Notes: Sorry it's up so late; today was crazy. I hope you enjoy all the same - and that all of you had a better weekend than I did.

Part III: Iracundia

Kathryn was already there when Chakotay arrived on the bridge the next morning.

She looked better than she had the night before. It was obvious that she had showered and changed uniforms. Her hair was once more neatly braided and pinned, and the wrinkles and stains that Chakotay had seen, if not registered, when he had stopped her in the hall, were absent from her clothes now.

As Chakotay sat in his chair, however, and took the time to really look at her, the uncomfortable unease that had been gnawing at his stomach since the morning before yawned wide and dark. The dark circles beneath her eyes had darkened to gaunt bruises overnight and her skin was sickly white, the only color in her face a feverish blush high on her cheeks.

Sickly. Feverish.

Like a punch in the gut, Chakotay knew what was wrong.

"You're sick."

Kathryn looked at him sharply, her head jerking around as quickly as if she had been slapped. She did not speak, but her expression—flat eyes, hard mouth, jutting chin—told him all that he needed to know. He was right, and she was angry that he knew.

Not now, her glare told him. Not here.

Not on the bridge, in the view of the crew, where attentive ears listened as hard as they could for any shred of gossip or rumor. Not where her crew could learn that she was as human—as fallible, as weak, as mortal—as they were.

It was nearly lunch before Kathryn stood to go to her ready room. "You have the bridge, Commander," she said, throwing him a warning look before turning away. He watched her go, one hand balled into a fist on the armrest of his chair, the other tapping an irritated tempo against his thigh.

He waited an hour before going after her.

She was seated behind her desk, her computer open and reports scattered around it. A mug sat by her elbow, steaming gently, and Chakotay could smell the bitter taint of coffee in the air as he stepped into the room.

The door closed behind him, and Kathryn looked up.

"What can I do for you, Commander?" she asked, sitting back in her chair and folding her hands primly atop her desk.

"You're sick."

A beat. Then, "You're being very blunt today," Kathryn commented. Her gaze, fever-bright and chilly, did not waver.

"You haven't given me much of a choice."

Her eyes slid half shut in a look of barely constrained anger. "So is that why you thought it appropriate to mention it on the bridge?"

"I know you're angry, but—"

"But what, Commander?" Kathryn snapped, abruptly standing. If she wavered, Chakotay could barely tell; she leaned forward, gripping the edge of her desk with white-knuckled fingers, and glared her irritation and her anger.

"But you didn't give me much of a choice," Chakotay said, fighting his own rising ire. She's sick, he reminded himself. She's going to be short-tempered.

"I'm just sick, Commander. A cold, nothing more. Hardly befitting this attitude of yours."

Chakotay took a deep breath, and forced down the desire to grab her shoulders and give her a good shake. Sometimes she was too damn stubborn for her own good. "It is my job, as your commander," he said slowly, carefully, biting each word to keep them from coming out too harshly, "to ensure that you remain fit for duty. Do you deny that?"

"No," Kathryn said, shortly. "But as my friend and my commander, I expect you to honor my privacy as well as my status as captain of this ship. That includes not bringing up my cold on the bridge for the entire crew to hear."

"If I hadn't, would we be having this conversation?"

"That's not the point, Commander."

"No, it's exactly the point. You've been trying to hide this from the beginning," Chakotay said, taking a step toward her and her desk, "and if I had given you the chance, you'd still be hiding it. Or trying to hide it at least. I took away that chance."

"In a flagrant and unprofessional display of disregard for my privacy, as well as for the demands of a Captain," Kathryn retorted.

"You can't just keep pretending you're fine, Kathryn," Chakotay said, taking another step forward. Very suddenly, he felt almost as if he was pleading.

"It's just a cold, Commander."

Chakotay grit his teeth. "Have you been to see the Doctor?" he asked at last.

A long beat of silence.

"That's what I thought."

"I don't need to go see the Doctor, Commander," Kathryn said, her chin jutting forward and her eyes flashing. "My mother would send me to school when I was sicker than I am now—and perfect attendance holds hardly a candle to the demands of captaining this ship."

Chakotay looked at her—truly looked at her, for the first time since walking into her ready room and their argument. He saw her flushed face, saw the fierceness with which she gripped the edge of her desk, saw the way she tensed to keep the chills wracking her body from being visible. Something in him deflated. He sighed, and then said softly, "I'm just worried. You and I both know you don't take care of yourself very well even on a good day."

Her expression softened at that, and the tension in the room bled away like sand through closed fingers. Her eyes flicked down for a heartbeat, and her chin sank out of its challenging jut. "I'm fine," she said after a few long seconds of staring down at her desk, looking up to meet his eyes once more and offering half a quiet smile. "I promise you, Chakotay. I'll be better in a few days."

"At least leave duty a few hours early," Chakotay suggested. "Get some extra sleep."

Kathryn shook her head. "We'll see," she said, and Chakotay knew that was as good as he was going to get. At least she hadn't outright refused him.

She raised her eyebrows then, and asked, "If that is all?" At Chakotay's silence, she nodded at the door. "Then you're dismissed."

Chakotay turned and left, returning to his post on the bridge. He felt better now than he had since he had been rudely awoken the morning before, the gnawing pit of worry settling into only an uncomfortable rumble.

As he sat, however, and caught sight of the captain's empty chair beside him, something uneasy stirred in his chest.

She wasn't being completely honest with you, a voice whispered in his mind. She's not as okay as she's convinced you she is.

Chakotay glanced toward the door to her ready room, and offered up a silent prayer to the spirits that the woman hiding beyond them would be all right, just as she had promised.