AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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The quietest days on Voyager were some of the most peaceful days that could be imagined. They were days of routine and comfortable repetition.

They were days of work, recreation, and the personal pursuit of new skills and abilities.

They were working on a skeleton crew by choice, since most of the repairs had been completed in the silent days following their problems with the Kazon, which allowed for longer breaks for everyone who remained "on call" with very little concern about actually being called in to work.

Carol chose to work during almost every shift. She went back and forth between helping Neelix in the mess hall, to helping Kes a little in sickbay with basic tasks, to helping organize things for Kathryn. She enjoyed keeping busy, and she was happy with her work, no matter how varied the tasks may be.

Daryl was working, too, even when he didn't have to be.

B'Elanna was using the downtime to train him more, and he was starting to feel like he was really getting the hang of things. He was learning their tools and, thanks to a little cheat-sheet on his PADD, he was getting better at keeping track of how things worked on the ship. He was learning their technology.

He was feeling useful, and he was feeling overwhelmingly hopeful for how much more useful he could become with time and dedication.

So, while others ran the daily ins and outs of engineering, Daryl trained with B'Elanna on one point after another as she worked her way through lessons that she prepared for him.

"If I connect this," Daryl said, working on the damaged piece of equipment she'd brought him to work on repairing, "then it should temporarily restore power with the power relay from that panel."

Over his shoulder, B'Elanna watched his work and Daryl held his breath as he made the final connections that he needed to make. As it flickered to life, B'Elanna made a satisfied noise of approval.

"Not bad, Cowboy," she teased. "Now—what about controls?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Gimme a break," he said, delicately putting the work down on the floor and standing up to stretch his back muscles from the position they'd been holding for a while. "I got it runnin'. Didn't say it was perfect."

"You'll get there," B'Elanna said, encouragingly. "That had already been designated for the scrap pile. Something to recycle."

"I can bring it back to life," Daryl said. "Just need time."

"We have replacements if it's not possible, but it's good practice," B'Elanna said. "And with there being no way of knowing how long we're without fresh supplies, I won't turn down having extra equipment on hand."

"What's next on the agenda today?" Daryl asked.

"Work on getting those controls to work, if you want," B'Elanna said. "Another crash course in programming?"

"More holodeck adventures?" Daryl asked.

B'Elanna smiled to herself.

"It's the best place to let you try your hand at programming," B'Elanna said. "At least until you're feeling confident. If we throw out two thousand holodeck files, there's no harm done."

"But if I accidentally reprogram commands to the warp core…"

"You're getting the idea."

"You been on any of them holodeck adventures with—anyone in particular?" Daryl asked.

Klingons might not blush, per se, but their faces definitely could change color. Daryl saw the flash of embarrassment in B'Elanna's eyes. She liked Tom. Tom liked her. For whatever reason, though, they seemed reluctant to let go and let things get serious.

And Daryl liked both of them enough that he wanted them to have what the hell he had with Carol—he thought everyone ought to have the chance, if they could, to have what the hell he had with Carol.

"Why the hell not, Klingon?" Daryl asked, keeping his voice low to alleviate the concerns that had B'Elanna looking over one shoulder and then another.

"It's none of your business, Cowboy," she responded. She put just enough of that Klingon growl behind her words to let Daryl know that she was trying to delicately threaten him. He wasn't scared of her, though—at least not like this.

"I thought you Klingons were all big an' bad. Not scared of anything," Daryl whispered back. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Things keep coming up," B'Elanna said.

"You keep lettin' 'em," Daryl said. He swallowed back his amusement. "Trust me, I know. Hell—I dragged my feet for fuckin' ever. Don't waste time. You might not be lucky enough to get another lifetime like we got. You wanted to take him to play history, didn't you? What happened with the Millennium Plague program we worked on?"

"We never played it to see if it was accurate," B'Elanna said. "Or to make sure there were no bugs in the programming."

"Then I guess I know what the hell we're workin' on with our programmin' next," Daryl offered.

"We need to take it for a test run," B'Elanna said.

Daryl looked around Engineering.

"It's a sleepy Sunday," he said, truly unaware of what day it really was or if such a thing really mattered to anyone anymore. "From what Chakotay says—there ain't shit on the horizon for as far as we can see. Three fourths of the people ain't worked in days. Why don't we see if we can get Tom off for a while? Let somebody else take the helm. Carol's wanted to see the program. We'll grab her outta the mess hall. Take it for a spin."

B'Elanna looked hesitant for a moment.

"We haven't taken time off for a couple of days," she said. "And Tom did take an extra shift just to give some extra time off to Lieutenant Danberry."

"She owes him."

B'Elanna smiled.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask," she said. "I'll talk to the captain."

"I'll go get Carol to wrap up whatever she's doin'."

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They hadn't bothered replicating any special clothing for the program beyond what Daryl and Carol had promised B'Elanna and Tom would be "sensible." There was no need to take anything with them, because gear had been programmed into the game in very much the same way that it would have worked on Earth. It was hidden, throughout, and they'd find it by searching and gathering.

As soon as the doors had closed behind them, they'd found their first stash of supplies. The program had been written so that they'd find some bare necessities to get them going—water, food, flashlights, weapons, backpacks, and a couple of bedrolls.

Carol laughed to herself as she opened the rusted car door in the simulation and saw the neatly arranged supplies waiting there.

The holodeck programs were, essentially, like enormous, living video games. They could play just about anything, just about anywhere, at just about any time. Carol didn't really mind the idea of taking part in creating a video game about the era in so-called history that had been their lives. It was, after all, not much more troubling than a movie—and they had a pause button.

"Minus ten points for realness," Carol said. "Finding things was never this easy, and this isn't what we really had when the whole thing started."

"You had plenty of food and water," Daryl said. "And a tent."

"My ex-husband was a bit of—one of those people who prepared for everything," Carol said. "He was convinced the end of the world was always coming."

"One damn time he weren't entirely wrong," Daryl said.

"He prepared for the government to attack us more than anything," Carol said.

"Didn't help him a damn bit," Daryl said. "Weren't shit that prepared us for what the hell really happened. Still—their asses got to camp with a whole damn car full of MREs, bottled water, and other shit to outlive the government. Me an' Merle? Ain't come with shit. Didn't have shit to start with." Daryl shrugged his shoulders and fidgeted, clearly a little uncomfortable. Carol reached a hand over and squeezed his neck, hoping the touch would calm whatever he was going through. "Truth was—Merle had an idea that nobody in the camp knew what the hell they was doin'. Wouldn't survive no way. We'd just take what they had." He shook his head. "We didn't go through with it."

Daryl looked directly at Tom and B'Elanna. They were holding the gear that Carol had passed them and both were staring at Carol and Daryl with their mouths half-open as they listened to the story.

"You prob'ly think I'm a monster," Daryl said.

It was Tom who smiled first.

"It was a different world," Tom said. "And—who's to say what any of us would do in a situation like that? That's why that whole era of history is so fascinating. Hardly anyone survived—all things considered—and what they went through to survive? There are people who wrote memoirs, but most people just took everything to the grave with them, determined to let all memory of it just die out."

"Some of it's better having died out," Carol said. She smiled to herself when she started to hand out the weapons and picked up something familiar. "Daryl?" She said, holding up the knife.

"Thought you might want it," Daryl said with a smile. "My programmin' don't seem to be as bad as some damn Klingon thought it'd be."

Carol laughed to herself at the exchange of facial expressions that took place between Daryl and B'Elanna.

"Does everyone have what they need?" B'Elanna asked.

"We got way more than we would have in reality," Daryl said. "Now—how'd we program the timin' on this thing?"

"We programmed it to run with rapidly advancing time unless we give the command to slow to real time," B'Elanna said.

"What does that mean?" Carol asked.

"It means that we'll feel like time is passing somewhat normally," Tom offered, "but it's designed to simply make our brains feel that way. In reality, we'll experience days in the program in a matter of real hours."

"Which means we gotta quick jackin' our damn jaws and start figurin' out where we are and what we're doin'," Daryl said. "Gonna get dark on us before we have a decent place to stay if we don't."

"What are we looking for?" Tom asked.

"I thought you were the history buff," Daryl teased. "Why don't you tell us?"

Tom laughed to himself.

"I've read all about the Millennium Plague. I've watched the documentaries. But you've really lived it. It's not every day that we get the opportunity to relive history with someone who lived it before."

"First thing we need to do is find a camp," Carol said. "It looks like we've got tents, but the only bad thing about tents is that we've either got to rig traps and warning systems to make sure we're safe during the night—and that means finding supplies for that—or we're doing shifts to watch out for each other. Of course, I'm not tired at all since my body isn't set up with your rapidly advancing whatever it is."

"You will be," B'Elanna said. "We all will be. That's the thing. The technology is advanced enough to use certain things to basically trick your mind into responding as though you were actually in the game. Holodeck technology is used a good bit for all kinds of things like sleep deprivation issues and regulating internal clocks, especially for missions that are going to be particularly difficult for different species in Starfleet. It's wonderful for tricking the body into short-term adaptation."

"Well, in that case, we better get going," Carol said. "Did you program this for Georgia or…where are we?"

"Hell if I know," Daryl said. "We pulled the base file from one that was already in the computer's historical files."

"So that means…"

"You're as lost as we are," Tom said with a laugh.

"Great," Carol said, not really feeling as bothered as she pretended to be for Tom's amusement. "Come on. And keep your eyes open. I'm assuming you programmed Walkers into the program and they'll sneak up on you, especially if you aren't used to them."

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Kathryn sighed as she chewed through the first bite of the steak—slightly charred on the outside from a good sear, but otherwise juicy and tender. She hummed her approval almost immediately.

"Good?" Chakotay asked.

"You do know your way around a replicator," Kathryn said, nodding her head. "It's almost as good as the real thing."

"It's the best we can do for the next sixty or so years," Chakotay said with a laugh. He sat down and poured himself a glass of the wine he'd replicated in a glass carafe. Kathryn didn't begrudge him the wine—especially not when he'd painstakingly programmed the replicator, which she was convinced hated her, to produce a meal that was exactly to her somewhat picky specifications.

"Oh—oh, Chakotay!" Kathryn declared, tasting the potatoes. They were delicious, and she meant that, but she would continue to make a big deal out of the food simply because of the pleasure that showed on his face just to think that he'd made a meal she enjoyed. He always looked genuinely happy that he pleased her, in every possible way, and she didn't mind hyping up what he did to make him feel as good as she possibly could. "These are—perfect!"

"Wait'll you see what I'm making you for dessert," Chakotay said. "I'm not saying these caramel brownies will be as good as your mother's, but they shouldn't be too bad for helping quell that homesickness a little."

"I love you," Kathryn assured him quickly.

"If I'd known the brownies would have done it, I'd have replicated them my second week on the ship."

Kathryn laughed to herself and sat back in her chair. She chewed through another bite of steak and picked up her PADD while Chakotay studied his own. They were comfortable working at the table together when it was work like this—the kind that didn't stress either of them too badly.

Chakotay's combadge chirped.

"Kim to Chakotay," Harry said.

"Go ahead, Harry," Chakotay responded.

"I didn't mean to bother you," Harry said, "but I've got some scheduling complaints and I thought you were the one that would be best suited to handle them."

"Go ahead," Chakotay said. "What's the problem?"

"Holodeck two is busy," Harry said.

Chakotay made a bored face at Kathryn and she laughed to herself. He touched his PADD, obviously bringing up the scheduling information that he kept on hand. As the person who coordinated just about every piece of scheduling on the ship, Chakotay was always prepared to handle a conflict.

"It says that Ensign Parker has holodeck time on that holodeck right now," Chakotay said.

"That's the problem," Harry said. "Ensign Parker is here. But Ensign Rausch is also saying that he hasn't had his time. And Ensigns Waller and Thames claim they've been waiting for their time."

Chakotay furrowed his brow at the PADD and Kathryn leaned forward slightly. She tasted her potatoes again, and washed the bite of food down with water. She was curious about what was going on, and her curiosity always seemed to make her lose her interest in food—no matter how perfect it might be.

"They missed their time," Chakotay said. "They were on the schedule hours ago."

"I know," Harry said. "It's just that—nobody got time. Nobody's had any of their time since 1500 hours, Sir."

"That was when B'Elanna and her group's time was up," Chakotay said. "Look—Harry—if people missed their holodeck time, they missed it. They can reschedule for a different slot, but it's Ensign Parker's time now."

"The problem isn't so much that they missed it, Commander," Harry said. There was obvious frustration or anxiety in his voice.

"Harry—could you just get to the point?" Chakotay asked, irritation flooding into his voice.

"It appears that, maybe, the timer never went off for B'Elanna and the others," Harry said.

"End the program," Chakotay said, making a face at Kathryn. She stifled a laugh. As much as they all adored Harry, sometimes he could be very much like raising their own grown child.

"That's the thing," Harry said. "I've tried that. It's not responding."

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AN: To all my Star Trek canon loving purists (if there are any of you here), I'm begging suspension of disbelief from you throughout this entire story. I hope you'll just enjoy it as the (probably quite imperfect) piece of fiction that it is.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!