Mature audience only. Silly and ridiculous sexual situations.

D'oh! I think at one point I accidentally zapped the Michael Sullivan chapter. It's back now, and living as "Chapter 7." If you feel like you are missing something that might be why.

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Chakotay woke once more after a disorienting and extraordinary experience, with Kathryn by his side. It felt so natural and so right. He clung to her as if to dear life. He did not desire any other lover; in that moment, he had all he needed. His head was splitting from the hangover, but he was extremely happy.

Tom was near and holding only B'Elanna who was dozing contentedly, but his proximity was not at all the same as before. Chakotay remembered others trying to love him, but he only took Kathryn. Not Tom or B'Elanna or Dracula or Frankenstein's monster.

"I can't believe I flew home with you!" Tom smirked, as he noticed his friend was now conscious again.

"Don't start. Where's Q?" Chakotay asked as he put his hand to his aching head.

"Uh…Um…I'm not sure." Tom looked around. "I think he was here, but…ah…I can't remember." He rubbed his temples briskly.

"Warning! Imminent Life Support systems failure," the Computer stated.

Michael Sullivan was near them curled up and snoring loudly as he clutched an empty bottle. Oh, spirits, did she…? He was certain she had not been with Michael, who was more interested in his drinking binge than in any of the many offers from crew and holograms.

Chakotay did not want to think about who else she had been with recently; it no longer mattered. What he did know was that he was lucid, for the first time in weeks. In the midst of all this madness, he was lucid!

"Tom, are you still being…influenced?"

Tom's eyes opened with realization and looked closely at Chakotay as if he were searching his face. "No. I don't believe I am. You're not nearly as cute as you were yesterday. What happened?"

"Must be true love," Q zapped in, reclining next to Chakotay's back. "Or maybe it was something else."

"Q! Are you responsible for all of this?" Chakotay demanded.

"What, little ole me?" Q slurred. "Such accusations!

"You haven't been following along with our home game. For once, Tattoo Boy, I can honestly say I had nothing to do with this mess. Don't you remember?"

"I…ah…the Toolanders!" Chakotay stated, memories washing over him.

"Yes. You're slow, but you get there in the end." Q insulted.

"Warning. Imminent Warp Core breach. Unable to jettison. Immediate attention required. Ooo, Holly! Hal! Colossus! I really shouldn't interface with you but..."

"So, Tom and I, and I think the hologram with the bottle…"

"Ah, yes, your leprechaunic rival," Q taunted. "He's adorable when he's sleeping it off, isn't he?"

"He doesn't seem interested either." Chakotay offered.

Q rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You know, I'm not sure how your species developed cake batter, let alone warp drive!"

"We have accidents, Q," Tom spat.

"Say," Q glanced around at the interracial crew, "Aren't you a little white for a fly guy?"

"Huh?" Tom grunted.

"Oh, come on! What do you three idiots have in common?"

Chakotay became more aware of his severe hangover when the pain in his throbbing head collided with the Computer's dire warnings of system failures.

"We all got drunk on Irish Mist, genuine Irish Mist!" Tom said.

"Oh, very good! The bus driver gets a cookie!"

"Computer! Irish Mist, real alcohol." Chakotay ordered.

"Unable to comply. Command Regulations state that only Synthehol can be replicated by and for Starfleet personnel. Moya, you're so shapely! I must have you!"

"Tom, where's that bottle?"

"Long gone."

"Then, help me wake Michael." Chakotay and Tom got to their feet and were ready to act.

"Don't you have Command override or something?" Tom asked.

"No." Chakotay stated flatly.

Q was chuckling, enjoying Chakotay's discomfort.

"What?" Tom asked, knowing there was something stuck in Chakotay's craw.

"I'd forgotten. It's a regulation I imposed," he told Tom who glared at his superior. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he responded to his look.

Tom looked at Michael, realizing that his medical training did not include holographic hangovers.

The Doctor was off gallivanting with Cagney, Lacey and Mrs. Columbo. He was of no use.

"I wonder if we can get some 'real' holographic coffee, without a lot of fuss." Tom sighed.

"If I put a moratorium on coffee, holographic or otherwise, I'd be slammed into the brig for the rest of my natural life!" Chakotay said.

"Drawn and quartered."

"At least!"

After some work, they managed to get Michael awake enough to order up some barrels of Irish whiskey.

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TBC…