A/N: So sorry – I hadn't intended to leave readers on such a cliffhanger, but this week has been full of travelling, work and family obligations. Thanks to the ever-fabulous MissyHissy3 for betaing so well – and so swiftly.

Chapter 11

It happened so quickly that he hardly had time to react. They'd spent what felt like hours walking through tunnels that seemed entirely identical – endless grey stone, broken only by the light he carried that barely illuminated more than a few feet in front of them. Chakotay – exhausted, malnourished, concentrating on keeping his ears open to sounds that might be coming their way and blinded by the repetitive nature of their journey – realised that his reactions were slow when he almost plunged headlong into the chasm that opened up before him. He should have turned to her then: right then, immediately, but he didn't. For some reason he took a second to simply stand there, momentarily frozen on the edge of the abyss, his over-wrought brain trying to adjust from tightly finite walls to measureless expanse.

By the time he heard her voice, it was too late. Janeway was slipping, skittering like a stone over the edge that had so nearly claimed him just seconds before. It was all he could do to catch hold of her before she plummeted out of view to follow the stones that crashed into the nothingness below her. The struggle felt like hours, but could only have been seconds. He knew he was losing her the instant he had her in his grasp: the quick slip of coarse cloth between his fingers.

He couldn't hold her. He couldn't.

"Climb," Chakotay ordered, through teeth gritted against the strain in his shoulders. "Dammit, Kathryn – climb."

He felt her trying, almost jerking him off his feet in the process. She looked up at him, her face pale in the faint light from the discarded torch.

"Chakotay. Let go."

He ignored her, the words of the absurd order in his ears. As if he would. As if he could. Chakotay continued to fight against gravity, desperately trying to pull her back over the brink to safety. The loose soil beneath his feet bucked and crumbled under their weight. He struggled backwards, willing his hands to maintain their grip but fighting a losing battle. Chakotay lost his footing completely and slipped to the ground, jarring his spine hard enough against the rock to make his eyes water, but still he didn't let go.

He felt her stop fighting. It was an instant realisation, like the sudden blast of cold air cutting through a hot room. One second she was struggling for life, and the next…

"No," he said. "No. Kathryn, don't."

She said nothing. Gravity took over, snatching her out of his hands even as he struggled to keep her there. His hands slipped along her arms, reaching her wrists, sliding into her palms, so nearly out of his grasp already…

It was rage, really. Something white-hot exploded in his chest, an abject fury he hadn't felt in years. He'd already lost his grip on her right arm as he threw himself sideways, his shoulder impacting hard with the rough ground as he rolled on to his stomach, closer to the edge. Chakotay felt the ground beneath him crumbling further as her other hand slipped away. By that time he was reaching for any part of her that he could grasp, his fingers finding nothing more than a handful of thick cloth. He didn't pause to get a better grip. She was already out of time and he was almost over the edge himself. Chakotay heaved backwards, rolling himself on to his back over the disintegrating ground, dragging her with him. He heard himself bellow – a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his gut – and even then he could hear the frustrated desperation in it. All he had hold of was part of her cape, but he held on for dear life, rolling away from the edge over the splintering ground, the muscles of his shoulders tearing beneath the strain. Chakotay felt something grip his leg: Janeway. He'd jerked her back up toward him just enough for her to fling one arm up and over him. Chakotay reached out with his other hand, gripping her under the arm and continuing to roll until she had inched her way back over the edge. With one final effort he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both over and away from the edge until she lay under him on a patch of ground that was solid enough to hold them.

Beneath him, eyes squeezed shut and gasping for breath, Janeway was illuminated in the blue shine of the cast-away flashlight. Her face was peppered with gravel dust and sweat, streaked with the shadows of the half-light. Chakotay could barely breathe, but the rage was still there, resonating like a second beat around his ragged heart.

"If you think," he managed, punctuating each slow word with a painful, laboured breath, "that I would have ever let you go… then you don't know me at all. Captain."

He rolled away from her, anger spent as swiftly as it had risen. They lay side by side, catching their breath. After a moment he felt something brush against his hand, and realised it was her fingers. She laced hers between his, squeezing briefly.

"Thank you," she whispered. And then, louder, as she lifted her other hand and pointed, "Chakotay – look."

Beside them, built into the wall several feet above where they lay, were metal rungs – the start of a ladder.

Janeway sat up, turning to retrieve the torch. As she did so, a sound echoed from somewhere inside the tunnels. It was the noise of shouting – indistinct but nowhere near distant enough. The Captain was on her feet in a second, turning to offer him a hand up.

"Are you all right?" she asked, when he stood beside her. "Can you climb?"

Chakotay shook his head, the last vestiges of rage replaced with the urge to smile. "I'm fine," he said, ignoring the ache in the torn muscles of his shoulders. He didn't ask her the same. He already knew what the answer would be.

"Good. Then let's go."

Janeway went up first, ascending into a darkness broken only by the oscillating light from the torch she clutched in one hand.

[TBC]