a/n: Thanks to mylittleredgirl for outstanding beta work, and Kate Christie for her scientific/medical expertise.
At 0233 hours, something hits Voyager. Hard.
The ship rocks violently, bodily hurling Chakotay into waking. He stumbles out of bed, reaching for the wall, the dresser, anything to catch himself. His combadge is on the floor; he grabs for it and bolts for the hallway.
If I get there quickly, then it'll be all right, he begs the universe. If Kathryn and I do our jobs, the ship will be fine.
It's a familiar bargain he makes with the cosmos: He does what he needs to, and the universe stays in balance. So far it's been working.
He races to the bridge, where he finds Gamma shift in uniform and a handful of Alpha and Beta crew barefoot and in pajamas, just like him. "Report!"
Tom is at the helm, Ensign Alden standing behind him. Alden sits helm on Gamma shift, but Tom's the better pilot. "Still figuring that out, Commander," Tom calls as he taps the controls. "I can feel the engines kicking but it's not—"
Another violent shock hits the ship, and Chakotay misses the end of Tom's sentence as he's thrown to the floor along with several of the other bridge crew.
"Harry!"
"Shipboard sensors are out, damage to the deflector array, engines have been affected but I don't have details yet." Harry taps furiously at his station. "We're passing through a micro-nebula, and from what I can tell, the mixture of gases is igniting with the residue from our warp drive. Even impulse is producing severe turbulence."
"I can feel the drag on the impulse engines," Tom adds. "Every time I try to push us away, we get another impact."
Chakotay nods, mind racing. They have to get out of this nebula before it does serious damage to the ship. "Harry, how big is it?"
"Small, sir. Only two thousand kilometers across." Harry pauses, bracing himself as the ship rumbles again. "The reaction only hit us when enough residue had built up in the cloud."
"Commander." Harry's voice sounds strangled. "Sir, the captain is not answering on the comm. I do not have her location."
Chakotay sucks in a breath even as he scrambles to his feet. No time for that. "We have to focus on the ship right now, Harry." He turns back to the helm. "Tom, can you take us out on impulse, even if it's slow?"
"I'm trying to—" A smaller wave rocks the ship again; Chakotay stumbles, hand on the rail, as Tom handles the controls. "The engines are firing unevenly. I can't maintain any kind of stable course without a steadier energy output. The warp drive would kick us out fast enough, but the explosion would destroy the hull."
Chakotay taps his badge. "Chakotay to Engineering. B'Elanna, what's happening?"
"We've got damage to the warp drive and the impulse engines. Teams are heading for the damaged conduits now, but with the internal regulators down, we have to monitor the engine intake and output manually."
"Can you do it?"
A slight pause. He hears someone in the background swear. "It's going to be rough, but yes."
"Tom?"
Tom nods. "It's gonna be a bumpy ride."
"Right. Chakotay to all hands: brace for turbulence."
Tom eases the ship forward, kilometer by agonizing kilometer, trying to avoid the worst of the turbulence as B'Elanna confirms the ever-changing impulse engine status and Harry calls out the ship's position every few seconds.
It's a slow process, but the ship pulls through. After a few final rumbles, the violent rocking finally lessens, then ceases. It takes a few long seconds for Chakotay to relax enough to let go of the railing. Several crewmen pull themselves up from the floor, but thankfully no one seems too badly hurt.
"Harry, damage report."
Harry, who spent half the attack desperately hanging onto his console to stay on his feet, stands up and scans his screen. "Reports coming in piecemeal, sir. Damage to decks two through six. Reports of casualties. No reported fatalities. Partial damage to the deflector array. Shipboard sensors are still down. Transporters non-functional. Damage in engineering is still being assessed."
Chakotay's on his way to the turbolift before Harry even finishes speaking. "Tuvok—"
"I will send security teams to sweep the ship for injuries," Tuvok assures him.
"Good. You have the bridge. Harry, I'm going to check on the captain. Keep me updated on casualty and damage reports."
"Yes, sir."
The trip back to deck three is a quick one. He taps her door chime: nothing. He enters his emergency override code and her door slides open, revealing the dark silence of her quarters. Some of her belongings are scattered across the floor, but apart from that, he sees nothing wrong. "Captain?" Still no response, no movement. "Computer, lights."
As light floods the living room, her sitting area, her small dining area, he sees nothing but stillness. After a moment, he crosses towards her bedroom.
She's on the floor beside her bed, crumpled in a heap, one arm twisted awkwardly under her body. Her hair is loose, soaking into the puddle of dark blood spreading around her head like a halo.
She's not moving.
He falls to his knees beside her and reaches for her throat, brushing her hair back as he searches for a pulse. It's there, but it's faint. "Chakotay to Sickbay."
The Doctor's voice comes through quickly. "Sickbay here, Commander."
"Doctor, I found the Captain in her quarters." Chakotay threads trembling fingers carefully through the blood-matted strands of hair, feeling the line of her scalp, until he reaches the wound on the right side of her skull. It's hot under his touch. Sticky. Rough. "She's unconscious and bleeding. It feels like it's her head."
"Are there any other visible injuries?"
"Not that I can see." Blood has seeped through her hair, streaked her face, soaked into the pale soft fabric of her nightgown. When he glances around, he sees blood on the corner of her bedside table, a few strands of hair stuck in it. Her robe is less than a meter away, draped over a chair; she never even got hold of it.
"What about her neck?"
"I can't tell."
"Do you have a medical tricorder?"
"I don't—wait." Chakotay staggers to his feet, running for her bathroom. She has a small medkit there; he pulls it out, opens it, and breathes a sigh of relief. "Yes! Yes, I have one."
"Check for spinal damage."
"Right." He runs the tricorder over her still body, holding his breath as he waits for the results. "Negative, Doctor, no injuries to her spinal column."
"Good. Can you get her to Sickbay?"
"I'm working on it, please standby. Harry, do we have transporters yet?"
"Not yet, sir. Internal sensors are completely haywire, I can't get a lock on anything."
"Understood. Doctor, can I carry her?"
"Yes. Be careful. If you have anything available, try to cover the head wound first."
"All right."
He rolls her gently onto her back and digs through the medkit, pulling out the thin dermalplasty bandage, and carefully fits it to the head wound. It's not much, but it's better than nothing.
"Come on, Kathryn." He strokes her hair back from her bloody face. His hands won't stop shaking. "Don't give up. You're going to be fine." He traces his thumb gently over the line of her cheekbone. "I'll clean your floors, I'll do your laundry, anything, you just have to be okay, do you hear me?"
Her body is slack, dead weight in his arms, and her head lolls limply on his shoulder. As much as the blood, this scares him. He's seen this woman cut, bruised, singed, limping, half-conscious, but she never stops moving, never lets go of whatever she's determined to do. The last time he saw her like this, he was carrying her out of a downed shuttle, and she almost died in his arms.
He climbs to his feet with agonizing care and heads for the door.
"All right, Kathryn," he murmurs. "It's going to be okay."
If I get her there, then all she has to do is stay alive, he pleads with the universe. I'll get it done, and then you'll take care of her. Just balance it out.
The trip to Sickbay has never felt so long.
Chakotay passes a few ensigns in the corridors who stare at him, wide-eyed, as he rushes past with the captain in his arms. The turbolift moves a little slower than usual, but it moves, and within minutes he's walking into Sickbay.
He lays her down carefully on the nearest biobed, cradling her head as he settles it gently on the surface. Her face is ghastly pale, her breathing barely visible.
"Commander." The Doctor appears beside him, tricorder in hand. "Has anything changed since your first communication?"
"No. She hasn't moved." Chakotay takes in a deep, shaky breath. "She's lost a lot of blood."
"I can see that." The Doctor starts scanning the captain's head, frowning in concentration as he reads the tricorder.
Seconds tick by in silence, and Chakotay can't catch his breath. She's not moving. She's barely breathing. She's—
"Commander." The Doctor's voice cuts through his spiral. "Please go clean yourself up. I'll update you once I know more."
He blinks, confused for a moment, until he looks down and realizes he still has Kathryn's blood drying on his hands.
"Yes, Doctor."
He walks out into the hallway and heads straight for the turbolift.
He sets a clean uniform on his bed and steps into the bathroom to clean up, stripping off his bloodstained pajamas and tossing them into the 'fresher. The blood has dried on his skin, thick and tacky. He runs water in the sink and scrubs, trying not to think about how much of it there is and how much more of it is still pooled on her floor.
Chakotay watches the last of it streaming down the drain, growing faint and pale until it's gone.
He looks up at his face in the mirror.
There are things to be done, and right now his first responsibility is Kathryn's crew.
If I fix this, if I look after the ship, then Kathryn will be fine.
Ten minutes later, Chakotay walks into Engineering to find it swarming with crew members, abuzz with efficient activity.
At first, he's not sure where the chief engineer is. Then he sees a pair of feet he recognizes. "B'Elanna?"
"Here." Her reply is muffled; she crawls back out of the Jeffries tube, and he gives her a hand to climb to her feet. Her face is flushed from exertion, her uniform rumpled. "We took a beating, but repairs are coming along."
"Good. Any resources you need?"
"Right now, just time."
"We're in a pretty quiet region of space for the moment," he assures her. "Long-range scans yesterday indicated at least one M-class planet up ahead, so if we need to stop for more intensive work or materials, it'll be possible."
"Good. I'll be able to give you a fuller report tomorrow, but for now, we're in decent enough shape." She wipes a strand of sweaty hair off her forehead. "I heard about the captain. How is she?"
"She's in Sickbay. I haven't heard anything yet."
"How bad was it?"
He tightens his jaw, remembering the hot sticky blood on his hands, the weight of her limp body against his chest.
"It was bad."
B'Elanna puts a hand on his arm. "She's tough, Chakotay. If anyone's going to push through, it's her."
He manages a small smile. "I hope you're right."
Chakotay's combadge chirps as he approaches the turbolift on deck six. "Sickbay to Commander Chakotay."
Chakotay pauses, his grip tightening on the PADD in his left hand. "Go ahead, Doctor."
"The captain is doing fine. She's still resting under sedation, but as of right now I believe she will make a full recovery."
Chakotay lets out a heavy breath. He's still exhausted, but suddenly his shoulders feel so much lighter. "Thank you, Doctor."
He clears his throat, squares his shoulders, and steps out of the turbolift with a suddenly-quicker pace.
I did my part, she's doing hers.
The universe was listening; the balance lives on.
By the time the Doctor calls him to Sickbay, Chakotay's exhausted. He's checked in with every department, overseen repair crews, and taken fourteen seconds to wolf down the sandwich Neelix shoved into his hand during his check-up visit to the mess hall.
Sickbay is quiet, beds empty except for Kathryn's. She lies still on her biobed in a blue hospital gown, face relaxed. She's clean, no trace of the blood that soaked through her nightgown and hair, and the color of her face is a healthy flush, so unlike the deathly pallor he remembers.
Chakotay clears his throat. "Doctor?"
"Ah, Commander. Just in time."
The Doctor presses the hypospray to her neck. There's a pause, a soft hiss, and after an agonizing moment of utter stillness, her eyelids twitch.
She takes a long breath and her eyes flutter open, cool and stormy blue-grey. She blinks rapidly, confusion wrinkling her forehead until she focuses on the face looking down at her. "Doctor?" Her voice is rough. "Am I in Sickbay?"
"Welcome back, Captain." The Doctor peers into her eyes, assessing her pupils. "How are you feeling?"
"A little confused, but overall fine."
"That's a good sign." He stands up straight. "Well, I'm satisfied. Commander, I trust you can update the captain on the past day's events?"
"Of course. Thank you, Doctor." Chakotay steps closer to the biobed, looking down at her. "It's a relief to see you awake and aware, Captain."
"Chakotay?" She shakes her head slightly, like she's trying to shake her memory loose. "What happened?"
She reaches for his hand absently, almost as if she's not really thinking about it, and he twines his fingers through hers.
"What do you remember?"
She frowns thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. I had dinner. I went to bed. That's that last thing I remember."
"That makes sense," Chakotay says. "In the middle of the night, the ship hit a micro-nebula that reacted explosively to the residue emitted by the warp core. There was no warning. I talked to the Doctor, and we think that first explosion probably threw you out of bed. Your head hit the edge of your dresser and that knocked you out."
She blinks. "Doctor?"
"You suffered a head injury that resulted in a concussion," the EMH explains. "You lost quite a bit of blood, but the Commander put on a quick bandage that stopped it from getting worse. Scans of your brain look good, and I anticipate no permanent damage." He pauses for a moment. "You also sustained a minor wrist fracture, but that didn't take much time to fix."
She nods slowly. "But the ship is okay?"
Chakotay smiles. "Entirely. B'Elanna had repair teams assembled within minutes of us getting clear, and Tuvok sent his teams around to check on the crew. Some minor injuries. You were the only serious one."
"We got lucky," she says. He bites back his instinctive response, that his definition of 'lucky' doesn't include her lying on her floor with a serious head injury.
"I know the Doctor has you here overnight, but I'll keep you updated," he promises, smiling as her eyes brighten. Kathryn's far more willing to follow the Doctor's guidelines when she knows she's not being kept out of the information loop. "The ship is doing well. And you need to take care of yourself."
"Well, thank you, Nurse Chakotay." She pats his arm. "I'll do my best."
After a hasty dinner with B'Elanna, during which she explains in meticulous detail exactly how fried the conduits and warp drive are, Chakotay swings by Sickbay, updates Kathryn, and heads back to deck three.
After a moment's hesitation, he walks past his own door and ducks into her quarters.
As the lights come up, he gets a clear look. The belongings scattered across her living area aren't too bad; he doesn't see anything broken or smashed, just out of place.
A trail of bloody footprints—they're his, he realizes with a jolt—trail from her bedroom, across the room towards the corridor. He follows them back to her bedroom, the first time he's been here since he carried her out of it.
Somehow it's worse than he remembered.
Blood has soaked into the carpet and dried along the edge of her dresser. It's smeared on the floor, on her bedspread, and his own handprints have left it on the doorway to her bathroom. It looks like a crime scene.
She'd clean it up herself without batting an eyelash, he knows, but he doesn't want her to see it. And she'll probably be more comfortable with him in her space than whatever ensign is available to bring in the cleaning unit.
If I wipe it clean, then it didn't happen, and she walks back in as healthy as before.
When Chakotay walks into Sickbay the next morning at 0700, he finds Kathryn in uniform, sitting up in her biobed as the Doctor scans her. Chakotay doesn't miss the way her face lights up as he walks in. "Good morning, Commander."
"Captain." He smiles back at her. "I take it you're feeling well?"
"Ready to get back to work," she assures him as the Doctor lowers his tricorder.
"I'd prefer you take this morning off, Captain, but overall, you're in excellent shape. Of course, if you get even so much as a hint of headache, please come back here at once."
"Of course, Doctor." She slides to the floor. "Thank you."
Chakotay gestures to the door. "May I walk you home?"
"I'd welcome the company." Kathryn smiles at the Doctor. "As always, Doctor, thank you for the excellent care."
"You're very welcome, Captain."
As they reach the turbolift, Harry rounds the corner, PADD in hand. He immediately brightens. "Captain! Good to see you up and about, ma'am. We were all worried about you."
"Thank you, Harry. Most of the credit goes to the Doctor." She pats Chakotay's arm. "And the commander, of course."
The rest of the trip to her quarters is uneventful. When they walk in, Kathryn immediately pauses and looks around. Chakotay stops behind her. "Is something wrong?"
"Everything's tidy." Before he can respond, she turns around to look at him. "You cleaned up, didn't you?"
"I didn't want you to come back to that."
Her face softens, and she pats his chest. "That's very thoughtful. Thank you."
Chakotay's not sure what to say that won't sound trite, or overly-familiar, so he just smiles and gives her a half-shrug he hopes translates as I just wanted to make sure you didn't have to clean up your own blood. It was his silent, cosmic deal with the universe: If he cleaned it all up, he could forget it ever happened.
The universe lied, of course. He'll never forget it. But at least she's here with him now, so maybe it's all fair in the end.
After a moment, she turns towards her bedroom, then pauses. "Would you—"
"What?"
She gestures for him to follow her into her bedroom. Like the living area, it's clean and tidy. This room took the longest time to clean. The carpet was soaked through
"Where was I?"
He points to the floor beside her bed. "Here. Your head hit the corner, right there." He gestures to the now-clean corner of the dresser.
"Was it—"
She pauses, like she's not sure how she wants to say it, but he knows what she's asking.
"For a few seconds I didn't think you were alive."
Her brow furrows at that, but he can't quite read the look on her face. She's fixated on the spot on the floor, like if she looks hard enough, she'll see herself. "And now, it's like nothing ever happened."
Her eyes are far away, and after a few seconds of silence, he touches her elbow. "Are you all right?"
"Am I—oh yes, I'm fine." She keeps staring at the floor. "I'm not sure why this is so strange to me."
"What do you mean?"
"It's hardly the first time I've been injured. But I don't remember anything. I went to bed as usual, and then I woke up in Sickbay." Kathryn shakes her head. "I never would have known what happened."
He's spent most of the past day throwing himself into work, trying not to think about how he might have lost her without getting to say goodbye.
She snaps out of her reverie and reaches for his shoulder, squeezing gently, her eyes warm. "Can I offer dinner as a thank-you? Unless you'd rather I come vacuum your floors, too."
"As tempting as the vacuum offer is—" he teases, entirely for the smile she gives him and the way she slaps his shoulder playfully. "Dinner sounds wonderful."
Dinner is a relaxed affair: no uniforms, just comfortable civilian clothing and good food. Over dishes of savory, flavorful stir-fry (chicken for her, vegetarian for him), he catches her up on the state of repairs. "I have the sneaking suspicion B'Elanna's been swearing at the warp core, but luckily it doesn't seem to be holding a grudge."
Kathryn chuckles. "I've muttered my fair share of obscenities at stubborn warp cores, so I can't really blame her."
"We've all done it." He takes a sip of wine. "How was the rest of your day?"
"Not too much to report. I went to the bridge to check on things, and Ensign Hoffman stared at me like she'd seen a ghost."
"Ah." Chakotay toys with his fork. "I think I know why. I walked past her carrying you to Sickbay."
Kathryn pauses, watching his face very keenly. "So she saw—"
"She saw her captain looking pretty rough, yes."
"Well." She lets out a soft huff. "No wonder she looked so startled."
After dinner, they end up on her couch with half-finished glasses of wine, a single cinnamon-chocolate tart balanced on a plate between them, and two forks. Dessert is an occasional luxury when they dine together, but Chakotay insisted that her still being alive was reason enough to indulge. Even if he minded spending replicator rations on her (he doesn't), it'd all be worthwhile to hear the low, throaty hum she makes as she tastes her first bite of the rich, flaky pastry.
"Mmmm. You were right, this is delicious." She licks a trace of chocolate cream off her fork. "Thank you."
"You stay alive and well, I'll provide dessert any time."
The innuendo seems to hit her right as he realizes exactly what he's just said; she glances up at him, her face pink, her eyes sparkling. But at least she looks amused, so he's not too embarrassed.
"It seems like I win both sides of that agreement, Commander."
As he digs his fork into the dessert again, it clinks against hers, and he laughs. "The least you could do is let me have a bite here."
"Hurry it up, then." She gives him that lopsided smile, her eyes bright. "And no cheating with a double bite, mister."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
They alternate bites, enjoying the rich, flavorful dessert, until finally there's only a small bit left. Kathryn tips the plate back towards him. "You take it."
"Kathryn—"
"I insist." She pats her stomach. "I'm full, anyway. Enjoy it."
After taking the last bite, Chakotay sets the empty plate carefully on the coffee table and sits back, looking at his companion. They're sitting closer together than usual. While they were sharing dessert, it made sense, of course. But now that's done, and she hasn't pulled away, and maybe it's the wine, but he's feeling so off-balance he doesn't know what's safe anymore.
Her eyes are on him; he knows she's thinking, and he wonders what's floating through that keen mind. His whole body goes hot as her gaze falls to his mouth for a long, heavy moment, before she drags her eyes back up to meet his.
He has the sudden, crystalline realization: this is how she always looks at him. Every time. She's just not usually this close to him, so close he can count the gold specks in her eyes and he feels like he's drowning in them.
Chakotay only barely processes the thought before he's leaning forward to kiss her.
That first kiss is so soft, he barely knows it's happening. Maybe that's the reason. If it's like this, sweet and delicate and unbearably gentle, it's okay, like it's the loophole in this very complicated dance.
If we only kiss a little, the world won't end.
The kiss ends; he barely has a moment to catch his breath before she leans in to kiss him again, one palm pressed gently to his chest. She kisses him tentatively, carefully, like every brief kiss is a question and she's desperate to gather information. She nips lightly at his bottom lip, soothing the sting with her tongue, and he groans, pulling her closer.
Her fingernails drag lightly over his scalp, tugging at the short strands of his hair, and suddenly they're pawing at each other, frantic, desperate to be closer. It's too much, too fast, but he can't help it. Before he's really aware of it, her shirt is tugged free of her waistband, her skin smooth and hot under his fingers. He's dizzy touching her, out of control tasting the chocolate and wine on her lips.
Their mouths finally separate, and she hovers for a long moment, just a centimeter from his lips. The warmth of her breath caresses his skin, as intimate as any kiss, and for one long, perfect moment, he forgets why they can't do this.
Then, of course, he remembers.
He's ruined the balance.
"I'm sorry." He shuts his eyes briefly, leaning back, trying to catch his breath. "I'm so sorry, Kathryn, I shouldn't—"
"No need to apologize," she husks, her voice so soft and low he can barely resist the urge to go back in. "I was, shall we say, an active participant." She smiles wryly, sitting back, putting a bit of space between them, tugging her shirt back down, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Do we need to talk about it?"
"Do we?" Chakotay lets out a mirthless chuckle. "We both know how that talk goes."
It's not the first time they've slipped up. On this very couch, no less. To their credit, though, they've never gone further than this.
Her cheeks are still flushed, but she looks reasonably pulled together, at least for a woman who was very recently making out with him. That's Kathryn Janeway, he thinks. She can always push herself aside.
"Well, it's not every day one of us narrowly avoids death. It's natural for us to feel a bit—" She seems to be searching for the word. "Vulnerable."
"Right." That's Kathryn. Always the reasonable thinker. She can always find an explanation.
"You know, I asked Harry what happened that night." She leans back against the couch cushion, watching him carefully. "Harry said he told you I wasn't responding, but you focused on the ship, even knowing I might be in trouble. I know how hard that must have been."
They do not talk about this. They do not talk about the fact that someday one of them might have to cause, allow, or witness the other's death for the greater good, and they need to be able to do it, and it's that forced distance that stops them from finding comfort in each other's arms the way they both want to.
Sometimes he wishes one of them were just a little less noble. If he tried to seduce Kathryn, really tried, he's fairly sure he could do it. And she could absolutely seduce him. He has no doubt of that.
"I won't pretend I wasn't worried about you," he admits. "But the ship had to come first."
"I know that. You saved the ship, and then you saved my life." She fixes him with a warm smile. "I'm grateful for both."
"I'm glad you're both doing fine."
He needs to leave. Kathryn is smiling at him, her eyes are bright, her mouth is still rosy from his, and he wants her, a visceral, deep-seated want that's physical and emotional. He really needs to leave now.
So Chakotay clears his throat, rubbing his hands on his trousers as he stands. "Well, I think I should get back home. Thank you for dinner, Kathryn."
"You're always welcome. Thank you for dessert."
She follows him to the door, but she watches with folded arms, rather than her usual hand on his arm, squeezing his shoulder, or reaching for his hand. Apparently she's still feeling off-balance, too.
After too long staring at each other, he takes a deep breath. "Good night, Captain."
If we get this ship home safely, then we can have what we want.
The smile she gives him is a knowing one.
"See you in the morning, Commander."