The following story is fanfic. Pure and simple. Not like anyone would confuse my fictional characters with the fictional characters on Star Trek Voyager. No way! But I borrow these shades, with no intent to violate intellectual (or lack thereof) property rights. And, it's a durn sure thing that I won't be making any coin off this! But, please keep my name on it.

Written in response to August's challenge, "Kathryn, for the very last time. . ."

And dedicated to Ragpants. Because, astra non mentiuntur!

"Kathryn, for the very last time, I'm telling you that the crew was *bound* to pair off!"

Captain Kathryn Janeway continued her pacing, hands on hips, back and forth, forth and back. "Pairing is *one* thing," she huffed, "but I keep tripping over couples *coupling* in the most inappropriate places."

She heard him swallow a laugh.

"I mean, they are 'in' the most inappropriate places on this vessel, Commander, however inappropriate their groping may otherwise be!"

Chakotay sat resolutely on the corner of her desk as she proceeded to burn a small path in the carpet.

"It's like someone took a 'Spring Fever Virus' and contaminated the air- filtering system," she went on, her voice beating time to her staccato steps.

He shrugged. "We've been gone from home a long time, you know. The genetic imperative--the 'old urge to merge'--was going to show up, full force, eventually. You can't keep a good hormone down.…"

She fixed him with a warning glance. He knew he was treading close to a dangerous line, but the situation inspired--maybe even infected--him with an antic glee that no matter how hard he tried to subdue continued to bubble to the surface.

"First, it was Tom and B'Elanna, acting like a couple of randy teenagers! I thought maybe our last 'chat' with them had put a little chill on their overt displays of affection in public. But, yesterday, I went into Engineering to find them contorted over the console in a…"

Chakotay bit down a grin.

"Well, a…," she stammered, surprised not only by the compromising position in which she had found two of her senior officers but by her own sudden inability to describe it straightforwardly to her first officer!

He thoughtfully bailed her out. "Perhaps they were, uh, just 'consoling' each other," he said, scrutinizing the toe of his boot, hoping he wouldn't burst out laughing.

"Consoling, ha!" The "ha" detonated like a small explosion. "You are not taking this seriously, Commander; but I believe we have a grave breach of protocol here. Everybody on this damn ship has found someone to…to…to make out with!"

"Everyone?!" he asked pointedly, a tiny leer creeping into his voice.

"Well, not everyone!" she flashed back. "But it's bad enough. I think I have even seen something going on between Neelix and Ensign Wildman, if you can believe that!"

"Well, they *are* close, Kathryn. She's been celibate a long time, and true to a spouse who may no longer exist. Folks are a long way from home. And very lonely. Neelix *has* been an exemplary godfather to Naomi…"

"Godfather to Naomi is *one* thing," she replied peevishly; but 'sugar daddy' to Samantha is an entirely different matter!"

"I agree," said Chakotay, his tone serious. "They would probably have incredibly ugly children, and…"

"Chakotay!" She cut him off and whirled to face him. "What their children look like is none of our business."

"Oh, are you saying it's okay if they *have* children, then, Captain?" he asked, his face a study in innocence.

"Of course not," she nearly shouted. "I just meant that, well, the idea of a romance between the two of them seems, somehow, well, incestuous or something."

Now a little grin did slide across Commander Chakotay's face. "Maybe they are just 'friends,' he said, feeling increasingly silly.

"Oh, criminently! 'Just Friends.' I haven't heard that stupid euphemism since high school."

Chakotay knew when to keep his mouth shut. So he just nodded, fully aware that he was goading her, and knowing that she knew it too.

"I mean, it's gotten so bad," she continued, her circumambulation growing ever smaller and tighter, "that even Sandrine is trying to 'hustle' the doctor."

"Now, there's a match made in holoheaven," said Chakotay softly, the corners of his mouth twitching again, threatening to move upward into a helpless smile.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Well," he said, "You have a have a hologram who *thinks* she is a French madam, who doctors her drinks, shoots dirty pool, and runs an establishment so filled with fake smoke that it would make you sick, putting the moves on another hologram who *thinks* he is a medical doctor, shoots hyposprays, and run an establishment filled with folks who act sick but are probably just blowing smoke to fake it…

She shook her head in defeat. "Okay, okay. Then, what about Harry? And the Delaney sisters?"

What about them, Kathryn?" he asked, trying once again to appear serious.

"I mean," she spat out, "that he doesn't even know *which* of the sisters he is tangling with, moment to moment."

"Sort of a Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum situation," said Chakotay, realizing even as he spoke that his mouth was motoring faster than his brain.

"I suppose 'Tweedle' is the operative word here," she said darkly.

"I imagine that Tuvok is his usual reserve of sanity, however," suggested Chakotay, trying to mollify his captain AND rescue himself from the pit his tongue had just dug.

"I can be thankful for small favors, at least," muttered Kathryn Janeway. Her frantic circling began to slow a little. "And, I suppose Seven probably finds this whole thing a little irrational and disgusting as well."

"Well, no, not really," said Chakotay, regretting yet again that he has spoken so quickly.

"NOW what do you *mean*?

"Uh, only that the doc mentioned to me last night that Seven has been asking him some very specific questions…"

"Like what!" she demanded.

"Oh, you know, the sort of usual. Like, who is the Alpha Male on this ship, and would the commingling of their DNA produce inferior offspring by Borg standards, and would the baby be dark, thoughtful, and intuitive like the human father or brilliant, rational, and blonde like the mother, and…"

She stopped abruptly, dead in her tracks. And pinned him to the desk, which he leaned farther and farther back against, with her glare. He could almost smell the rug burning beneath her feet.

"And, just who, might I ask, is this so-called Alpha Male that our fair Seven has suddenly expressed interest in?!"

"Well, I think the doc is actually the one who fingered the Alpha," he replied modestly, "though, maybe Seven had some sort of inkling, with her superior gifts of observation and analysis, of course…"

He hazarded a glance at the nearly furious captain. Her face was as red as her hair, her hands were once again on her hips. He had seen this same feral look on her face only once before-when the Hirogen had programmed her as a Klingon warrior.

"I think," came the arctic words, belying the fire in the woman's eyes," that little Miss Seven of Nine has the term 'regeneration' very confused here somehow. Perhaps as her captain I should just take it upon myself to explain that for HER 'regeneration' is a solitary activity…"

Chakotay didn't move.

"Furthermore, if I *ever* walk into the mess hall late at night again to get something to eat before bed, and find going on in there what I found last night…" The rest of the icy threat went unspoken.

"Maybe that's why they call it a 'mess' hall, Captain," he said, risking life and limb now and suddenly not caring.

She thrust her arms down to her sides, her small hands balled up into fists. "Am I the only one who hasn't lost my mind? Who hasn't paired up? Who hasn't gone into hormone hyperdrive? Who hasn't started kissing everything in sight!" Her rapid-fire words rattled around the room like buckshot.

"Yup."

She froze.

Silence as thick as hoarfrost descended.

"And, how about YOU, Commander?" she asked at last.

"Just waiting."

"Just waiting?"

He nodded.

For what?"

"For you, Kathryn."

"Me?" she said, still vexed but clearly confused.

"For you, Kathryn. You are the last holdout."

"What in tarnation do you mean, Chakotay? I'm the captain! I have to hold out. I have to set the example. I have to observe protocol. I have to be above this sort of fooling around and foolishness!"

"Yup."

"You *agree* with me then?"

"Nope."

"But you said 'yup.'"

"Yup. I mean, that as captain, you certainly do have to do all those very fine things indeed. But as Kathryn, in the sanctity of your own quarters. . .well, who's to know?"

"This whole ship!" she countered vehemently.

"Nope."

"Nope?"

"Yup."

"Stop it Chakotay! You aren't making sense."

"Oh, I'm making sense all right," he said. "This whole ship is so pheromone kablooey, I honestly don't think anyone will even notice what *you* do at this point, Captain… Kathryn."

She looked at him, considering. Considering all the years apart. All the years lost. All the loneliness, the anxiety, the separation, the isolation. She sighed deeply, then again.

Chakotay pushed off slowly from the edge of the desk, inching carefully into her personal space but maintaining a several-centimeter safety zone.

"Kathryn, this *could* be the very last time, you know," his voice husky.

She just looked at him and raised a brow--whether in challenge or capitulation, he wasn't exactly sure. But, he had put his life on the line for her any number of times. And, he might as well cross that old line now, even if she killed him for it. He grinned unabashedly at the thought.

He took her one hand in his, then the other. He pulled her closer, closer, slowly eliminating the damned DMZ between them.

"This *is* the last time, Kathryn," he whispered low, into her ear.

She tilted her chin to look at him. Their noses brushed; and then their lips. "The last time, Kathryn, for you to be alone."