AN: Here we are, another chapter here!

I hope you enjoy! Thank you to those of you who have decided to give this a chance! (Even if you're not familiar with both shows!)

Let me know what you think!

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Kathryn stood near the doctor and looked at the two unconscious people on the biobeds in front of them. They had been cleaned up, and they'd been treated for the Millennium Plague. That particular strand had been wiped out for so long that everyone onboard Voyager was almost naturally immune to it, but many of them had received boosters since the virus had the potential to be live on the ship before the filters had cleaned the air.

The strangers had been treated for their injuries and the doctor had assessed them to start creating files on them. When they were awake—and when they'd acclimated a little to their new reality—he wanted to do a complete phycological evaluation of both of them, and he wanted to do another physical examination where he was able to ask questions that would fill in information that, for the time being, remained unknown for Jane and John Doe.

Both of them had extensive scarring from before the Araulians had captured them. The doctor could have removed the scarring, but Kathryn told him to wait. The scars could be removed at any time, but she didn't know how these humans might feel about waking with their bodies so very different than they remembered them being.

She wanted to minimize their shock and any trauma they may suffer from the Araulian capture.

"The security team is waiting outside, Captain," Chakotay offered as he came to take his place by Kathryn's side. "Phasers set to stun."

"Good," Kathryn said. "We don't use the phasers unless absolutely necessary. I don't want them getting hurt because of fear and—I don't want them scared any more than they have to be." She glanced over her shoulder at the young Ocampan who was waiting to hand over a tray with hyposprays to the doctor. "Kes—it might be best if you were to wait out of sight for a while. I think that it would be better if our guests were to awake to human faces for the time being."

"I agree," Chakotay concurred. He offered to take the tray from Kes, and she passed it over with a smile and a soft word of understanding for the choice that Kathryn had made. She recognized that it was only with the good of the two strangers in mind, and not at all something she should take personally.

"Should I wake them both?" The doctor asked, accepting the hyposprays from Chakotay.

"One at a time," Chakotay offered. Kathryn nodded her agreement. "They'll be easier to control that way, and there will be less need to take any action against them if they should react."

"Very well," the doctor agreed. "Who would you prefer I wake first?"

At the same time, Kathryn answered with "the man" while Chakotay answered with "the woman." Both paused and stared at each other in question.

"You think the woman?" Kathryn asked, finally. Chakotay drew in a breath, considered his choice again, and nodded his head quickly and sharply. All Kathryn had to do was raise her eyebrow at him for him to know that she wanted to hear his rationale.

"She's smaller," Chakotay said. "Easier to handle."

Kathryn laughed to herself.

"So, you think she'll just—go along with everything and not cause any trouble because she's a small woman?" Kathryn asked.

Chakotay smirked.

"No," he said. "I think she'll be easier to handle because I believe that I have a better chance of picking her up and physically restraining her, if the need should arise, thus eliminating the need to use phasers. That was your request, Captain." It was his turn to raise his eyebrows at her in question. "You think the man?"

"It's my theory that he'll be more easily controlled," Kathryn said. "We had no time to really study the woman before she was stunned by the Araulians. We did, however, have time to see at least one of the primary motivations of the man…"

"To protect her," Chakotay said. Kathryn hummed. "You want to use her as leverage?"

Kathryn laughed to herself.

"I don't mean to hold a phaser on her," Kathryn said, "if that's what you mean. I only mean that—I believe he'll remain calm as long as we can assure him that his calm is what's in the best interest of his companion."

"We tell him that we will wake her up," Chakotay offered, "but only if he'll calm down and listen to us for a moment?"

"Precisely," Kathryn said. "Right now, we know one very important thing about him. He'd do anything for her. She's entirely unpredictable. We'll do better to wake her when we have him on our side."

Chakotay considered it a moment. He nodded.

"Doctor—I think the captain's right. We should wake him first."

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Daryl's mind was swimming. Floating in darkness. Semi-darkness.

He was vaguely aware that his mouth was dry. He could hear talking—noises—but they felt so distant that he wasn't sure they truly existed.

He felt relaxed. He felt more relaxed than he'd felt in a long time and he wasn't sure that he wanted to move. He wasn't sure that he wanted to break whatever spell had fallen over him.

He tried to remember the last thing that had happened. When he drew that memory to his mind's eye, though, he rejected it. He looked for reality. The last thing he remembered couldn't have happened. Everything he remembered had to have been some kind of hallucination.

The last things he remembered were the spaceship and the aliens.

Before that, he'd been eating with Carol in the woods, outside their tent. He'd been sharing dinner with her. He remembered dinner with her before either of them had seen the spaceship—what they'd first thought was some kind of airplane.

His memory settled comfortably on the dinner. It was the last thing he knew to be real. They'd gathered up the ingredients for the stew that Carol had cooked together. She knew very little about selecting mushrooms, and he really didn't know much more than she did. There were some poisonous varieties that he could identify on sight, but for the most part it was trial and error.

They must have erred somewhere along the way. The spaceship and the aliens had all been part of a bad trip, and they'd had to sleep it off.

Daryl felt the cold fear grab him when he thought of sleeping it off, and when he thought about how very relaxed he felt at the moment. Sleeping it off was fine if they'd been safe inside, but they'd been outside, in the woods.

At this very moment, a Walker could be coming to tear into him.

A Walker could have already come for Carol.

The thought of it brought Daryl abruptly out of his stupor.

"Carol!" Daryl growled out as he jumped—stirred rudely from his sleep. His voice came out gravelly and hoarse. He couldn't focus his eyes, immediately, because the light around him seemed bright and unfamiliar.

"Shhhh…it's OK," a soft voice responded. Daryl closed his eyes a moment. He felt himself being gently pushed backward, urged to lie down. The voice was a woman's voice. Soft and oddly comforting. But it wasn't at all familiar, and it wasn't Carol's.

"Where the hell am I?" Daryl asked, moving to sit up quickly again.

The sights were dizzying. The lights were bright. The air was cold and it had the scent of hospital air or the air that he'd smelled somewhere before—the CDC. Recycled air. He jerked his head, quickly, trying to decide what could have possibly happened, and he realized that he was surrounded by people in uniforms.

And the woman—who must have been the one speaking to him—pushed against his chest and tried to say something more to him about remaining calm. She tried to soothe him.

At once, Daryl realized that he wasn't wearing any clothes beyond a cloth hospital gown of sorts. He was emptyhanded. He had no weapon of any sort with which to protect himself. He didn't know where he was, who these people were, or how he got here. He didn't know where Carol was, what they'd done with her, or if they'd left her alone somewhere.

His only reaction was to grab the woman who pressed her hands to his chest. He never meant to hurt her, only to move her out of his way—to stop her from stopping him from doing whatever it was that his instinct might kick in and tell him to do. But as he shoved her to the side, one of the men stepped up to grab him while another stepped into his space as well.

The feeling of cold metal on his neck was followed by a hiss that made him jump even worse than the stinging cold that spread against his skin and seemed to burn down into his neck.

"What the fuck!" He spat. Immediately, though, he felt the swimming sensation run through his body and his mind relaxed—whether he wanted it to or not.

The man who was holding him down was dark-skinned. Mexican. Native American. Daryl wasn't sure which, but he was strong. Still, he wasn't exactly hurting Daryl, he was just holding him there. His expression said he wasn't pleased, though, and Daryl wondered if he'd pissed him off, in particular, by flinging the little woman out of his space—especially when he turned his head to express some concern to the woman about her well-being as she appeared, again, in Daryl's peripheral vision.

She smiled at him and he wanted to believe her smile, but he could barely move and he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Where the fuck is Carol?" He asked.

The woman smiled. She seemed genuinely amused. Maybe even something else, because she looked at him like he was about two years old and he'd just asked her the most endearing question she'd ever heard.

"Oh—is that her name?" She asked softly.

Daryl tried to sit up again, but the man was still holding him down and he didn't feel like he could fight too hard against him. His body felt soft and a little like jelly. But that didn't mean that his frustration wasn't strong.

"You tell me where the hell she is, lady!" Daryl spat, realizing that nobody else seemed anxious to speak to him.

Her expression still retained some amusement, but she tried to look at least a bit more serious. She nodded her head.

"She's fine," the woman said. "She's three feet away from you. Asleep. And if you can stay calm—and let us talk to you—we'll be more than happy to let you up. Help you over to see her."

Daryl swallowed. It got stuck in his throat and he wanted water, but he wasn't going to ask for it. Not until he had some understanding about where he was, what he was doing there, or what these people wanted from him.

"Where is she?" He asked. "You don't fuck with us—I won't fuck with you…or your boyfriend."

He did his best to give the most convincing warning look to the asshole that was holding him down, but he didn't know how threatening he looked when he wasn't even certain that he could remain in a sitting position without assistance.

Everyone thought it was real damn funny, and they laughed in response, but the man backed off of Daryl and, instead of holding him down, he helped him to sit up. Daryl was right. He couldn't have sat by himself right away. Whatever they'd done to him made him feel like he had vertigo. The room—and he had to be somewhere like the CDC, even though he had no idea how he'd gotten there—continued spinning a moment after he'd stopped moving. When his vision settled, he saw Carol.

She was lying on a hard cot of sorts. She was wearing a hospital gown like his. She looked otherwise unharmed, though, and she was sleeping. At least—Daryl hoped she was sleeping.

Daryl grabbed the edge of his own cot or bed and tried to slide himself forward. Almost immediately, the quiet bodyguard grabbed him under one arm and the tiny woman—who was a good deal stronger than she looked—grabbed him under the other. They anticipated what he wanted, and they led him to the bed. The woman let go of his arm and her bodyguard boyfriend supported Daryl's weight where his knees threatened to fall short.

Daryl touched Carol's face. She was unharmed. Uninjured from what he could see. He trailed his hand down and rested his fingers over her neck.

"You'll find she's in good health," the other man offered. He was balding and far too chipper for the way that Daryl felt at the moment. "Excellent, really."

"Carol," Daryl called. "Carol," he repeated, shaking her.

"I'm afraid she won't wake up like that," the balding man offered.

Daryl looked up and caught the attention of the woman—the only damn one that seemed like she had any useful information for him.

"What the hell you done to her?" Daryl growled at her. He felt the man's grip tighten on his arm—a silent warning.

"She's fine," the woman said. "She's only sedated. We can wake her up at any time. She's just resting. Building strength. I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway. That's Chakotay and this is…the doctor. I promise we'll answer all your questions and we'll take care of all your needs. All of her needs. If you'll just stay calm and cooperate with us for a little while. If you'll just—listen."

Daryl felt the man tug him backward. It was easy to realize he was trying to help him back to his cot. Daryl put his hand on Carol's cot and pulled against the man with what little strength he retained at the moment.

"I'll listen," he said. "But—I ain't leavin' her."

"Very well," Kathryn said. "Chakotay—can you help him?"

Before Daryl knew what they were doing, they essentially made just enough room for him to sit on the edge of the cot next to Carol. She remained entirely undisturbed by everything happening around her. Daryl touched her hand. It was warm, and he kept his hand on hers to remind him that she was alive. Sedated, but alive.

"I'm listening," Daryl said.

Kathryn smiled and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Her name is Carol?" Kathryn asked.

Daryl nodded his head.

"And you are?" Kathryn asked.

"Daryl," Daryl offered. "Dixon. Daryl Dixon."

"Doctor?" Kathryn asked. She didn't have to ask him anything else. He was making notes in some kind of hand-held computer.

"Where the hell are we?" Daryl asked. "And how the fuck did we get here?"

Kathryn laughed.

"I'll tell you everything," Kathryn assured him. "I just—hope you're open-minded, Mr. Dixon."