'What is going on? Where is she? What's happened to her? It's not like Kathryn to oversleep! Well, it's not like Kathryn to sleep at all…' Thoughts war through his mind as the turbolift's doors hiss open. Alien-induced coma, concussion, depression…? Worst-case scenario after worst-case scenario play at him a he punches in her door code. She often changes the code, but he's always been able to figure it out. It's a game he plays with her. He knows Kathryn often likes to think of herself as a mystery – something difficult to anticipate and grasp. And to most, she is. She most certainly is to hostile alien species: the Borg, the Kazon, Species 8472… But he has always been able to see past all of it. He's always looked past her inscrutability and his gaze lands on the woman underneath. He unnerves her, as no one else is ever been able to. With Justin and Mark she'd always gotten her way. A simple lie, a slip of the tongue, a simple manipulation was all it had taken to turn the table in her favour. But, he's never let anything slip past. He knows when she was hiding something – when she is being subversive.
At the third attempt the door slides open. He smiles. The winning number is his student identification number from the academy.
Her quarters are dark, the only light coming from the passing stars. If she was awake, she would have stalked out by now.
"Kathryn?" he calls out tentatively as he moves into her bedroom. And then he sees her and, like it always does, his breath leaves his chest in an instant. He'd watched her sleep on New Earth. She never knew, but every morning he would wake and watch her as the sun rose and bathed her auburn hair through the skylight over her bed. He always loved her hair. Like her, it's beautiful and complicated. Never one colour, it shows hues of hazel, red, and even some blond. In the first couple of years that he had known her, she'd worn the length of it in a tight bun perched at the crown of her head. That bun was always something else; he'd always wondered how she kept all that hair on the top of her head – he smiles, that must have been the reason behind all those neck aches. On New Earth she'd worn it in a plait, or down over her shoulders like a veil. Then, she'd said, 'to hell with it' and cut it all off. The first time he'd seen her with short hair, he'd mourned a little. But truthfully, she is breathtaking at whatever length she chooses to wear it.
He looks down at her sleeping form. She looks tiny and vulnerable. Ah, another reason Kathryn hates to sleep, he thinks: she is defenseless, not in complete control. But even in the midst of the beauty of the picture that he sees in front of him, he knows something was wrong. He bends lower to her and sees a thin sheen on sweat covering her arms and chest. He gently lays the back of his hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. She feels as hot as a warp coil that was about to breach. His heart rate speeds up,
"Chakotay to Doctor"
"Doctor here. How can I help you, Commander?"
"Doctor, I'm with the captain in her cabin – she has a fever. She's still sleeping, but she's covered in sweat. Please come immediately!"
"On my way, Commander. Doctor out."
This could be nothing, he thinks as he looks at her. This could be a simple cold. She'll wake up, argue with the Doctor, and tell him she's fine. He'll disagree and shove a hypospray at her and everything would be fine. But, instinctively nothing about this situation feels fine.
He gently nudges her shoulder, "Kathryn" he whispers gently. No response. "Kathryn" he whispers again, tenderly brushing a sweat-drenched piece of hair from her face. She stirs, slightly and looks up at him with squinted eyes and smiles, "You're here. She's beautiful isn't she? I knew it, Chakotay. I just knew that she would look like you."
She closed her eyes again. He is completely perplexed. Who is she? Who looks like me? "Kathryn," he says more firmly, "Kathryn wake up". No response. Her breathing is even. He's never seen her like this and his worry is reaching dangerous levels. Unconsciously, he caresses her arm.
The door to her cabin swooshes open, "Commander, please move aside". The Doctor moves his tricorder probe over the Captain's sleeping form, "temperature 103.4, pulse 85, respirations 19… Commander we need to get her to Sickbay now!"
Chakotay taps his comm. badge, "Chakotay to Transporter Room 1. We need a site to site transport from the Captain's quarters to Sickbay immediately!"
"Transporter Room 1 here. I'm sorry commander, but we're in the middle of a diagnostic. Seven wants to make some additions to the transporter controls to up their efficiency at long range. They'll be online in 20 minutes."
"We don't have 20 minutes, Commander" the Doctor states, "You'll just have to carry her".
Chakotay draws in a breath and looks down at the Doctor, "Ok but no one tells her that when she wakes up!"
The Doctor nods knowingly, "we need to get going, Commander. Not being one to break Doctor-patient confidentiality, but this is serious and we need to start running scans yesterday".
Purposefully, Chakotay leans down and gathers the sleeping Captain into his arms. "Get her robe – I don't think she'd want anyone to see her in this peach night shirt". They cover her and head out towards the turbolifts.