Chakotay sat alone in the mess, pushing his lunch around his plate. B'Elanna had finally managed to get the lights back up, just in time for everyone to see exactly what Neelix had thrown together in the darkness.

Chakotay tried to tell himself that he was just tired from the late night at the potluck, but he knew better. Sleep hadn't come easily. Kathryn's actions haunted him.

Last night, before he had his talk with Greg, it didn't seem to matter as much. The issue, he had thought, was that she had betrayed him. Again. The ire he'd discovered in his office had mellowed to indignation, and he had been content to wallow in it.

He had been glaring at the ice as it melted in his tea when Greg sat down. Sandrine's quieted as people tried to overhear the conversation.

"So, what happened?" Greg asked.

Chakotay just continued brooding at his glass, refusing to acknowledge Greg's presence. He wanted to be left alone. But there was no point in saying so, because Greg would ignore it. And if he had tried to walk away, Greg would chase him across the ship, calling B'Elanna to crack open any doors sealed by command codes.

Of course, Greg wouldn't be put off by a little silence, either. He'd silently stare at Chakotay all night, if he had to. He'd done it several times before.

Well, damn him anyway.

With his teeth clenched, Chakotay breathed a dramatic sigh of aggravation. He fixed Greg with a glare that went completely ignored.

At last, Chakotay leaned forward, prompting Greg to do the same. In the quietest of voices, he said, "How can you have a friendship when there's no trust?"

Greg nodded, as if he'd heard exactly what he had expected. His voice was equally quiet. "Of course she doesn't trust you." Dismissing that, he asked, "What else have you got?"

Chakotay's anger began to climb. He said nothing.

Greg's eyes sparkled with amusement as he saw there was nothing else. He added, "Get over yourself. Save your pity for the dead."

The last was a phrase often used in the Maquis. Chakotay had always interpreted it to mean that one should only pity those who couldn't do anything more to change their lives. It had the intended effect, as it stopped him cold and made him put things into perspective.

Voyager was in disrepair, her crew still reeling in shock. And her captain was still a wreck. Chakotay didn't have the luxury of self-indulgence. He had to get things back on track. And the first thing to do was to put the crew at ease by getting back to business as usual.

He nodded once at Greg, a signal that the point was well taken.

"C'mon," Greg said. "Tom's waiting for us at the pool table."

Tuvok approached, pulling Chakotay's attention back to the mess hall. He dropped his fork into the unidentified muck.

"Good afternoon, Commander," Tuvok said, handing him a PADD.

"Thank you, Tuvok," Chakotay replied. Tuvok nodded and left.

Chakotay glanced down at the PADD. More repair updates. Something Kathryn and he would have been discussing over lunch. If she weren't still avoiding him.

Something was terribly wrong with her. He'd seen her obsessive, and he'd seen her livid. But neither could do any justice to the events of the last few days. She had let her anger consume her until she couldn't be bothered about what was right or what was best for the ship. That simply wasn't something Kathryn would do. Mercurial moods or not, she always kept Voyager's welfare as her first priority. He reluctantly allowed that Kathryn might be losing her sanity.

Chakotay watched as Tuvok retrieved a tray and sat at his usual table in the corner, pondering a question that had been bothering him more and more. Why didn't Tuvok do anything to help Kathryn?

As much as he hated facing it, he could understand why he himself had ignored Kathryn's instability. He had denied it because he didn't want to face the implications of the truth. But a Vulcan wouldn't think that way. And no matter how much he pondered it, he couldn't imagine why Tuvok would just watch as his captain fell apart.

He was stumped. Maybe Greg could help him figure it out.

"Is it true, Cap?"

Under his breath, but loud enough for Greg to hear, he muttered, "*Think* of the devil, and he shall appear?"

Of course, Greg didn't wait for an invitation to sit. His face stayed as impassive as usual, but he had that amused twinkle in his eyes. Part of that, Chakotay imagined, was at the comparison. But there was no question; Greg was up to some mischief.

Greg would tell him whether he asked or not, but Chakotay gave him his cue, anyway. "Is what true, Greg?"

"Is it true that Noah nearly got himself turned into alien food when he stood up to the captain?"

Chakotay's eyes narrowed. Only a Vulcan could have overheard Greg's quiet words. But Greg always knew exactly who was in a room, and Chakotay's peripheral vision confirmed that Tuvok was still there. The question wasn't for him; it was for Tuvok to overhear.

How the hell had Greg managed to get that out of the rumor mill, anyway? He was sure that Lessing had seen Kathryn's actions as a bluff. One that was supposedly proven when Chakotay had entered the cargo bay with his phaser drawn.

Again, it was the eyes that gave it away. Terror still reigned supreme, of course, but as Lessing calmed down and talked about the Ankari, Chakotay could see a hint of arrogance at besting Voyager's commanding officers. Chakotay had been more than happy to let him gloat. It was much better than telling him that the woman who would become his captain didn't give a damn about his survival.

But if the rumor mill had this one in its teeth, the command staff was in some major shit. Chakotay wanted to fix Greg with a full-on command glare. He wanted to bawl Greg out for doing this to him in front of Tuvok. He wanted to know exactly what the rumor mill was saying. But he had an audience, and therefore a part to play.

"Of course not," Chakotay lied, acting as if he had expected the question. "It was your standard bluff. Basic interrogation tactics. Pass that on to the lower decks, will you?"

Greg nodded. "Sure thing, Cap."

Chakotay shook his head in frustration, then got up to dump his tray. "See you after shift."

"Yeah," Greg answered.

---

A/N: We're getting close to the end, now, even though the storyline itself has barely begun. I have one more posting worth of material polished and ready to go, maybe two. Past that, I only have pages upon pages of half-written stuff that I can't seem to glue together. *sigh*

Disclaimer: Yes, I know Paramount owns Star Trek and its characters. I'm jealous, so I'm playing with their old toys. Everything will be back in the sandbox by morning.

All hail JJ, the almighty beta!

Please feed the author! Critical, nitpicky feedback is always adored!