Lead Me Through the Fire
Part Four
Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 58034.7. It's been three months since Seven's death and the crew, myself included, are still feeling the effects of her loss. I don't think Seven ever knew how many lives she touched aboard Voyager.
I'm most concerned about my First Officer, who was of course the hardest hit by the tragedy. He has kept his grieving very private, as is his nature. If it were anyone other than Chakotay, I would wonder if they were grieving at all, but I think I know him better than that. He's too private a man to share this experience with any of us, since none of us can really understand it. I can at least understand his motivations, since I might do the same in his situation, but his tendency for privacy means none of us really know how he is dealing with Seven's death. We never talk as we used to, a loss I feel almost as severely as Seven herself... it seems I've lost two of my closest friends rather than one.
Crew morale has also suffered from the seemingly endless stream of Borg attacks. I suspect that our escape frustrated the Queen and she is out for revenge, if the Borg even experience a desire for revenge. Since she now knows we have no information regarding Unimatrix Zero that can be of use to her, I can't think of any other motivation for this persecution of me and my crew other than a vendetta.
.....
Chakotay sat cross-legged in the middle of his quarters, his medicine bundle spread out on the floor before him. He leaned forward and pressed his palm to the akoonah.
"A-koo-chee-moya. I pray to the spirits to let me speak to my wife, the one whom my heart called Annika. Though she was not of our people, I believe the spirits of my ancestors would guide her and watch over her. Perhaps there is one in these skies far away from my homeworld who can find her... let her know I pray for her to find peace. A-koo-chee-moya."
He had a vague sense of time passing, but meditation eluded him. Neither in his quarters, nor somewhere else more indistinct, he wasn't sure how many times the chime to his quarters rang before it penetrated his awareness. He looked up with a frown. "Come."
The doors slid open with a hiss and Captain Janeway stepped tentatively inside his quarters.
He got to his feet. "Captain. What can I do for you?"
She attempted to hide her disappointment at his formal demeanor. "I'm here as your friend, not your captain. I wanted to... to see how you were doing." When he continued to stare at her in silence, she added, "I thought you might want to talk."
"Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine."
She finally noticed his medicine bundle on the floor at his feet. "I didn't realize you were meditating. If I'm interrupting...."
He continued looking at her mutely and her composure began to waver in the face of his coldness. "You don't have to go through this alone, Chakotay."
"You're one to talk, Kathryn. When do you ever let anyone else help you?"
She stiffened. "You of all people should know that I do my best to --"
"But you still try and shoulder everything alone, deal with it yourself. You of all people should respect my decision to do the same."
Her eyes were sad. "I still wish you'd talk to me, Chakotay."
"I tried talking to you. You didn't want to listen."
She crossed the room, narrowing the gap between them. "I'm listening now."
He looked out the window and took a deep breath before turning back to her. There was something in his eyes, anger perhaps, that she had only seen a handful of times and rarely directed at her. "You want to talk? Fine. This is a mistake."
"What is?"
"This. Going through Borg space. You always were a risk taker, Kathryn, and this time it's catching up with you."
Her expression clouded. "You would have us give up? Forget about getting home? Or take a ten-year detour?"
"I'd have us stay alive," he snapped. "If it weren't for your stubborn streak, Seven would still be here."
"If it weren't for my stubborn streak, Seven would still be a Borg drone," she snapped back. She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but it was too late.
He looked away again. When he turned back to her, the anger in his eyes was gone, replaced with a hollow blackness that scared her for a reason she couldn't define. "I warned you there would be consequences," he said quietly. "This could only be the beginning."
"If you have a suggestion," she said tersely, "I'm willing to hear it."
"I don't," he admitted. "It's too late for that. You've got us in so deep, I'm not sure we'll ever get out."
"We've got the vinculum transceiver. It's worked so far."
"I hope it was worth the price we paid for it."
She winced at that. She bit back another retort, and her expression softened. "She wouldn't have wanted this," she said quietly after a few moments. "She wouldn't have wanted to see us fighting over her... to see you pull away from the people who care about you."
He stiffened. "Don't presume to know what she wanted, Kathryn. None of you knew her like I did."
"I know. But you weren't the only one who lost her, Chakotay." Her voice wavered slightly as her carefully imposed self-control began to break down. "We need to grieve too."
"You can't possibly compare your loss to mine."
"I'm not trying to. But why can't we share our loss?" She stepped closer to him, reaching out to touch the side of his arm as if that might bridge the chasm between them. "I'm here for you, Chakotay. We all are. You only have to ask." He refused to meet her gaze, but she continued. "I cared for her too. I rescued her from the Collective, I fought to keep her on Voyager and make her a part of this crew, I watched as she rediscovered her humanity..." Her voice failed her.
It seemed a long time before he spoke. "Do you know what it's like," he said quietly, "to hold someone you love and watch helplessly as they ebb away before your eyes, to regret all the things you never said?"
"No," she whispered.
He looked at her coldly. "Pray you never have to, Kathryn."
She had no answer to that, and dropped her hand from his arm. She turned to leave, but paused as she neared the door and turned back. "Do you really think I don't know that I'm responsible for her death?" she said, her voice hoarse and her expression fraught with pain she no longer struggled to conceal. "Believe me, I know. And I'll have to live with that knowledge every day for the rest of my life."
Without another word, she turned and left his quarters, unshed tears stinging her eyes.
......
Captain's Log, Stardate 58431.5. Voyager has not weathered this steady stream of Borg attacks as well as I would have liked, but thankfully the injuries to the crew have not been serious. However, our vinculum transceiver has been damaged, leaving us more vulnerable to detection than ever before.
Captain Janeway turned the damaged transceiver over in her hands. "Is there any chance you can repair it?"
B'Elanna shook her head. "The power matrix is completely fused."
"Without some kind of expertise in Borg technology, it will be near impossible to fix it," added Harry.
Her lips tightened into a fine line as her thoughts naturally drifted to the Borg expert who was no longer with them. She could hear the thought weighing in Harry's voice, as well. "What about Icheb?"
B'Elanna and Harry exchanged a skeptical glance. "I'll ask him to have a look at it," said B'Elanna.
The captain continued scrutinizing the vinculum, her expression unreadable. "Keep working," she said finally, returning the damaged equipment to Harry. "I'd hate to lose it considering we paid such a high price to obtain it... too high," she added under her breath.
"Aye, Captain."
......
"I'm gonna getcha... I'm gonna getcha!"
Miral Paris squealed and bounced along the couch, leaping onto the floor and darting behind another chair as her father chased her around the living room.
He lunged at her, drawing another high-pitched squeal of enjoyment as she darted away and crawled underneath the desk against the wall. Tom crept up and snatched one of her feet, dragging her back out as she laughed.
Slinging her over one shoulder, he proceeded to spin around until she yelled with delight, then tossed her lightly down onto the couch.
"Again!" she demanded as Tom sunk down next to her.
"Maybe later," he said as he caught his breath.
"Now!"
"Daddy's tired right now."
Miral crossed her arms in an exaggerated pout. She looked around the room for some other form of entertainment. Finding none, she turned back to Tom and climbed onto his lap. "Where's Mommy?"
"Working."
"She always working!"
"She's got a big job."
The truth was, he hadn't seen B'Elanna for almost three days now. She had been working double and triple shifts in Engineering, trying desperately to repair the vinculum transceiver, so far without much success. They had already narrowly evaded two spheres and a survey cube, but long-range sensors -- when they were working, at least -- showed much more Borg activity in the space ahead of them with no opportunity to go around. And without the vinculum transceiver to keep them at least partially camouflaged....
As if reading his mind, the lights in his quarters darkened and were replaced by the throbbing scarlet of the red alert light.
Red alert. The stress of the past few weeks was evident in Captain Janeway's clipped tones. All hands to battle stations.
He sighed, but lifted Miral off his lap and plunked her down on the couch as he hit his commbadge. "Paris to Naomi Wildman."
On my way, Lieutenant. Naomi, the one person on board who had nothing to do during a crisis, had taken to watching Miral during the increasingly frequent periods when Tom and B'Elanna's duties kept them both away from their daughter.
He clipped Miral affectionately under the chin. "Daddy's gotta go. Naomi's going to come watch you but I'll be back later, and we'll play some more."
He started for the door, but Miral jumped off the couch and caught up to him, grabbing two fistfuls of his pant leg with her chubby hands. "No, Daddy!"
He pried her small fingers apart, releasing her grip. "Miral, let go. I can't stay."
Tearing her hands from his clasp with surprising strength, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms completely around his leg just above the knee. "No-oo-oo!" she wailed.
"Miral!" He attempted to wrestle her free of his leg, but she only screamed and clung tighter. "Miral, I can't --"
"Don't go, Daddy, I'm scared!" she screamed.
He stopped fighting with her as she began sobbing with her face pressed against his thigh. He reached down and stroked the back of her head. "Miral, sweetie...."
She looked up at him, accusation flashing behind the tears swimming in her dark eyes.
This time, she allowed him to pry her arms away from his leg and he knelt down to her eye level. "I know you're scared," he said, tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. "But my job, and your mom's job, is to try to keep all of us safe when the scary stuff happens. You know that, right?"
She nodded.
"And who's the best pilot in the universe?"
With a hint of a smile, she gently poked his shoulder.
"Darn right. So I have to go fly the ship and keep us out of trouble. Okay?"
She nodded again. "Come back soon?"
He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Just try and stop me, kiddo."
Climbing to his feet, he tousled her hair affectionately. "Naomi will be here soon. You just wait, and be good. All right?"
"Yeah."
When she looked at him, struggling to hold back her tears, Tom might not have had enough willpower to leave his quarters right then if the ship hadn't rocked under him from a torpedo blast. With one backward glance, he dashed out of his quarters and started for the bridge.
......
Captain's Log, Stardate 58549.4. We have taken refuge at the edge of a J-class nebula in order to repair some of the damage Voyager has sustained since we lost the vinculum transceiver. With the replicators offline and environmental controls fluctuating, tensions are running high and the crew is beginning to show the physical and mental strain of these constant assaults. Our power grid is functioning at 55 and the warp core is offline, making us even more vulnerable to attack.
Captain Janeway stood with her hands on her hips and her lips pressed together as she assessed the situation. The red alert siren was pulsing in the background and the illumination on the bridge was a dull crimson.
"It is a class four sphere," Tuvok reported. "They are on a direct intercept course."
"How long?" asked the captain.
He checked his readouts. "They will be within weapons range in less than two minutes."
"Janeway to Engineering. B'Elanna, what's your status?"
The plasma coils are completely shot. It could take hours to repair, and that's assuming we don't sustain any more damage.
"The sphere is within four million kilometers," said Tuvok.
"Tom," said the captain as she took her seat, "you know the drill."
"Evasive maneuvers," he responded.
His efforts proved futile, as the cube overtook them within a matter of minutes. Captain Janeway's slender fingers dug into the armrest of her chair, her knuckles slowly turning white, as their failed attempts at evasion were punctuated by the staccato of Borg torpedoes slamming into the already weakened vessel.
Consoles overloaded around the bridge under the onslaught and the lights began to flicker with each successive torpedo hit.
"Shields at thirty-nine percent," announced Tuvok after a particularly strong jolt. "Our weapons are having no effect."
Another concussion jarred the bridge, throwing them violently forward in their seats. Captain Janeway pressed her lips into a firm line, her eyes blazing as her mind worked, desperately seeking a way out of the dire situation they had found themselves in. "Mr. Kim, scan the composition of the nebula. Would it be sufficient to impair the --" She broke off as another torpedo hit threw her sideways, slamming her into the armrest of her chair with enough force that she would be sure to find a nasty bruise there in the morning. "-- Borg sensors?" she finished.
Harry examined his readings. "It might be, but we'd have to --" Another jolt. "-- get in pretty deep. And our sensors would probably suffer the same effect."
"Better to be hiding blind than be fighting toothless," replied the captain. The next impact was severe enough to nearly throw her out of her seat and she was hard pressed to avoid being thrown to the floor.
"Aft shields are down!" warned Tuvok. "Lateral shields are at seventeen percent.
"Bring us about, Mr. Paris. Head for the nebula and keep our stern out of their sight."
"Aye aye, Captain."
Before he was able to turn the ship, several Borg torpedoes found the unprotected aft sections of the ship. The concussions became even more violent than before, and this time the captain wasn't able to retain her seat. Wincing as she pushed herself off the floor, she pushed her hair out of her face to be able to see.
"Hull breach on deck twelve!" snapped Harry, his eyes flying over the damage reports pouring in. "We lost half a dozen EPS relays on decks eleven through fourteen, main power won't be able to hold out much longer."
Completing the turn, Voyager was now making a dash for the refuge of the nebula, facing the sphere head-on that stood between them and their destination. The bow of the vessel was now taking the brunt of the attack and the bridge crew could feel the bulkheads straining under them with every hit.
"Hold her steady, Tom. Tuvok, give him some cover."
The Vulcan let loose an array of photon torpedoes and a rapid series of phaser blasts. All exploded harmlessly against the metal behemoth that loomed closer on the viewscreen.
The consoles around the bridge flickered, went out, then returned dimmer than before. "We've lost main power," announced Harry. "Auxiliary is at eighty-two percent."
"How far, Mr. Paris?"
"Five thousand kilometers to the edge of the --" Another torpedo slammed into Voyager. Tom's console overloaded with a loud crack, throwing him out of his seat.
Captain Janeway, thrown to the floor again by the force of the impact, pulled herself up and limped over towards him. There was a large burn on his cheek and he was unconscious, but when she pressed her fingers to his neck she could feel his pulse, steady and strong.
She took his place at the helm and checked their position as one of the bridge crew lifted Tom and carried him to the turbolift.
"Hull breach on deck two," said Chakotay, reading off the console next to his seat. "Emergency forcefields are holding."
"Phasers and photon torpedoes are offline," added Tuvok.
The bridge lurched violently, slamming the captain forward into the helm with enough force to hear an audible crack as her skull impacted the unforgiving surface. She winced as she pushed herself off the console, parallel streaks of blood running down her forehead and the display in front of her.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve and blinked as her vision came back into focus. "We're inside the nebula," she gasped, short of breath. She quickly scanned the nebula's composition. "Two point five particles per million of sirillium. That should be enough. Tuvok, if we rerouted all available power to weapons would you be able to give me a single shot from the rear phaser banks?"
"We'd probably wipe out half the power grid," interrupted Harry.
The captain ignored him. "Tuvok?"
"I believe it would be sufficient."
She entered a series of commands on the blood-smeared console. "I'm dropping to thrusters."
"Captain," began Chakotay, "if you ignite that with our shields down --"
"We'll still be better off than if we do nothing,"
"Not if you blow out the power grid. We'll be completely defenseless."
"If it works, we won't have anyone to defend ourselves against." She checked her display. "They're closing to five thousand kilometers."
"I'm bringing us back up to full impulse -- Tuvok, fire on my command."
"Aye, Captain."
"Harry?"
"Standing by to reroute auxiliary power to weapons."
She watched the approach of the Borg sphere on her display until they were deep within the nebula. Voyager would be close to the volatile gases... too close, but if she waited the sphere might survive the blast.
"Now!"
The lights on the bridge flickered as power was transferred to the phaser banks. The narrow red beam shot out from the rear of the ship, cutting through the nebula. Almost instantly, the gases ignited in a rolling cloud of flame that engulfed the sphere pursuing them.
A split second later, the explosion reached Voyager. The damaged vessel was keeled over sideways as the massive shockwave ripped past it. The bridge crew was tossed to the ground and the ship shuddered audibly for the several seconds it took for the wave to pass.
Captain Janeway slowly pushed herself off the floor, her head pounding. "The sphere?"
"Destroyed," said Tuvok.
She released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding, and wiped another trail of blood off her forehead. "Damage report."
"The main power grid is almost completely destroyed," said Harry. "Emergency power is at 39. Life support is offline on decks four through eight, sections fifteen to twenty-three. They're being evacuated. The Doctor is setting up triage in the mess hall."
"Systems?"
"The navigational array and long-range sensors are down."
"Weapons and shields are offline," added Tuvok. "Structural integrity is at 58."
"Hull breaches on decks two, four, and ten through twelve," said Chakotay. "Casualty reports are still coming in."
"Arrange... a full survey of the ship," she said as she pulled herself to her feet with effort. "I want a complete damage report."
"Captain."
"What?" she demanded, turning to Tuvok.
"You require medical attention."
It wasn't a suggestion, and she wasn't in a mood to engage in what would doubtless be an unpleasant debate with her security officer in the middle of the bridge. She also knew that he had a point; she could feel warm blood still oozing down the side of her face from the open wound. "Chakotay, take the helm. Inform me immediately if the Borg show any sign of returning."
"Aye, Captain."
.....
Captain Janeway sat impatiently as the doctor scanned her. The converted mess hall was crowded with injured crewmen, but fortunately most of the injuries did not appear life-threatening. Remarkable, considering the beating the ship had just taken.
"What about Lieutenant Paris?" she asked as the Doctor examined his tricorder.
"He suffered several minor burns, but nothing serious."
"When can he return to duty?"
"Tomorrow, assuming he feels up to it." He reached for a hypospray. "I don't suppose I can hope to give you the same prognosis."
She raised a defiant eyebrow.
He sighed but didn't appear very surprised. "Aside from the laceration you have a mild concussion. Your fifth this month, I might add."
"Doctor...."
He applied a hypospray to the side of her neck. "You can return to duty when I'm finished. But remember, if you --"
"-- experience any dizziness, nausea, or headaches, come see you. I know the drill."
"Hmph," he huffed with a frown, but then his expression softened. "You really should be more careful, Captain."
"I'll be sure and inform the Collective of your concern. Maybe they'll go easy on us next time."
He ignored the retort and began preparing the dermal regenerator to heal the gash on her forehead.
As he raised the device, the captain's head snapped up with an instinctive alertness. Almost immediately, the lights dimmed and the all-too-familiar sound of the red alert siren eclipsed the ambient noise in the mess hall. A fraction of a second later, an impact rocked the ship, nearly throwing her off the cot.
Her vision spinning as she righted herself, her fingers had barely brushed the surface of her commbadge when Chakotay's clipped tones came through.
Bridge to Janeway -- a cube has just dropped out of transwarp.
She pushed herself to her feet and shoved past the Doctor, heading for the door. "I'm on my way."
The Doctor chased after her. "Captain, I'd like to run more scans in case --"
Another torpedo rocked Voyager and Captain Janeway had to grab hold of the hologram's arm to stay on her feet. Her gaze was cold and determined as her eyes met his; the torpedo blasts were all the answer she needed to his request.
However, he refused to relinquish his grip on her arm. "You could have serious complications that I'll only be able to detect with a more detailed scan."
She frowned as if his algorithms were malfunctioning. "Treat the others first. I'm not going to sit here being scanned while the Borg try to pulverize my ship."
He still would not release her. "I could make it an order," he warned.
She roughly jerked her arm away. "Not now." She spun on her heel, her hair giving him a defiant flip as her quick strides carried her through the mess hall doors. Her brisk pace belied the warning throbbing in her head.
Before she made it very far down the corridor, a pair of Borg torpedoes found their mark in quick succession and threw her against the bulkhead with a violent thud. She winced as she regained her feet, but then her frown deepened and she pressed her fingers to her forehead as the dull ache became a sharp, insistent pain.
After a few seconds, it passed and she continued down the corridor.
.....
Chakotay braced himself against the helm as a series of Borg torpedoes slammed into the unprotected hull. "Report!"
"Structural integrity is at sixty-three percent and falling," said Tuvok.
"We're not going to be able to take much more of this!" yelled Harry over the noise.
"Impulse engines are offline," said Chakotay. "I'm trying to boost power to the thrusters."
Another torpedo exploded violently against the saucer section. The concussion brought part of the roof of the bridge down around them. Voyager seemed to be coming apart at the seams under the barrage.
A fire was raging at the science station, the flames slowly licking their way across the floor and filling the air with acrid smoke.
"Hull breach on deck three!" shouted Harry.
The doors behind the tactical station opened and Captain Janeway stumbled onto the bridge amidst another series of explosions.
She grasped the edge of Tuvok's console for support. "Weapons?"
"Negative, Captain."
Fighting off a stabbing wave of nausea, she made her way to her seat, tossed roughly into it by another torpedo impact. "Can we outrun them?"
"Not on thrusters," said Chakotay.
A large beam from the roof crashed down, landing in the middle of the bridge.
"Structural integrity on decks one through six is at 38 and falling," said Tuvok.
Another torpedo slammed into the saucer section. Several panels exploded in a shower of sparks at the rear of the bridge.
"Twenty-five percent," said Tuvok. "Captain, I recommend that we evacuate the bridge."
The captain turned her attention to the panel on her armrest. "Reroute all available power to structural integrity."
"Emergency power is at thirty-one percent," said Harry. "We'll never get enough to reinforce the hull."
She ignored him, working diligently at her panel and Harry and Chakotay exchanged an uneasy glance.
"Captain, emergency forcefields are offline," said Chakotay. "If structural integrity fails --"
"I only need another minute to --"
"We may not have that long!"
The dizziness was coming in waves now, but she pushed it aside and tried to concentrate. Looking for something, anything, a scrap of power that she could use to protect her bridge from destruction.
"Structural integrity is at seventeen percent."
Chakotay jumped up from the helm. "Everybody out! That's an order!"
The captain looked up at him, her eyes simultaneously furious and desperate, then looked around at the ruins of the command centre. She saw defeat staring back at her. "Computer... transfer all command functions to... Engineering." It was hard to keep her concentration now. "Authorization... Janeway Pi Zero Zero One."
Chakotay reached down and gripped her arm, but his touch was gentle. "Let's go, Kathryn."
She began to stand up, but her legs gave out and all she could see were swimming flames engulfing her bridge before everything went black.
......
First Officer's Log, Stardate 58551.7. We successfully evaded the Borg deep inside the nebula, but Voyager is crippled and it doesn't appear that we'll be leaving our new home anytime soon. The damage to the ship is severe; the hull breach on the bridge has forced us to set up a command post in Engineering for the moment. The captain is still recovering from her injuries and I've temporarily assumed command.
The first thing Captain Janeway became aware of was the smell. It was hard to define the odor... smoke, perhaps, or blood. Or both.
The second thing she became aware of was the throbbing pain in her head. Her eyelids were heavy, but she slowly forced them open. It took several seconds for her to process everything. She was in Sickbay... no, a cargo bay by the looks of it. She had been on the bridge....
The Borg.
She sat up with a jerk. The room swam around her and she was hit with a sharp wave of nausea, and she quickly lay back down.
The Borg. They had been under attack. The bridge on the verge of collapse....
"Captain. I didn't realize you were awake. How do you feel?"
She turned her head slowly in the direction of the EMH's voice, which seemed much louder than usual, and grimaced. "Terrible," she rasped, her mouth dry.
"I can imagine," said the Doctor, taking a seat on the cot next to her. He helped her sit up, slower this time, and began scanning her with his tricorder.
"What happened?" she asked, gently massaging one temple as she looked around. She was indeed in one of the cargo bays, which was filled wall to wall with cots occupied by injured crew.
"Your head trauma resulted in vascular hemorrhaging that wasn't detected by my initial scan. I was able to stop the bleeding and relieve the intracranial pressure before it caused any lasting brain damage, but if you hadn't received treatment when you did --"
"I get the picture. I meant what happened with the Borg."
He frowned. "Oh. We're inside the nebula, from what I've been told. I assume they lost track of us."
"Casualties?"
"Three, so far." He glanced at her over his tricorder. "Nearly four. Perhaps next time you won't take my medical opinion so lightly."
"What I don't take lightly is my ship being in danger."
"I think I speak for most of the crew when I say we'd be in a lot more trouble without our captain than anything the Borg can throw at us."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Doctor, but considering the damage the Borg have done to us recently I doubt that very much."
He finished scanning her. "I'd still like to see you exhibit a little more concern for your well-being."
She patted his knee appreciatively, swinging her feet to the floor. "I'll do my best."
He frowned as she started to stand up. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To the bridge."
He stood up as well. "Captain --"
"You said I'm fine."
"Yes, but --"
"Then I'll be on the bridge." She turned and began to walk away.
"I'm afraid you'll find it rather uncomfortable." She stopped, and inclined her head in his direction without turning to face him. "Unless you've suddenly developed the ability to survive in a vacuum."
Her head snapped around. "What?"
"There was a major hull breach. And as far as I know, they haven't been able to restore emergency forcefields yet."
"Was anyone injured?"
"Not to my knowledge." After a pause, he added, "Commander Chakotay has set up an emergency command post in Engineering."
She remained inanimate for several more seconds, her eyes the only part of her moving as they darted back and forth. Gathering herself, she straightened her shoulders and met the EMH's eyes again. "Then I guess I'll be in Engineering."
"Captain..." He paused, their eyes locked in mutual determination. He relented with a sigh. "All right. But if I hear from anyone that you're pushing yourself too far --"
"You have the crew spying on me now?" He couldn't tell whether she was amused, or insulted. Or both.
"I do what I have to do."
She considered him thoughtfully for several moments before she nodded. "So do I, Doctor."
He watched her as she turned and left Sickbay, a concerned frown creasing the holographic skin on his forehead.
.....
"The first thing we need to do is get main and auxiliary power back online," said B'Elanna, crossing her arms.
Harry frowned. "That'll be tricky -- life support is only working on about half the ship."
"We can reroute emergency power from nonessential areas through here, here, and here," she said, leaning over the main console in Engineering and pointing on a schematic of the ship. "That should give us access to everywhere we'll need to make repairs."
Chakotay nodded his agreement. "I'll have Tuvok start the necessary evacuations. What about emergency forcefields?"
"It'll be tough to get them back online without at least auxiliary power," B'Elanna explained. "We're already stretching emergency power to its limits."
"All right. We'll have to start repairing hull breaches before we can go to warp."
"We should be more concerned with having our weapons back online," said Harry. "What if the Borg decide to come looking for us?"
"I'm more concerned about the possibility of ship-wide hull breaches with emergency forcefields offline."
"Chakotay."
Chakotay glanced up at B'Elanna, then followed her gaze towards the entrance to Main Engineering. He kept his expression neutral as he saw Captain Janeway making her way towards them. Her face was ghastly pale and the circles under her eyes were a translucent purple, but her gait was steady as she approached.
He nodded to Harry and B'Elanna, who silently moved away as she drew up beside Chakotay, staring him down despite her height disadvantage.
"I see you've got everything under control," she said in an undertone.
"We're in rough shape, but B'Elanna's already got her team working to patch us up."
"The Borg?"
"Their sensors can't seem to detect us. They're probably waiting for us outside the nebula."
She nodded, then looked down at the ship schematic. "How bad is it?"
"Main and auxiliary power are down. There are hull breaches on decks one, two, three, seven, and ten through twelve. Life support is offline on five decks and parts of three more. We have no weapons, no shields, and no warp."
She nodded. "Casualties?"
"Reports are still coming in. Three dead. Four missing and presumed lost in the hull breaches, but without internal sensors there's no way to know."
She closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her head absentmindedly. "What about the bridge?"
"B'Elanna thinks it's salvageable."
"Was it a direct hit?"
"A torpedo hit on deck two was the final catalyst. The hull couldn't hold."
She nodded. She continued looking over the damage reports coming in from all sections of the ship. It wasn't the worst beating Voyager had ever taken, but it was certainly close. It could take weeks to get the ship working at full capacity again, but they didn't have that kind of time.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied tersely.
"I'm surprised the Doctor let you out of his sight so quickly."
She reached for another PADD. "I didn't really give him much choice in the matter."
Chakotay shook his head and muttered something incomprehensible under his breath.
"I'm sorry?"
He looked up at her. After a few moments consideration, he spoke. "I said I would have thought you'd learned your lesson."
She placed her hands on her hips, glaring at him. "And what lesson would that be, exactly?"
"The Doctor says he told you to stay in Sickbay for more scans but you refused."
"We were under attack."
"That's no excuse to put your life at risk."
"It's the best excuse!" she snapped.
"And what about the rest of us? Structural integrity was failing, the emergency forcefields were down, we were under attack, but you refused to evacuate the bridge until it was nearly too late. The hull breached less than five seconds after we made it to safety."
"I thought I could reroute enough power to reinforce the hull. I was doing what I thought was best."
"You weren't fit to be anywhere near that bridge, Kathryn, and you know it."
A heavy silence fell, hanging thick between them as they stared each other down. It stretched out interminably until he finally spoke again. "It was stubborn, it was reckless, and it nearly got us killed."
"I did what I thought was best for the ship," she repeated, but her voice lacked its usual confidence and strength.
"If I hadn't pulled you out of there, we wouldn't both be standing here alive."
She stared at him. "Then I guess I owe you one."
"That wasn't what I m--"
"Captain?"
They both turned to Harry, standing in the archway that divided their console from the rest of Engineering.
The expressions of his two commanding officers wasn't lost on him. "If I'm interrupting something, I can --"
She looked back at Chakotay. "No. We're finished."
Chakotay sighed as she followed Harry out of sight, but after a few moments returned to his examination of the damage reports.
.....
Captain's Log, Stardate 58619.5. We are still holding position in the nebula and fortunately it appears the Borg have not detected us. Ensign Harper and Crewman Gerron, reported missing during the battle, were both found on deck twelve badly wounded but alive. The Doctor reports that they are now in stable condition. However, we have yet to locate Crewman Jor and Ensign Bristow. Repairs are proceeding slowly. Lieutenant Torres believes she may be able to restore our warp drive within a few weeks. Quarters are tight and it's becoming more difficult to maintain even a semblance of crew morale.
Debris crunched under Captain Janeway's feet as she walked down a corridor on deck seven, ducking as she went to avoid the loose conduits and wiring dangling from the ceiling. She swung her tricorder methodically from left to right and back as she walked, her wrist flashlight marking out the arcs as she searched for the breaks in the power grid that were hampering the Engineering team's efforts to restore main power.
The rubble scattering the hallway alerted her to someone's approach. She directed her flashlight in the direction of the noise and saw Harry Kim round the corner. He was similarly equipped with a tricorder and flashlight, and stopped in surprise when he saw the captain.
"I thought I'd start scanning the power grid for defects," he explained.
She smiled, a small smile that lacked any depth. "At 0400? I guess I'm not the only one who had trouble sleeping."
He smiled as well, his expression equally hollow. "Every time I start to drift off, I think I hear a red alert."
"I don't blame you."
They started moving down the corridor again, Harry following a few steps behind the captain. They passed several minutes in silence, broken only by the noise of the wreckage under their feet as they moved.
"Harry," she said finally, "can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you think this was a mistake?"
He frowned. "Captain?"
"Going through Borg space. Do you think it was a mistake?"
He slowed to a halt. "I... I don't think it's my place to answer that."
She stopped as well, turning to face him in the dim lighting. "Maybe not, but I'm asking you anyways."
He thought carefully. "Sometimes... sometimes I find myself wondering if we wouldn't have been better off settling on a nice M-class planet before we got into this mess."
Her surprise was evident. "You're the last person I ever expected to hear that from," she said quietly. She scrutinized him. "What ever happened to the ensign who was so eager to get home he tried to convince me to fly into a Borg-infested nebula?"
"We've got a home here, too. And the more we struggle to get back to our old one, the more it seems like we're losing this one."
She stared at him in silence. So much of it was echoed in the doubts and guilt that plagued her in the dark that she had nothing to say.
But Harry wasn't finished. "But then, I think of how we could have given up after a month in the Delta Quadrant. But we didn't -- and we've made it forty-five thousand light-years closer to home because we took some risks along the way. If we keep on not giving up... just think how far we'll go."
She watched him thoughtfully but remained silent.
"We won't always be able to play it safe," he said. "And we'll have more losses, but we'll make it in the end."
"Not all of us will."
"Captain... do you think that if Seven, or Joe Carey, or any of the others were here, they would tell you to go back and do things differently? To give up and settle on a planet somewhere?"
"Don't you?"
"No, I don't. We all knew the risks when we put on the uniform. And I doubt that any member of the crew who's given their life would rather have seen us give up."
She poked a piece of scorched bulkhead with her toe before kicking it out of the way.
"You promised eleven years ago to get this crew home. I trust you to fulfill that promise... and so does everyone on this ship." He smiled. "Even if it's not always obvious."
She was thoughtful as she looked down the corridor, then turned back to him. "You never answered my question." Her voice was softer than before, a sign of how affected she was by his support. "Would you have brought us through Borg space if you were in my position?"
"Frankly, Captain, I don't have the slightest idea of what it would be like to be in your position."
She smiled. "You will someday, Harry."
They fell into silence again, taking in the wreckage around them.
"Yes," said Harry after a while.
Lost in her own thoughts, she looked over at him, confused.
"I would have done the same thing," he clarified. He nodded down the corridor. "Now. What about this power grid?"
She motioned with her arm. "Lead the way, Ensign."
"Yes, ma'am."
......
Captain's Log, Stardate 58732.7. Voyager has now been stranded in this nebula for forty-two days, with no end in sight. Lieutenant Torres and her engineers are making slow progress on the warp core, while other repairs have all but crept to a standstill.
B'Elanna punched the console in front of her. "Dammit!" She winced as she unclenched her fist, the skin on her knuckles raw. She sighed. "This isn't going to work."
Captain Janeway continued working at her console. "Increase the pressure in the reaction chamber to 2,800 kilopascals, then bring the magnetic constrictors online."
"The pressure isn't the problem."
"It might be enough to increase the reaction rate past the threshold."
"What if there are microfractures in the core?"
"We'll have to increase the power to the containment field."
"It's not going to work!"
"I'm not ready to give up that easily," she snapped back.
"Captain, you know I'm the last person to give up without a fight. But this isn't going to work!" She paused and glanced around Engineering. Several heads were turned in the direction of their heated conversation, but immediately looked away when they saw B'Elanna watching them. "We need more dilithium," she said, lowering her voice.
"It's too risky."
"There's no other way!"
The captain stood up, tossing the hyperspanner in her hand to the floor. "Find one," she snapped.
She watched the captain leave, biting her lower lip to contain herself. Once the doors to Main Engineering shut behind the captain, B'Elanna stalked over to an isolated corner of Engineering. She paced back and forth, then whirled and slammed her open hand against the bulkhead. She stood there, leaning against the wall with her head down, taking deep breaths in an attempt to vent the frustration that was building inside her.
"Rough day?"
She glanced over her shoulder with a volatile expression and saw Tom approaching her. "You could say that."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she snapped in response.
"Last time I checked, the helm was still exposed to the vacuum of space. And in case you haven't noticed, we don't exactly need a pilot at the moment."
"Oh believe me, I've noticed! I am painfully aware that we are going absolutely nowhere!"
He looked at her mutely for a few seconds. "Are you finished, or should I go get a pair of bat'leths?"
"Very funny."
"I'm serious. Maybe if you took a few swings at me you'd stop snapping at everyone in sight."
"I'm not in the mood, Tom."
"Obviously."
"Look, just... just go away, all right?" She shoved past him. "I've got work to do."
"No."
She stopped and turned around, her hands on her hips. "What?"
He took a few steps towards her so that they were face to face. The height advantage was his, but B'Elanna was formidable in her anger. "I'm not going anywhere until you calm down, because the last thing your staff needs right now is you taking their heads off at every turn."
They stared each other down, waiting for the other to give in. Uncharacteristically, B'Elanna blinked first. "I'm sorry," she offered, moving towards him again. "You're right, I shouldn't take this out on my crew."
He led her back towards the corner to have some degree of privacy. "Still not making any progress?"
She sighed. "If I've told the captain once, I've told her a thousand times: we need more dilithium. But she just won't listen."
"She doesn't want to risk sending the Delta Flyer out on its own," he guessed.
"And I would agree with her, but without more dilithium I can't be sure that we won't have a core breach on our hands the first time we hit a bump. And that's if we can even get the core up and running in the first place, which is far from a sure thing."
"But you're making progress, right?"
"Barely. It certainly doesn't help to have the captain breathing down our necks all the time. I know she means well, and I'm sure she's frustrated not having access to the bridge, but it's driving me insane and it's making my crew nervous having her around all the time."
"Have you said anything?"
"Like what? 'With all due respect, Captain, get the hell out of my engine room?' Because I'm sure that would go over well."
"So you might end up shoved out an airlock. At least you'd get some peace and quiet."
She struggled for a moment, but was unable to restrain a grin. "Remind me why you're keeping me from my work?"
"To see that," he said, poking a finger towards her smile and playfully leaning forward for a kiss.
She shoved him in the shoulder, still smiling. "Get out of here, Flyboy. If you can't find something to do I can put you to work repairing EPS conduits."
He grinned but obliged, leading her back towards the warp core. "You know, if you're serious, I might just have a way to get Captain Janeway out of your hair..."
......
Lying on her back with her torso wedged underneath a console, Captain Janeway stretched the straining muscles in her shoulders before moving the miniature laser torch back into position. A thin red beam shot from the end of the tool and a small stream of smoke rose as the two pieces of broken wire began fusing into one. After a few minutes, she was forced to lower the tool in order to wipe the droplets of sweat off her forehead with the back of her sleeve.
She raised the torch again, aiming it at another break in the wiring. Pressure from her thumb and forefinger activated the laser, but the overworked muscles in her shoulder protested, sending a spasm up her arm. The break in concentration was brief, but enough for the tool to slip far enough that her hand holding the wires in position was caught in the path of the laser. Her hands opened reflexively and the torch dropped behind her.
"Damn," she muttered, nursing a spot on her hand that was already raw.
Looking around the cramped space, she began to feel around for the torch when she saw it appear out of the corner of her eye, clasped in a familiar hand.
"Looking for this?" she heard Tom Paris's voice accompany the disembodied hand.
"Whoever designed these conduits will be getting a very strong-worded letter from me someday," was all she muttered in response as she accepted the torch and returned to work.
"Do you have a minute?"
"I'm busy."
"No problem." He lowered himself to the ground and slid underneath the console beside her. "Pass me the coil spanner."
"I assume you're here because of B'Elanna."
"Maybe I just thought you could use some help repairing the auxiliary power grid."
The coil spanner she passed him was accompanied by a glare that made it clear she didn't buy a word of it. "I've already made my position clear."
"I know. I'm just not sure B'Elanna has."
"She made her point."
"Then you know that without more dilithium, getting the warp drive back online and keeping it that way is going to be next to impossible."
"But not entirely impossible."
"No."
"Then we keep trying it my way." She lowered the torch and tilted her upper body so she was partially facing him. "I'm aware we may reach a point where we have no option but to send the Delta Flyer to find a source of dilithium. But until we reach that stage, I'm not willing to consider it. We have no idea how many Borg cubes are inside or outside the nebula, never mind between us and wherever the nearest planet with a source of dilithium might be. The Delta Flyer would be virtually defenseless against one cube, and there could be dozens waiting to ambush it. Even its speed and maneuverability would not be a match for the sheer force of a Borg vessel."
He scrutinized the controls of his coil spanner, avoiding her gaze.
"It's too dangerous," she finished. "And I'm not willing to take the risk until I'm certain we have no other options." She flipped again onto her back. "Pass me the phase inverter."
He felt around the toolbox behind his head, found what he was looking for, and handed it to her. "There's something we could do in the meantime."
"Oh?"
"You said the Delta Flyer would be virtually defenseless against the Borg."
"It's hardly a match for a fully armed cube."
"No. But we could try to even the odds a little."
She stopped working and turned her head towards him, intrigued. "What have you got in mind?"
"An idea Harry came up with a while ago but hasn't had time to develop." He reached down near his waist and picked up a PADD that he passed to her.
Holding it up in front of her, she examined the schematics with a thoughtful frown. It was several minutes before she spoke.
"This is ingenious," she said finally.
"I know."
"They... shift phases to penetrate shielding?"
"Yeah. Transphasic torpedoes, Harry called them."
"But it would have to be applied to everything, and the phase inverter would have to be precisely calibrated." She turned to look at him and gestured with the PADD. "Is this feasible?"
"I don't know. But it's definitely worth a shot."
Her eyes returned to the PADD, lighting up with excitement as the problem challenged her scientific mind. "I agree," she said after a moment. "Are you volunteering?"
"It's not like I can do much else around here right now."
"You'll need help."
"Tuvok and Harry."
She shook her head. "I need Harry's expertise overseeing repairs."
"Then I'll need someone else who has a strong grasp of quantum theory and torpedo mechanics."
"Who might that be?" she asked, although her eyes had already narrowed suspiciously.
His only answer was a raised eyebrow.
She stared at him, then returned her attention to the power conduit above her. "Is this B'Elanna's way of getting me out from underfoot to let her do her job?"
"Not at all."
"Didn't Starfleet ever teach you not to lie to your commanding officer?"
"No, ma'am, but my survival instincts have taught me how to live with a half-Klingon with a short temper."
"Understood."
"Thank you, Captain."
He began sliding out from under the console, but her voice called after him.
"By the way, Mr. Paris, I should mention that if you're ever looking for another career in Starfleet you'd be well suited for the diplomatic corps."
"I try."
"0700 tomorrow morning, Lieutenant."
"Yes, ma'am."
......
Captain's Log, Stardate 58794.3. Our power reserves as well as our food supplies are dwindling; if Voyager is not warp capable within the next ten days I may have no choice but to consider sending the Delta Flyer to obtain dilithium and supplies if necessity outweighs the risk.
The weeks of stress and sleeplessness were written in the faces of the senior staff as they gathered around a console in engineering. Only Tuvok seemed oblivious to the effects, but even his expression was graver than usual.
"We've been able to make some progress on developing the transphasic torpedoes," began Janeway. "Tom?"
"So far, we've only got a theoretical model," explained Tom. "But without a holodeck to run simulations, we have no way to know whether it's feasible."
"Why not just build a prototype?" asked B'Elanna.
"Constructing a prototype would waste valuable resources," said Tuvok. "And testing it would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention from the Borg."
"You may not have much choice," said Harry.
Captain Janeway nodded. "Harry's right; without the holodecks, our only option once we've exhausted our computer models will be to build a prototype... but we'll have to wait to test it. I don't want to give the Borg anything they can use to pinpoint our position."
"Trial by fire," commented Tom.
"It may come to that," she agreed before turning to Chakotay. "Now... what's our food situation?"
"Not good. Even our stocks of emergency rations are getting dangerously low."
"Good riddance," muttered Harry. "Those things taste like chalk."
"We either need to resupply or get the replicators back online," continued Chakotay, ignoring the quip.
The captain turned to B'Elanna. "What are the chances we could get main power or even auxiliary power back in the next few days?"
"About the same as the chances we'll get the warp core up and running in the next few days: slim at best."
"Do what you can. I'll only send the Delta Flyer out alone as a last resort: they would make an easy target for the Borg."
"No more than we've been for the past year," observed Tom sardonically. "You know, one of these days we really should make sure nobody's gone and painted a giant bulls eye on our hull."
Captain Janeway's eyes snapped towards him and he swallowed hard, but she made no comment. "Anything else?" she asked, turning back to the others. When they shook their heads, she nodded. "Dismissed."
Picking up a PADD, she walked over to a nearby console, wishing she had her habitual cup of coffee. She could almost taste the bitter liquid running down the back of her throat... but coffee was, for once, very near the bottom of her list of priorities.
She sensed a presence behind her and turned to see that Tom had remained behind. "Something else, Lieutenant?"
"What I said... it was out of line. I apologize."
She scrutinized him for several seconds before she shook her head. "No," she said softly, "it wasn't out of line. It was the truth."
"I still shouldn't have said it. I know you're doing your best, Captain. We all know that."
Leaning against the console, she sighed and looked around at the hubbub of Engineering, thrown into shadows by the dim emergency lights. She missed watching the stars fly by out her ready room window.
Tom moved towards her. "You look tired, Captain," he said gently.
She flashed a wry smile and massaged the side of her forehead. "I've been tired for eleven years."
"More so than usual, then," he said with a slight smile. He scrutinized her. "Have you been sleeping?"
She turned and looked at him with one eyebrow raised high.
He chuckled and held up his hands. "Okay, stupid question. Sorry."
She smiled. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine, Tom."
He smiled back. "Can't blame a guy for trying. Although usually I think that's Chakotay's job."
The change in her demeanor was immediate. He could almost see her close herself off. "Yes, well...." She cleared her throat and studied the PADD she was carrying. "Was there anything else?"
"No, ma'am."
She nodded without taking her eyes off the PADD. "Dismissed," she said, so quietly he almost didn't hear her.
He turned and left her alone.
......
A single band of blue light pulsed slowly upwards along the warp core. After a few seconds, it was followed by another. And then another. And another.
More lights came on around the workings of the core, and soon the audible hum of the warp reactor vibrated through Engineering, breaking the silence that had endured for weeks.
B'Elanna, on her back half underneath a console, leaned back on her elbows to watch the core. "Nicoletti?" she said, unwilling to trust her instincts prematurely.
The young engineer working at one of the consoles in front of the core leaned over so she could see B'Elanna and nodded with a wide smile. "You did it, Lieutenant."
B'Elanna breathed a heavy sigh of relief and fell back onto the floor, feeling the tension release that had been contained ever since they had entered the nebula.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Harry Kim standing above her, extending his hand. She took it and pulled herself to her feet.
"I didn't think you had it in you," he admitted with a grin.
She brushed the dust off the shoulders of her uniform. "Neither did I."
The doors to engineering slid open and Captain Janeway entered at a brisk pace. She slowed when she came into view of the core, approaching it slowly as if afraid to disrupt a mirage. She leaned forward on the railing surrounding the tower of pulsing blue light, a hint of a smile lighting up her features for the first time in months.
"Well done, B'Elanna."
"Don't congratulate me yet, Captain. I still think this is just a quick fix: the core is still very unstable. I'm not sure how long we'll be able to keep it up and running without stopping for more extensive repairs and fresh dilithium."
"It'll have to do. The longer we stay here, the greater the chance the Borg will pinpoint our position. Harry, how close are you to repairing the hull breaches?"
"Another couple of days should do it."
"And if we got main power back online?"
"Eight hours, maybe."
"With the warp drive back online, we should have fewer problems restoring main power," offered B'Elanna.
"Get on it. Use any personnel you need."
"Aye, Captain."
"Yes, ma'am."
As they moved off in separate directions, Captain Janeway continued staring at the pulsing lights of the core. Her eyes followed it upwards to where the blue cylinder met the ceiling.
"Don't let me down, Voyager," she said quietly under her breath.
......
A haze of dust and smoke hung in the still air of Chakotay's quarters. He stood motionless in the doorway for several seconds before he roused himself and entered. The stars were streaking by out the window; a comforting sight after weeks spent motionless inside a nebula.
A torpedo had struck three sections aft of Chakotay's quarters during the battle that stranded them in the nebula, and it showed. His belongings were tossed about the room as if caught in a tornado. He realized that he was fortunate that the decompression caused by the massive hull breaches on his deck hadn't reached his quarters, or he wouldn't have any belongings left to be cleaning up.
Something crunched under his foot. He stepped back and bent down, brushing the debris off the square object he had tread on.
His dirty fingers smeared away some of the grime to reveal Seven of Nine's face smiling back at him.
Taking a seat among his littered possessions, he used the sleeve of his uniform to clear away the rest of the holoimage.
A picture of their wedding day.
They were both wearing their dress uniforms: his scarlet, hers a vibrant teal. Her hair was half pulled back, the rest cascading down the back of her neck, the way she had liked to wear it as she had grown away from her Borg roots. She was holding her bouquet of orchids that Tuvok had grown for her in the airponics bay, and one of the flowers was tucked delicately in a twist of her hair just above one ear.
He had his arm around her waist. And they were both smiling.
His finger brushed Seven's outline under the dusty frame with tender familiarity. Her loss had subsided to a dull ache in his chest, like an old wound that you get used to but still makes you wince every once in a while when you move the wrong way.
He hadn't been in love with Seven, but he had been happy -- something rare in life, in his experience -- and in less time than he might have expected he had found himself growing to love her. No one who knew them would have suspected them of suiting each other, but somehow they fit. He had always known that she would never, could never, open up to him completely, just as she had accepted that there were some parts of him that could never belong to her. He knew it would have seemed strange to anyone else, but this mutual reserve had actually brought them closer.
There had always been a part of him that held back from Seven. A part of him stuck in the past, regretting the path not taken.
Kathryn.
He knew it would have been impossible, he knew she would never have allowed it even if she admitted she returned his feelings, and he knew that although they could have been wonderful together there was an equally good chance it would have ended in disaster. He had repeated this mantra to himself countless times.
As if that was enough to silence the part of him that wanted the impossible.
But despite these demons, or perhaps because of them, they had grown close beyond what either of them had expected. And just as they had both found the peace and content that had eluded both of them for most of their lives, it had been unceremoniously ripped away. In a flash, at the whim of the Borg, she was gone, leaving in her place a gaping, sucking blackness that threatened to envelop him.
Everything that was good in his life seemed to vanish at once, evaporating in the blink of an eye. He never spoke to B'Elanna, or Tom, or Harry anymore. Or Kathryn, the most difficult void of all created by her absence. Even his spirit guide had abandoned him. It was as if the universe was punishing him for the brief period of happiness he had experienced.
Or maybe it helped to think that. He knew he had been avoiding B'Elanna and the others. And Kathryn... He winced at the recollection. He knew he had pushed Kathryn away, far more roughly than she deserved. But being with her not only brought forth all the emotion of Seven's death again, knowing that Kathryn had been responsible, but dragged into the light his guilt about his relationship with Seven and how he had held back from her. Being with Kathryn meant having to blame his best friend as well as himself and it was just too painful when his wounds from Seven's loss had still been so fresh. And it was much harder to heal that breach than it had been to create it.
He had never been one to shy away from doing what he knew was right, and he didn't need his spirit guide to tell him what needed to be done.
The breach may be too wide to cross, but at least he could throw an olive branch across it and hope it reached the other side.
.....
The ready room was dark, the air hushed and heavy with dust still unsettled from the battle that had ravaged the ship.
He sensed her presence before he saw her silhouette against the windows, sitting on the steps that divided the room. The space outside was altered by the blackness of the room, the stars set against a dark purple background rather than the jet black it appeared in normal lighting.
"Kathryn."
She looked up. Her arms were braced against her knees and her chin had been resting in her hands until he said her name. She watched him as he approached her without waiting for invitation.
"Sorry about the mess," she said softly as he sat down beside her. She didn't look at him; she was fixated on the destruction around her. "I've been meaning to tidy up...." Her voice faded.
He reached over and rested his hand on her knee. She patted it thankfully, but said nothing. They sat together in silence, enjoying the physical contact they had both missed.
"I owe you an apology, long overdue."
She shifted and his hand dropped from her knee. "Don't..."
"No, I do, Kathryn, and we both know it."
Her eyes were locked on the floor in front of her toes, avoiding his gaze. "It was perfectly understandable, given the circumstances -- "
"It was inexcusable, and I'm sorry for it."
She looked up at him. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's... I may not have been the one who killed her, but it's my fault she died. You have every right to blame me."
"Maybe so. But that's not going to bring her back."
She rose, moving to stand next to the window. She stood there for a long time, deep in contemplation. "I've missed this, you know," she said finally. "Us. Talking."
"So have I."
She turned away from the window to face him, her expression pained. "There's a distance between us, Chakotay. A distance that never used to be there." Her eyes searched his face, looking for a sign of the best friend she hadn't seen in years. "Do you think we can ever cross it again?"
Part of him wanted to say yes. Part of him wanted to reach out, take her hand, and reassure her that everything could go back to normal. But deep down, he knew that no matter how comforting it might be to hear the words, they would be a lie.
"I don't know, Kathryn. I'm not sure we can. I'm not the same person I used to be... and neither are you."
She nodded, raw emotion shining from her eyes. "It's been a rough few years," she acknowledged in an uneven voice. "And there's no end in sight. We've lost too many good people, and it's all we can do to keep the ship from falling apart." She took a moment to strengthen her tenuous hold on her composure. "It would be a lot easier if I knew I still had my First Officer at my back."
"I can't promise that."
She closed her eyes to keep them from betraying her, remembering another conversation a long time ago when he had told her that she was not alone. The strength she had drawn from his unwavering support was a distant memory, faded with time yet still vivid enough to be exquisitely painful.
"We've disagreed too often and too dramatically for me to be promise to stay silent," he finished.
She took a shallow, trembling breath, hoping it would escape his notice. "I don't expect you to," she said softly. "Your opinion is always welcome. I may not understand your point of view or agree with it, but that never means I don't want to hear it."
He got to his feet, still looking up at her as she stood on the raised dais. "But you don't, Kathryn. When you have your mind set on something, you don't listen to any of us. And I can't in good conscience stand by you when you do that." His eyes traced her features. "I expect better from the captain I used to know."
"I haven't changed as much as you think I have, Chakotay."
"Maybe not. Or maybe you need to take a good look at yourself in the mirror." He paused. "A day will come when I leave here not recognizing the captain who asked me to be her first officer so many years ago. I live in fear of that day, Kathryn. And so should you."
He held her gaze for a few moments, his eyes penetrating down to her soul, then turned and left her alone without a backward glance.
Reaching behind her, she grasped the railing and lowered herself unsteadily to the stair she had been sitting on when he entered. Tears welled in her eyes against her will, blurring her vision as she looked around at the wreckage of her ready room.
How had it all come to this?