Chakotay stood outside Sara’s compartment on the small ship, debating whether to go in or not. The girl didn’t have the door locked, it was never locked since that stunt Seska had decided to pull. Chakotay still chuckled at the look that was probably on the Bajoran’s face when the klaxons had blared throughout the room.
Finally he simply palmed the door without conscious thought and went in.
She was sleeping, laying on her stomach, one hand over the side of her bed, eyes closed, breathing rythmic and even, her small body and face looking even smaller in the ¼ light that was always present. Even after a year, she still needed the lights on, or would risk stumbling over things, not at all a pleasant feat. She slept in her clothes, as everyone else did, though her thick-soled, high-laced boots were off, revealing her dark socks that left no line of skin between her ankles and black loose pants. Her high-necked gray T-shirt needed cleaning, but it would do for the present. It didn’t bother her very much, if she was sleeping in it.
Unconsciously he dropped to his knees by her bed, studying her, the way her lashes flickered, her eyes as still as stone under her lids. She wasn’t dreaming, that much was certain. Asleep, the haunted shadows that encased her eyes disappeared, leaving behind smooth innocence.
She was, to him, an angel. A small angel that was more like a helpless bird, a bird that had hopped in wounded and gotten caught somewhere along the way, unable to fly back to a nest that it called home.
For Sara, home was now, truly, wherever she happened to be. It was the one thing that fit her in with the rest of the crew, one solitary fact that perhaps made it easier to bear in the faces of many facts that stood her apart from everyone, and always would.
She stirred in her sleep, moaning softly and shifting, her hand brushing against Chakotay’s arm as she turned, then turned back sleepily a few seconds later, a bewildered expression on her face replacing the guilelessness. He thought to stand, to go before she awoke, she wasn’t usually a heavy sleeper and the merest of touches could awaken her.
She moaned again, one of her twin braids falling back over the edge of the bed as well now, revealing a purple-and-blue knotted bruise on her temple that had been gained while diving under some console to fix it. There was no blood, but a darker streak ran the side of her face, cutting through the normal white.
Chakotay stood then, satisfied that she was all right – why had he come here in the first place? He couldn’t remember the overpowering urge that had driven him this way after simply heading to bed himself. Small, white fingers reached out and grasped his trousers, holding him there.
“Sara?” he whispered softly, questioningly.
“Don’t go…” she was equally soft, pleading, almost whimpering, something that was so unlike her that he squatted again, taking her hand in his.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered tenderly, stroking her forehead with a large hand.
She tumbled over and off of the bed, directly into the arms that shot out to catch her. He fell backwards with the force, managing at the last moment to keep his balance, rising and settling on the bunk with Sara on and against his lap.
Shocked at first, then increasingly tender, Chakotay first held, then cuddled her close to his chest, whispering nonsense as he rocked back and forth. Her small arms wound around his neck, face burrowing into his strong shoulder, than sliding down to rest against his chest with a sigh.
Minutes slid by, and Chakotay forgot that they were on a ship in the middle of space. For a moment they weren't even outlaws, wanted both by Federation and Cardassia alike. He stared at her braids, the feathery tips dangling down her back, her small nose, the long black lashes that rested against her high cheeks. Her small pink lips were open slightly. He touched her nose, and it twitched slightly, a rabbit-like expression.
He chuckled, giving her one last gathering hug, his cheek in her hair, then placed her on her bed, where she lay on her back with a somewhat confused expression on her face, though her eyes were still closed and she was most likely still asleep.
"Feel better?" he asked gently.
She didn’t respond. Finally she rolled over on her side and snuggled deeper into her bedding, or what there was of it since she for some reason always slept on top of the covers, never underneath them. He removed her fingers from their clenching grip on his own, brushed stray wisps of hair back from her forehead, and left her to sleep.
