Part 7

Looking at her now it's difficult to remember that the last time I saw her I told her I love her. Of course the words, so potent, were spoken to her still, almost lifeless form as I waited in Sickbay for her to regain consciousness. They were a whisper, an entreaty, almost an apology - spoken carefully out of earshot of the others, not the shout of delight and jubilation I would have preferred. But, that kind of declaration belongs to someone who is not afraid of the response his words will bring - to one who is certain they are loved in return and I am not that person.

Twenty four hours later and she is back on her feet thanks to a combination of superior medical techniques and her own indomitable will. She is off duty for at least another day and should be resting, but she has forced this concession out of the Doctor, throwing down the crew's need to see her strong and well as a trump card he had no counter to. Especially after the three days when we could not locate her and another day when we feared she would not live. Especially after the deaths.

Two lives lost during a routine mission gone horribly wrong is too high a price to pay and for all that it could have been worse. B'Elanna left for dead at the site of the ambush, Kathryn missing for three days while we tried frantically to find her. The fact that we could not have known, could not have prevented what happened is somehow not much of a comfort.

I watch her now, making her way around the mess hall, appearing her old self; resolute, confident. She has a word for everyone, a smile, a touch - the message clear, she's back.

Fortunately few of the crew saw the battered, unconscious body that we beamed to Sickbay. If they had they might have the same problem that I do in blocking out the images of the dark bruises staining her face and neck and apparently everywhere else on her body. They might also wonder, as I do, what exactly happened during those missing days.

I am the Doctor's fall back position, he is after all never completely defeated. His instructions to me are simple - I am not to let her stay too long and I am to remind her, if she appears to have forgotten, that she is supposed to be resting. I am not sure if he assigned this task to me because he suspects something of what lies between us, because he has some misguided idea she may listen to me, or because he knows I would be here anyway.

I decide arbitrarily that she has done enough to restore some morale and that for the sake of her recovery it's time she left. If it were up to her I'm sure she would leave here and head straight for Sandrine's, spend the evening taking on all comers at Pool. The crew would love it of course, but this evening I think she needs to put herself first.

'Captain.' I am at her shoulder and she has not heard my approach, deep in conversation with Sam Wildman. As she turns towards me I see the fingermarks around her throat, then I blink and they are gone, removed by the regenerator, although it will be a long time before either of us forget about them. When she replies her voice is deeper and slower than usual, a sure sign that she is tired. I tell her that the Doctor asked me to remind her that she ought to be resting and wait for the explosion.

Her jaw sets, determination writ large over her features and I expect an argument. I am prepared to stand my ground, to fight back and to point out that I am only too aware of the impact her condition had on the crew because I am the one who witnessed this, but that this does nothing to alter the fact that she is exhausted and needs time to recuperate. But she surprises me and nods, just once, an emotion I don't recognise flickering in her eyes for as long as it takes to blink it away.

We leave together, or at least she leaves and I follow her. It is not until we are in the corridor that she looks over her shoulder and asks if the Doctor told me to escort her to the door of her quarters as well? Her tone borders on the playful and I am not sure how to respond, so I just point out neutrally that a First Officer is supposed to ensure the Captain's well being and then remind her how seriously I take all my duties.

Her gaze reaches mine as we wait for the turbo lift and I still do not know which direction this conversation will take. There is a ghost of a smile on her lips as the lift arrives, we step into it together and I have stated our destination before she whispers, 'I have noticed your attention to detail in that area.'

In response I point out that she has not always appreciated my efforts, it is too evident a truth to be denied and she does not attempt to disagree. I am a heartbeat away from asking her what happened, telling her that I will listen to whatever she wants to tell me if it will help. But we reach the deck before I can speak, other crew members waiting until we have passed before stepping into the lift in our wake - and the walk to her quarters is undertaken in silence.

At the door I pause, about to wish her goodnight, considering whether or not to offer my services as counselor. But she speaks first, asking me about the arrangements for the funerals and I find myself wishing she had remained silent.

I tell her the ceremonies will take place in the morning, mention that they had both left instructions and she says, 'of course,' her voice heavy with anger. I recognise this mood and am troubled by it, all the more so when she continues, 'to make things easier for those left behind, for those entrusted with their lives who failed to keep them safe.'

'It wasn't your fault.' I am disturbed that we are talking like this, out in the open, wonder if it is wise to discuss this at all.

'No?' Her question is a challenge, my first thought that it is meant for me, but then she shakes her head and says more quietly, 'no,' and I realise that it was rhetorical and that she has found her answer. Then she asks me if I have the time to talk with her about what happened.

I reassure her that there is nowhere else I need to be - and that I would be glad to discuss what happened, for as long as she needs. She nods, a flicker of surprise all but hidden by her gratitude, I don't know why she is surprised - she's been at the centre of my thoughts for days now, my control focussed on one aim, to get her back alive. Even before these last frantic days she has occupied a good portion of my thoughts, my mind going over and over that day on the planet, wondering if we did the right thing, wishing for her.

As we step into her quarters she makes no movement to address the absence of light and I believe that is significant, that she does not want me to be able to see her vulnerability. I wish just once she could let go of the mantle of command and take what she needs from me to make herself whole again, but she won't allow herself to admit need. I decline the coffee she automatically offers and ask for herbal tea instead, mildly suggesting she does the same. She pulls a face, ignores my advice and tells me that she has spent the last four days without coffee and is still bringing her caffeine levels up to an acceptable level.

After she has placed our cups on the table she stoops to light a single candle which burns in the window, before settling on the couch beside me. Our drinks lie untouched as we both watch the flame leap and dance - it's movements mesmerising. At last she says, 'there's really nothing to worry about Chakotay, I'm fine,' and that's when I realise how bad it must have been.

Sacrifices - part 8

I see his face crease into a frown and briefly repent of my decision to share this - but then I remind myself that I do need to tell someone, that his position as First Officer gives him the right to know, his position as my friend makes me want to tell him and however I want to look at it, whatever meaning I choose to place upon it, I need his comfort.

So, I begin to talk. I describe the ambush at the beam in site, or as much of it as I recall. When I lost consciousness Betterick had been hit, but the others were all right - I only found out today what happened to them. I talk about waking up in a small cell, alone, my communicator gone, describe my attempts to make someone come and tell me what was going on, and then when that failed how I searched the cell for a means of escape until it got too dark to see.

I tell him about being shaken awake the following morning and being dragged out into the courtyard with all the other prisoners. I gloss over the beatings we all received as we waited for, I didn't know what, then. I don't want to tell him about the prisoner they selected, about the way they beat him, raped him and then beat him some more, before they executed him; but I do. I don't tell him about the cries of pain, or about the jeers and laughter of the guards, or about how we stood and watched, looking helplessly at one another, appalled but at the same time glad it wasn't us. I do ask how anyone could appear to enjoy such brutality, not because I expect him to have an answer, but because I need to hear the words in my voice, need to know that I can still be shocked, horrified, needing to convince myself.

They repeated the same process the next day - I don't go into details this time, certain he gets the picture, instead I say that my fellow detainees appeared to be from a mixture of species, some I recognised, others I did not. My captors made no attempt to question me, I know now they made no demands in return for my release - there was no reason for what they did, other than that they enjoyed it.

On the third day they chose me. As I tell him this I realise that I have started to cry, something I refused to do at the time. I only notice now because he lifts his hand to my face and very gently wipes away the tears that are streaming down my cheeks. 'Tell me,' he says quietly, as though he can take away the pain and fear as easily as he wipes away my tears, I wish he could.

Sacrifices - Part 9

As I look at him I wonder at the paths our lives have taken since we met; some times it seems unbelievable that there was ever a time when I didn't know him and at other times I find myself wishing with all my heart that I'd never set eyes on him. Such complex things human emotions, deceptively single on the surface - yet capable of promoting such chaos, sometimes I understand why the Vulcans choose to use logic to control theirs and yet, there are things that I'd hate never to experience again.

And then there is Chakotay, sitting beside me looking concerned, both of his hands wrapped around one mine. He is my rock, yet to call him so seems far too trivial, too obvious - he is so much more than that. I remember those lonely house in the cell, mulling over choices I had made and where they had led me. This is not the moment to recall how often my thoughts dwelt on him.

So, I tell him the truth, tell him that I fought back, a fact which so enraged my captors they beat me senseless and killed someone else in my stead - it is apparently no fun to rape and murder someone who is only barely alive - the victim has to be aware of what is happening to make it entertaining. A little while later they managed to beam me back to Voyager, a fact I was unaware of until I woke up almost a day later.

I think about all the trite remarks, all the cliches he could wheel out now and how I am ready to deal with them, it is embarrassing that he has seen me cry twice now, I don't want to truly lose control. But he does not speak, it's as though he realises that there are no words that can make this better or easier. So he uses touch instead - his fingertips stroking my cheek once. It is this gentle, intimate gesture which is my undoing, how well he knows me. And then it happens, such an instinctive action that I don't even think about it, there is no chance for my consciousness to stop me, I move forwards until my arms are wrapped tightly around him and my cheek is resting against his chest. I hear him breathe my name and it sounds like a blessing.

'Don't ever let me go Chakotay.'

I have had a lifetime to think about this, or at least three days with nothing to do but mull over my life and what I'd change about it if I got the chance. I've considered this situation from every conceivable angle and my conclusion is that I can't alter the fact that I think a relationship between a Captain and a First Officer on the same ship is wrong. It goes against my training, my experience, my better judgement.

But, I'm human, fallible and I love him. There have been too many pointless sacrifices already, my instinct tells me there will be more before we reached safe harbour, I can't bring myself to decree that one of those should be my relationship with Chakotay.

It is the harder path to choose, but I have to believe that we are sharp enough, smart enough, that we respect each other enough to somehow find a way to make this work. Forgive me Starfleet Academy, but I've just thrown the book on the relationship between Captains and First Officers out of the window. I think I can hear generations of my predecessors turning in their graves - I'm sorry.

Does he realised what I'm contemplating, or is he just taking care of me because he guesses a little of how hurt and guilty I feel? I do feel guilty about the deaths, about being alive when others have died, but I can't change that. I'm so angry about what they did to us that I'd like to level the whole planet with a photon torpedo - but I can't do that. I'm sure the anger, the sense of outrage is good, I will not be their victim for a moment longer - but I can't do enough to prevent same fate befalling other travellers. We've alerted all ships within scanning distance - sent transmissions to planets with warp capacity in nearby systems - but it isn't enough, I don't like being helpless, there will be others.

This isn't what I want to think about now, I want to think about healing and letting Ckakotay completely into my life.

Sacrifices - Part 10

When she pushes back from me I let her go, reluctantly. I look at her, expecting to see embarrassment, retreat - but instead she smiles at me and I realise she looks better. My nieces used to tell me that I gave pretty mean hugs, but I didn't think I was this good. So much of Kathryn is hidden beneath the surface I can't help but wonder what is going on inside her head to cause this sudden recovery. This is more than the Captain pulling herself together so that a subordinate does not see her vulnerability - this was real. Then I remembered her words, so anguished they almost broke my heart.

Could she, had she, was she? I couldn't form a coherent thought, let alone marshal a sentence, so I just stared at her, dumbfounded, until she gave me a wicked smile and said she never thought she would see me at a loss for words.

'I meant it,' she added, in response to the question I hadn't even asked. A thousand thoughts rushed into my mind at once, I ignored them, they could wait, we had the time now.

Instead I lifted one of my hands to touch her face, exploring it thoroughly- stroking her hair back from her brow, brushing my fingertips over her eyelids as they closed in response to my ministrations. I traced the line of her cheekbones, slid my thumb across her lips, shuddering with delight as her lips parted and she sucked the digit into her mouth. We were both breathing more heavily now and as I ran one finger along her jaw line she tilted her head back, giving me access to her throat. I couldn't hold myself back any longer, just before I lowered my lips to hers I told her I wasn't going to be satisfied until I had placed a kiss on every part of her body those bastards had touched.

I wanted it to be gentle, soothing, but it didn't happen. It was as though a damn had burst and all the passion and desire we had been repressing for all this time came bursting forth in a torrent. I felt as though she'd let go, completely lost control, something she hadn't allowed herself to do that afternoon on the planet. It was an immeasurable gift.

We didn't even make it to the bed - I knew there was a reason Starfleet put such plush carpeting on the floor of senior officers' quarters. I'll have to track down the person who's idea that was, if we ever make it back, thank them personally.

Silence engulfed us afterwards, I decided she was asleep, which was probably just as well. The Doctor wouldn't be amused to discover that the person he'd sent to encourage the Captain to rest had in fact succeed in tiring her out even more. I didn't want to move and I didn't want to wake her, so I just lay there, gazing at the ceiling, holding her in my arms and thought about the weeks and months ahead.

I wasn't nieve enough to believe that she had found a way to reconcile her doubts and fears about us, I wish she had, but that didn't seem very likely under the circumstances. So she must have decided simply to live with them, that seemed like the kind of thing Kathryn would do, refuse to let fear and doubt win, and I was glad of that stubbornness, even if it could also drive me to distraction at times. We'd have to work to find a balance between the personal and the professional, but I believed we could do it and so did Kathryn, or we wouldn't be here now and that knowledge was more inspiring than anything. As if on cue Kathryn lifted her head from my chest, her eyes heavy with sleep, she opened her mouth to speak, but in the only moment of telepathy I've ever experienced I got their first.

'This isn't going to be easy you know.' Her startled look told me I'd literally taken the words out of her mouth. Never one to be done she stretched languorously against me and pointed out she sometimes liked things that were hard.

The End - almost

Sacrifices - Epilogue

It is dark, quiet. I sit alone in my quarters enjoying the silence. Before me on the table is a bottle of Chardonnay, open but as yet untouched, beside it are two glasses. I glance over my shoulder at the vastness of space, contemplating again the great distance that we still have to travel. Today this does not seem to be such a daunting prospect, I am beginning to realise that I am home already.

The doorbell chimes and I wonder for the hundredth time why he does not simply use his override. I call out to him to come in and the doors swish apart to reveal Chakotay still in his uniform, he has come straight from the bridge, his shift is barely over. His eagerness is infectious and we smile at each other, contenting ourselves with just looking - for now.

Then he seems to remember something and holds out his hand to reveal a small, brightly wrapped package. 'Happy Birthday Kathryn.'

The End.