A/N: Trigger warning for this chapter, and potentially the rest of the story, for suicidal themes.
Kathryn grabbed for Gretchen's crystal, flicking it instead, holding Gretchen tightly so that Chakotay would understand to transport them both.
The arena did not disappear.
Gretchen's chest was rising and falling.
Just barely.
"Stop this!" screamed Kathryn, coming just up enough from the body to shout clearly, "Stop this and return us to our ship. I'm in charge of Voyager's crew. I demand it."
"The ritual cannot be interrupted," said a voice from the wall.
She looked, and saw the white robed figures standing there.
"We're human," ordered Janeway, "We're here as allies to the Empire. Diplomats so to speak. Return us to our ship."
"The ritual cannot be interrupted," repeated the leader, sneering.
"You said Kh'thoh could be transported out."
"His ritual will be completed by then," said the attendant, "When her ritual is complete, we will let her go."
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
"She'll be dead," hissed Janeway, glaring at him with steel.
"If she is, she is," said the Klingon.
Kathryn looked down, and saw that Gretchen was breathing slightly better. She checked the young woman's pulse, and her other vitals as well as she could.
I wish I'd studied medicine.
More than the first aid they taught us at the Academy.
I can't stabilize her, I don't have any equipment.
"What's the rest of the ritual?" asked Janeway, standing on her knees, "I'll do it."
The faster it's done, the faster we can get back to the ship. And help.
"You can't, Captain," sneered the attendant again, "She must make her own decision."
"She's half dead," hissed Janeway again, dangerously.
"You may take her back to your room if you like," said the Klingon dismissively.
Kathryn went to pick Gretchen up. Gretchen's limp, heavy weight, was painful, but Kathryn would have rather died under it, than put it down. To her surprise, two of the attendants came over, and assisted, taking the short walk with her to their room. They put Gretchen on one of the low sleeping pallets.
"She needs medicine," said Kathryn forcefully as they went to leave.
"She will recover, or she will not," said one of the attendants, and they were gone.
Kathryn sat next to her daughter for long minutes, watching her every breath intently.
Finally, she lifted up, and went to the small wash room. A moment later she grabbed a bowl from the front room table, and filled it with fresh, cool water. She brought it, and the only towel back to Gretchen's bedside.
I can't do much, thought Kathryn helplessly, But perhaps I can bring her temperature down a bit. At least I can clean her up.
Kathryn dipped the towel in the water and rubbed her daughter's face, cleaning off the foam and sweat. Then she lifted Gretchen out of her soiled Starfleet jacket and turtleneck, washing her arms and her neck in the purple tank top underneath.
I wish I had something for her hair, thought Kathryn, staring at the matted, sweaty tangles.
Kathryn felt her own dirty hair push into her face as she tilted her head.
She remembered her guilt and loss.
It hurt.
It still hurts. Even after everything.
It hurts.
Still, I'm glad to be here with my daughter. Rather than my daughter being alone. Or non-existent.
Glad to be commanding such an amazing crew, on an unbelievable voyage.
Someday maybe, Kathryn thought, heart aching as she looked at her daughter's pained face, Gretchen will be glad too.
After long minutes, body and soul aching, mind foggy, Kathryn collapsed, her upper half laying out across Gretchen's bed, knees digging into the stone floor.
Kathryn was fully, completely exhausted, and the strange drugged atmosphere of the planet made her sleep incredibly deep.
She did not rouse when Kh'thoh came back.
There was movement and noise in the next room, but neither mother nor daughter woke up.
Hours later, both rooms were silent.
There was no noise or movement, but Gretchen startled, unsure of where she was. She felt an unfamiliar weight on her chest, and as her eyes focused in the dim light she found the unconscious face of Kathryn Janeway.
Did I pass out?
Gretchen shook her head, as the memories of the ritual came back.
Thomas was not there.
She remembered exhaustion, beyond exhaustion, and running, running, running, to something she could never reach.
Gretchen sighed, and leaned into the back of the bedstead. It was a bone weary sigh.
I'm so tired.
Why am I always tired?
She moved to get up, as carefully as she could, placing her mother's head down without disturbing her.
She must've been worried.
She tries so hard to help me.
She sighed deeply, putting her feet on the floor.
Why does it always seem hopeless?
Why am I always so tired?
No matter what she, or anyone does, I'm always so tired.
Gretchen lifted up, feeling all her muscles ache.
In her restlessness she headed towards the next room, just to put some distance between herself and whatever had happened.
My stomach is nauseous. It feels like I threw up.
But I'll sit down for a while, and sip some water.
Maybe if I go slowly I could eat a slice or two of that fruit.
She entered the doorway, moving the curtains that covered it, and blinked in the strong, blinding light.
The table was no longer there.
There was a raised platform in the center of the room. It was low enough that Gretchen could see what was on it perfectly.
It was Kh'thoh, face grimaced and rigid.
Lying on the pyre, eyes staring upwards.
Jagged cuts sliced his body, going from the center of his stomach outwards.
His organs were no longer inside him.
Blood covered his hands, and the dagger still clenched between his fingers.
Gretchen ran backwards, "Mother!" she screamed instinctively.
"Mom wake up!," she shouted, grabbing the Captain, who sagged in her arms, snoring loudly.
"Mommy get up! Get up!" She yelled, voice increasing in pitch and panic.
Gretchen shook the Captain again, hugging her tightly, going for the transporter crystal.
But it would not work.
"Mommy!"
There was a voice from the doorway a long moment later.
"She's fine," came the bored tones.
Gretchen startled and stared, recognizing the male attendant from earlier.
The young woman rose and hissed, shaking in anger, even as she kept one hand on the Captain's body.
"What did you do to Kh'thoh?"
"Nothing," said the man, "You know this. You know what happened. He finished his ritual."
"He wouldn't kill himself," answered Gretchen quickly, even as the bottom fell out of her stomach.
"No?" asked the sneering attendant, "He was Klingon. He knew what Asclepius meant. You will be healed, or you won't. Succeed or die. He failed. As have you."
Gretchen lunged at the man, shrieking.
The Klingon attendant dodged with inhuman speed, and she fell to the floor again. Gretchen screamed, and the man laughed.
"Let us go," said Gretchen viciously, remembering her mother in the next room.
"You must complete the ritual," ordered the attendant, "Your Captain will be asleep until then. She triumphed, but she threw her lot in with you. When you die she'll be let go."
"Shut up!" snapped Gretchen, standing and moving.
"Murderer," she hissed, stalking him as if to lunge again.
"No," said the attendant, holding her gaze, "Stay here until you both die of old age if it suits you. You won't need to eat or drink."
"The ritual must be completed," he said, glaring at her, "And it must be completed by you."
Then he was gone, and behind him was a jagged dagger.