RAGNAROK 2
Author: Rocky

Act III

Chakotay paused outside the captain's door. He could hear her voice through the thick bulkhead, but it was too muffled to make out any actual words. He sighed in frustration-and not because he wanted to eavesdrop.

He'd been pleased, if slightly disbelieving, when the computer informed him a short while ago that the captain had left engineering and was now in her quarters. Quite honestly, he'd expected her to have gone straight to her Ready Room or the bridge. But with six hours to go before the upcoming battle, he'd dared hope she was finally taking the opportunity to get some rest. So much for that hope.

He signaled and the door opened immediately. He took a few steps into the room and stopped. Janeway stood with her back to him, gazing out the viewport.

"-that the crew has acted with distinction. I close by respectfully requesting that Starfleet Command consider my recommendations and act on them accordingly. Janeway out." She turned and beckoned him further into the room. "Computer, end recording."

He seated himself on her couch, after first looking around and ascertaining that there was no one else present. "Can I ask what that's all about?"

"Message buoy to Starfleet," Janeway said briefly. She took one last look at the stars before coming to join him on the couch. "The course is preset so it will be in position to broadcast via the next datastream."

*So your final report will make it to the Alpha Quadrant even if Voyager perishes*, Chakotay thought. Aloud, he said, "Sounds good to me." Something about her expression made him wonder if she'd included a personal message to her family as well, but he couldn't bring himself to ask, just as he couldn't comment on her reasons for launching the buoy in the first place.

Instead, he kept his tone deliberately light. "I should have known you'd be disobeying orders-working when you're supposed to be resting."

Her tone matched his as she said, "Captain's prerogative-surely you won't put me on report for ignoring my own directive."

"Definitely a court-martial offense-" he started, then stopped at the look on her face. "Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not," she snapped, all lightness gone from her manner. "I'm sitting here counting down the hours until that Borg fleet arrives. How do you expect me to feel?" She broke off as if abashed at her spurt of temper. Or perhaps it was regret at letting her mask slip and expressing her true feelings. She ran a weary hand through her hair. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. Stupid question."

She didn't respond, but rose to her feet and started pacing. He could feel the tension radiating off her. "I've been racking my brains, trying to remember every inspirational speech I ever heard from my commanding officers."

"Find anything helpful?"

She gave him a rueful smile. "Not really. Nothing that seems relevant, at any rate."

He nodded, trying to think of something to say. He decided silence was the wisest option.

She didn't seem to notice. Suddenly, she began speaking again in a low and rapid voice, her head bowed, her chin barely visible above the collar of her turtleneck. She appeared to be directing her remarks to her own folded arms.

"For the last ten hours, I've either been involved in briefings with various department heads, or else down in Engineering. The whole time, I've tried to downplay the situation, telling everyone-myself included-that this isn't much different from anything we've faced before. But you know what, Chakotay? I don't know who I'm fooling. Certainly not myself. I know what we're facing-and it's nothing like our recent experiences with the Collective. No, this is shaping up to be a lot more like what happened at Wolf 359. I was there, you know. I saw the devastation caused by just one cube. Forty ships-the cream of Starfleet!-wiped out, just like that." She gave a shaky laugh. "And here we are, about to confront odds far worse."

Helpless, he watched her pace back and forth, her voice rising and falling in rhythm with her movements. He still didn't know what to say to her, or if she even expected him to respond. His gaze fell on her uniform jacket draped haphazardly over a chair back, as if carelessly tossed there and forgotten. He looked more closely and spotted her pips lying scattered on the floor, scarcely noticeable in the muted light.

"I know that this is probably-" She took a deep breath, as if trying to compose herself. "We've had a good run, but now it's coming to an end. I don't want to accept that-I can't let myself accept it, because if I do I'm admitting defeat. And I can't do that, Chakotay, I simply can't."

With a start, he recalled another conversation they'd had about an impending confrontation with the Borg. Facing an impossible choice between two dangerous adversaries, he'd presented her with what he considered the safer option. But she'd refused to take it, because to her it smacked of defeat. Of giving up. Many times since that long-ago day, he'd wished he could take back his words, or at least couch them in a way to make them more acceptable to her, to remove the sting. What could he say to her now? That she had made the only choice there was, to stand and fight against the vast power of Collective? That even if Voyager had been able to flee the area, she was honor-bound to remain and see this battle through?

She wasn't looking to him for reassurance. No-what she was doing was steeling herself for what was coming next, rooting out and confronting all her fears, all her demons, in an attempt to exorcise them. Steeling *herself*. She didn't need him-from all appearances, she probably never had. So why was he here?

The burst of self-pity fell away, as he saw with clarity that he was being given a rare glimpse of her innermost self-a privilege granted to very few. He'd always known that to the captain it was imperative to maintain the illusion of being in control, no matter the cost. His heart clenched. She who always felt she had to be strong for everyone else, who would never allow herself to exhibit any weakness in public, was in fact far more vulnerable than he'd been allowed to know. Or be in a position to do anything about.

Abruptly, he stepped into her path, forcing her to stop midstride. For a long moment they stood staring at each other. There were purple shadows beneath her eyes, and a look of inexpressible weariness and anguish in the blue-gray depths themselves.

"Kathryn..." Instinctively, he held out his arms, and wordlessly she slipped into them.

He held her gently, almost afraid to breathe. The gesture had been born of a sudden impulse; all he'd wanted was to give her a friendly hug, some encouragement. Nothing romantic had been intended. And yet now that she was in his arms, he had trouble separating his concerns for her as a friend-and his captain- from his innate reaction to her as a woman. The top of her head brushed softly against his cheek, and the scent of her perfume spun dizzily in his brain. Her breasts were pressed tightly against his chest. He had to fight the urge to lift her face to his, capture her mouth with his own.

For a minute or two she relaxed against him, and then in one swift motion, she pulled back.

He offered no resistance and stood frozen in place, his eyes fixed upon her face. Kathryn's eyes which had an instant earlier shone with emotion-gratitude or desire, he could not say-changed infinitesimally, hardened, and then he saw the captain's mask settle into place.

The transformation saddened him, yet he knew it was inevitable. He knew she needed very badly to wrap herself up in her invincible armor, that it wouldn't be a kindness to drag her out now of all times. She needed that strength. As much as he longed to be her source of strength, he knew that it was not possible. As much as it would hurt him-and he could already feel the sharp stab of disappointment-he knew he had to let it be. To let her be the captain.

She must have realized from his expression some of his inner tumult, as well as his decision not to interfere. She said quietly, "I was going to make a deck by deck tour of the ship-you know, check on the preparations."

"I'm sure Tuvok has everything well in hand," he said, his voice almost normal.

"I'm sure he has," she agreed, "but I need to do this. Besides, it's good for the captain to see and be seen at a time like this."