Thank you for looking! Just to get this out of the way: this is a rewrite of Voyager, so don't expect much in the way of original adventures for the crew... Just expect me to follow Voyager's path is what I'm saying. Except where inappropriate, because Chakotay is captain. And captain of the Defiant? Okay, it'll be different.

The changes I've made are purely what I thought sounded fun. That means some Humans have turned into Bajorans for no reason. One Starfleet officer has become a Maquis for no reason. All the people along for the ride are here because I want them here. So if you'll grant a little suspension of disbelief, I promise I'll do my best to not fly off the rails at random after the set-up.

But if I do, it's because it sounded fun.

Also, I respond to all reviews via PM (assuming a non-guest review, of course) to keep the wordcount reasonably accurate - but consider this another thank you in advance for any comments you decide to leave! I treasure them all.

Episode One - Crazy Old Man

Chapter 1
A More Adaptive Coping Mechanism

"All my love, Nicte." Chakotay hesitated to give her one last smile before tapping the key on his computer, save the message, and delay the transmission until tomorrow.

His sister would never forgive him.

Chakotay leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling in the Defiant's tiny crew quarters and tried to ignore the roiling uncertainty in his chest. He'd never bought any of the things his father taught him, and now that the crazy old man was dead… he'd gotten a tattoo. On his forehead.

He rubbed his face.

All things considered, Chakotay should have waited… Kolopak had joined the Maquis resistance—a group of Federation colonists the Cardassians occupying their homes called "terrorists." Kolopak had been killed. Or, as Chakotay had grown into the habit of putting it, Kolopak had been murdered.

Now Chakotay himself was committing treason, sedition in an act of wild revenge his younger self would have both approved and hated. That youth might have approved of Chakotay's stealing a Federation warship. He might have even approved of Chakotay's throwing away twenty-seven years of dedicated service to Starfleet, a promotion on the horizon and honors for his studies in anthropology. He would never approve of his doing it in the memory of his father.

Chakotay could still go down to sickbay right now and symbolically put his life back on track. Nobody would ever have to know that Chakotay had been as crazy as Kolopak.

"Crazy old man," Chakotay muttered, but he didn't feel the condescension anymore.

He only felt his stomach churning in sick knots that hadn't gone away in the twenty months since Kolopak's death. He clearly remembered receiving the message early in the spring. It was a bright and clear morning, and he was getting ready for the day in his quarters at Starfleet Academy. It was a simple message from Sveta, because the Maquis didn't have the resources to deliver anything more personal. Chakotay sat in silence for two minutes before cancelling his Advanced Tactical Training classes for that day and walking to Admiral Nimembeh's office across the budding grounds.

He didn't go inside.

Instead, he went to the gym and beat the hanging black punching bags until he could no longer stand. The very next day, he went to get his tattoo. For the first time since a trip to the jungles of South America that had driven the final wedge between himself and his father, Chakotay turned his anthropological attentions to his own past.

The next almost-two years were a weird blur of pointless anger. Some days, he was angry with his father. Other days, he was angry with Starfleet. Every day, he was angry with the Cardassians and angry with himself.

He wasn't even sure when Sveta convinced him the Maquis needed him or how she'd done it. But now here he was. Months of planning put Chakotay on the Defiant. This assignment would be his last. Starfleet would hunt him down like an animal, but hopefully not find him until they managed to do some serious damage to the Cardassians with the Defiant's advanced weapons and cloaking device.

He'd convinced himself of the necessity. In too many ways, it felt too late to back out now. His father was a crazy old man. But the man looking at him in the mirror every day had a tattoo like the one his father had. Neither of them knew what it meant when they got it.

With a sigh, Chakotay rose from the chair and straightened his uniform shirt. Commander Worf was waiting on the bridge. Not necessarily for Chakotay, but for something to happen.

The Defiant bridge was impossibly small. Every wall to either side, covered in readouts and consoles, didn't waste an inch of space. Every seat was occupied, the captain's elevated up one step in the center of the room.

Commander Worf was an imposing Klingon officer, a voice built for command but with the inborn sensibilities of a tactical officer. He didn't have many command references outside those on the Enterprise, where he'd been serving for the past seven years. Given Chakotay's experience in tactical training as well as command, he would be an excellent reference.

To be sure, Worf's reports from the Enterprise were excellent. They were just limited.

"Good morning, Commander," Worf said, rising from the captain's chair.

With a smile and dismissive gesture toward the chair, Chakotay said, "Oh, no, Worf. As of docking at Deep Space Nine, you're captain of the Defiant. I'm just here to observe."

Worf seemed to think about that, and gave a considered nod. "Yes, sir. The remaining personnel are transferring from Deep Space Nine as we speak. We should be underway within the hour."

"Fine." Chakotay's eyes alighted around the small horseshoe of consoles lining the walls and surrounding the captain's chair. Worf had retaken his seat, and the young Cattullan conn officer seemed to be very busy at something even though the ship wasn't moving.

Chakotay's position as observer was standing somewhere between the tactical and science stations. How was he supposed to observe if he was monitoring ship's systems or selecting anomalous readings from the Defiant's sensor net? He was here to watch Worf. His watching would do Worf very little good.

Chakotay would have to be extremely careful of him. He didn't seem like a violent man, but he was probably very capable. Chakotay had no idea how he'd react to a traitor, except, perhaps, in the traditional Klingon fashion. Stab him with a bat'leth or something?

The point was, Chakotay didn't plan on giving Worf that chance.

"I'm going to receive our guests from the station, then," Chakotay said. "I saw Tom Paris checked in already."

"Yes. I placed a security officer outside his quarters," Worf said, his tone low, disapproving. He tapped at the panel at his left hand as though what he'd said and how he'd said it was completely ordinary, though.

For a tactical officer, maybe, it was. Chakotay cast a glance toward the empty tactical position. "Where's Lieutenant Geissler?"

Worf huffed, obviously annoyed. "Securing Engineering with Subcommander T'Rul. Apparently our safety protocols are not to her standards."

Chakotay smiled. "I'm sure everyone is just having a wonderful time."

Worf wasn't amused.

That did beg the question of what the local Romulan would have to say about the attempt at mutiny. The fact that she hadn't seemed to catch on to the plan was a small source of pride. After all, if anyone should be able to just sense an impending insurrection, it should be a Romulan.

It probably helped that only two people knew about it: himself and Tom Paris. Chakotay had additionally requested three personnel sympathetic to the Maquis cause. They weren't guaranteed, but he was confident of one of them, in the right place and right time. But Chakotay couldn't forget: there was a big difference between sympathy, and, apparently, crazy old man.

"Well, I'll be back here with Paris before you give the order to disengage moorings."

"Yes, sir."

Chakotay left the bridge. The corridors of Deck One—or, really, all the decks except for the main ring of Deck Three—felt like he had to walk sideways just to get through. There was room here for two people, provided a certain personal closeness, to walk abreast, but left little margin for error. The turbolifts were similarly small. The Defiant was obviously compensating for a lot of things in the number of torpedo tubes and phaser banks.

The Defiant could function uncomfortably with a crew of fifteen for a short time, needed thirty to be manageable. She was capable of transporting one-hundred-fifty ground troops over short distances, but her entire point was to be quick and maneuverable on the battlefield. She was certainly more suited to the small engagements the Maquis were doing—not going head-to-head with the armada their new antagonists from the Gamma Quadrant promised. A hundred Defiants might make a difference, but not one little ship.

Chakotay walked through the peculiar warhead section—a primarily ballistic missile that could be fired in a "last shot" type situation that also unfortunately held the navigational deflector—to Deep Space Nine's docking ring. He'd never been on a Cardassian station before.

Rather, a station of Cardassian design. Deep Space Nine was a joint Federation/Bajoran operation for two full years now. Even just having come from the Defiant, this station knew how to prepare for an emergency. Every few meters, the bulkheads gave evidence that any section could be cut off and locked down at the press of a button in the central command at the station's center. It was a tripping hazard at best, but what did the Cardassian military care about physical accessibility features? Chakotay was led to believe the habitat ring closer to the center had floors that could actually be walked on without interruption.

Imagine that.

Everywhere Chakotay looked, he saw Cardassian color and policy. His blood had reached a boiling point by the time he got to the Promenade, the central hub of commerce and activity, and he was calmed immediately by the signs of actual civilization. These Starfleet officers weren't exploring the galaxy, but the galaxy was still coming to them. Even though he saw a majority of Bajorans and Humans, there seemed to be everything from Bolian to Vulcan living and working on this station. Not even all of them were in uniform. Despite not being part of the Federation, a station like this was nearly its ideal: the inhabitants of uncountable planets passing through, exchanging knowledge and collaborating peacefully.

Chakotay made his way to the broad and open turbolift that led to the station's operational center, and felt himself lifted. Station gravity was always a thing to get used to, having come from a starship. Stations tried very hard to maintain a sense of motion and gravity. Bajor was a shuttle ride away most of the time, but close enough where one could theoretically commute if that was very important.

It had been nineteen months since Chakotay lived on a planet.

No one in Ops gave him more than a glance when he stepped off the turbolift. Commander Sisko's office was another perfect example of Cardassian architecture, but what was Bajor supposed to do? Build themselves a new station in the months after a fifty-year occupation?

Chakotay paused outside the door, politely requesting entrance to Sisko's office. It was immediately granted.

Sisko was a bright-eyed man just a few years shy of Chakotay's forty-two. His smile was equally inviting, if his hand for Chakotay to sit down in the unoccupied chair in front of his desk wasn't enough. The second chair was occupied by a Bajoran military officer in red.

"Commander Chakotay! Sit down. We were just talking about you," Sisko said. "Thank you for your willingness to combine the Defiant's first outing with an evaluation of her most vital systems."

"Sure," Chakotay said, sitting beside the Bajoran with a friendly nod. "How could I say no?"

Seriously, how could he have said no? Because he very much would have liked to.

"The Federation preoccupation with efficiency does get a little underfoot sometimes, doesn't it?" The Bajoran to his left was likewise bright eyed—beautiful. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her lips were as red as her hair against her pale skin.

"You get used to it, I imagine?" Chakotay wondered, mirroring her playful annoyance.

"Major Kira Nerys, this is Commander Chakotay," Sisko said, as if he and Sisko were more familiar than they were. Chakotay didn't want to hazard a guess as to how many commanders alone populated Starfleet at the moment, and they'd worked on opposite ends of the quadrant until now. "Former instructor at the Academy, now makes himself busy recommending promotions for higher-ranking officers. Advanced tactical training."

Chakotay shrugged at Major Kira's modestly polite nod. "All that means is I've participated in the Kobayashi Maru test more times than I care to admit. But it also means we have the security and tactical systems tests on the Defiant covered."

The point was, Chakotay would prefer to not have another security officer onboard he'd have to avoid killing for the sake of his conscience in the next few days…

"Excellent. My chief engineer is on leave for the moment," Sisko said, and Chakotay noted a slight change in Major Kira's posture. So, it wasn't a pleasant vacation… "But Doctor Bashir will be more than adequate to assess the medical situation onboard the Defiant, and Commander Dax can cover the science systems as well as engineering in a pinch."

Chakotay had seen her service ID picture, and he knew better than to judge by such things anymore. That was all he needed: a Trill with at least six lifetimes of experience to sneak around. "Hitting three birds with two stones," he said, instead.

Sisko grinned. "Just get my officers back to me in one piece."

"Oh." Chakotay forced a sardonic chuckle. "The Maquis won't be a problem. Not only is the Defiant serious overkill against a raider of the Valjean's make, but Commander Worf is familiar with the captain. Sort of."

"That might have been one of the strangest reports I've ever read," Major Kira said.

Clearly the words of a woman who spent her time away from the bizarre spatial anomalies of intersystem open space. There was a lot of nothing out there, but when there was something… it was strange. "The fix was apparently one hell of a patch to install," Chakotay said, though he wouldn't know that personally, of course. Maybe Sisko's chief engineer would. Time would tell if it worked. Or not. Lieutenant Riker's duplication had been a freak accident—and apparently extremely uncomfortable for all involved.

"Anyway," Chakotay said after no one had anything to say about the Riker-transporter-clone situation. "Worf knows Riker, even if he doesn't know this one that well. And we have inside information, anyway. The Voyager will expect Lieutenant Tuvok to be at his post when it gets here in a week."

"You seem like a busy man," Major Kira said.

"Well, you know…" Chakotay didn't know what to say about that. He had been for a while now. For three months, a bit blindly, but now just out of habit. How else did one drown out the existential dread of death and the regret that he'd left his father at fifteen and barely spoke a kind word to him in the intervening twenty-seven years? "Needs must."

Sisko rose from his chair, and motioned toward the door. "I'll introduce you to Dax. Doctor Bashir is probably already ready and waiting at the airlock."

"He can be… enthusiastic." Though Major Kira sounded annoyed, she still said it fondly.

"I'll watch out for that." Chakotay followed Sisko out into Ops. He recognized the Trill in the lower central area. Not only had he seen her picture, but she was the only Trill there. She came up the steps at Sisko's beckon, and shook Chakotay's hand when he introduced himself. "Pleasure to meet you, Commander."

"I look forward to getting a tour of the Defiant," she said with almost a wink.

#

One Month Ago

Kes shivered in the evening cool seeping down into the desert sand from the empty space above. She could still hear the mighty thump of the Caretaker's gift of energy and life to her people, even though she thought it might be on the other side of the planet.

She'd never been on the topside of the planet and had never met anyone else who had, so she wasn't sure. The Ocampa, her people—they were settlers. They weren't explorers. They all warned her that there were dangers up here on the surface she couldn't imagine, and it wasn't even that she didn't believe them. She did.

Now, Kes was faced with the prospect of spending the rest of her life as a Kazon slave. Not only that, but these people lived fifty years in the warmth of the sun. Some of them lived even more. They possessed ships that could take them to the stars, ships that had seen the Caretaker. Since that was all she wanted, she figured the odds of her seeing the Caretaker as a Kazon slave were actually much stronger than her ability to see it otherwise.

After all… her people were settlers. Not explorers.

The Ocampa had lived on this planet or inside as long as any writing or story could tell. Then the planet unexpectedly warmed, everything died, and the Caretaker led the Ocampa to the hole in the ground where they'd lived for the past five-hundred generations. No one who saw the sky again returned to tell the tale.

Kes was sure she wouldn't, either.

Maje Jabin didn't seem like an unreasonable man, but she hadn't been here very long. He had three wives and eight more women besides, and there were too many men he called "sons" for that to have been literal. Overall, he ignored her. Everyone ignored her, aside from having her serve them their meals—especially when there were visitors.

Visitors like Neelix. The wonders of the world above truly never ceased. Where the ruddy Kazon were adorned with rough horn-like growths and netting from their wiry heads, Neelix was spotted and gold, maned and smiling. He was broader, almost like the Kazon, but significantly shorter, almost like the Ocampa. Ocampa were slim, with fanned organs inside their ears to increase telepathic projections.

She'd met him last week, and he'd been… kind. Kinder than any of the Kazon.

Neelix knelt at the cooler, fanning his chest with his thin shirt as he looked at her. She found herself blushing for no reason whatsoever. "Aren't you hot?" he asked.

She nodded, and glanced around to make sure the maje wasn't there. A few of the women were in the next room, but they might let her get away with entertaining a guest of the maje. Kes hurried to kneel beside Neelix at the cooler. "It's much hotter on the surface," she said, turning her sweating back to the cooler, but still keeping Neelix in her periphery.

"Yes," he said with a breathless awe. "I'd heard the Ocampa lived beneath the surface, and I'd imagined you to be more… pale. Short and stubby." He chuckled as if in embarrassment, and sat down more solidly beside her.

She smiled, shook her head. "We didn't always live down there. Where we live now is really quite spectacular, actually. We all live in a city, lit by the largest lights you've ever seen—" She hesitated, glancing up toward the sun so brilliant she couldn't look at it directly. "Or, artificially, anyway," she added with a sheepish smile. "And a river runs through it. A river, blue and rushing with more water than you've ever seen."

He smiled kindly, like maybe he had seen that much water before. "It sounds lovely. Why would you ever leave that place?"

"Because." Kes sighed, twisting her fingers together and apart in certain shame. She wondered if she should have left. She wondered if she could get back. "I wanted to see the sun. I wanted to see things no one's ever seen before—I wanted to see the Caretaker and the world where he lives." Neelix was still smiling, gently and kindly as if talking to a child.

And maybe he was. She was almost a year old, not a child anymore, but perhaps she'd never acted like an adult yet.

"It's foolish," she said softly.

"Oh, no," he said, reaching for her hand. She felt herself barely gasp when he grabbed her fingers in his, stiffen in fear or shock when he patted her hand. "It's not foolish, at all. It's a big galaxy out there. So much to see."

"But I'm…" She paused, taking her hand back carefully. Even Neelix, she thought, might get angry like the Kazon did. "I'm here," she added, and gestured around the rundown town. "I doubt I'll be able to escape this place as easily as I did home."

Neelix didn't look like he disagreed, but he asked, "How did you escape?"

"Stairs." She laughed, and looked up at the sky. "I don't suppose there's stairs that lead to the Caretaker, are there?"

Neelix looked up, too. "You never know. There might just be."

"Hey!"

Both of them startled at the maje's voice closer than she'd realized. Usually she was more focused. She never would have let him see her sitting at the cooler like this.

And now Maje Jabin's hand was on the back of her neck, picking her up and throwing her to the ground. "You should be working," he snapped and spat.

She heard Neelix object, and picked herself up from the dirt while she tried not to whimper even though her hands stung and she hadn't been able to break her fall completely. She'd not been able to stop herself from hitting her head on the rocks.

"I know Oshin is washing by herself," the maje continued.

"Don't punish her!" Neelix said, scrambling to stand, placing himself between Kes and Maje Jabin. "She was talking to me—I distracted her!"

Maje Jabin patted Neelix's shoulder, almost as if he, too, were dealing with a child. "Oh, never mind this, Neelix. We have to keep a close eye on ones like her. Starry eyes." He caught Kes's chin in his hand just as she picked herself up from the ground. "See? They'll never respect you with eyes like that. They think they see everything."

Neelix watched Kes, a pain in his eyes that Kes couldn't quite believe.

"I'm sorry," Kes whispered. "I'll go help Oshin now." She gave a small nod to Neelix as soon as Maje Jabin let her go. She hurried off toward the distant building where she lived with Oshin and the maje's other women.

The rest of the day was consumed by working. She helped Oshin clean the clothing, and Hastor cook the evening meal. She cleaned the beds and the floors and replaced the filters in the water reclamators. That evening, she finally had time to see to the cut on her head before going to bed. She left the meal early to return to her bed when a hand reached from the darkness between two ramshackle houses, pulling her in.

She found herself staring at Neelix in the eerie yellow light of a handbeam. He held two fingers to his mouth in a gesture she had noticed meant to be quiet as he looked at her. Carefully touched her forehead without getting too close to the wound.

"Are you alright?" he whispered after a moment.

She nodded, shaking. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry for causing a scene."

"Oh, no. No, don't apologize." He frowned, and glanced around. Concerned they were being watched. She didn't know what he intended to do now. She was only sure that no one would care. "Kes, can I ask you a question?"

She nodded, and hoped he would be satisfied with a no.

"You don't want to be here, do you?" he asked, his voice quick and conspiratorial. "I mean, you don't want to be one of the maje's serving girls for the rest of your life, do you? You deserve better than that, don't you think?"

Obviously, she didn't want to be here. But she didn't know what Neelix thought might qualify as better. Neelix himself, perhaps, could qualify as better. But how was Kes supposed to know that for sure?

"I… I'd like to be free," she said in a small whisper. "But I don't see how that's possible." With a smile, she decided to try her luck with a joke. "I don't see any stairs around here, do you?"

At first, Neelix shook his head, but cast a glance toward the ship outside the settlement that she knew was his. "I think, maybe, I do?"

Kes glanced toward the ship, an unrealistic hope tearing at her. "They'd kill you... and then me, too, probably," she whispered, even though she wasn't sure she wanted to be saved by Neelix.

"Yes, probably…" Neelix said with a nod, and he took her hand in his. "Let me think about it. I can come up with something."

Kes watched Neelix's eyes shift and focus on something far off, and for a while she had no idea what to say. Finally she said, "Why? Why would you do that?" To her, it certainly seemed absolutely crazy.

Not, apparently, to Neelix. "Because!" he said, as though that was all the explanation he needed. "Because, everyone should be free."

#

Two Weeks Ago

Thomas rubbed at his forehead, contemplating the meaning of life and the expansiveness of the universe and the odds that a Federation spy had somehow ended up on his very own Valjean. A Vulcan spy of all things. How the hell had anybody managed to miss that?

They weren't exactly known for lying, so… maybe Thomas was justified in his blind eye. Maybe that was the trick.

After telling James, Thomas sent him to the bridge and told him to keep it quiet. Act like nothing was wrong. Thomas had every confidence Ayala was capable of maintaining the affect of normalcy: he'd seen that man lie through his teeth on a regular basis to his wife and kids that nothing interesting was happening and he'd see them soon. Soon was one of those variable expiration dates that everyone knew was a lie, but politely looked past it. Nothing interesting happening, though, was unique to James. Nobody ever said that, probably because it was just as obviously untrue.

Somehow, his wife bought it every time.

Thomas tapped the comm panel next to his bed. "Riker to Seska," he said, and waited for her acknowledgement. It came quickly. She was always quick to answer. "Drop by my quarters as soon as you can, please."

She agreed.

His quarters were more like his office. A raider as small as the Valjean didn't have officers' quarters like he was used to on the Pegasus or Potemkin, of course: Thomas was the only one that slept in a room of his own… sort of. It wasn't that bad, though. Usually, Thomas only kept a total of six people on board. Only for a mission like the one upcoming would the Valjean hold a total of twenty crew in that long barracks hallway.

The door chimed once, and Thomas called for the visitor to enter. Seska leaned into the room first before stepping in. There wasn't a lot of room in here. Just his bed, which he sat on, the desk next to it, the corner for the lavatory recessed in the wall, a miniature replicator, and the little triangular chair Seska now occupied.

"So you've finally surrendered to my seduction." She smiled, her eyes sparkling.

Thomas grinned, tossed her a Cardassian-style PADD. "Maybe later. Take a look at that and don't lose your mind."

Seska looked at the screen for several seconds, glancing up once in shock and rage before looking back down. "Muril-an." Surprise, and disgust. Sounded about right. "A spy?"

"I'm as shocked as you are."

Seska observed the report quietly for another few seconds, then shrugged. "Can we trust this Chakotay-person?"

A good question. One that Ayala hadn't asked, but one that Thomas had been mulling over for the past several hours. "I don't know. Sveta seems to think so," he finally said, keeping her reasoning to himself. That he was "one of us," even though there hadn't been any indication of that for almost thirty years. "But the Tuvok-thing lines up. Even if Chakotay is lying anyway, it's too big a prize to pass up. I just wanted you and James to know."

She nodded. "Will we be interrogating him before we get there?" she asked, and added, "Suder?"

"I'll probably tell him, too." Thomas sighed, since he trusted Suder less than he trusted Tuvok, even with the knowledge that Tuvok absolutely didn't have their best interests in mind. "But I need to do that a little more carefully. I know I can trust you and James to keep it under wraps. And not kill him if we start exchanging phaser fire."

Seska smiled again, setting the PADD down on the seat as she shifted to sit on the bed next to him. "That's asking a little much for someone intending to betray us."

Thomas had to admit most of his reason was sentimental: Tuvok had a family and children. He was just doing what he thought was right, and even Thomas had some qualms that what he was doing himself wasn't exactly moral. Federation space was vast, and the Maquis had every opportunity to move on.

But Cardassians were brutal, self-obsessed, and didn't deserve any inch they'd been given. Even if they had families and children, too.

"I like to think we're ultimately on the same side," Thomas said softly, as Seska's hand drifted up his chest to his shoulder. She kissed his cheek. "We want the Cardassians out of Federation space."

"It's not Federation space anymore. They gave it up." She was ever playing the devil's advocate for him. It made sense that the machinations of politics and social interactions would be practically lost to him after eight years of only negotiating with the failing systems of an abandoned research outpost.

"The point is: even if the Cardassians give up and back off, they'll never be our allies. If the Federation turned a blind eye to us, let us make occupying this area of space too costly for the Cardassians to bother, then we wouldn't be in this situation," he pointed out.

"But the Federation is forcefully upholding their deal with the Cardassians," she said. "And that makes them the enemy."

He nodded, and looked at her. She was Bajoran. She was probably used to having enemies on all sides. "You know the difference between neutral and collaborator." One of them was just trying to save their own necks… a little less forgivable on this scale. The Federation was too big for this kind of behavior. But the other, what the Federation had become, was practically condoning a regime that ravaged, murdered, and imprisoned; and always in the worst possible ways.

She sighed and leaned against him, wrapping her arms around him. "So don't trust Chakotay," she said softly. "Don't trust Tuvok. Don't trust Suder." She looked up at him. "Anyone we can trust?"

Thomas turned toward her, searching her pale face and hazel eyes for the answer he didn't want to give. "I want to say yes," he said, "but I can't. I don't know who to trust."

She frowned. "What about me?"

Even her, Thomas didn't know if he trusted… she was usually too good at being the devil's spokesman for that to be all an act. But, still, he smiled, and shook his head. He couldn't tell her that. "Maybe it's just paranoia," he said, and let her push into his space.

Her lips pressed upon his with a force, her fingers gathering his shirt as she shifted to straddle his legs. Seska didn't let him breathe or think for several seconds, consuming both him and his thoughts as she wrapped both arms around his neck and leaned back just enough to compel him to chase her for more. She finally broke off, rested her forehead against his.

"I think it is," she said, her fingers tracing his cheek before pulling him against her again.

She pressed his jaw to her neck, and he kissed her. He still wasn't sure, though. He wasn't great at this cloak-and-dagger stuff. He'd been alone for too long. He wanted to trust everyone, like he used to—but he couldn't trust Suder for obvious reasons. And now he couldn't trust Tuvok as he only just realized he'd wanted to. He returned her embrace. He only had evidence of her loyalty… lots and lots of evidence.

Even if he didn't… "I want to trust…" He didn't get to finish when she stole his breath away and pushed him down to the bed.

"You're probably right," she said. "It's too dangerous. I could be a spy."

He looked up at her, squinting uncertainly as he loosened her hair. With the removal of only two pins, the tightly-pulled bun behind her head collapsed into a cascade of red down her shoulder. "I trust you," he said, even though he wasn't sure he meant it always.

The most important thing was that he meant it right now. Right now, she leaned over him, he reached for her, and he meant it.