Disclaimer: I do not own it, but I'll still take liberties with it if I want. I even made up a little thing about the Res. Comm system, because I wanted to. So, HA! Paramount doesn't have dibs on all of it.



Chapter Two

"Told Twice"



"Morning, Captain. I hate to say it, but you look like shit."

"Good morning to you too, Tom. Obviously you don't hate to say it that much."

Minus the smart-ass comment, Chakotay had to agree. She didn't look like the night's sleep had done her any good at all, and worse yet, she was probably compounding the problem with a large mug of coffee. The shadows under her eyes were deep, and he could tell she was not looking forward to the day's business. Rehashing every first contact they'd made in seven years wasn't his idea of a good time either, and the panel of officers they faced to rehash it was also not the best of company.

Paris had dubbed it the Inquisition.

It was pretty close, barring that fact that there were no thumbscrews or burnings involved.

Chakotay fell into step beside the Captain, casting the Lieutenant an oblique glance as the three of them made their way to the cafeteria for breakfast. Tom seemed to be able to take the long debriefing in stride, even with a new baby to care for. He didn't look as tired as the Captain - indeed he looked well rested in comparison. Chakotay was suspicious about that. One of two things may have been occurring - a) Tom wasn't helping B'Elanna with Miral or b) he tried to help out, but B'Elanna was too picky about his baby-care methods, crabbed about them and thus chased him off.

Even though his natural impulse was to suspect Tom of wrongdoing, Chakotay admitted that the latter was more plausible. Once B'Elanna Torres staked her claim to things, she wouldn't tolerate any interference. She had barely endured Engineering crew at times, and that was about an engine.

"Well, I didn't think you'd want me to lie," Tom replied, a look of vapid innocence in his eyes. Feigned, of course.

She cast a long-suffering look at him. "So how's life in Family Quarters?" she asked with deliberate blandness.

"Scary as Hell, but I'll survive," he said, tugging at the collar of his uniform turtleneck.

"Shirt bothering you?" Her voice dripped malicious amusement. Kathryn was finding something funny about Tom Paris this morning, and Chakotay looked to see what.

Tom looked baffled by her comment, turning his gaze from the near empty corridor to her and back again, frowning.

Chakotay sighed, and decided to spare the pilot the suspense. "Tom, you're wearing B'Elanna's shirt."

He jerked, looking at them incredulously. "I am not," he breathed, sounding almost horrified. He reached up towards the collar, fingers contacting the solid bar of the rank insignia instead of his own pips. "Damn, I am."

The Captain made a noise that was not unlike a muffled laugh. "So I'll ask again, Mr. Paris," she said. "How's life in Family Quarters?"

"I'll say it again, scary. Downright dangerous."

She shook her head, laughing. "I think we'll just leave it there."

He frowned in consternation, touching the collar again. "It's hard to tell which shirt you're grabbing when you're leaving in fear for your life. I think she was going to start breaking bones. Coming from her, I appreciate the sentiment, but it's hard to focus when you're afraid your wife's going to show up somewhere in the middle of the day and jump you."

"Mr. Paris, I do not want to know," the Captain stated, taking a drink of her coffee.

"So I take it the shirt incident occurred after you left," Chakotay stated, watching the Captain blush.

The Lieutenant snorted, nodding. "Closet. Dark one. She's got this thing about small dark spaces. I'd go and trade her shirts if I didn't think she'd take it the wrong way and try that stunt again. I've got work to do, and so does she."

Kathryn's face was turning a shade redder than her hair.

Paris guffawed. "So are we done embarrassing the Captain?"

Chakotay nodded, grinning. "I believe so, yes. She can take it from here."

"I should have gotten rid of you two a long time ago," she muttered.

Tom gazed around the hall. It was still quite empty, despite the fact that they were nearing the cafeteria and it was breakfast hour. "You won't have to put up with us for much longer. Yeah, so, where is everyone? We've usually got a fair-sized group by now."

The Captain shrugged. "Harry had something he had to do in the city this morning, as I understand."

Tom snorted. "Yeah. Get his mother surgically removed from his arm. She just won't leave. I think she believes he got himself lost just to spite her or something. B'Elanna's down in the creche bothering the child care people about Miral's breakfast. Where's Seven?"

"She decided she didn't need breakfast today, and went back to the Intelligence officers before they asked her to," Chakotay supplied a little ruefully.

The Captain shook her head, pausing for the cafeteria doors to open. "She should stop doing that. She's going to give them the impression that she goes there willingly. How long have they commandeered her for today?"

"The whole thing, if they were allowed. She'd have the exobios all over her too if the Doctor didn't fend them off so skilfully. They're a disgusting bunch sometimes, if you ask me."

"You're biassed," Kathryn stated, a slight shadow crossing her expression.

"So are you."

"Touché." That was a safe reply. He had been momentarily afraid that she might ask what it was he thought she was biassed about.

Momentarily, the Captain wavered, almost as if she was about to fall. Reflexively, Chakotay reached out and grasped her arm, steadying her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She shook him off, stepping the door. "Fine," she replied, though looking a little pained as they entered the large, almost cavernous room.

The cafeteria proper at least contained people, and like every other day before the entering Voyager crew members received a quick, curious glance from almost every pair of eyes there. Most of the crew - barring personnel who couldn't add much to the debriefing - was placed in Residence quarters out of necessity. Most of the other Starfleet personnel who were there were either being debriefed as they themselves were, awaiting assignment, possessed no contacts on Earth but took furlough there anyhow or they were the type who had been drafted, so to speak. The Federation did not tolerate people who would not apply themselves to an education or trade, so they put slackers into service. A bad practice in some cases, but such were rarely given sensitive tasks unless they proved they were up to it.

Needless to say, Voyager was a novelty, and a novelty that was somehow not losing its appeal. The whole situation was ripe for stupid questions, and many a person in Residence had already received the patented Janeway Death Glare. Chakotay would sympathise with them in any other case, but people seemed remarkably dense sometimes.

Everyone was seeing some of that. Seven had turned her "get the hell away from me" look into something that left one wondering if one's continued good health was a sure thing. Chakotay was just thankful she never turned that glare on him. That look had vestiges of the Captain's influence in it, and Kathryn could turn a look into a threat of violence so easily that he wondered if it beared teaching.

On this train of thought, Chakotay's eyes scanned the room for a particular presence. One Lieutenant Commander Jake Talbot, a man who would give James T. Kirk pause if they ever met, was one of the more obtuse individuals in Starfleet. It was a blinding miracle that the man had achieved the rank he had.

Chakotay was certain that Talbot had probably taken a run at every female in Starfleet who was Earthside at the moment. He was the sort of individual who made Chakotay want to do some constructive bone breaking. Talbot even shocked Tom, and at subsequently been hit in the face by the pilot for a comment - most likely about B'Elanna - that Chakotay wasn't sure he wanted to hear repeated.

What capped it was that the man did not stop at harassing his subordinates. In a moment of pure stupidity, he had made a pass at both the Captain and Seven in the same breath, as the two in question were discussing something. Chakotay hadn't even felt the need to get belligerent about it at the time (he had later) because Talbot was all but eviscerated on the spot by two sets of glaring blue eyes and a few choice words from the Captain.

To hear tell, he was never the same lecher again. The rumour mill of Residence was hundreds of times more voracious than Voyager's ever was.

It was a wonder he himself wasn't dead several times over because of those two. Paris had also witnessed Talbot's exchange with them, had taken a good look at the fellow and had looked heavenward muttering something to the effect of "Lord, have mercy on his soul."

At the moment, the Captain wore her morning glare as she thumped unceremoniously onto a chair at an empty table. Whatever dignified reserve she showed at official functions was not apparent just then, had she didn't appear to give a damn, even as Tom gave her a strange look as he made his way to the replicators.

Chakotay tapped her shoulder to get her attention, and she looked up at him glassily.

"Um?" she inquired.

"Want anything?" he asked, indicating the replicators.

"Double espresso?" She gestured with her now-empty mug.

"I don't think that'd be good for you. Is that your first or second coffee?"

She thought about that for a second. "Third."

"Good grief, Kathryn, you'll kill yourself," he stated, trying to put some censure into it.

She yawned. "I'm not dead yet, though I feel like I'm nearly there. I'm making up for yesterday. I didn't have coffee yesterday."

"You're going to give yourself an overdose," he said, shaking his head.

"Stop pestering me. It takes one hundred cups of coffee in one day to kill a person . . . or something . . . and I'm not to that point yet. And I'm not hungry, so don't start bothering me about breakfast either. If I get hungry, I'll eat."

"No, you won't."

She glared at him. "Go get yourself something."

"Actually, I'm not too hungry either," he said, sitting in the chair next to her.

"I'm exempt, you are not and you can't guilt me into anything, so stop it. I-" She stopped abruptly, eyes going rather wide and unfocused. She seemed to look right through him "The bridge!" she choked. Her hands began to shake. "The bridge, Chakotay."

"Kathryn? Are you all right?" he asked, alarmed. She couldn't see him, or at least it looked like she couldn't. She turned her head, looking but not seeing anything in the room. He took her by the arms and shook her. The bridge? Some sort of waking dream? It was not unheard of, and maybe her fatigue was contributing to- "Captain! Look at me," he insisted, shaking her.

For a brief moment she seemed to flicker, like a malfunctioning hologram, yet it was more like she was fading than anything else. He could see almost straight through her, but abruptly she became solid again, stared at him in confusion, and slumped forward -seemingly unconscious.

There was a clatter - a falling tray - and Paris seemed almost to bound right over several tables in his haste. He happened to be carrying a medical tricorder, and almost wrenched it from its holder at his belt.

"What happened?" he demanded, running the scanner over the Captain as Chakotay tried to prevent her falling from the seat. Tom paled, staring at the readings. "Holy shit. It looks like she's been running a Klingon marathon."

"Well, she did seem exhausted," Chakotay muttered. Suddenly he gave in to his panic at seeing her collapse so suddenly. It was the subject of many of his nightmares, her illness, her injury, her death. . . .

"Not that exhausted. That's almost literally dead tired. We've got to get her to the infirmary. I can't deal with this here. Hell, I can't deal with it there. Where's the Doc?"

"I don't know," he replied woodenly, gathering his Captain's inert form into his arms. He had never carried her in such a way before, but somehow he perceived that she must be lighter than usual. Kathryn Janeway looked to be a featherweight at the best of times, but surely there was more to her than this? He cradled her carefully, irrationally afraid that he might break her.

Tom tapped his comm badge. "Lieutenant Paris to Residence Router Two, put a line through to Voyager's EMH." Starfleet Headquarters were vast, and comm traffic was heavy. Several computers were required to sort out the signals, and to direct them to the proper people.

"Acknowledged," came the computer's expressionless female voice.

"Doc, you there?" Paris demanded, beckoning for Chakotay to follow him.

"I am, Mr. Paris. Is something the matter?"

"The Captain just collapsed, the Commander and I are taking her to the Res. infirmary. Where are you?"

"I will be there as soon as I can. Doctor out."

Tom rolled his eyes. "He didn't answer me. C'mon, Chakotay. Let's get out of here before we get surrounded by the Curious Mob here."

He didn't need to be told twice.



To be continued . . .

***