AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Making their way to the bridge, once they had weapons in hand, was relatively easy, all things considered. Daryl had no qualms about shooting any and every Kazon asshole that crossed his path, and the herd of bodies that spilled out of the cargo bay kept any of them from really being left with their backs against the literal or proverbial wall at any time.
Daryl kept Tom and Harry between himself and Chakotay—mostly because he felt like Harry was a little shaky with the weapon, and he didn't want to risk leaving him behind—as they headed for the bridge. Everyone else, he reasoned, could get where they were going in their own sweet time. They had a mission to get to the bridge as quickly as possible, and they needed to accomplish it.
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Chakotay tried to block out of his mind a body count for how many Kazon warriors they'd had to kill as they worked their way to the bridge. It wouldn't have been their first choice to handle this situation with violence—it was never Kathryn's first choice to handle any situation with violence—but the Kazon had really left them no choice.
Kathryn was already on the bridge when they got there, and she was alone. Chakotay didn't know if the numerous Kazon corpses were all her doing her not, but she'd cleared her work station, and she was at the helm. As soon as Tom made it onto the bridge, he rushed forward to relieve his captain of her position as ship's pilot.
"Thank you, Tom," Kathryn said, allowing him to take the seat she'd been occupying. She teetered, somewhat, on her feet. Chakotay didn't know if anyone else noticed it, but he hadn't missed the sideways step—clearly unintentional. He was torn, for a second, about how to proceed. She wouldn't appreciate him calling attention to any weakness—not in a moment like this. For the sake of her crew, she would want to hold everything together until she was sure that Voyager was theirs again, and that they were well on their way to being clear of the Kazon-Nistrim. Chakotay gave her space, for a moment, to let her be the captain that they all knew her to be.
"I've got helm control," Tom said.
"Good work, B'Elanna," Kathryn said, tapping a combadge that she'd acquired somewhere. We've got the helm."
"We've got communications?" Chakotay asked.
"Limited," Kathryn said. "She's working on that." She laughed to herself and Chakotay could see exhaustion in her eyes. "She's just one chief engineer, after all. Tom—I want you to engage thrusters. Get us moving while B'Elanna gets the warp core back online."
"Where the hell is Carol?" Daryl asked, somewhat frantically, sidestepping to avoid running into Harry as the ensign moved toward his console. Daryl had searched the whole of the bridge, in a hurry, like Carol might be crouched and hiding somewhere. "She with B'Elanna?"
"She was going to my quarters to handle things there," Kathryn said. "We thought it would be best, since things were mostly under control, to divide and conquer various tasks."
Daryl didn't wait for more information, nor did he request it. He quickly disappeared off the bridge.
"None of the Kazon ships are powering weapons at this time, Captain," Harry offered.
"Thank you, Mr. Kim," Kathryn responded. "I have a hunch they won't."
Chakotay finally stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Kathryn. He felt he'd given her enough space and time that she wouldn't hold his interference against him. As he neared her, he realized that her uniform—damaged as it appeared from a distance— wasn't just shredded in places. The cloth was singed. Burned. And, beneath the burnt cloth, her skin was very badly burned.
"Kathryn," he said, forgetting suddenly that they were on the bridge, in the middle of a firefight, and that Kathryn was focusing on getting the ship back from the Kazons, "you're hurt. Badly."
She smiled at him and reached out a hand to pat him.
"I'm fine, Chakotay," she assured him, prompting him to accept the lie. Kathryn didn't miss a beat in touching her combadge again. "B'Elanna, do I have a ship wide connection?"
"Communications are up," B'Elanna confirmed. "There's some damage and some fusing, but I was able to bypass it. I can open your comm-line from here, whenever you're ready, Captain. Give me another ten minutes and I'll also have the warp drive online."
"Take your time with the warp drive," Kathryn said. "At least—your full ten minutes. I want to give the Kazon warriors that are still on the ship enough time to transport back if they're interested. Open the line, please."
"Aye, Captain," B'Elanna responded. "Line is open."
"Attention Kazon warriors," Kathryn said, her voice echoing through the ship in a ship wide announcement, "this is Captain Janeway speaking. We have taken control of Voyager once more. Your Maje is deceased, as are many of the warriors who would not leave our ship in peace. We do not want further conflict with the Kazon-Nistrim. We would like to leave this area of space. We do not want to fight, but we will, if we're forced to do so. In ten minutes, we'll be departing the area. We are giving you this time and opportunity to transport back to your ships. We will allow you to leave, peacefully, if you do so now. Please don't make us engage in further violence. We would prefer not to see the needless spilling of additional blood. Janeway out."
Chakotay hovered near Kathryn, unsure of exactly what to do. As she was finishing up her announcement to the ship, Tuvok found his way onto the bridge.
"Kazon warriors are transporting out," Tuvok said. "I have no internal sensors, however."
"They're offline," Kathryn said. "B'Elanna won't bring those back until after she finishes with the warp drive. I don't know how…" she stopped, and Chakotay noticed that she visibly swooned a little. He reached his hands out, catching her shoulders, almost hating to touch her because he didn't know the locations and the extent of all her injuries. "I don't know how much of a team she's got back yet," Kathryn finished.
"Everyone is on their way to their previous duty locations," Tuvok said. "All senior staff seems to be reporting under the correct assumption that we're in a current all-hands-on-deck situation."
"Captain," Chakotay said, holding Kathryn's shoulder with one hand and bringing the other to catch her face. He turned her face so that she would look at him. What he'd thought was exhaustion, he now worried was something else entirely. Her attempt to offer him a comforting smile did nothing to comfort him. "With all due respect, Captain," he offered, "I think that the crew can handle it from here. B'Elanna will have warp drives online, and she'll get her team working on repairs. Tom will set a course for home and get us out of here at warp eight. Tuvok will run a sweep as soon as sensors are online, and his team will clear the ship of any remaining Kazon. We'll order that clean-up process begin immediately. Please, Captain, let's get you to sickbay."
Kathryn smiled a little more sincerely.
"You have it all under control, Commander," she said.
"It will be under control," he assured her. "Tuvok? You heard the plan?"
"I did, indeed, Commander," the Vulcan offered.
"You have the bridge, then," Chakotay said. "I'm taking the captain to sickbay."
Kathryn didn't argue with him. Instead, she accepted the support that he offered to her, leaning against him and seeming to welcome a little the opportunity to pass off some of her burden, and she left the bridge with him.
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"You hurt?" Daryl barked out as the door to the captain's quarters came open. Carol had been well enough to verbally command the door to open, when Daryl, upon realizing that he didn't have the code, had called to ask if she was in there. He still needed to hear it, though, from her own mouth, that she wasn't hurt.
"I'm fine," Carol said. "I'm not hurt. You OK?"
"Better now," Daryl offered.
Carol sat on the sofa in the room, perched on one cushion that was placed oddly on the piece of furniture while the rest of the cushions and pillows seemed to have been torn off in some kind of fight—perhaps the same fight that had rendered the two individuals dead that were lying in the floor.
Daryl could immediately identify one of the bodies as Seska—the woman who had caused, really, all of this. He wasn't sad to see her dead, and, as he stepped around her, he resisted the desire to spit on her.
In Carol's arms, quite unhappy about the whole situation, was the infant. She was doing her best to rock it and shush it.
"You do all this?" Daryl asked, nudging the Kazon's body with his boot.
"Yeah," Carol said.
Daryl hummed and nodded.
"You OK?" He asked.
"You already asked me that," Carol offered.
"No," Daryl disagreed. "I asked if you was hurt. Now I wanna know—if you OK."
"Daryl—I think he's hungry," Carol said, her voice cracking just a little. That was answer enough, for the moment. She wasn't OK. She was never OK when she had to kill. But she would be OK.
"OK," Daryl said. "OK—so what'cha want? You wanna let's—feed him?"
Carol got to her feet, the infant in her arms, and walked like she was heading for the replicator. She turned around, suddenly, like she changed her mind, and then she paced a little, bouncing the baby that seemed a little soothed by the movement, but not entirely over the suffering he felt he was enduring.
"What if—he can't have just any milk, Daryl?" Carol asked. "What if he has to have special milk and I killed his mother? He's an alien, Daryl. Like—like a real alien. And I killed his mother, and he's hungry. And—I don't know what we do about that."
Daryl got up and walked close to Carol. He peeked at the baby. He was chubby and clearly unaccustomed to missing meals. He had a bony forehead, and his cheeks were wet with tears. Daryl walked over to the replicator.
"It's OK," he said. "OK? It's OK. It's all gonna be fine, Carol. We ain't gonna let him starve. Computer—make me some…what the hell is he? What was she?"
"I don't know what she was," Carol said. "He's her son with Culluh. So, he's part Kazon and part—whatever the hell she was."
"Good enough," Daryl said. "Computer—make me a baby bottle with Kazon milk."
"Unable to comply," the computer declared after it beeped at him.
"Computer—is that because you don't have Kazon milk, you don't understand me, or you just broke?"
"Unable to follow command," the computer responded back.
"Computer, that was a fuckin' question," Daryl growled.
"Please repeat your inquiry," the computer responded.
"Computer—Kazon milk. One. Baby bottle. Now. Baby Kazon is hungry!"
"Unable to comply," the computer responded.
"Great fuckin' time for this thing to be broken," Daryl growled.
"It was replicating earlier," Carol said.
Daryl sucked in a breath and purposefully tried to calm himself. Maybe the computer was sensitive and just didn't like his tone of voice. His brother, Merle, had always sworn that bikes and cars had feelings. You had to talk to them nicely to get them to do what the hell you wanted. Daryl was willing to accept, for the sake of feeding the bony-headed baby, that the computer might want him to check his tone and his attitude.
"Computer—baby bottle," Daryl said, calmly and determined not to be quite so picky and demanding. "Milk. Boob temperature."
His new request seemed to calm the computer. It replicated a bottle and Daryl brought it to Carol, not entirely sure of what they'd gotten, but at least pleased to have something to offer her and the shrieking infant.
"Feels warm," Daryl offered.
"What if it's not the right kind of milk?" Carol asked, nuzzling the baby.
"I guess he'll spit it out," Daryl said.
"What if it's like—milk for one species is poison for another species?" Carol asked. "Daryl—this baby is an alien! And it's not a Klingon or a Vulcan. Or even a Talaxian or an Ocampan, like Kes. We don't know anything about these aliens. Even our aliens don't know anything about these aliens."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Maybe you're lookin' at it wrong. Maybe all babies are like—created equal. Don't matter the alien. Because to them, we're aliens, too," Daryl said. "Give it the milk. Somethin' bad happens, we'll take it to the doctor. I don't think it's gonna be poisoned by some regular human milk made by the magic food machine." Daryl laughed to himself. "But I mean…shit…what the hell do I know? I don't even know how to handle human kids that well. They're all aliens to me."
"That's not true," Carol said softly. "You're good with babies. With children." She offered the baby the bottle, and he accepted the nipple after some initial urging on Carol's part. As soon as it was in his mouth, he started sucking ferociously, like he hadn't eaten in days.
"He's starved," Daryl offered. "You reckon she ain't fed him none?"
"Maybe he just eats more," Carol said. "Maybe he needs more than this…"
"If he does, we'll make the computer spit him out another bottle," Daryl offered. "Don't worry—we don't let him starve."
"You want to hold him?" Carol asked. She gestured like she was willing to pass the infant over to him. Daryl considered it a moment.
Her eyes were damp. She was upset, clearly, but he expected her to be upset. He imagined that there would be at least a few days where they sat and discussed what had taken place. They all found killing difficult, and it seemed that Carol had been forced to do a great deal of killing it in her life. At least here, on Voyager, they were sometimes allotted the quiet time to simply relax and handle some of their shit. That time, Daryl was sure, would go a long way toward healing current and past hurt. In addition, Daryl already knew that, in this case, their hands were all dirty. They'd all killed in this battle. Carol would be able to relax in the knowledge that she hadn't done this alone. She would be able to relax in the knowledge that she'd done what she had to do for her newly forming family, and they wouldn't hold it against her.
Daryl could see, on her face, that everything had stirred her up.
She needed to come down. She needed to come fully back to the moment. She needed to relax and, when she was finally open to suggestion and a bit more grounded, she probably needed some simple things like food, water, and, maybe, a trip to sickbay.
For just a moment, though, she was beginning to calm because a fat little baby with an odd-looking forehead was greedily sucking on a bottle while he glared at the both of them over his disagreement with the wait he'd suffered.
"Nah," Daryl offered. "Looks like you got it. I'ma just start—collecting the bodies. Get 'em piled up. We gonna clean up the ship later."
"I can help," Carol said.
"I think you're good right now," Daryl said. "I got this."
"Daryl—the body in the bedroom? Culluh?" Carol offered. Daryl hummed. "It's a bit of—mess. I slit his throat."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Of course, you did," he said. "I got it. I'll wrap it up in the blankets. Ain't like they gonna want to keep 'em no way if you cut his throat in the bed. Ain't nothin' but a thing. It'll get handled. Cleaned up."
Daryl had just gathered Seska's body up, dragging her by her shoulders to move her on top of the fallen Kazon warrior that lay near her, when the bedroom door open under the command of someone who had clearly received the code at some point.
The moment that Daryl saw the Kazon warrior standing there, he dropped Seska's body and grabbed his phaser from his belt. The Kazon held up his hands in surrender. He looked first at Daryl, and then he glanced at Carol.
"I didn't come to fight," he said sincerely. "I only came for the son of Maje Culluh."
