this," he offered. Still fuming inside, she accepted it wordlessly and shrugged it on.

Great. Our first real fight, she thought bitterly but reluctantly took a seat on the couch. Might as well get comfortable.

He joined her, but not before taking his blanket and wrapping it around her, doing so with a gentleness and a kindness that made her want to cry. That is, after she'd smack him upside the head for trying to tell her what to do yet again. Eyes the color of a midnight sky looked back at her.

"Are you okay with an early dinner?" he asked, as if nothing had happened. His disarmingly handsome face, adorably disheveled black hair and gentle smile all made her want to throw her anger and her self-respect right out that enormous picture window. Anything you want, Justin…

No. The Kathryn who dated Cheb Packer would've given in, and she'd sworn she'd left that naive young woman behind when she'd left for the Academy.

She pulled the blanket more tightly around herself as if it could protect her from his sheer force of will. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. Bombs away, she thought.

"Actually," she began, "I was okay with finishing that hike."

His expression remained unchanged. "I wasn't okay with you finishing that hike," he declared flatly.

Frustration, anger, annoyance, betrayal and about a half dozen other emotions all swirled inside her in a messy, tempestuous soup. He wasn't ordering her around as he might a junior officer anymore; he was treating her like a young girl, irresponsible and unable to make her own decisions. Why?

Impulsively she lashed out, attacking the first explanation that came to mind. "Just because I'm six years younger than you doesn't mean I can't take care of myself," she snapped.

He seemed blindsided by her comment. "I didn't think it did."

"You're trying to tell me what I'm capable of again, Justin."

"Kathryn, I'm trying to take care of you. Let me take care of you."

"There's chivalry and then there's treating me like a child. This is the latter," she retorted. There was absolutely no hiding the annoyance in her voice now. The challenge had become keeping her voice down something below the volume of yelling.

The expression on his face was one of a man who had found himself completely out of his depth. But in that enviable, frustratingly Justin way of his, he still seemed calm as a breezeless sea, his voice steady yet firm. "I don't understand. Kathryn, you're freezing. How is taking you someplace warm treating you like a child?"

There was no thinking needed when it came to her response. "I told you what I wanted," she said in the measured tone she'd gotten accustomed to using around him, "and as always you made your own judgment call for me anyways, Lieutenant."

He inclined his head quizzically. It took a moment for her to realize her little slip of the tongue. Her hand flew to cover her mouth. That wasn't a little slip-up, she thought.

Kathryn threw up her hands in frustration, explaining, "God, it's like we're back in the lab again."

Confusion played across his face for a moment, his eyes searching hers before realization dawned on him. "This is how we work," he said, blue eyes suddenly wide and aware. "This is what you hate so much about working with me."

"Hate's a little strong of a word," she countered gently, trying to soften the blow he'd dealt himself. "More like 'offends me' about working with you."

"Somehow that seems worse," he said slowly. While only a slight frown marred his face, worry had penetrated his voice in a way Kathryn was unaccustomed to hearing.

She thought back to the image of him in sickbay, watching the triage team remove his skin-tight, mud-covered body armor to reveal the few but terrible injuries the Toskanar dog had inflicted on him. Seeing those wounds, bloody and gaping, it was hard not to blame herself for them. He'd thrown himself in the path of that savage creature to protect her, something she now knew he'd done in more than just the name of duty.

But his desire to protect her somehow knew no bounds. And while that sounded romantic, in reality it was stifling, futile, even harmful. A Toskanar dog was one thing. Her own decisions, well-informed or otherwise, were another.

"Kathryn?" he asked, calling her back to the present, where he waited for her to finish her tirade.

Dammit, she thought, realizing what had happened. These memories were like quicksand, all-consuming and deep. At least this trip down memory lane had been fruitful and she knew what she needed from him. "Please don't try to protect me from myself," she begged.

His jaw was now set; he was clearly fighting the urge to say something in response and barely succeeding. They stared at each other, eyes locked in some kind of emotional combat.

"Help me understand you, Justin. I don't see why this is—"

"You're right."

He'd cut her off, which surprised her as much as it annoyed her. He was agreeing with her? She shook off the surprise as quickly as she could before this unexpected admission disarmed her.

"I know I'm right," she said petulantly. "What I don't understand is, why do you keep trying to protect me from me?"

His silence hung heavy in the air while he considered how to respond to her. "It's not that I'm not trying to protect you from yourself, Kathryn," he finally said, "I'm just trying to protect you. Plain and simple. I'm going to be overprotective. For a while. Possibly always. I'm hardwired that way, at this point." His blue eyes were pleading though his face was his usual stoic and stern. "Let me be a little overprotective. Please."

Admiral Paris's voice still echoed in Kathryn's ears: Lieutenant Tighe was held by the Cardassians for three days.

Three days.

Three. Days.

She had spent three hours in their captivity and she felt fundamentally changed, fearful and alert on a level that didn't seem rational. Justin's watchful wariness had made him seem self-assured, confident, and so in the time she'd known him she'd sized him up as a predator.

No, that assessment had been wrong, completely wrong. That wariness, his excessive caution, his overreaction to any perceived danger-that was no empowered predator. That was the behavior of anxious prey. Just like her.

He had to understand. She was going to make him understand.

"You said that everything in life you learned the hard way," she began. "Maybe I happen to agree with you that it's a very effective way to learn." She leaned in, ready to lay down the gauntlet. "But that means I'm going to do uncomfortable things, Justin. Risky things. Painful things. I'm going to make mistakes, but I'll be damned if I won't learn from them. I didn't get where I am by playing it safe. And I certainly can't protect myself if I'm not given the chance to learn how to."

The expression on his face was so serious that for a moment she thought the emotionless mask he usually wore was about to slip back on. And then he nodded, somberly. "You're right again, as usual."

She practically laughed out loud. "Forgive me, but as usual?" Six months of constantly getting told some subtle version of 'my ideas are better, Ensign' or just 'you're just wrong, Janeway' flew in the face of this.

"Yes. At the very least, you're almost always on the right path. This is no different." Kathryn noticed the subtle implication in his comment that he should still be the one to judge when she was right or wrong. Before she could even react to that thought, he spoke again. "But this got complicated when w—"

He snapped his mouth shut, cutting himself off mid-sentence, clearly rethinking what he wanted to say. "This is one of the rough-around-the-edges parts of me, Kathryn. Give me some time."

But he had asked for time. She could only give it to him.

She straightened up in her seat, having reached a compromise with herself. "Alright. You get to be overprotective. But—" She held up a finger defiantly, laying down the law, "We're aiming for a little overprotective. Let's stay on the near side of overbearing, if you could." This she said with a smile, trying to let him know that if he could relax about it, she could too.

He nodded seriously. "If you agree to call me on my bullshit, I'll do my best."

For some reason it amused her that he was cursing so casually, probably because it was such an uncharacteristic thing to see in someone so disciplined. A half-smile tugged at her lips as she replied, "You can count on it."

They'd reached an agreement; this was progress. So far their relationship was held together by a series of little formal agreements like this one. It made her wonder if they would ever be able to just be with each other. But before she could even consider an answer to the question, he reached up and touched her hair. "Your hair's drying. Do you still want to finish the hike?""

"Yes," she said instantly. "I'd like to."

"Computer—"

"Later," she interrupted him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it to reassure him. "Another time. Let's come back, hike the whole thing then. It's not like this program is going to disappear. "Besides," she said, gesturing to the large lake with her chin, "this seems too lovely to want to leave now that I'm here."

He smiled knowingly. "Wait until you see the Aurora borealis once the sun sets."

This made her pull her head back in surprise. "Justin Tighe. I never would've guessed you for a romantic."

Kathryn swore she the slightest blush of embarrassment on his face when he replied simply, "I guess I'm full of surprises today, Kathryn Janeway." It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but that didn't make her feel less guilty. Note to self, she thought, don't point out when he's being lovey-dovey, no matter how much she might like it.

"Dinner?" she asked instead.

"Dinner," he offered, and led her to a table.

#

The dinnertime sunset was impressive yet Kathryn barely noticed it, instead finding her attention drawn to the man who sat in front of her. They dined on steak, wild rice and vegetables as conversation flowed like a gentle brook between them, easy and quiet. That is, as long as they kept the topics firmly rooted in the last decade or so of their lives.

Kathryn had noticed earlier in the day that Justin avoided talking about home and his childhood. She managed to work out that he wasn't close to his sister, hadn't been back to Klatus Prime since starting at the Academy over a decade earlier, and as far as he was concerned 'there wasn't much to say' about the formative early years in his life. It seemed to him life started when he got to Earth at age 17.

She had however learned that once he started at the Academy he had committed himself with a laser-focus that was entirely familiar, quickly finding an aptitude for molecular engineering that he had followed with abandon. While he made no overt claims, she could tell that moving to Earth had been an uncomfortable adjustment. He filled his free time by working out his stress on a new hobby—jiu jitsu.

What he did tell her about his transition to the Rangers was that it began early. It was in those jiu-jitsu classes that he was scouted by one of the teachers, a four-armed Kiysalan woman named Edaaw, into training for the Ranger Corps. After his fourth year at the Academy he graduated into their elite ranks and had spent the eight years since in special operations.

On this topic he remained vague; Kathryn could tell that some of this haziness was because of the classified nature of the work. She wondered if he also held back because of some unimaginable toll it had taken on him. She knew what happened after his sixth year with the Rangers and didn't pry.

In spite of keeping her in the dark about his childhood-which left Kathryn to assume it was a largely negative experience but only fueled her curiosity-Justin seemed similarly disinclined to dive deep into that piece of her life. She watched his taciturn expression as she expounded on the annoyances and disappointments of her childhood and slowly began to censor herself.

A career in Starfleet had been a given for her, literally, practically since the day she was born. Throughout that journey she'd had any and all of the support she'd needed to get there. He's right, she thought. I'm spoiled. What surprised her as they continued to talk was that this realization brought up for her not feelings of shame or guilt, but gratitude.

At the end of the meal, they passed on dessert but finished instead with their second libations of the day. As their orders arrived, she asked him about his.

"What is it?" she said, hoping to start a new conversation topic.

"You've never seen beer before?" he asked in jest.

She shot him an amused glare, but indulged him. "Oh, no, never even heard of it," she said sarcastically, then asked seriously, "What type is it?"

"A stout they've been serving for 300 years. I drink it as much for the taste as the name."

"And that name is…?"

"Moose Drool," he answered.

She laughed out loud and he rewarded her with a slight smile. "Speaking of hidden senses of humor, would you care to explain where you've been keeping yours, Justin?"

He looked briefly at the floor with a sad smile on his face, acknowledging this fact, then looked back up at her. "If you're looking for a comedian, best to look elsewhere."

Kathryn couldn't help but notice his attempt to push her away and test her interest. Bloody hell, she thought. He's baiting me again. She debated calling him on it or just playing along, and quickly decided that it wasn't worth the argument. Dinner had been too enjoyable to ruin with another fight.

"Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy?" she asked wryly, then shook her head dismissively. "Nobody's everything."

"You seem to be," he said. This confused her.

"Me? No. I could say that of you, though. Engineer, Ranger, did I read that you're a pilot too?"

He shrugged. "Other duties as assigned. Last time I checked, you have a Ph.D. and dance in your spare time. I'd say that makes you something of a renaissance woman."

This left her flabbergasted, slack-jawed. The first one was in her service record but she shared the second with no one. She'd quit tennis after high school but privately had returned to ballet after realizing that the workout required to dance on pointe was unmatched and kept her strong yet lithe. Even Parises' Squares didn't keep her in the shape that barre work did. More personally, she found it to be a rare artistic outlet and antidote to the stresses of her life. But it was an archaic hobby, one she still felt she lacked the skill to be proud of and so told not a soul, keeping her pointe shoes in a discrete backpack that she took to the holodeck twice a week.

She sat stunned and speechless for a moment before asking, "How did you know I dance?"

"I happened to see your feet when we got out of the lake. Nobody on Earth these days lets their feet stay like that unless there's a good reason."

Dancing the Dying Swan well was a goal she was still working towards and its intense pointe work had left her feet in less than perfect shape. Every doctor she'd encountered had offered to repair the damage, but she'd learned that her feet had made their ugly adaptions so she could stand on her toes when she wanted to. Who was ever going notice her feet, she'd thought?

Evidently, him. She sat back in her chair. "You're very observant," she said.

Piercing blue eyes blinked back at her. "It's my—"

"Job," they finished in unison, and then both chuckled.

"So, ballet, I'm guessing?" he asked.

"How do you know this?" she asked, not only confused about how they'd arrived at this line of conversation, but that he was actively pursuing it. His overwhelming masculinity seemed completely incongruous with anything even vaguely related to ballet.

"My second year roommate at the Academy was from Russia," he explained. "His girlfriend was a ballerina with the Bolshoi. I'm not sure which he talked about more, her or ballet." He practically groaned, and this made her laugh.

"You had unusual roommates," she noted.

He shrugged. "You never answered my question, though," he reminded her.

"Yes to ballet," she answered somewhat reluctantly, as if giving up a private piece of herself she'd never get back. "Balanchine, to be specific, since I'm going to hazard a guess that you actually know the difference between styles." It seemed absurd that he cared. She was thrown back in time to her blind date with Wil Riker, where she'd tried to scare him off with dry exposition about her thesis topic only to find that not only was he interested, he actually knew about it.

But Justin shook his head. "I only know that my roommate thought Balanchine was inferior to the Russian style." He tilted his head pensively. "Then again, he thought everything that wasn't Russian was inferior and let everyone know it. It was amusing as hell." Kathryn laughed. How many times had he made her laugh today? So many she had lost count. It seemed incomprehensible. It made her wish she'd been able to know this Justin Tighe six months ago.

"Can I see you dance sometime?" he asked.

This made her choke on her own saliva. She picked up her glass of wine, taking a long drink then responding simply, "Oh, no. Absolutely not."

"If you're half as good as you are at everything else, you must be an incredible dancer."

She narrowed her eyes, considering his motives. "Flattery will get you nowhere." She took another drink and sat her glass down. There was no way she was ever going to dance for anyone. Being good at ballet was going to take work and incredible was going to be impossible. Besides, this wasn't just a creative outlet, it was a workout. Why should he watch her exercise? That just seemed odd.

"I can't convince you?" he asked. The question made her double guess herself but she held firm.

"Not on this one."

He nodded in acquiescence. "Alright then. Just know that I'm sure whatever you would perform would be beautiful." On instinct she wanted to brush him off, to fire off another dismissive comment or ignore what he'd said completely. But there was something in his eyes that stopped her.

He means it, she realized, shocked. The stone-serious look on his face told her that he wasn't saying it to charm or manipulate her. It was astounding, unexpected, and, she realized…completely unfamiliar to her.

"Maybe sometime," she said quietly, and took another sip of her wine to avoid his gaze. Perhaps—just perhaps—she could give him a glimpse into that deeply personal part of herself he was asking to see. He nodded, expression unchanged. It seemed that was all he had wanted to hear. He leaned back and crossed his arms contemplatively.

"So tell me about your Ph.D., Doctor Janeway, and explain to me just how much sleep you had to lose to finish that by age 24," he teased.

"Oh, God," she said, laughing, enjoying their banter once again.

#

They'd taken their drinks outside to sit on the hill that overlooked the now starlit lake. The blue and green ribbons of the Aurora Borealis danced in the sky as they watched, her head resting on his shoulder. Their tongues were tired from speech and other things, and it was good to just sit and enjoy.

Between slow sips of her third drink of the day, she contemplated the night sky. Unlike most of the men she'd been set up with at the Academy, Justin hadn't immediately pointed out and dissected constellations or other astronomical features in front of them. No posturing, no pretense, nothing to prove. It was only, "look, here's the Aurora—it's something else, isn't it?" and then they just enjoyed it.

A sigh escaped her lips. "We have to leave this, don't we?"

His arm slipped down from her shoulders to snake around her waist and he looked at her. "You don't like the alternative?"

"Staying?"

"No. I mean, leaving. Where we go if we leave. What we do if we leave." All she could do was blink, feeling like a deer caught in a bright light. What was he saying? "I think we've finished our first date, and I'd insisted we get through at least one date. Can I you again that I think you're the most beautiful, smartest and toughest woman I've ever met?"

"Stop indulging me, Justin."

He rested a finger on her lips. "I'm not. And if you think that's indulgent, what are you going to think when I say that I would very much like to sleep with you tonight, Kathryn?"

She'd heard of marriage proposals that were less indulgent and it took her a moment to get past the heart-wrenching swell of emotion she felt. Growing up she'd believed she resented everything old-fashioned. This was something old-fashioned she was happy to live with.

She grabbed him, kissing him hard, her hands pulling on his dark hair, pressing their lips together so hard it almost hurt.

"That flattery will get you nowhere," she breathed, interrupting her raging desires. "But the feeling happens to be mutual." She kissed him again, hard. "Permission granted. So very, very happily, excitedly, giddily granted."

"Giddily?"

"Oh, shut up." He laughed, and so did she. "Your place or mine?" she asked.

"Rank has its privileges, meaning I think I have the bigger bed." He couldn't help but grin, and neither could she. "So my place?"

She nodded, starting to feel excited, happy, giddy—all of the words she'd used, and made to stand up.

"I think you should wait here for five or ten minutes first. Then meet me at my quarters." This confused Kathryn, and she looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face for a moment. Then her heart sank the slightest bit.

"Ah. Right," she said, letting him know that she recognized the need for discretion. "Keeping up the appearance that we can't stand each other is going to be something of a challenge going forward."

He kissed her again, a deep kiss that took her breath away. "Maybe it won't be so hard. There's something I love about arguing with you, Kathryn Janeway."

She rolled her eyes playfully smacked him on the chest with the back of her hand. "Get back to your quarters, Tighe."

"Yes ma'am." He kissed her again, hard, pulling her against his body and leaving her breathless before letting her go. "My door will be unlocked. Just walk in." And with that, he turned and walked out of the holodeck, the doors parting with a woosh, leaving her standing in the middle of Montana.

Time passed painfully slowly and she lay down in the grass, keeping herself occupied counting stars.

Four years studying quantum cosmology and now I'm just ticking off constellations to stay distracted, she thought painfully. He's killing me.

"Computer, how much time has elapsed since Justin Tighe left the holodeck?" she asked.

"Three minutes, forty one seconds."

She groaned. She understood why they shouldn't be seen together socially but maintaining this new charade would make her miserable. She wished he had taken her with him. Now she was left with her own thoughts, none of which were encouraging. Yes, he wanted her—or thought he did. But what if he decided she was too inexperienced? Too thin? Too pushy? Too demanding? Or after two years of Cheb's manipulations, what if she was actually too submissive?

Kathryn was surprised to realize how much pleasing him mattered to her. Her psyche seemed at war with itself, wanting to need no one but also desperate to have him, feel him—to be wrapped up in the man she'd so recently despised. She wanted to end their fights by shoving her tongue in his mouth and pinning him down on his own bed.

She wasn't sure how he'd react to that.

That thought left her even more uneasy about how the evening was going to unfold. What would he be like? His natural inclination was to dominate. Would that be what he would want?

She spent the next six minutes pulling grass up in fistfuls.