AN: Here we are, another chapter here!
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"Fuckin' freezin' in here," Daryl growled. It was the first thing that Carol had heard in a while. She heard it somewhat distantly. She felt like she was floating upward, inside her head, just about to surface in a pool of water.
Her body was so relaxed that it felt foreign. Deliciously, wonderfully, foreign.
She had barely slept, but she didn't really feel exhausted. She felt relaxed, but she also felt somewhat invigorated just below the surface.
She had never—never in her entire life—spent the whole night having sex with someone. She'd read about it in dozens of dime store novels, but she'd always assumed that nobody actually did such a thing. Still, she had actually experienced a night where they'd napped in between rounds of being together. Sometimes, instead of napping, they'd spend the time while they waited to go again simply drinking in each other's bodies in other ways.
And then she'd drifted off to sleep—only to now feel like she was rising up from the depths of a pool, slowly coming entirely back to wakefulness after such a short trip into what must have been reasonably deep sleep.
"Go-go gadget fuckin' blanket," Daryl complained. "Computer—fuckin' blanket!"
The computer beeped. Carol laughed to herself. She thought she could actually hear annoyance in the computer's voice.
"Cannot comply," the computer offered.
"Computer—raise temperature!" Daryl growled.
Carol laughed again.
"What temperature?"
"Computer," Carol called out, "raise the temperature ten degrees."
The computer beeped its satisfaction with the command and Daryl made his way across the mattress like an inchworm. With an easy sort of motion—like they'd been doing this for years—he reached an arm out, hooked it around Carol, and dragged her body toward him. She laughed at the movement as he flicked the blanket over both their heads, rooted his face into her shoulder, and sighed.
"I think the fever broke," Daryl said after a moment.
"Not entirely," Carol said, paying careful attention to her body. "I can feel it. There's still—there's still something there. A touch of fever."
"Well if we didn't work it out yet," Daryl offered, "then it's just gonna have to work itself out. It ain't the damned fon parr or whatever."
"Pon farr," Carol said.
"Whatever," Daryl said.
"It's not the pon farr," Carol agreed. "And—you're still here," she added after a moment.
Daryl flicked the blanket backward, off of both of their faces, and Carol shivered at the burst of cold air it let into the warm little pocket they'd created in the bed. Daryl pushed himself up onto his elbow so that he somewhat hovered over Carol.
"Did you want me to leave?" He asked.
"No," Carol said, smiling to herself.
"Did you—wanna leave?" Daryl asked.
"No," she assured him, shaking her head. "I guess—and the fever hasn't fully passed—but I was just thinking about what could happen after the fever passes."
Daryl leaned and kissed her again.
He'd kissed her so many times that her lips felt chapped.
She'd been thinking of kissing him for years. She'd been imagining him kissing her for years. She never imagined, though, that all it would take was a simple trip to space, more than three hundred years in the future, and some kind of space virus, for him to kiss her enough that her lips felt chapped.
She didn't dare to breathe the words that echoed in her mind—not yet.
"You gonna want me to go when the fever passes?" Daryl asked.
"That's the thing," Carol said. "I never wanted you to go before. Anywhere. And—I'm not going to want you to go now."
Daryl smiled to himself and settled back down next to her. Either her fever was rising or the room was warming. She no longer felt extremely cold despite the fact that the blanket wasn't covering her entirely.
"Then I'ma just stay right here, then," Daryl said with a sigh. Carol smiled to herself.
Could it all really be that simple?
"Neelix to Carol."
Carol's combadge howled from the bedside table.
"I think I was supposed to be at breakfast early," Carol mused, moving to reach for it. Daryl groaned.
"That possum-man could handle breakfast," Daryl said. "Call him back. Tell him we're doin' our civic duty. Kathryn told us to mate. That's an order."
Carol laughed to herself.
"She didn't order anyone to mate," Carol said. "And she didn't say to never go back to work because you're mating."
"She said today we're operating on limited crew with shorter shifts," Daryl said. "That much she did say."
"You memorized it?" Carol asked.
"I like bein' part of the crew," Daryl offered. "Bein' part of all this. It's kinda nice."
"But we can't be part of the crew," Carol said.
"If I'm not gettin' back to Earth for seventy fuckin' years, I got news for people on this vessel—there's a good chance I don't see that particular planet ever again. And if I'ma work on the ship the whole time I'm here, the least they can do is make me some kind of unofficial official person. Besides—what the hell are they gonna do if we do make it back and I was pretending to be part of the crew all this time? Throw my wrinkled old ass into space army jail?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"Talk to Kathryn," Carol offered.
"I won't," Daryl said. "I'm going to talk to Chakotay. And then I'm going to let him talk to Kathryn."
"You're suggesting that's the way to get what you want?" Carol teased.
Daryl got out of bed—entirely unashamed of his nudity and with every right to be—and sat with his back to Carol as he sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. The angry red scars that slashed across his skin made Carol's stomach clench as she was forced to remember the cruelty of his father. She wondered what—with her body revealed to him in the harsh light and without the fog of the full-blown fever—he would think of her scars. His reminded her how much she'd always wanted to care for him. How much she wanted to show him a tenderness that, perhaps, he'd never known. She feared, though, that her own might not stir up the same emotions in Daryl.
Carol pulled the sheet a little tighter in around her body and toyed with the combadge. Neelix repeated his call to her, but she still hesitated to answer it.
"I may be new to this," Daryl offered. "But I know that's exactly how to get what the hell I want. He's gonna be way better at gettin' her to do something than anybody else."
Carol laughed to herself. The warm rush that flooded her body at the thought that Daryl was new to something that was, as of yet, unnamed, replaced the discomfort she'd felt with the growing concern over the marred nature of her skin.
"I hope he can—get us at least unofficial titles as part of the crew," Carol offered. "You'll probably have to cut your hair, though. Military rules and all."
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"If it's in the rules," he offered.
Carol smiled to herself. She had known him long enough to know that Daryl probably didn't covet being in the military. However, she did know that his older brother, Merle, had at least been temporarily a part of the military, so it could be something that he'd secretly wanted and thought he wasn't cut out for—for whatever reason.
Still, she could imagine that his desire to be part of the crew was more about a sense of belonging than anything else. Daryl would always crave belonging, to some degree, no matter how much he might pretend that he wanted to remain entirely outside of everyone and everything around him. His reclusiveness had often come from a fear of not belonging, more than anything, as much as Carol's had come from a desire to run from her past and hide herself away in a place where she wasn't forced to face it when she didn't want to face it.
Daryl could belong here and, even if he couldn't fully belong with the crew in title, he could belong in spirit. Beyond that, if he wanted, he could belong with Carol.
And, even if she opened up about her past, Carol got the feeling that nobody was going to make her live it over again. Not anymore than she wanted. Nobody was going to hold it against her. Even Daryl, after all, had promised not to throw any of it in her face again.
The past was more than three centuries behind them. They could leave it there. Carol's stomach flitted when she thought about the fact that they could, if they wanted, truly face a future of their own design.
And they didn't have to be outsiders. In one way or another, they could truly belong. Maybe to each other. Maybe to something so much larger, as well.
But it all started, Carol knew, with getting dressed for work. Maybe there would be a sweet kiss goodbye as they headed off in their opposite directions. The start of some new tradition, perhaps.
Carol smiled to herself and pressed her combadge to answer the Talaxian on his third attempt to reach her.
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"Sit with me a moment?" Kathryn asked.
She looked like she'd be better off if Carol tucked her into bed. She'd only recently retired to her quarters. She was supposed to have been off duty all night, but she'd spent the night in her ready room, apparently, working through logistics and scouring sensor readings. She needed to sleep and she needed food. That's what Chakotay had said when he'd stopped, for only a moment on his way to do something with Daryl, to request that Carol take her a tray.
"If you'll eat this," Carol said, pushing the tray across Kathryn's desk and closer to her.
"I'll get some coffee," Kathryn said. She went to the replicator to order a tray of coffee. Carol gathered up the tray of food to move it. She followed Kathryn to the couch, and she made just enough room for both trays on the table. She offered the plate in Kathryn's direction. Kathryn laughed to herself. "I can see you've been training with Chakotay."
Carol laughed to herself.
"He might have mentioned that you didn't eat much last night," Carol said.
"There's been a lot going on," Kathryn offered. "It was a busy night."
Carol hummed her acceptance. She looked around the room. She took in the little accents. The items that were clearly personal. There were very few things, and it was clear that Kathryn and Chakotay must prefer something of a Spartan existence. Either that, or it was simply a tribute to the fact that this trip was never supposed to last for an entire lifetime. Carol's eyes landed on a picture frame and she got up. She stepped close to it and took in the image.
It was Kathryn. A man. A dog.
It looked like the kind of picture a couple would take together, but the man was clearly not Chakotay.
"Your—brother?" Carol asked.
"My fiancé," Kathryn said. "My ex-fiancé. Mark. We've been gone long enough now that I'm sure that Mark's moved on. Maybe he's even married. I hope he's moved on. I hope he's happy. And—I hope he's taking care of Mollie."
"Your dog?" Carol asked, leaving the picture and returning to the couch. Kathryn smiled and nodded. Carol was simply pleased that she was at least eating a few mouthfuls of the breakfast casserole.
Maybe she simply didn't care for eating alone.
"She was pregnant," Kathryn said. "I wonder about the puppies sometimes. Who got them? If Mark kept one like we'd planned to?"
Carol smiled and nodded, not knowing exactly how to respond. She chewed on a bit of the growing confusion in her gut while Kathryn chewed her way through some of the food.
"So, did you know Chakotay at all before…this?" Carol asked.
Kathryn smiled to herself. The confusion between her eyebrows confirmed that it was a confused smile and not really a genuine smile.
"I—met him in the Badlands," Kathryn said. "When we went to capture the Maquis. Before the Caretaker sent us here."
Carol laughed to herself. She truly understood very little of that, but she assumed that it didn't really matter.
"So, you do…weddings on the ship?" Carol asked.
The confusion on Kathryn's features peaked again before she smoothed it away with the practice of someone who was accustomed to being diplomatic.
"All Starfleet captains can officiate weddings," Kathryn offered.
"Who officiated your wedding?" Carol asked. "Or—can you officiate your own?" The expression that Kathryn made caused Carol's stomach to clench. "You're not married."
"No," Kathryn said. "You—thought I was married to…Chakotay?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"You say that like it's a ridiculous idea," she said. "Married—dating. The lack of a ring doesn't always mean anything."
"Dating—Chakotay?" Kathryn asked.
"You're not?" Carol asked.
"I'm a Starfleet captain," Kathryn said. "And—until I get my ship home? I'm always going to be a captain first. I don't—get to be anything else."
"Is that some kind of law for your Starfleet?" Carol asked.
"Not exactly," Kathryn said. "But—the crew counts on me. They expect me to be impartial. To make unbiased judgments. To do what's best for everyone. Nobody expects their captain to have a personal life. At least—not while they're on a mission."
Carol considered it a moment. Her mind was practically swimming with the realization that she'd been wrong. That Daryl had been wrong. Now, though, her gut clenched for a different reason. In the very little time that she'd known Kathryn, she'd come think of her as a friend. Now she was finding out that, maybe, the woman wasn't even supposed to be her friend. If what she said was true, it seemed she had no right to anything but servitude and solitude.
"But—you're on the ship for like…seventy years," Carol said.
"I know," Kathryn said, at least a little mournfully. A half smile turned up the corner of her mouth after she seemed lost in thought for a second. "You really thought we were married?"
Carol laughed to herself simply at Kathryn's slight burst of amusement and not because she found any humor in the feelings she was still sorting through.
"Don't act like it's so ridiculous," Carol said. "You—thought Daryl and I were together."
"You're not?" Kathryn asked. She looked as surprised as Carol felt to find out that she and Chakotay were not together.
Carol's heart fluttered a little in her chest with the anxiety of facing speaking a truth that might not be a whole truth just yet.
"I'm not entirely certain what we are," she offered. "But we weren't together. Not until—the fever."
