PROLOGUE

2379

 

          It was the anniversary of Voyager's triumphant return to the Alpha Quadrant.

 

          Chakotay arrived, dressed in an open-necked shirt and a comfortable pair of slacks, determined to pass the evening in the best of cheer.  It seemed like one of those cruel twists of fate when the first of the senior staff he encountered was Seven of Nine.  She'd been standing in a long blue dress, her back to him.  Chakotay attempted to walk by unnoticed, but she turned just in time to see him.  He tensed when her eyes alighted upon him, expecting the worst.  Fortunately, though, she smiled softly upon seeing him, nearly erasing his memory of her bitterness just a few months earlier when he'd broken it off.

 

          They spoke a few minutes, their conversation perfunctory, but friendly.  She'd accepted a position at the Daystrom institute.  Yes, she'd been working with the Doctor.  Yes, he was planning to attend tonight; he was delayed due to an important medical conference.  Yes, things had been going well for her.  She realized now that his decision was the right one.  The Alpha Quadrant had numerous opportunities for her to explore humanity, and she needed the breakup to broaden her perspective... and more words that were lost to his memory as soon as he heard them.

 

          They parted, and he walked with a crooked smile through the ever thickening crowd, recognizing some faces, Voyager veterans.  They all had a kind word for him, but usually, like him, they had closer friends they wanted to speak with.  He spotted B'Elanna Torres and Tom Paris, and they descended upon him with large bear hugs.  Paris juggled the fiesty baby Miral.  B'Elanna and Tom bemoaned the toils of parenthood, discussed her position at Starfleet Engineering Corps, inquired about his professorship at the University of New Mexico's Anthropology Department, and then spoke more of Miral.

 

          It wasn't until later in the evening that She finally arrived.  He'd exchanged a few brief communiqués with her, spoken over a few abbreviated lunch dates, but mostly, he'd only heard of her through the media.  The Subspace Frequency 32 Biography of Kathryn Janeway, hero of the Delta Quadrant.  News of Captain Kathryn Janeway's promotion to Admiral.  A ceremony rewarding Admiral Kathryn Janeway with the Medal of Honor, the highest possible Starfleet accolade.  Speculation in the Terran Inquirer about the nature of Admiral Kathryn Janeway's relationship with Admiral John Durant.

 

          She'd grown to incredible proportions in the media.  A living legend, some called her.  Every newsreel showed Admiral Janeway gazing ahead with a strange austerity and composure, receiving some accolade, attending some ceremonial function.  Chakotay had been surprised at the extent of her hero's welcome.  He could remember a few quiet nights in her quarters when she voiced her private misgivings about a possible negative reception in the Alpha Quadrant.

 

          When Kathryn Janeway appeared in the doorway, he looked up, and watched as she hesitated, a strange mixture of emotions on her face.  A sudden tension stole over Chakotay, and it took him a moment to collect himself and step towards her.

 

          But before he could speak, she was mobbed by crewmembers and families, and she disappeared from his sight.  Chakotay's chest suddenly felt tight, and he decided to get another glass of champagne.  He turned away, stopped at the champagne table, and picked up a glass.  He stood there alone, staring into the distance with unseeing eyes, when he felt a hand lightly touch his back.

 

          He turned around, and she was standing there, a brilliant smile across her lips.  She wore a sleeveless black dress, and her hair hung loosely about her slim shoulders.

 

          "I thought that was you," Kathryn said, beaming at him with a surprising amount of fondness.

 

          "Kathryn..."  Chakotay felt a smile pull at his own lips, and he reached forward to draw her into a hug.  Her arms came around him, and suddenly, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  He was relieved, immensely relieved, that she was still the same woman he remembered.  Maybe some part of him expected to see a living legend walk in, or perhaps he feared she'd buy into her own hype and seat herself on a pedestal higher than any could reach.  But here, in his arms, he reflected as he drew her closer, she was as human and as familiar as she'd ever been.

 

          They drew back to gaze at each other fondly, and he noticed that she'd stopped spraying her rich auburn hair to immobility.  It hung in loose tendrils that caressed her cheeks and shoulders, a look that softened her features.  Her skin was somewhat whiter than the last time he'd seen her.  Something about the intensity in her pale, blue eyes surprised him.

 

          "I haven't seen you in a while," she murmured.

 

          "I've been busy," he lied, holding her eyes with his dark ones.  Truthfully, it had been too awkward to be around her during his relationship with Seven.  During her rise to prominence, it was even worse.  Chakotay knew well that one holopicture of them dining together would end up on every tabloid newsreel by the end of the day.  Today, he was under no such constraint; their reunion was being held in the Amsterdam estate of Tom Paris's uncle, and the media was banned from the location.

 

          "Busy. I can definitely relate to that!" she said with a hollow laugh.  She reached past him to grab a glass of champagne, and they began to stroll across the room together.

 

          "So, you've been in the news quite a bit," Chakotay said with a smile.  "You wouldn't believe where I can get in by claiming I know you."

 

          Kathryn's laugh rang false.  "Well, at least I can do a friend one good turn."  She took a deep sip of her champagne.

 

          "More than one.  I'm trying to remember some scandalous stories about you to sell to the Terran Inquirer," he teased.  "I was thinking about that one time at Prixin--"  She elbowed him, her eyes warming up.

 

          "You wouldn't dare!" 

 

          He grinned broadly.  "I don't know-- fifty bars of latinum is a lot of money..."

 

          Kathryn scoffed.  "You try it, and I'll show you the true powers of the Admiral's rank!"  There was laughter in her voice.

 

          "I wouldn't dare tangle with that," Chakotay drawled, and his gaze slipped over to meet hers.

 

          She laughed briefly.  Then she seemed to become aware of him watching her, and the amusement died from her eyes;  she regarded him with searching gravity.

 

          "I missed you, you know," she confessed quietly.

 

          He reached out and took her hand in his.  "I missed you, too."  He paused, then added, "We should talk more often."

 

          To his surprise, a glazed look spread across her face, as though she were suddenly preoccupied with some dark thoughts.  Her voice was distant when she replied,  "Yes, of course we should."

 

          He studied her for a long moment, then tried,  "I was planning to go to Italy tomorrow. Would you like to come with me--"

 

          She looked up suddenly, her bright blue eyes suddenly intent.  "I can't tomorrow."

 

          Chakotay paused a beat, then shrugged his large shoulders, already regretting his presumption.  He tried to sound dismissive as he said, "Well, if not tomorrow, maybe some other--"

 

          "Tonight."  She held his gaze intently.  "Can we go tonight?"

 

          "Tonight?"  He looked around in some confusion. "But the reception--"

 

          "There will be other reunions, Chakotay... the crew's not going anywhere.  And we might as well take advantage of the media's absence," he heard some bitterness in her voice as she spoke.  Her eyes fluttered back up to his, and she added softly,  "Please."

 

          Something in her tone, her words, made him forget the crewmembers around him.  He followed her out of the reception as if in a dream.  She was the only figure he focused on amidst the bustling crowd.  They might as well have been with strangers for all the attention he paid them.

 

          They stepped on the public transporter platform, dematerialized in Amsterdam, rematerialized in Rome.  Kathryn paused at the com panel to make hotel reservations under Chakotay's name, and asked the computer for directions to the hotel.  She acted entirely without consulting him, but for once he didn't mind.  The hotel room... was she seriously considering... no, not possible.  He trailed along with her, tried to make small talk, found it as easy as talking to a wall.  He decided to wait and see what she was planning.  Thus far, he was enjoying her spontaneity.

 

          Together, then, they set out across the paved streets, no words exchanged.  Sometimes he'd look over to see her watching him with an unreadable look on her face.  Their eyes would meet for a split second, and he'd feel his heart thump loudly in his chest when she looked away, as if embarrassed she'd been caught staring.

 

          *You're deluding yourself,* he admonished himself a few times.  *She's not thinking what you're thinking.  This is Kathryn we're talking about, Captain Janeway... the one who doesn't have feelings for you, who applauded your relationship with Seven, remember?  She's probably had a bad week and needs to talk, or maybe some information on some event while we were on Voyager--*

 

          The doubt vanished from his mind as they entered their darkened hotel suite and she pulled him into her arms.  Without a second thought, Chakotay dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.  Her mouth parted easily to his touch, and he grasped her around the waist to slowly navigate her across the room to the bed.

 

          Their tongues battled for supremacy, and he could feel her hands running urgently over his body.  After a moment, he pulled back, gasping for air.  She didn't stop, though; her eyes were dark with passion, and her fingers flew across the buttons of his shirt.

 

          He put out a large hand to still hers, and she looked up questioningly.

 

          "Kathryn, do you really want this?" his voice was husky with need.  He knew she could feel his hardness pressing against her torso.  "I don't want you to do this if you're feeling less than--"

 

          She slipped her hand around the back of his head and guided his lips down to meet hers, silencing his words.  He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her slim body tightly against his bare chest.  She drew her lips from his and pressed them to his ear.  He slowly trailed kisses down her neck as she whispered,  "I want this.  I've always wanted this.  Just one night, let's forget everything that's happened, and everything that's to come..."

 

          She might have said more, but a fire long suppressed stirred within him, growing beyond his own control, and he couldn't hear her words over the roaring in his ears.  His hands ran over her body, stroking her firmly, memorizing her with his touch.  He pressed his lips to her flesh, tasting her, buried his face into her hair, smelling the faint peach scent.  His hand slipped behind her to yank at the zipper of her dress, and she reached back to assist him.  It quickly slipped down her torso and slim hips to puddle about her feet at the floor.

 

          He gazed at her with an unbearable lust as she pulled at the zipper of his pants.  She slipped his pants from his waist, and pressed him towards the bed.

 

          They made love three times in the course of the night.  In a darkened hotel room, with the faint sounds of the Italian streets as their only companion, they released passion buried for eight years.  As his thoughts grew heavy with sleep, her warm body curled up against his, he could have sworn he heard her whisper,  "I love you."  But when his eyes snapped open, he saw that she already slumbered.

 

                                                                                                *        *        *

         

          The morning light streaming through the window roused him.  For a moment, he thought he'd had an incredible dream, but as he squinted around the bright room, she emerged from the bathing unit, zipping up a replicated Admiral's tunic.

 

          Chakotay felt intense pleasure and contentment sweep over him at the sight of her.  As she reached for the pips she'd laid on the dresser by the bed, he reached out and grasped her by the waist, pulling her to him for a long, wet kiss.

 

          At first she felt strangely stiff in his arms, then her body relaxed, sagging against him.

 

          "You have morning breath," she whispered as he pulled back, smiling.

 

          "And you're an early riser," he replied, holding her across his lap. He was still nude under the thin, white sheet, and his broad, powerful chest was bared to her.  She was transfixed by the sight of it.

 

          "If I'd known about those muscles of yours under that uniform, it would have made my job on Voyager much harder."

 

          "Not as hard as you made mine," he replied wryly, pressing his torso against her lightly to punctuate the double entendre.  She smiled despite herself.

 

          He reached up a hand and stroked her cheek lightly.  "You look beautiful this morning."

 

          Her smile froze on her face, and then slowly faded.  Something hardened in her gaze.

 

          Kathryn stood up and pulled out of his arms, turning away from him to fasten the numerous pips onto her collar.  Chakotay watched her back as her arms jerked in a strangely harsh motion.

 

          When she said nothing, he spoke,  "So, are we going to talk about this?"

 

          "About what?" she said, her voice impersonal.

 

          "I think you know what."  He leaned his broad, muscular body back against the pillows and studied her intently.  "I think you once called it the 'parameters' of our relationship.  Where do we go from here?  For God's sakes, Kathryn... we haven't seen each other in months, we barely spoke last night, we had sex, and this morning you're mute.  Where is this going to go?"

 

          "Go?"

 

          He looked at her.  "Tomorrow, for instance.  You know how I feel about you, and I think I know how you feel about--"

 

          "This is nothing, Chakotay."  Her voice was strangely cold.

 

          He blinked.  Then, "What?"

 

          She turned to him, her face entirely dispassionate, her eyes as cold as ice.  "It was just sex, Chakotay.  It meant nothing. And I--" she seemed to have difficulty speaking, and her voice abruptly choked off.

 

          He tried, "Kathryn, you can't say--"

 

          "I'm getting married, Chakotay."

 

          Chakotay felt something within him freeze.

 

          "I'm marrying John Durant," she continued coldly, uncaring that her words jabbed at him like a knife.

 

          "You're marrying Admiral Durant?"  Chakotay echoed in disbelief.  "But-- Kathryn, what was this...   I don't understand..."

 

          "I love him," she said, and he could hear how false the words were.  He saw tears swimming in her eyes as she continued,  "And this can never happen again." She gestured vaguely to the hotel room around them.

 

          He stood there, rooted in place.

 

          "I came to you..." she continued in a ragged voice.  "Because this is the last time I'll ever see you.  When I leave here today, I don't ever want to see you again, understand me?"

 

          "Kathryn--"

 

          "Stay away from me.  Stay out of my life."

 

          "You can't meant that," he replied, his voice rising with sudden anger.  A muffled sound came from her lips, as though she'd choked on her retort.  She looked down at the ground, swallowing hard.  Her entire body was rigid, and he could tell she was trying to fight back tears.  His anger suddenly faded.  There had to be a reason behind this.  It wasn't like her to act like this.

 

           "Look at you..." he said softly.  "Kathryn, you're a wreck.  Why don't you tell me what's going on--"

 

          "Nothing."  She looked up again, her eyes clear.  "Nothing is going on.  It's simply that this is *it*.  I go my way, you go yours... end of story."

 

          "But why?" he demanded.  "What's so--"

 

          Her expression suddenly hardened.  With a dangerous voice, she ground out,  "I Never Want to See You Again.  Do you understand, Chakotay?  *Never.*  I have my reasons, now accept it, and stay the hell away!"

 

          There was no mistaking her tone this time.

 

          He felt hurt, fresh and strong, burst up within him.  Her actions were inexplicable.  He didn't understand what the hell had changed between this morning and last night, he didn't know--

 

          But he didn't press her again.  He felt himself grow cold.

 

          In a chilly voice, he said,  "Fine.  Have it your way.  I'll stay away."

 

          He stood, walked towards the bathroom.  "And I think you know where the door is, *Admiral*."

 

          He bent over the sink and sloshed a handful of water onto his face.  After a few seconds, he heard the doors hiss open and closed as she walked out of his life.

 

          He straightened and gazed into his dark reflection in the mirror, staring at it grimly.  Damn.  Damn damn damn.  It served him right.  This is what it felt like to be used.  Janeway had toyed with him for seven years on Voyager, until he'd escaped through Seven.  Then last night came.  Why had she done that?  Fucked him?  Consummated their relationship, then drawn away simply to enjoy his pain one last time before she married?  Perhaps it was the final assertion of her power... the last time she could use his need for her to her advantage.

 

          Never again.  Never again would he let that woman do this him.

 

          Chakotay hardened his heart.  *Never again.*

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

One Year Later

 

          *Jesus...*  Paris stared at the closed door, trying to formulate a coherent thought.  What could you really say in a situation like this?

 

          Tal Celes, Megan Delaney, Ken Dalby, Mortimer Harren, Jenny Delaney... the poor bastards.  They made it home to the Alpha Quadrant and spent two years pulling their lives back together just to die of a latent, undetected pathogen from the Delta Quadrant.

 

          Tom liked all of them... the sweet Tal Celes girl, the spunky Delaney sisters, the raucous Ken Dalby... hell, even Mortimer Harren improved after Janeway hauled him out on the Delta Flyer and whipped him into shape.  And in the course of one week they all kick the bucket.  Right before the reunion, too.  If that wasn't a tragedy, Tom Paris didn't know what was.

 

          He jolted his feet when the door slid open, sudden tension in his frame.  "Mr. Paris?" the Doctor called from the doorway.

 

          Tom looked on intently as B'Elanna emerged from behind the hologram, clutching Miral.  She smiled, and he felt his body relax.

 

          The Doctor beamed.  "You'll be pleased to know that neither Mrs. Torres nor Ms. Paris are infected.  Now, if you'll please come with me..."

 

          Paris shot a relieved glance towards his wife, and B'Elanna smiled tightly in return.  They had both been shaken by the news.  Anyone on Voyager could have caught this virus.  These poor guys had gone about their business, put the Delta Quadrant behind them, and never realized their plight until it was too late.  Paris applauded the Doctor for taking advantage of the reunion to ensure the well-being of the former Voyager crew.

 

          B'Elanna squeezed his hand as he walked past her, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

 

          "B'Elanna, why don't you go back to the reception?" he said smoothly.  "I'm sure everything--"

 

          "I'm staying here," Torres cut in, determination flinting her eyes.  "The crew can wait."  She pointedly sat down against the wall, smoothing her slacks out with one hand before plopping Miral on her lap.

 

          Paris smiled his thanks, and winked once at the giggling Miral, then turned and walked into the examination room.  The Doctor tapped the door closed, and smiled at Tom as he began to wave the tricorder.

 

          "You needn't worry, Mr. Paris.  I have yet to discover any infected crewmembers tonight," the Doctor said cheerfully.

 

          Paris shook his head.  "I just can't believe it, Doc.  How could they go to medical exams for two years without anyone noticing they had this virus?"

 

          The Doctor bristled a little defensively.  "You have to remember, Mr. Paris, tricorders can't detect everything.  These crewmen showed no signs of illness as late as an hour before their deaths."

 

          Tom's brow furrowed.  "If tricorders can't detect it, why bother scanning us?"

 

          The Doctor scowled at him.  "Mr. Paris, questions like that from the ship's medic will not help reassure the Voyager crew.  Besides, one can never be too careful."

 

          Tom sat there in silence, allowing the Doctor to complete his work.   After a moment, the Doctor's eyes slipped up from the tricorder.  "You'll be pleased to know," the Doctor said, giving Paris a slightly condescending smile,  "That you're perfectly healthy."

 

          "That's a relief."

 

          "Do you know, Mr. Paris," the Doctor said, folding up the tricorder,  "if Commander Chakotay has arrived yet?  I'd like to scan him tonight.  He's the only crewmember I've missed."

 

          "I wouldn't know," Paris said slowly.  "B'Elanna and I haven't been to the reception yet.  We came straight here.  Was he even planning on coming?"

 

          "He wasn't planning to, but he may have changed his mind after the events of last week, especially now that the cap--the Admiral declined her invitation," the Doctor said wryly.

 

          "She did?" Tom asked, puzzled.  He rose to his feet, straightening his turtleneck.  "Why?"

 

          "I understand she had a previous engagement."

 

          "Typical."  Tom's eyes flashed with more than a little irritation.  "Previous engagement.  Same crap she's been saying all year.  You'd think the mighty Admiral could clear her busy schedule *this* time.  She could do at least that much for Jenny and the others."

 

          The Doctor gazed at him a moment, and Paris knew he was debating his response.  The EMH seemed to discard his first impulse, because Tom saw him briefly shake his head and turn away.  "I'm sure she was as distraught as anyone else over this." 

 

          "Oh, come on, Doc.  You know Admirals.  They get in power, they forget their friends.  Just look at my father."

 

          "I highly doubt that's the case, Mr. Paris," the Doctor replied a little uncertainly.  "She's been to see me a few times.  She was as friendly as ever."

 

          "For social visits?" Tom asked, surprised.

 

          A pause, then,  "Medical exams."

 

          Tom smirked at that, but his expression faded into a thoughtful look as he said,  "Maybe it's for the best.  B'Elanna's not too thrilled with her right now, and frankly, neither am I.  Apart from her recent high horse, the way she's been acting is downright miserable."

 

          "For example..." the Doctor prodded, his interest piqued despite himself.

 

          "For example, the number she did on Chakotay.  I don't know what she said to the big guy, but you should have seen him after the last reunion-- he was a mess.  He won't even talk about her now.  I don't think he could even stand to be in the same room as her."

 

          "Well, whatever the nature of the 'number' she did on him, I'm sure it's not our place to speculate," the Doctor said with a short, tight smile before reaching out and switching off his scanning equipment with a few brusque taps.

 

          Paris was gazing at him in disbelief.  "What's happened to you, Doc?  You used to love sticking your nose in other people's business!"

 

          "I like to think I've transcended idle gossip."

 

          Paris stood up, and they walked towards the door together.

 

          "Really?  And how have you done that?"

 

          The Doctor beamed proudly.  "Mr. Paris, on Voyager I was the one who heard about the gossip.  On Earth, I'm the one who *makes* the gossip.  Perhaps you've heard about my... recent involvement with a certain former Borg drone?"

 

          Paris suddenly understood and slapped the Doctor on the shoulder.  "You old dog!   You're shacking up with the woman of your dreams?  Join the club!"

 

          The Doctor's chest puffed out with pride.  "I'm happy to say, I have already done more than simply... 'join your club.'  You see, we're engaged.  We're planning to announce it tonight."

 

          Paris blinked once, surprised.  Then a grin broke across his face.  "Well, congratulations!  That's great.  I know B'Elanna will be thrilled."

 

          He put his hand out to stop the Doctor before he could open the door.  "Listen, Doc, while we're on the subject..." he lowered his voice.  "Can you not mention the Chakotay thing around B'Elanna? She gets pretty steamed up on the subject."  

 

          "I will certainly keep it in mind," the Doctor replied conspiratorially.  Tom flashed him a smile, and they walked out the door together.

 

                                                                                                         *        *        *

 

          After dropping Miral off in child care, they went to the reception.  It was in full swing by the time they arrived, or as close as it would get under the grim circumstances.  Most of the crew stood around in small groups, speaking in hushed voices with bleak expressions on their faces.

 

          *God.  Is this how it's going to be?* B'Elanna wondered.  Every year, as more and more of the crew died of old age, or disease, or whatever blow fate should deliver, would they gather here like a funeral procession?  Seven years in the Delta Quadrant had forged a bond stronger than friendship, a bond, in many cases, stronger than blood, between the survivors of Voyager's journey.  Any two random crewmembers who had served in entirely different sectors of the ship, in entirely different places in the command structure, would still be intimately acquainted simply due to circumstance.

 

          Tal Celes wouldn't be happy.  *The Bajorans believe in celebrating life, not mourning it.*

 

          It had made a lot of sense when B'Elanna had heard it.  Who had said that to her?

 

          Seska.  It was Seska.  B'Elanna fought back a laugh.  Everything she knew of Bajorans she learned from a Cardassian.

 

          She absently took a glass of champagne from a waiter as he stopped by their group.  Tom had one in his hand as well, and she knew the Doctor had a subroutine that made a champagne glass appear from an extension of his arm.  In fact, she'd programmed it.

 

          "Well," Tom said softly, frowning into his champagne briefly before raising it.  "Here's to Megan, Jenny, Tal, Mortimer, and Ken.  Friends beloved, friends departed.  May they rest in peace."

 

          "Here here," B'Elanna murmured, and clinked glasses with him.

 

          The Doctor paused before following suit to add,  "And to all our other friends who, for whatever reason, aren't with us here today."

 

          "I'll toast to that," B'Elanna said tartly, and she clinked her glass with his.

 

          Just then, she heard a familiar voice, "I hope you're not counting me among those other friends."

 

          B'Elanna whirled around, a grin lighting her face.  Chakotay was smiling back at her, and she pulled him into a giant hug.  "Here you are!" she growled.  "We thought you'd forgotten us!"

 

          "Never," he replied crisply, slapping her heavily on the back.  They pulled back, and she marveled at how tan he'd become.

 

          "Where the hell have you been hiding, Chakotay?  We've been trying to hail you for the last few months," Tom said jubilantly, reaching forward to grasp Chakotay's hand for a firm handshake.

 

          "All about, actually," Chakotay replied, pulling back to shake hands with the Doctor.  "I took a sabbatical from my job at the university.  I've been at some digs, just exploring some of the more familiar Alpha Quadrant cultures from a Delta Quadrant perspective."

 

          "And quite a tan you picked up while you were at it, Commander," the Doctor noted smugly.  "You should really think about wearing more effective sun protection."

 

          Chakotay shot him a reproving glance, but a small smile tugged at his lips.  Paris quipped, "Same old doc!"

 

          "But truly, it's a pleasure to see you again, Chakotay," the Doctor added warmly.

 

          "It's good to see you, too, all of you.  I hadn't realized how much I missed familiar faces," Chakotay said, gazing around with pleasure.

 

          "I assume you've heard about our incident with the virus," the Doctor said.

 

          Chakotay's features darkened.  "I just heard a few days ago.  It's a shame."

 

          "It is indeed," the Doctor replied.  "I'd like to scan you before you leave, if you don't mind."

 

          Chakotay nodded once to that.  His mind appeared to be somewhere else.  B'Elanna noticed his dark eyes flitting around the reception.  "Who else is here?" he asked casually.

 

          "What, so we're not good enough company for you?" B'Elanna said wryly.  She punched him on the arm to tell him she was joking, and then added,  "Just about everyone.  There are a couple of people who couldn't make it--"

 

          "You needn't worry. Admiral Janeway was busy," the Doctor cut in.

 

          Chakotay's expression seemed to freeze on his face.  B'Elanna winced.  She knew it was what Chakotay had been asking, but the sheer lack of tact on the Doctor's part was staggering.

 

          Chakotay nodded coldly.  "Thank you, Doctor.  But I was thinking more along the lines of Seven of Nine, Harry, and Tuvok."

 

          *That* got the Doctor's attention.  A little disconcerted, he said,  "Mr. Tuvok is engaged on Vulcan.  Lieutenant Kim's ship is currently in the Beta Quadrant.  Seven of Nine goes by 'Annika' now... and my *fiancée* is off speaking with the Wildmans."

 

          Chakotay looked at him a beat, and B'Elanna couldn't tell what he was feeling.  He offered a neutral, "Congratulations."

 

          "Thank you," the Doctor said, humbly, perhaps realizing that his reaction had been unwarranted.

 

          Chakotay looked away distractedly, and then said,  "I think I'm going to go speak with some of the crew.  I'll come talk to you all later."

 

          They all smiled and nodded.  "Enjoy yourself, Chakotay," B'Elanna called.

 

          As soon as he was out of sight, she punched the Doctor, hard, on the arm.  She just wished he could feel pain.

 

          "What was that for?" the Doctor asked.  "I know I made a faux pas, so to speak, but I certainly wasn't going to tell him Annika--"

 

          "Not that," B'Elanna said, miffed.  "You made him use her as a cover.  You shouldn't have mentioned Janeway to him."

 

          The Doctor nodded, comprehending.  "I apologize.  I sensed that was a mistake the moment I said it."

 

          "Let's just be thankful she's not here tonight," Paris said.  "Imagine how awkward that would be.  The temperature dropped ten degrees when you simply mentioned her."

 

          "It's still dropping," Torres snarled.  "Just thinking about that woman right now makes me angry.  Let's not talk about her."

 

          "All right, she's not *that* bad, B'Elanna," Paris said reluctantly.  "So she turned down a few dinner invitations--"

 

          "A *few*?"  Torres demanded.  "She didn't bother to come see us all year.  Hell, she didn't even condescend to invite us to her wedding."

 

          The Doctor looked confused. "Wedding?  She told me she eloped."

 

          Torres looked at him with thinly veiled irritation.  "You obviously haven't been watching the news.  The outtakes were on every station."

 

          B'Elanna didn't miss the look of hurt on the Doctor's face.  He turned to Paris.  "Well... perhaps it was a closed affair.  What about your father?  If he was invited surely the invitation extended to--"

 

          Paris smirked.  "My father *wasn't* invited.  It seems he doesn't get along well with this Durant guy.  Janeway played the good little wife and made it abundantly clear that Owen Paris wasn't welcome."

 

          "That's horrible; I thought he and Admiral Janeway were close," the Doctor, appalled.

 

          "Well, they're not close anymore.  Whomever Durant likes and dislikes, she likes and dislikes.  And whoever opposes Durant's presidency, Durant most definitely doesn't like."  Paris raised his champagne glass and downed the rest with one swig. "My father doesn't think much of the man.  Now, he doesn't think much of Janeway, either."

 

          "Who would have thought she'd be so fickle," B'Elanna muttered.  "True colors, eh gentlemen?"

 

          They stood together in grim silence, polishing off their champagne.

 

                                       

Chapter Two

         

          The world swirled around her vision.  She closed her eyes, but the nauseating spinning continued unabated.  The sick spins, the stage after the pleasant buzz, but before the unpleasant nausea.  Her sister Phoebe loved the feeling, or so she used to claim.  Kathryn Janeway had always hated it.

 

          She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to force herself to focus.  She'd been staggering down the street for what seemed like hours, to the point where she no longer had any idea whether she was even walking the right direction to the transporter mat.    She had stopped to get her bearings.  She found herself waiting longer than she'd expected, the wall of the building cold and hard against her palms.  She thought that if she let the wall go, she'd fall right onto the ground, fall into the swirling vortex in her head.

 

          A thought surfaced: call for help.  Her hand felt its way around her chest, met only the coarse fabric of her shirt.  Then she remembered her plan: escape Starfleet, escape Him for a few hours; she'd left her comm badge at home.

 

          Tears came to her eyes, unchecked.  She hated this.  She was lost and she couldn't think.  Her mind flashed back to the man at the bar-- she'd forgotten his name-- who'd offered, then insisted on giving her a ride.  His palm, hot and fleshy, against her thigh, inching inwards.  Right in public, as though for show-- such blatant disrespect for her.  Her skin was going numb when he slipped his hand under her skirt, between her thighs, beneath her underwear.  His audacity would have infuriated her if she hadn't felt so numb already.  She sat there, a part of her objecting, the rest just wanting to go to sleep, as he whispered words and played his finger around her flesh.

 

          They were in a corner booth, but when she looked up, she saw two men across the room watching, leering towards her, amused.  They may even have recognized her.  She realized the men had to see everything.  She clawed at his hand, pulled against his grip, bumping hard into the table as she tottered to her feet. The men were snickering.  His hand brushed fleetingly against the back of her thigh as she stumbled forward through the hazy dimness of the bar, out into the fresh air of the street.

 

          Then what seemed like hours of weaving through Paris streets.  She gave up trying to figure out where she was, and leaned forward against the wall.  Maybe if she just waited here a while, let the darkness spin around her, she'd figure it out.  Or the nightmare would end.

 

          Scuffling footfalls drifted to her ears, growing steadily louder and more intent.  She closed her eyes tightly, unable to flee if she tried.

 

          Then, a disapproving male voice, "Made a spectacle of yourself enough for one night, Kathryn?"

 

          A chill came over her.  She focused her eyes, unseeing, on the ground.

 

          He continued in a cool and impersonal tone, "You know, it took me a while to find you.  You covered your tracks like a professional-- I have to give you credit for that."

 

          She clenched her fists against the wall, and drew in a ragged breath, refusing to turn.  In a hoarse voice,  "I just needed to get away for a while; can't you give me that?"

 

          She heard him step closer, and then felt his breath lightly on the back of her neck.  "Need, need...  If I indulged your every whim, Kathryn, I imagine I'd find myself locked in a cell in Auckland before the day was out."  She felt his fingertips brushing hair from her neck, tickling her flesh.  He added in a lower, huskier tone,  "Isn't that right?"

 

          "Auckland?" she said between gritted teeth.  "That's too gentle a fate.  I'd send you straight to Cardassia."

 

          She heard him chuckle dryly behind her, with little mirth.  The fingers slowed on her skin, and spread around to clutch the back of her neck in a vaguely threatening gesture that sent goose bumps down her arms.

 

          "I think it's time we went home, dear."

 

          The hand around her neck squeezed a little, urging her around.  Kathryn followed his directives unsteadily, fighting against the whirling in her head.

 

          "I have to say, you surprised me," he spoke up from against her back as she staggered down the street.  "If all you wanted was a raw fuck and a hangover, I could easily have arranged it for you."

 

          He cheapened her motives with a few short words, and she felt choked by sudden rage.  Not for the first time, she thought of killing this man, and felt impotent fury burning through her at the knowledge that she couldn't.  By God, if she'd met him in the Delta Quadrant--

 

          "Honestly, though, Kathryn, I thought you were above these baser instincts."

 

          She balled her hands, trembling with anger, into tight fists at her sides.  "It's useless to explain to you," she said in a hard voice.  Then, searching for the proper invective, she spat, "You pig-headed fuck!"

 

          "Easy, easy darling," his hand patted her on the shoulder.  "Methinks the alcohol's drawing out the Irish in you.  We're about to enter a public transporter pad.  Won't do for you to cause a scene, will it?"

 

          She bit back her retort to that as voices slowly came into earshot.  His hand loosened around her neck, and slipped casually around her shoulders, holding her steady.  Automatically, she fumbled to clutch his waist as they entered the public transporter room.

 

          Immediately, the two attendants, young men with Lieutenant's pips, shot to attention.  Then recognition came across the young men's faces.

 

          "Admiral Janeway!  Admiral Durant!"

 

          Kathryn smiled weakly as Durant drew a step forward, hand extended to the nearest young officer.

 

          "Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant--"

 

          "Bhat, sir.  Lamar Bhat."

 

          The other chimed in as John Durant shook his hand,  "Freddy Perkins."

 

          "I guess you two recognize my wife, Kathryn?" Durant gestured to Janeway.

 

          As he shook hands with her, Bhat nodded his head.  "You'd have to be in another quadrant not to!" he caught himself, and said,  "All respect intended, ma'am."

 

          She inclined her head once, too weary to dwell on his words.

 

          Durant grinned broadly at the two young men.  "Slow night, gentlemen?"

 

          "Oh, yes sir.  No one likes to come to Paris in this weather," Lieutenant Bhat replied quickly.

 

          "Well, Kathryn's always been fond of the cold.  Isn't that right, hon?"

 

          Janeway forced a smile across her lips, hoping she didn't look as ill as she suddenly felt.  "That's right, darling."

 

          "So, Admirals, what destination?"  Lieutenant Perkins asked, stepping behind the transporter pad.

 

          Durant put out an arm to help Kathryn up the platform in a show of chivalry.  In truth, he was making sure she didn't stumble and make a fool of them both.

 

          "San Francisco, my good man."

 

          Lieutenant Perkins began to tap in the coordinates, but before he energized, Lieutenant Bhat called,  "Admiral Durant!"

 

          "Lieutenant?" Durant said mildly, a light smile on his face.

 

          "Sir," Bhat seemed somewhat flustered.  "I know it's probably not my place to ask, but are the rumors true you're running for President?"

 

          Durant grinned.  "Two things, son.  First, as a Federation citizen, it's always your place to ask.  And second... I guess we'll have to wait and see, eh?"

 

          Bhat gazed up at him with admiration, and Kathryn felt sheer, unadulterated disgust.  "Well, sir, regardless of what happens, know you'll always have my vote.  A vote for Durant is a vote for the future, eh, sir?"

 

          Durant nodded austerely.  "Thank you, Lieutenant.  Good officers like you keep the Federation strong."  Then, with a plaster smile at the other Lieutenant, he called, "Energize."

 

          Perkins tapped in the appropriate code, and the Paris platform faded into oblivion around them.

 

                                                                                                         *        *        *

 

          "I honestly don't know what she was thinking," Durant's harsh voice came to her over the pounding in her temples.  She tried to shut the voice out.  If she could fall asleep again, she might hide from the rolling in her stomach and the pain tearing through her head.

 

          "Did you have a disagreement?"  asked the cool voice of Empek.

 

          "Nothing worse than the usual.  She didn't want to go to the Voyager reunion, I didn't force her to.  I didn't think she'd run off to some bar and offer her cunt to the first sleazebag who'd buy her a drink."

 

          Kathryn pressed her arms over her ears, squeezing her eyes tightly, pained and thoroughly humiliated.  She truly had wanted to drink enough to forget her problems for awhile.  She hadn't been after "a raw fuck and a hangover."  What's worse is that Durant undoubtedly knew he'd awoken her; he knew she could hear him.  He usually met with Empek in his office; there was no need to speak with him over the com in Kathryn's room unless he wanted her to hear.

 

          "How's damage control?" Durant asked.

 

          "I've taken care of the witnesses," Empek replied in that business tone of his.  "A healthy deposit into two accounts, and a promise of a future deposit.  The third was slightly more... uncooperative.  I regret that he had to be taken care of."

 

          Durant chuckled.  In a teasing voice, he said,  "You old dog-- you don't regret that."

 

          "Perhaps not," Empek acknowledged.  "But pleasurable work aside, it would help if you reigned in your wife from these... impulses of hers.  I can't take care of it every time."

 

          "I'll keep a closer eye on her.  She always slips away when I'm busy," Durant sighed heavily, as if the weight of the universe were on his shoulders.  "Kathryn...  Jesus.  She's gone without a good fuck for... what is it, nine years now?  God knows," Durant continued.  "Maybe I'd better start screwing the bitch, keep her happy."

 

          She stiffened, and tried to raise her voice in objection, but a sudden wave of nausea at her slight movement suppressed the urge.  It wouldn't do her any good, anyway.

 

          She remembered early in the marriage when he'd actually tried to assert his 'rights' as her husband.  She'd returned to her chamber after a particularly trying reception, and he'd staggered in uninvited, half drunk.  Durant had groped wildly for a few minutes, even managed to knock her down beneath him before she grabbed his crotch and wrenched hard enough to double him over.  He'd limped away like a whipped cur, and hadn't dared touch her since.  He didn't mind his henchmen doing dirty business for him, but he'd never put himself in harm's way.

 

          Kathryn knew that Durant wouldn't dare lower himself in the eyes of Empek by requesting help in subduing a woman half his size.  He'd disassociated himself with her instead.  Since that incident, he'd taken every opportunity to insult her appearance, referring to her as an "old hag" or making an offhand comment about a thick stomach-- as though to prove to her and his associate that he didn't sleep with her because he found her unattractive.   As relieved as she was that he kept his paws off of her, a part of her felt the sting of his remarks.  At 45, she was a few years younger than him than him, and her body was as firm and slim as it was when she was in her 20s, but a part of her had even begun to believe his derogatory comments.  She started to see saggy breasts where there were none, a heavy waist where she was still petite.  She became acutely aware of  her age.  When her hunger raged, she increasingly found herself settling with coffee out of an unreasonable fear of weight gain.

 

          And as time passed, Kathryn began to wonder if she'd even have the ability to fight Durant off if he tried again.  Despite her bravado, she was painfully aware of her slipping ground in the arrangement.  She did her best to hide it from him, knowing he would exploit her weaknesses for all they were worth, but there were times that she felt she'd been exposed for what she'd become.  There were times when she swore he saw her vulnerability.

 

          Times like last week.

 

          Her eyes pricked with tears, but she blinked them back.  It would do her no good to dwell on that.  Five of Voyager's crewmembers, crewmembers she'd never see again.  Tal Celes, Ken Dalby, Megan Delaney, Jenny Delaney, Mortimer Harren.  They'd all died within one week.  A "latent retro-virus".  What a joke.

 

          The reunion was going to double as a memoriam to those who'd recently passed.  She knew how it must have looked to her crew when she'd skipped the event, but she couldn't face them.  She knew she'd been responsible for those deaths, and it would be outright hypocrisy to stand before them and weave an intricate tribute to five people she might as well have killed with her own hand.

 

          Durant announced that he wanted to be a father.  A politician has to be a family man to look credible, he'd told her.  She'd outright refused his demand, telling him that she'd never inflict the galaxy with a spawn of Jonathan Durant. He assured her that she could get pregnant via surgical means-- no penetration required.  He assured her the thought of her naked repulsed him anyway.  She still refused.

 

          The next day, a padd had arrived at her office.

 

Crewman Tal Celes

Crewman Kenneth Dalby

Ensign Megan Delaney

Ensign Jennifer Delaney

Crewman Mortimer Harren

-- and you know who this is

 

          And then Janeway received word, one by one, of their deaths from a mysterious, latent virus, likely picked up in the Delta Quadrant.  Each transmission she received sickened her, because she knew exactly what transmission she'd receive next... exactly who else would fall victim.

 

          Durant called her into his office at the end of the week, Voyager's crew manifest displayed prominently on the screen behind him.  Empek stood impassively at Durant's side.  On the other screen was a Doctor from a local fertility clinic.  Durant asked for her decision about the baby, beaming, putting on the show of a hopeful father-to-be for the fertility doctor.  Defeated, and shaken with grief, Janeway attested to her desire for children to the Doctor.  Durant smiled at her in that patronizing way the whole time, wrapping an arm around her waist to give the doctor a good image.  They set up an appointment for the following week.  When the transmission cut off, Durant stroked his hand fondly on her rear, as though his favorite pet had performed some trick.

 

          "I knew you'd be a good girl, Kathryn."

 

          Janeway saw red.  Rage, hot and potent, flooded her as she thought of those crewmen, and the words ripped from her lips,  "*You bastard!*"

 

          Her fist lanced towards him as if by instinct.  With inhuman speed, Empek shot forward and caught her arm.  Janeway tried to jolt back out of his grip, but Empek wrenched her arm up at a sickening angle.  There was nothing for a split second, and then Janeway felt unbearable pain surge up her arm.  A guttural cry escaped her lips as Empek coldly jerked her arm again, forcing her to crouch on her knees to avoid the bone breaking.

 

          Durant watched it all impassively from his desk.  He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing Kathryn's pain-filled features as Empek held her on her knees.

 

          "That wasn't very nice of her, was it, Empek?" Durant said coldly.

 

          "It was not.  Apologize to Admiral Durant," Empek intoned.

 

          Janeway heaved in breath for a few moments, fighting the pain, battling her own humiliation.  Empek wrenched on her arm again, and a pained gasp escaped her lips.

 

          "Apologize."

 

          One good jerk was all he needed to tear the bone right out of its socket.  And he was strong enough to do it.

 

          Kathryn raised her head to meet Durant's eye.  "John..." her voice came out ragged and strained.

 

          He smiled at her, a little patronizing.  "Yes, Kathryn?"

 

          Her voice dripped with contempt.  "Eat shit and die."

 

          The words were barely out of her mouth when she felt Empek twist her arm all the way, and the pain exploded over her.  When she looked back on it, she could swear she had heard the bone breaking and the ligaments tearing.  But at the time, the pain was so great it sent her to the floor, clamping her mouth over a scream, hearing it come out as a pained moan.  She could barely even hear Empek ask Durant,  "Would you like me to break the other arm?"

 

          Durant watched Kathryn, in agony on the floor, for a long moment, debating.  Then,  "No, that's enough, Empek.  The Vulcan attaché has a reception tomorrow... I need her to be somewhat collected by then.  You know flaky she gets after a little talking to."

 

          A talking to.  She'd grown to hate those words.

 

          Her body was trembling with pain as Empek pulled her to her feet, and she hated that there were tears streaming down her face.  He hauled her rather unceremoniously down the hall, and she threw every insult she could at Durant's lackey.  He ignored her as though her words simply bounced off of him.

 

          Kathryn didn't know if he was human, as he appeared to be, or an alien, as she suspected he was.  She did know, however, that he was a monster.  She told him so in elaborately colorful language each time he helped Durant 'talk to her.'  He was impervious to her taunts.  He deposited her in the infirmary of Durant's personal physician and left without slinging an insult in return.  But he didn't need to insult, did he? Kathryn reflected.  He was the one who'd just broken an arm.

 

          "Lie back, Admiral Janeway," came the cold voice of Doctor Tondra.  Kathryn felt a hand on her shoulder urging her onto her back, and she let herself be pushed down.  The tall, slim African woman deftly cut away the arm of Janeway's uniform jacket.  Then she raised her tricorder and studied the readings with cold, dark eyes.  When she wrapped her hands around Kathryn's upper arm, Janeway almost pulled away, doubtful.

 

          "I have to set the bone," Tondra told her impatiently.  Janeway gritted her teeth, and felt a short stab of pain when Tondra jerked her arm back into place.  She couldn't choke back a cry of pain.  Doctor Tondra looked up when she heard it, and Kathryn saw thinly veiled contempt in the dark woman's eyes.

 

          "You'd make it far easier on yourself if you simply cooperated with him," Tondra said.

 

          Janeway watched the other woman as she began to knit her bone.  Kathryn asked,  "Is that what you'd do?"

 

          "I certainly wouldn't show your insubordination," Tondra's eyes flickered up to Janeway's.  "He has noble goals."

 

          "He wants to be President of the Federation," Janeway spat.  "Lust for power is hardly noble."

 

          "You don't know him."

 

          Doctor Tondra turned away, and Janeway watched her.  Early on, Kathryn had thought the Doctor might be a sympathetic friend in this situation.  As the other female in the loop, and a silent witness to Durant and Empek's brutality, Kathryn thought she'd be able to forge some common ground.  But from the beginning, Tondra made it clear where her loyalties lay.  She'd since realized that the good Doctor was as much a collaborator in some of Durant's more dubious activities as Empek was.

 

          "Do you have a pain killer?" Janeway asked, all too aware of the continued ache in her newly healed bones.

 

          Tondra turned cold eyes on her.  "I was instructed not to give you one.  A sedative, if you like?"

 

          Janeway shook her head.

 

          "In that case, I have work to take care of.  You're healed."

 

          Doctor Tondra turned away with those words, and Kathryn was suddenly glad she had not conceded to Durant and disowned the EMH as her physician.  Very glad.

 

          Lying in her bed now, suffering from her hangover, Kathryn thought it best not to go to that woman.  A hangover was more pleasant than dealing with the other woman's contempt.

 

          She became aware of Durant's eyes on her, and realized that he'd cut off his transmission with Empek.  Kathryn shut her eyes and tried to still her breathing, attempted not to move.  Maybe he'd think she was still asleep.

 

          She heard his footsteps on the carpet as he approached the bedside.  Her body tensed as he lowered himself onto the side, the bed springs creaking under his added weight.  She could feel him lean over, closer and closer.  She sensed that his face was just inches from her, and her control left her.  Her eyes snapped open and she tried to pull back, but he caught her chin in his hand.

 

          Her breath left her, and she lay there anxiously, waiting for his move.  His eyes were dark and unfathomable, and Kathryn couldn't tell whether he was planning to choke her or kiss her.  But then his grip on her eased up, and a smile came across his sharp, classically handsome features.

 

          "Must be quite a headache you've got there," he said jovially, the warmth of his smile coloring his voice.  He reached over to the night stand, produced a cup of coffee.  "I thought you might like this."

 

          Kathryn watched him warily as she pushed herself up in the bed and took the cup from his hands.  His expression was cheerful, but she knew how deceptive looks were on him.  Whatever he was planning, he never gave an outward indication.

 

          Her eyes slipped close as she took a deep sip of the coffee, feeling endorphins automatically kick in.  Her rolling stomach was almost instantly calm, and the headache eased up in severity.

 

          Kathryn was aware of his hand running lightly up and down her arm.  "I forget sometimes just how hard I'm pushing you," he said in a warm voice.  "You care about those people deeply.  It was foolish of me to think you'd just snap back from last week."

 

          She opened her eyes looked at him, and the expression in his hazel eyes seemed to plead for friendship.

 

          "I know the past two years have been rough on you," he gave her a smile.  "Kathryn, you have to understand," he continued in a friendly tone,  "Things between us could be different.  So very different.  I think we're both out for the good of the Federation.  We could help each other."

 

          "If you--" she stopped then, surprised by how hoarse and gravelly her voice sounded.

 

          He took advantage of her pause to continue,  "We don't have to be enemies."  He raised his hand up to caress her cheek, and she stiffened.  Unperturbed, he continued,  "We could help each other.  Just let me do all the work, honey.  You don't have to have the weight of the world on your shoulders."

 

          "Let you do all the work?" Janeway cut in, eyes flashing.  She pulled away from his caress.  "Drop the pretense.  You're asking me to let you have all the control."

 

          "Not that.  Not that!" he said appeasingly.  "There's plenty you can do.  I *want* you to have responsibility.  I made you an Admiral, didn't I?"

 

          "You made me a glorified secretary," Janeway shot back.  "And we both know that promotion was just for show."

 

          Ignoring her, he continued,  "Kathryn, when I'm president, you'll be the most influential woman in Starfleet.  I can do that for you.  All I've ever wanted you to do for me in return is attend receptions, put in face time.  I know you can do that."  He looked at her appealingly.  "Kathryn, I will do all the grudge work.  All I ask is that you cooperate."

 

          "All the grudge work?"

 

          "Of course."

 

          "So," she said coldly,  "Are you going to carry the baby to term in *your* body?"

 

          He laughed at her.  "Kathryn, your sense of humor."

 

          "It's hardly a medical impossibility.  I certainly don't want to be stuck with the job," she snapped back.

 

          He reached out a hand to caress her abdomen.  "I'm sure you'll feel differently once you're underway."

 

          "Doubtful."

 

          "Mothers always grow to love their children."

 

          "Their children don't usually have your genetic material in them."

 

          He sighed, showing the first signs of impatience.  His hand rested heavily on her abdomen.  "What is it I can do for you, Kathryn?  What the hell do you want?"

 

          She cocked her head to the side.  "A divorce."

 

          He gazed at her a second, then scoffed.  "I should have realized you'd be an unreasonable bitch."

 

          She slapped his hand away from her, and tried to roll off the other side of the bed.  He clamped his hand around her arm and yanked her back down, painfully, pressing her back into the headboard.  The good humor was gone.  He suddenly looked  menacing

 

          "Now listen," he hissed.  "I've tried to be diplomatic with you, I've tried to reason with you.  It comes to this.  No more stunts.  You pull something like last night again and I swear I'll have half your crew exterminated before the sun rises again.  Do you understand that?"

 

          Her eyes glittered with anger, and he shook her hard.  "Do you!?"

 

          "Yes," she said through clenched teeth.

 

          He drew back a little, his eyes raking her face.  "Good."  He pulled back completely, and rose to his feet.  "Good.  Just needed language you can understand."

 

          She looked away from him, simmering.  Her headache pulsed within her skull.

 

          "I called you in sick to Starfleet Command," he informed her.  "Just sleep it off."

 

          She was still glaring at the wall when he turned and walked out the door.

 

                                     

Chapter Three

 

          Chakotay folded his arms on his lap, shifting impatiently in his chair.  After months in the great outdoors, the sterile, Starfleet Command waiting rooms felt stifling.  He scanned the bare, gray wall, and wondered how security could be so important to these admirals that they didn't mind the absence of windows.  He'd go mad spending eighty hours a week without a view port to the outside universe.

 

          He fumbled for something to occupy himself with during his break, and picked up his Data Padd again to reexamine his proposal, checking for flaws.  An old Maquis acquaintance, now CEO of his own cargo company, had requested Chakotay's help in bringing a trading route proposal to Starfleet's attention.  Unlike Chakotay, many former Maquis were not in good standing with the fleet, his acquaintance included.  His acquaintance had offered him a captaincy in return for Chakotay's assistance in the matter.  Although Chakotay was initially uninterested, after a few months planet bound, he  found himself longing for the adventure of space again.

 

          So he was back here at Starfleet Command, in the halls he once vowed he'd never walk again.  He half expected to run into Kathryn Janeway around every turn in the corridors, but thus far, he was relieved (disappointed?) that he had yet to encounter her.

 

          The receptionist emerged from the inner office, a cheerful-looking blonde with an Ensign's rank.

 

          "Mr. Chakotay?  Admiral Durant will see you now."

 

          *Durant?  Perfect,* Chakotay thought sullenly, recognizing the name.  Janeway's husband.  Possibly the future president of the Federation.  He knew Durant was the chair of the Trade Committee, but he'd hoped he wouldn't deal with him personally.

 

 

          Strangely, though, a part of him was morbidly curious to see this man as he followed the receptionist to one of the gray doors in the empty hallway.  She punched in a code, and the door slid open.  The ensign stepped aside to let Chakotay into the room.

 

          Chakotay was immediately blinded by the white light streaming in from a large window overlooking the central courtyard.  He squinted his eyes against the sudden glare to make out the other man's face.

 

          "Ah, Commander Chakotay.  John Durant."  Chakotay reached out to clasp the extended hand.  Durant's clear, hazel eyes locked with Chakotay's, and the two men took a moment to sum each other up.    Durant was slightly taller than Chakotay, with a hint of frailty in his long, sinewy physique.  He had a thick crop of sandy brown hair just graying at the temples.   He was handsome in a conventional way-- symmetrical features, an aquiline nose, straight forehead, tanned skin.  The smile on his lips seemed very friendly and exceedingly false.  Chakotay disliked him instantly.

 

          "It's a pleasure to meet you, Admiral.  I've heard a lot about you."

 

          Durant's laugh was rich and deep.  "Don't believe everything you hear, Commander."

 

          Chakotay nodded, and offered,  "I didn't realize I was meeting with you personally."

 

          An easy smile playing at Durant's mouth.  "I admit it's unconventional, but I've heard quite a deal about you.  I believe you're acquainted with my wife, Kathryn."

 

          Chakotay made an effort to keep the smile on his lips.

 

          Durant continued, "I couldn't pass up the chance to meet one of her Voyager colleagues.  I'm quite an admirer of your crew... forging your way back to the Alpha Quadrant against incredible odds..."

 

          "Thank you, Admiral, but most of the credit should go to Cap-- Admiral Janeway."

 

          "She's a remarkable woman, isn't she?"  Durant said.

 

          *Do you even realize I haven't talked to her in a year?* Chakotay thought incredulously as he replied,  "That she is, Admiral."  Then, for good measure,  "You're a lucky man."

 

          "That's what I tell myself every day."  Durant smiled again, then circled around behind his desk.  "Please, take a seat, Mr. Chakotay."

 

          Chakotay sat down, and Durant picked up a padd, and his eyebrows drew together as he studied it.

 

          "So, I understand you have a proposal for a new trade route.  This cargo company... what's it called?"

 

          "Brenner and Associates, Admiral," Chakotay replied.

 

          "Hmm... small businesses.  I'm very much in support of small companies.  Times are increasingly difficult, aren't they, Mr. Chakotay? What with Orion monopoly--"

 

          Chakotay watched this all curiously.  "Forgive me, Admiral, but shouldn't I be meeting with the Trade Committee to discuss this?"

 

          "The Trade Committee?"  Durant looked up at him, then laughed with easy arrogance.  "Mr. Chakotay, as far as you're concerned, I am the Trade Committee.  I hold the ranking seat, my wife holds one of the seats, and," he leaned in closer, eyes twinkling, "*confidentially*, of course, Nechayev and I have a certain understanding... I make and break those votes."

 

          "I see," Chakotay said quietly, digesting the Admiral's lofty assertion.

 

          "But you needn't concern yourself, Chakotay-- may I call you Chakotay?"  Chakotay nodded once.  Durant continued,  "Chakotay, I know, more than anyone, the benefits small companies bring to the lives of every day Federation citizens-- jobs, variety, quality.  It's a travesty that large companies dominate most trade routes!  If I can do anything to help the common man, the employees of small-time cargo companies--"

 

          *Gods.  He's rehearsing his political jargon on me,* Chakotay thought as he smiled and nodded a few times.  Durant continued his spiel against monopolistic and univeralization practices, then came to,  "--so how about I take this to some of my stellar cartographers, and we'll get back to you about this proposed route?"

 

           He was grasping at the padd in Chakotay's hand, and Chakotay relinquished it.

 

          "We've had a few stellar cartographers evaluate it already," Chakotay said.  "They found no flaws."

 

          "It's protocol, Chakotay.  I'm sure it checks out perfectly... but it saves us some paperwork, and you know lawyers."  Durant laughed, shaking his head, then tucked the padd in his desk, and said,  "You should hear from us within 48 hours."

 

          Durant rose to his feet.  Cue to leave.

 

          Chakotay stood as well.  As he reached out to shake hands with Durant again, Durant's comm badge chirped.

 

          "Admiral Durant, your wife just walked past--"

 

          The door opened before the receptionist could finish her statement, and Durant said,  "That's all right, Maddie."  He watched the entrance intently, his expression suddenly cool and unreadable.

 

          Chakotay turned to see Kathryn Janeway charge into the room, her bright auburn hair pulled back tightly in a bun, her face pale and proud.  Her eyes were locked on Durant like death rays when she began in a hiss,  "Just so you know--"  She noticed the companion, and in a suddenly forced, light tone,  turning to look at Chakotay, "Oh, I--"

 

          Then recognition flooded her face, and the words halted.  Chakotay could hear his heart pounding as their gazes clashed, and his throat constricted sharply.  He could see shock and dismay in her eyes.  She looked frail; she'd lost weight.  Far too much weight.  Her features were harder than he remembered (how was that possible, here in the Alpha Quadrant?)-- her lips a thin, tight line, her cheeks concave and sallow, her eyes sharp, suspicious, and strangely bloodshot.

 

          Durant was regarding her with interest and apprehension.  "Kathryn, I believe you're acquainted with my guest," Durant said.  There was a surprising edge to his voice now, and Chakotay noticed Durant scrutinizing her intently.

 

          Janeway's eyes were locked on Chakotay, shocked beyond guile.  He saw her swallow once, then blink rapidly a few times, struggling to recover her composure.  "Chakotay.  What a surprise," she murmured in a hollow voice.

 

          *Try not to sound too enthusiastic, Kathryn,* Chakotay thought sarcastically, and with the same lack of warmth, he intoned flatly, "It's good to see you, Admiral."

 

          She looked like a waif.  He'd never seen her so thin, even early in their Delta Quadrant journey.  Even her voice sounded weaker, lacking the conviction and power he associated with her.

 

          "You're meeting with the Trade Committee, then?"  she seemed to fumble for words, then looked to Durant uncertainly, and then back to Chakotay.  She avoided eye contact; her gaze was focused on some point above him.  An empty laugh.  "I suppose I should keep closer track of the committee agenda... I wouldn't have called in sick today."

 

          Oh, but she would have.  He could see her dismay at meeting him.  Embarrassment, shame; she refused to lock eyes with him.

 

          On the other hand, her husband seemed quite satisfied with the turn in events.  His chest was puffed with a new confidence, his voice strangely vital.  "It's fortunate you're feeling better than you were this morning, honey.  And what a delightful coincidence!" Durant said.  "Perhaps you could dine with us some evening, Mr. Chakotay?  How does tonight sound?"

 

          Janeway grew even paler, seeming to sway on her feet, and Chakotay fleetingly thought that Durant was gloating.

 

          "Really. You must," Janeway put in lifelessly.  She shot another wary glance at Durant, her eyes sharp, cold.  Durant didn't acknowledge her discomfort; he continued to smile genially.

 

          Chakotay marveled at the strange the interplay between the two.  If some petty, resentful part of him had wished her ill, it looked like his wish had come true.  There was no love here, no affection that he could see.  Such a chill in the room, such underlying hostility.  And she looked horrible, downright unhealthy.  He wouldn't be surprised if her legs buckled under her.

 

          "Thank you for the invitation," Chakotay replied, forcing himself to sound natural.  "But I'm not on Earth for very long, and I have other engagements scheduled."

 

          The relief that washed over Janeway's face was so blatant, so unconcealed, that a slightly vengeful Chakotay was tempted to change his mind and accept the invitation after all.  Just tempted, though.  She'd burned him, but he wasn't going to justify her cruelty by resorting to pettiness.

 

          Durant clicked his tongue to express disappointment, and then slapped Chakotay on the back, the fake smile on his face.

 

          "A pity.  I truly would love to meet more of Kathryn's friends."

 

          Chakotay smiled blandly at him.  "Well, I've never known Admiral Janeway to be particularly social."

 

          Janeway smiled weakly at that.

 

          Durant laughed.  "Truer words were never spoken.  She doesn't get out of the office nearly enough!"

 

          Janeway's smile had faded as quickly as it had come.

 

          Durant continued, "Well, then, Chakotay, another time.  Thanks for stopping by."

 

          "Thank you for considering my proposal.  Have a good day, Admiral."  Chakotay nodded to Janeway,  "Admiral."  As he walked past them towards the door, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Janeway stood stock still, frozen as he passed.  Durant, for his part, just looked exceedingly smug.

 

                                                                                                          *        *        *

 

          Janeway turned back to her husband after Chakotay left, feeling her heart pound in her chest.  Her head whirled, and her hangover felt suddenly more pronounced.  She hadn't been prepared for that-- not for Chakotay, not today.  She'd fought her nausea and pulled herself out of bed to prove something to herself, to prove something to her much-loathed husband.  All that effort, only to be confronted by a sight that had dominated her nightmares.  Chakotay and Durant, two men who did not belong in the same universe as each other, much less in the same room.  The sight of them together was unnatural and ominous.  She'd spent the last several minutes fighting her rising panic.

 

          "Why did you invite him here?" Her voice was calmer she'd expected, but her thoughts were still urgent.  Did Durant know about the last reunion?  Had he hacked into her original personal logs?  Had he guessed her true feelings for Chakotay?

 

          "Actually, he invited himself," Durant said, seeming to watch for any uncertainty that might play across her features.  "It may come as a surprise to you, Kathryn, but your former criminal friend actually has legitimate business with the Trade Committee."

 

          She could tell he was being honest, and her body sagged as her fear faded.  It was nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Chakotay was safe.

 

          "You've always said you hate the man," Durant continued.  "I was curious to see what about him, exactly, merits such disdain.  I rather liked the fellow, myself."

 

          "Did you?  I suppose that's why you tried force me into dining with him.".

 

          "I felt sorry for the guy.  Another poor chap on the wrong side of Kathryn Janeway's affections." His tone was teasing. 

 

          "I didn't spend seven years trying to escape that man just to get entangled in his affairs now,"  she replied seriously.  She wasn't feeling generous enough today to fake camaraderie with Durant, and certainly not over a subject so close to home.

 

          "Does it bother you to see him?"

 

          She knew better than to answer that honestly.  "I couldn't care less."  Her voice was sharper than she'd intended, but it conveyed the proper disdain. 

 

          "Well, he seemed pretty cold around you, as well.  Broken heart, I suppose.  Empek claims he seemed rather taken with you in his personal logs."

 

          Janeway raised a sharp eyebrow at the invasion of Chakotay's privacy, but she knew she should not have expected anything else.  Everyone who met with Durant, or with her, had a thorough background check; no stone was left unturned.  Empek was methodical in his duties. 

 

          "Well," Janeway said quietly, circling around Durant to sit down, feeling her confidence rise,  "Mr. Chakotay has an infinite capacity for self delusion.  He always could convince himself of one lie or another.  I never had it in me to hurt him.  No one could have realized my relief when he focused his delusions on Seven of Nine."

 

          Durant chuckled, impressed with her heart for falsehood.  "Well, I'm not going to ask you to like him, Kathryn, but I'm going to ask you to tolerate him for just a few days."

 

          She halted her step, curious and ill at ease.  "Oh?"

 

          Durant was already tapping at the padd, his eyes feverishly studying the data recorded on it.  He'd already forgotten her.  "You know I've been having trouble with the business sector, and your wayward admirer is the perfect showcase."  He smiled wryly.  "John Durant-- friend of the working man...  Opening up new sectors of space to small businesses."

 

          At her blank look, he elaborated,  "I'll grant this proposal... in fact, I'll give them access to even another trade route.  We'll make a show of it-- invite the press, hold the ceremony on a Federation star base.  It will be an incredible spectacle-- good publicity."

 

          "And what does this have to do with me?"

 

          "You'll be the loving, supportive wife... looking on proudly."

 

          "Naturally," she muttered.  She absently twirled an antique stylus on the edge of his desk.

 

          "It would raise questions if you weren't there," Durant added, watching the movement of her thin fingers.  "He is your former Voyager colleague."  He took a step closer.  "Can you do this for me, Kathryn?  Smile, nod, that's all.  Nothing more than I've asked of you."

 

          "Do I have a choice?" she shot back tartly.  She turned on her heels and left the office. 

 

 

                                                                                                          *        *        *

 

          A week later, Kathryn's resolve faltered.

 

          She was scheduled to meet her husband at the fertility clinic at 0900 hours, but something stopped her. 

 

          A baby.  Jesus Christ, a baby.  She was going to be a brood mare for a potential dictator.  She was going to have his baby.

 

          The fear halted her step midway, and sent her fleeing back to the subway, where she ripped off her comm badge and on a whim took the direct line to Saint Petersburg.  No way in hell was she going to step foot in that fertility clinic today.  No way in hell.

 

          She spent the rest of the day wandering through the spacious, tourist-friendly streets of the Russian city, trying to distract herself from the reality that loomed closer to her every day.  She realized that there was no escaping Durant.  He had people everywhere; he could find her if she dyed her skin, colored her hair, and resequenced her DNA. She could never hope to charter a flight away from Earth, and even if she could, she knew she'd be sacrificing members of her crew for the sake of momentary freedom.

 

          They were still her crew.  Even with two years' distance, and a wider emotional estrangement, they were Her Crew.  And she couldn't leave them to die.  She knew he would kill them all without a qualm of conscience if she divorced him tomorrow.

 

          By the time she returned to San Francisco, it was too late to schedule another appointment at the fertility clinic before the Free Trade Gala on Deep Space Seven.  Empek was waiting to express Durant's displeasure at her absence.  Just a friendly talking to.

 

          By the time she'd sufficiently healed to return to duty, nearly five days later, it was time to depart for the Free Trade Gala.

 

          She sat in the shuttle, gazing absently out the window as Durant and Empek spoke in hushed voices out of hearing range.  Chakotay would be at Deep Space Seven.  She would have to face him with a straight face and an unassailable emotionless front.  She would have to pretend she hadn't spent nights in agony for the last year, clinging to the memories of their brief, elusive pleasure, stifling the pain of her loneliness.  Hiding the fear-- the fear that he hated her, the fear that she'd give herself away, betray him to Durant, kill him.  The fear that his love would fade forever. 

 

          And after seeing him the other day, the pain was all the more pronounced.  Chakotay-- looking tan, healthy, and so beautiful to her that she nearly wept.  The man who had once held so much promise for her, who had once inspired so much hope.  For one night, they had something incredible, and that one night would have to sustain her for the rest of her days.  Thinking of him, she felt sick with loss.  She felt like a starving woman, one who had the only source of nourishment dangled in front of her face, then pulled out of her reach.

 

          *But he can never know.  Never.*

 

 

Chapter Four

 

          Jonathan Durant was not a sentimental man.  He'd always believed that his best days were ahead of him, and chose to look forward towards those days rather than reflect on what had already transpired.  He seldom thought about how he had reached his current position, or his current state of mind, but today he was thinking of a Cardassian he saw over twenty years earlier.  The Cardassian had been young and vicious.  His weapon was hopelessly out of reach, and his leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.  This Cardassian, helpless and alone, flailing on the ground like an animal, snarled and screamed invectives as though he were the one pointing the phaser rifle at the Starfleet officers, and not an injured fool encircled by enemies.

 

          Durant was a Commander then, twenty-nine years old, ambitious.  His officers were hardened by months of bloodshed, sick at heart and angry.  They pounced on the injured Cardassian like a pack of starving wolves, releasing their pent up rage on the safest outlet.  Durant said nothing.  He watched them butcher the Cardassian, and relished it on some level, but when one of the officers noticed his interest and cleared way for Durant to deliver a blow of his own, he held back.  He'd never had a taste for delivering violence to another person.  Not by his own hands.

 

          He remembered those months after he met Kathryn Janeway, after Voyager had returned home from the Delta Quadrant.  He met her two days after Voyager arrived.  He'd seen holovids of her, and he thought her a mildly attractive woman, but it was a different matter in person.  She was radiant, triumphant, alive, and absolutely stunning.  Her eyes danced as she spoke with him, and her voice was mesmerizing.  He couldn't tear his eyes from her.  It satisfied him to learn that she was the rare person with the presence to match her epic achievement.  He read Voyager's mission logs, saw the actions that might burn her name in glory across the history books, and the actions that might bring her down in flames.  But he was not cowed.  He could steer her clear of notoriety.  He could be her guide, and in return, he could share in her glory.  This ambitious, 47-year-old Admiral saw in her his future.

 

          As the initial honeymoon between Voyager and the Alpha Quadrant died down, fierce debate began within Starfleet's elite circles over Janeway's more questionable actions.  Durant took up the fight on her behalf.  Always a charismatic, persuasive man, he managed to sway the Federation ethics committee in her favor.  He convinced Admirals, old timers who revered the Temporal Prime Directive, friends of the late Captain Rudy Ransom, to back down from their desire to ship her straight to prison.  He charmed the media into romanticizing her in their press reels.  He secured pardons for the Maquis.  In turn, he received Janeway's gratitude, and her friendship. 

 

          She couldn't comprehend why he was going to such lengths for her, but she was immensely grateful to him for it. He watched as her gratitude overrode her natural skepticism and lowered the guard to her emotions.  She thought him a human being unparalleled in his compassion and good nature, and he indulged her beliefs, used them to make entry into her affections. 

 

          They spent long nights over coffee, talking about life, love, their dreams for the future.  She engaged him, she challenged him, and he even began to fancy himself in love with her. He enthusiastically elucidated his beliefs, his political ambitions.  He began to trust her even with his private vision for the future.  He told her of the society he envisioned-- a United Federation of Planets where the government comprised of appointed Starfleet Admirals.  Starfleet Officers would hold the vote for President.  The presidency would be a strong central figure to keep the fleet in line and control the chaotic elements of the Federation.  He informed her that popular control of government by ignorant civilians had led to the chaos of recent years, because only veteran fighters could truly comprehend the consequences of their actions.  He believed Federation society, devastated by the Dominion War and dissention within, was ready now for a change.

 

          She laughed at him.

 

          "You're practically proposing a military dictatorship, John.  It will never happen," she said off-handedly, lifting her coffee mug casually up to her lips.  He started to defend his assertions, trying to sway her opinion, but the smirk never left her.  He realized then that she wasn't taking him seriously.  He watched her with mounting dismay as she brushed off his vision as though it were mere coffee talk, his ambitions as though he were a typical university intellectual-- out of touch with reality.  He saw she didn't care about or believe in his aspirations.  After all he'd done for her, she didn't care.

 

          He was further galvanized when he found out from Nechayev that Admiral Paris was warning Janeway away from him, expressing his 'unease' with regards to Durant.  Durant had never liked Paris, nor Paris Durant, and he resented that Janeway seemed have a new barrier of caution towards him after Paris's words.  It had not been Paris who saved her crew from a prison term; it had not been Paris who had swayed those tense council votes; it had not been Paris who elevated her into legendary status.   Who the hell was she to listen to Paris over him?  She owed Paris nothing.  She owed him *everything*.

 

          But his anger always subsided, and he continued to admire the idea of Kathryn Janeway, the possibilities she opened for him, if not the actual woman herself.  They'd known each other three months when he kissed her.

 

          She froze for a moment, her lips cold and lifeless against his, then jerked back.  He opened his eyes to see her gazing at him with dismay.

 

          "I'm sorry, John... I care about you very much, but not in that way."

 

          He was not a violent man.  He could have raped her.  They were alone in his house.  No one could have heard her scream.  He held her eyes for a long moment and toyed with the thought.

 

          Then, "I'm sorry for my presumption, Kathryn."

 

          She smiled.  At the pity in her eyes, he felt a sudden surge of hatred.  He could imagine the power she thought she had in her ability to spurn him.  She didn't realize that her dignity was intact only at his grace, her power accorded her only at his mercy, her strength at his indulgence.  He calmed her unease, but there was malice behind his smiles, because she would advance him in society, willing or no.

 

          He had a vague acquaintance with Empek, the agent from the Orion Syndicate who had approached him with an offer of friendship upon his promotion to the Admiralty.  He hadn't rejected the offer outright, but he hadn't accepted it, either, knowing the price the Syndicate's friendship carried if he did not satisfy their expectations.  He was inclined now to rethink the offer.  He wished her a good night as the future clarified before him.

 

          Empek was within his service two days later, and within the week Janeway's mother and sister met with unfortunate, grisly accidents five sectors away from each other, exactly one hour apart.  When she'd had just enough time to learn of the deaths, Empek burst in on her and hauled her, distraught and shaken, to Durant's residence.  Empek held her kneeling in front of Durant while he lay down the law, letting her know her place, giving her a taste of his power.  He didn't have to claim responsibility for her family; she put two and two together and flew into a mindless rage.  She tried to get at him, flailing wildly against Empek's grip, cursing him, screaming with rage and despair.  She finally weakened in her struggles, and overcome with tears, she sobbed,  "I'll kill you.  You'll pay for this, I swear."

 

          "You could kill me, Kathryn.  I'm sure you're perfectly capable of that.  You could even report me to the authorities," Durant told her mildly.  "However, my colleagues at the Orion Syndicate wouldn't take it very well.  Isn't that right, Empek?" 

 

          Her eyes shot up to meet his, and she was suddenly stiff in Empek's grasp.  He'd caught her attention.  Everyone knew to stay clear of the Orion Syndicate, the crime organization with tentacles in every government and organization of modern society.

 

          "We would not be happy," Empek confirmed in a voice that betrayed no emotion, and no loss of breath from his struggles with her.  "It could be very unfortunate for you if Admiral Durant were exposed.  It could be unfortunate for your friends."

 

          For her friends.  Empek must have found the magic words, because her bravado suddenly crumbled.  "They have nothing to do with this.  Please.  Leave them alone," she pleaded urgently.

 

          Durant felt a flash of pity at the uncharacteristic entreaty, but Empek was admirably unyielding.  He continued to pinion her arms at that unnatural angle, holding her on her knees, staring unblinkingly down at her with dark, impassive eyes.

 

          "Your friends are safe as long as Admiral Durant has your full cooperation."

 

          She must have stopped struggling, because Empek abruptly released his grip and pushed her back into a chair.  She made no attempt to move.  Her face was pale, her entire facade of strength dashed on the rocks.  Her eyes glazed over, as though she comprehended the gravity of her new situation for the first time.

 

          After a long silence, she asked in a tired, resigned voice,  "Why are you doing this, John?  I was gone for seven years...  I just wanted peace.  I just wanted to be with my family--" her voice caught, and he could see raw pain in her eyes.

 

          "You owe me," he reminded her firmly, unmoved.  "After all I've done to help you, you can't justify denying me a small favor."

 

          Her voice was quiet.  "I never asked you to help me."

 

          "It's just a small favor, Kathryn.  It always was."

 

          And at the time, it *was* a small favor.  There was no thought of marriage or pregnancy yet.  He merely wanted her to appear in public with him, feign affection, get his name in the media spotlight.  He'd realized two days earlier that she wouldn't ever feel genuine affection for him or true political zeal for his cause, so he took the route of coercion. He'd swayed Starfleet behind the scenes for years, and he would not pass up this opportunity to emerge into the light of day.

 

          Durant noticed a purple and yellow bruise forming around her eye, perhaps from her initial struggle with Empek. His gaze darted up to meet Empek's cold scrutiny, and he felt a fleeting remorse.  But then he reminded himself of his generosity to her; his charm was the only reason she enjoyed her current freedom.  People reverently whispered her name because he'd orchestrated her portrayal as a hero.  And he'd be damned if the ungrateful bitch was going to escape him now.

 

          *I made you, I can break you,* he told her silently. 

 

          He reached out to run his finger along the bruise.  She flinched, but she knew better than to pull away.

 

                                                                                      *        *        *

 

          They passed the next few weeks in strained civility.  She complied with his requests, hanging onto his arm in public, smiling at the photo ops, but it was all half-hearted.  Even with her customary captain's mask, she projected utter misery.  The Starfleet brass wrote it off as understandable grief at the recent tragedies.  The media only cared about her blooming relationship with the handsome Admiral Durant.  Durant got his name in the news.  He was satisfied with the course of their partnership thus far.

 

          He secured a promotion for her and offered it to her as a consolation prize.  She eyed the extra pips disdainfully, unmoved by his gesture.  She might even have refused his offer if he hadn't urged her pointedly to accept.  She accepted the promotion, and was the most sullen person ever promoted at an Admiral's ceremony.

 

          A month went by during their initial arrangement, and the day came when Empek told him,  "She's plotting something."

 

          Durant drew in a breath.  "Are you sure?"

 

          Empek returned his gaze coldly.  "If she's not plotting now, she will be soon.  She's getting a feel for the other officers in Starfleet Command, trying to figure out a way to seek their help without alerting you."  He let Durant digest the implication, and then added,  "It was a mistake to send her back to active service.  You should have forced her to resign."

 

          Durant scowled.  "I need the influence, another vote on the committees."  He looked at Empek carefully, and asked again,  "Are you absolutely sure about this?"

 

          "I've observed her.  I've read the logs of her officers.  I know how her mind works,"  Empek noted.  "She does not fear you... a woman who traveled across the galaxy on a path paved with blood. Violence alone won't cow her.  She was staggered by the initial strike, but once her shock wears off, she'll undo you if you don't set about systematically limiting her."

 

          "So what do you suggest I do?"  Durant asked carefully.

 

          "Tighten your grip," Empek said.  "She can't plot if she remains off balance and powerless.  Restrict her to your residence or your company.  She spends many hours of the day at liberty in her home, or out on her own business.  You can no longer afford to give her that freedom."

 

                                                                            *        *        *

 

          When Janeway returned to her apartment that evening from Starfleet Command, she found it empty.   Her furniture was gone, her replicator removed, her heating unit damaged, her windows smashed.  Even her walls had been vandalized.  All that remained was a note from Durant telling her she could reacquire her possessions if she took up residence in his house.

 

          When she failed to come, Durant dispatched Empek to check on her.  Empek reported to the incredulous Durant that he'd found Janeway sleeping on the barren floor of her empty, freezing apartment.  No mattress, no blanket, yet she was utterly obstinate.  Durant waited several days, wondering how long she'd carry on this ridiculous, stubborn charade.  After four nights passed, and no concession on Janeway's part, he sent Empek to collect her forcibly.

 

          Empek shuffled her into his residence twenty minutes later.  She was composed and uninjured.  Apparently when Empek stormed into her apartment, she had raised a hand to halt his advance.

 

          "You don't need to pounce on me.  I'm coming."  And she had accompanied him with sullen dignity.

 

          Durant was surprised by her unexpected compliance, and it only reinforced just how much he didn't understand about her.  He attempted to bribe her again, this time securing her a nomination for a Medal of Honor.  After she won, she looked at the priceless accolade with scorn, knowing how meaningless it truly was.  She dumped it unceremoniously on Durant's desk, rejecting his offer.

 

          He followed another of Empek's recommendations and began to isolate her.  He first damaged her traditional friendship with Owen Paris by arranging a number of social occasions for her with Paris's rival, Admiral Hayden.   She was pressured into refusing invitations from her old mentor, shunning conversations.  Thanks to Empek, Durant never had to tell her outright to avoid Paris; he simply allowed Empek to punish her on days she was seen interacting with the old Admiral.

 

          The first time Empek beat her, it was without explanation, and it seemed to genuinely catch her off guard.  As many years as she'd been in Starfleet, she had truly never found herself beaten brutally to the point of unconsciousness, and for seemingly no reason.  As she was being treated, she related the incident to Durant, hoping for some measure of protection from his lackey.  She didn't seem to realize until the next beating that Durant was fully cognizant of the situation.  She quickly figured out that the beatings corresponded with her interaction with Admiral Paris, and though she seemed tempted to speak with Paris out of pure spite, her instinct for self-preservation was stronger.  She began to avoid Paris as best she could, and when her old mentor happened to catch her by surprise, the fear and dread of what would await her that night choked her words and stifled her old affection.  Better yet, Janeway even began to resent the oblivious Paris for continually seeking her out and bringing the terrible price upon her.  She believed Empek had eyes everywhere, and she was correct.  Empek related her eroding composure to Durant, who heard it with a certain relish.  She was finally falling into line.

 

          It was easy after that to decide whom she would befriend and whom she would avoid.  Empek combed through her personal logs for information about her crew, to weed out the acceptable from the unacceptable.  He reported to Durant that there were many gaping holes and clearly doctored entries, undoubtedly Janeway's attempt to retain some measure of privacy.  Durant admired her for her cunning while simultaneously ordering her beaten for her presumption.  She feigned innocence well enough, and he let her off the hook after one punishment.  She seemed to have no inclination for her former crew's company anyway, whether out of indifference or fear that she'd invite harm to them.

 

          Durant, meanwhile, grew in stature.  His became a household name, tied as it was to Kathryn Janeway's.  His political aspirations, long ignored, were suddenly relevant and actively supported.  He was a hero by association.  He rode on the wave of good publicity, and his charisma carried him the rest of the way.  Soon, as many eyes were on him as were on his wife.  Whispers began to emerge about his potential candidacy for President of the Federation, and the response was overwhelmingly positive.

 

          The partnership had gone so well that decided that he was going to marry Janeway.  She steadfastly refused, threatened that he was crossing the line, and she wouldn't tolerate it.  Even after Empek tormented her off and on for a week, she wouldn't concede the issue.  Durant didn't need Empek's powers of perception to recognize the fear behind her threats, and he played on her main weakness-- her affection for her former crew.  As soon as their lives were threatened, her protests ceased.

 

          She softened in the weeks before Voyager's one year reunion; she even grew fairly amiable.  Durant assumed that she was attempting to make the best of her situation, and when she offered him a glass of champagne on the afternoon of the reunion, he accepted it without a second thought.

 

          "To new beginnings," she said, raising her glass.

 

          "New beginnings," Durant smiled and clinked his glass with hers, pondering the implications of her toast.  Their brief moments of civility were always welcome, and as he drank from his glass, he didn't notice her eyeing him carefully.

 

          When he started feeling nauseous an hour later, he didn't immediately connect it with the impromptu toast.  As the nausea grew infinitely worse, Janeway dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a wash cloth.

 

          "Oh no," she said, disappointment coloring her voice.  "I guess we're going to have to skip the reunion."

 

          Durant was astute enough to see the scandal it would provoke if Voyager's captain skipped the one year reunion of Voyager's return, and he told her, "You should go.  Just summon Doctor Tondra.  She'll take care of this stomach flu, or whatever it is, and maybe I can catch up to you there."

 

          "Don't push yourself too hard," she said with a sweet smile.

 

          She left his side reluctantly, and by the time Doctor Tondra arrived, she was gone.  The lean, graceful doctor scanned him, and her expression darkened.

 

          "Here," she said softly, and she gave him an injection which instantly cleared up his nausea.

 

          "Jesus, it's gone," he murmured, amazed.  "What was that?"

 

          Her dark eyes flickered to his, a flash of concern in them.  "It neutralized the poison in your bloodstream."

 

          He was stunned.  "Poison?"

 

          "Nothing lethal," Tondra said, snapping closed the tricorder.  "A concentrated dose of ipecac, and a cocktail of other nausea-inducing agents. I don't suppose you know how you ingested it?"

 

          Champagne.  Janeway.  He thought of it with mounting rage.  "That goddamn bitch," he breathed.  She'd manipulated him.  She'd lulled him into trusting her, and then poisoned him long enough to make her escape.  What was she plotting?  He couldn't figure out what she hoped to gain. 

 

          He summoned Empek and then charged to the transporter mat like a man possessed.  By the time he reached the grounds, Janeway had already left the reception.  The crewmembers weren't certain where she'd gone, or if she'd left with anyone. Durant and Empek spent the night hunched over Starfleet Command sensors, combing the planet for her.  Empek used every resource, every connection available, but she seemed to have vanished.  She hadn't left the planet, and she hadn't checked herself into any hotels.  No prominent night establishments had received her business.

 

          The next day Durant walked into headquarters to see her already at work, looking composed and busy.  He approached her menacingly, and she looked up with an expressionless face to meet his rage.

 

          "You're going to have a lot to answer for tonight," he growled softly, aware of the people nearby.  Her expression flickered, but she betrayed no emotion.  "What the hell were you thinking?"

 

          "I was accepting fate," she replied vaguely.  Then, tartly, she added, "That is what you wanted, wasn't it?"

 

          No matter how much he pressed, cajoled, or tormented her, she never revealed what happened the night of that reunion.

 

          Sometimes, like this very moment, as he watched her gaze out the shuttle window during the approach to Deep Space Seven, she'd get an expression on her face that he could not decipher. He believed he'd seen the full range of her emotions, from the shades of affection and gratitude of their early friendship, to the hatred and betrayal of the present. Yet he never could read her face in those rare moments when she seemed to ponder something outside his knowledge. A part of him suspected it had to do with that lost night. Sometimes he wished he had it in him to beat the answer out of her with his own hands. He often came close.

          But in the end, he resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably never know.

 

 

 

Chapter Five

 

          When Chakotay had first returned from the Delta Quadrant, he brought Seven of Nine to meet his sister.  His sister had laughingly accused him of cradle-robbing, but she'd warmed up to Seven quickly enough.  His sister was always a perceptive woman, and she could see a good heart under those Borg implants.  She'd spent a good deal of time with Seven, helping acclimate her to Alpha Quadrant life.  They did things together, the three of them, and his sister would always watch them intently.

 

          One day, she revealed what she was thinking. "You two move like a pair of animals-- always looking for a predator."

 

          Seven had been perturbed by the statement, Chakotay puzzled.  His sister went on to explain that they took everything in as though their very lives depended upon it, lingering at the edge of alarm, waiting to spring at a moment's notice.  Chakotay laughed and told his sister he'd take her word for it.

 

          As Chakotay grew more relaxed and accustomed to the safety of home, he started to realize how stressful life onboard Voyager had been.  Every day, every moment they passed on their journey, there was an underlying awareness of their solitude and peril.  Experience had dampened their worries on a conscious level, but unconsciously they always knew, entering a battle, that if their crewmates failed them, there would be no rescue.  Every sector of space they entered was new and unexplored.  There were no beaten paths, no familiar faces.  They had no idea, forging blindly through the darkness of space, whether the next species they encountered would have a desire for their friendship or a hunger for their blood.

 

          Seven years was a long time to feel that strain, and it had changed them.  Perhaps they did hold themselves differently-- like animals, as his sister had said.  It was an anxiety born of circumstance and perfectly natural.  But he discovered that the change in demeanor was not permanent.  One day, when he'd been home six months, he found himself relaxing, genuinely relaxing; he realized abruptly that he hadn't darted his gaze around the room as he entered, and his body was not still taut in preparation for danger.  The survival mechanism had departed without him realizing it.

 

          And as he grew more relaxed, his infatuation with Seven faded away.  In the Delta Quadrant, a lonely man and an emotionally stunted woman had found their comfort in each other.  At home, circumstances changed things.  He was no longer content with simple comfort.  He was very fond of Seven, but he was not in love her, and he knew in his heart that he never would be.  He recognized that he still clutched to her out of the fear of parting with the familiar, the last vestige of his time on Voyager.  He had to sever that tie if he hoped to move on, and he broke it off as gently as he could. 

 

          He found himself confronted by the frightened girl Seven of Nine on some level still was, and he felt a deep regret for hurting her this way.  Her terror at the disorienting new freedom didn't alter his belief that he was doing the right thing for both of them.  He tried to help her get started, but she spurned his assistance and fled on a transport in the night.  He spent a few days in genuine fear for her before he received the welcome news that she was with the Doctor.  She'd retreated back to the comfort of her old friend, and Chakotay was immensely relieved.

 

          The last of his anxiety left with Seven.  He took a position as a professor, returning to Earth and his intellectual roots.  He mixed with the Native American community of New Mexico, and he reconnected with his culture and spirituality.  He made peace with himself.

 

          And in one night, Kathryn Janeway swept into his world and utterly shattered that peace.

 

          A gullible fool, he'd believed in that look of love and desire gleaming in her eyes, a look he'd wished to see since the day he met her.  He was swept up in pure, vibrant ecstasy.  They made love, and it was more astounding than anything a mortal had a right to feel.  It was beyond the mere physical, it was spiritual.  It was a prayer to the cosmos and a joining of their souls. Chakotay fell asleep holding her with the knowledge that his love for her had never faded, that it was stronger and more potent than he could have imagined.  He'd just tasted the first sweetness of the kind of soul-shattering passion he used to think existed only in books, and he dozed off in utter contentment, anticipating the days and weeks ahead with her, knowing that he'd finally found the elusive fulfillment he'd yearned for all his life.

 

          Hours later, he left the hotel humiliated and desolate, tasting the bitterness of her cruelty.  The woman who a few hours earlier had been the most beautiful in the universe had lifted the illusion and revealed herself to be the most hideous.  The previous night had been a lie.  A rotten lie.  She was toying with him once more, and this time she'd dealt him a lethal blow.

 

          The days and weeks after the reunion were dreadful, the worst.  On Voyager, he always held himself back.  Even as he offered her his affection, he'd protected  the core of his being.  He never gave himself totally to her.  But that night he offered her his very soul and she returned it to him in shreds.  He spent weeks reeling over that rejection, unable to eat, sleep, concentrate.  All he could do was think about her and taste the hurt all over again.

 

          He finally requested a sabbatical from his job, and then he spent months trying to regain his spiritual center, constantly veering back and forth between the desire to hate her for her actions, and the need to find some justifiable motive for them.  In time, he came to recognize the need for justification as wishful thinking.  He buried the memory of that night, the memory of her, and he found it infinitely less painful to hate her than it had ever been to love her.

 

          And burying it was a much easier task, he realized now, back when he never saw her.  The universe was vast, and he hadn't believed the occasion would arise when he'd have to encounter Kathryn again.  He'd distracted himself with a renewal of his archaeological roots and a number of mindless flings with anonymous women. 

 

          Just when Chakotay believed he was getting over her, fate proved a cruel mistress.  That shell of a woman, the hardened, emaciated creature he'd seen in Durant's office aggravated a raw wound, and he spent that night in self-loathing, tormented with the knowledge that he still loved her.

 

                                                                                                *        *        *

 

          On Deep Space Seven, Chakotay spent the initial press reception torn between the anticipation of encountering her and the dread of it.  The thoughts occupied most of his attention.  His date, a pretty blonde whom he'd met only this afternoon in the station cafe, was growing impatient with his distraction.  After a few failed attempts to draw his attention, she changed tactics and began to irritate him with noises about how many things she had to do tonight.

 

          Chakotay finally turned to her and snapped,  "If you want to leave, leave!"

 

          He saw ill-concealed hurt wash over her face, and he was suddenly sorry.  He was troubled tonight, but he had no right to take it out on her.  "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just--" he began.

 

          "Forget it.  I'm going," she said quickly, her eyes flashing.  She turned away from him and stalked off through the crowd.

 

          Chakotay sighed.  That was one woman he'd never coax back.

 

          *Why do I do this to myself?* he wondered.  His love life was tainted by his tangled memories of Janeway.  Every woman he encountered seemed colorless next to her, and those who managed to make an impression on him only aroused his mistrust.  Seska and Riley had both injured his faith in women, and Janeway had delivered the terminal blow.   There could be no relationship if he was incapable of trust, and every fling inevitably ended with some variation of this scene.  Better sooner than later, he supposed.

 

          Chakotay circled the room, searching for a familiar face, absently taking a champagne glass from one of the passing servers.  He raised the glass to his lips, and had just enough time to relish the sharp flavor before he spotted Durant making his way towards him.  Not the familiar face he was hoping for.  He forced his lips into a smile of greeting.

 

          "Chakotay, good to see you again," Durant crowed, heartily enough to draw the attention of the reporters eager for a good photo op.  Undoubtedly his intention.

 

          "Likewise, Admiral Durant," Chakotay responded politely, grasping the hand Durant extended.  He heard the clicks of nearby holo-imagers, and made an effort not to glance their way.

 

          "Are you enjoying the reception, Mr. Chakotay?" Durant inquired.

 

          "Very much, thank you," Chakotay replied.  He wasn't enjoying it in the least.  Like the majority of the reception's attendees, he was here merely to put in face time.

 

          "I take it your journey here was pleasant." 

 

          "As pleasant as could be expected, Admiral.  I was fortunate enough to acquire a company ship.  No charter troubles."

 

          "That's very fortunate.  Space travel these days--"

 

          Chakotay was spared the effort of the stilted conversation when a plump, elderly Admiral approached them.  "Good to see you, John!"

 

          "Always a pleasure, Jeff," Durant replied jovially.  He turned to Chakotay.  "Mr. Chakotay, this is Jeff Roman.  Jeff, this is our man of the hour, Commander Chakotay."

 

          "Former Commander.  It's nice to meet you," Chakotay put in as he reached out to shake Admiral Roman's hand.

 

          He pulled back to sip his champagne as Roman asked, "You're Janeway's man, aren't you?"

 

          Chakotay raised his eyebrows.  That could potentially be a loaded question.  "Yes, we served together on Voyager."

 

          "How marvelous.  I was talking to her just now.  She'll be thrilled to see you.  John, where *is* that pretty little wife of yours?"

 

          Durant was scowling as he distractedly scanned the crowd.  "She was with me a minute ago.  I'm not sure--"

 

          Acutely timed, Kathryn emerged from the crowd.  Her steps slowed when her eyes fell on Chakotay, and she seemed to hang back reluctantly for a split second before she took a few jerky steps forward, as if nudged. Chakotay noticed a tall, powerful man with ash-white hair and cold black eyes trailing closely behind her, and he briefly wondered if he was with her, but as Janeway drew in towards them, the man abruptly veered in another direction and disappeared into the crowd.

 

          "Kathryn, darling," Durant smiled easily.  "It's good of you to join us."  He reached out and looped his arm around her waist in a proprietary manner.  She smiled stiffly as he continued,  "We were just talking about you."

 

          "Oh?  Nothing too bad, I hope," she said in a hollow voice.

 

          Durant chuckled.  "We were just remarking on how inconsiderate you could be to old friends."  His tone was teasing.

 

          Janeway looked at him blankly, then suddenly comprehended.  She turned to Chakotay, her eyes darting up to his briefly and then away as she shook his hand.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  I-- it's good to see you again, Commander."

 

          "And you, Admiral," Chakotay clipped in a perfunctory voice, releasing her hand.

 

          Her expression was blank as she asked,  "Are you enjoying the reception?"  He knew the Captain's Mask when he saw it.

 

          "Naturally."  A part of him was rankled by her cold composure and the memories it brought him.  Forgetting their company, he swiped subtly with,  "I haven't seen Admiral Paris yet.  I assume you invited him to this gala?"  He knew perfectly well of the deterioration of her relationship with her old mentor.

 

          The remark was aimed to shake that composure, and it succeeded beyond his expectations.  Her expression wavered, and she grew very pale.  She turned to her husband seemingly for help, saying unevenly,  "I--don't--know... John?"

 

          Chakotay looked at Durant to see a flash of suspicion in the other man's eyes before the old warmth reasserted itself.  "He was invited, of course, but I understand he had other pressing matters."

 

          "Rumor has it he's been suffering from a bout of ill health," Admiral Roman put in.  "Headaches, joint problems.  He's been taking it easy."

 

          "Really?" Durant said with concern.  "Perhaps he should see my personal physician, if he's in pain."

 

          "How kind of you, honey," Janeway suddenly chimed, her smile unsettling, her sharp eyes flitting to Durant's.  "I know you would put a speedy end to all of Admiral Paris's pain if you could."

 

          Chakotay caught the potential double meaning of the words and wondered if it was intentional.  Roman clearly missed it.  He laughed.

 

          "That's old John for you, always worrying too much about the rest of us."

 

          Durant held Janeway's eye, smiling thinly.  "My wife knows how fond I am of the old man, contrary to popular belief." 

 

          She tore her gaze from her husband's.  "Yes, he's quite fond," she echoed dully.  Chakotay watched her look away with unfocused eyes and an empty smile. 

 

          "Ah, you two," Roman chuckled, oblivious to the interplay,  "Don't worry your heads.  Just pretend we old geezers are still vital young officers, and we'll deal with age the way we want to-- through utter denial."

 

          Uneasy laughter from the other three.  The conversation continued in that awkward manner for a few minutes before they dispersed.

 

          Chakotay had spent the days after his first encounter with Durant and Janeway reconsidering his initial notion that they loathed each other.  He'd wonder whether jealousy had colored his view of their relationship, or if he'd simply caught them on a bad day.  As he pondered them now, however, he began to realize that his first impression might not have been purely knee-jerk emotionalism. 

 

          And as the night progressed, he began to wonder if the truth wasn't something far more ominous. 

 

                                                                                      *        *        *

 

          They retired near the end of the reception, Chakotay returning his quarters, Janeway and Durant returning to theirs just around the bend of the corridor.

 

          Janeway's head was swirling pleasantly from a little too much champagne on a near empty stomach, and Durant seemed unusually thoughtful.  She paid him little heed as she thought over the sporadic encounters with Chakotay throughout the reception.  Just having him nearby had done something for her, heartened her.  He clearly loathed her, and he did nothing to hide the fact, but she couldn't hold it against him when that had been her intention.  It hurt her on some level, but she knew it would destroy her outright if Durant discovered they were in love and murdered him for it.  She could settle with his contempt, knowing the price the other emotion might bring.  Just standing in the same room as Chakotay, catching whatever side glimpses she could manage, made for the most cheerful evening she'd had in... God knows how long.

 

          "He was watching you the whole evening," Durant said out of nowhere.

 

          She looked over at him, catching her breath.  He was half undressed, seated on the end of the bed, watching her with his clear, perceptive eyes.

 

          "Who was watching me?"

 

          "You know who.  Chakotay."

 

          She felt the blood rush from her cheeks, and she turned away from him to look out the view port.

 

          "I think he's in love with you," Durant continued.

 

          Janeway felt a tingle in her chest.  Was that even possible, after all she'd done?

 

          "He loathes me."

 

          She heard Durant rising to his feet, and she heard him opening and closing a drawer.

 

          "Love, loathing, they go hand in hand sometimes."  He was approaching behind her.

 

          Anxiety slowly crept over her.  "So what if he does.  I still despise him.  Does it bother you?"  After everything she'd done to protect Chakotay, if Durant found out now...

 

          "No," he said, and suddenly his arm encircled her waist, hugging her back against him.  "It's always good to have something another man wants."  His lips tickled the back of her neck as he pressed something against her side.

 

          Janeway went stiff in his arms.  "You *don't* have me," she growled, and almost pulled away before the hypo stung into her hip.

 

          She jerked away in sudden alarm, whirling on him angrily.  "What was that?  What the hell was that?"

 

          He looked at her coolly, unfazed by her outburst.  "A fertility enhancer.  It should last about a month.  Since you missed our appointment, the good doctor was willing to supply an alternative--"

 

          "You had no right--" she began furiously.

 

          "I had every right!" he roared, taking a menacing step closer to her.  "I gave you the chance to conceive the easy way, and you backed out on me.  Now we try it my way."

 

          She glared at him.  "If you think I'm just going to lie back and let you fuck me, you have another thing coming, mister."  She glared him down, willing to bet that the threat of a fight would dampen any impulses he might have.

 

          Her instincts proved correct.  His eyes raked over her expression, gauging her resolve.  It must not have seemed worth the potential damage, because he backed down.

 

          "We'll see about that," he threatened quietly.  He took a few steps away, then whirled back on her.  "What the hell's wrong with you today?  You're behaving deplorably.  From that inappropriate Paris comment to this resistance now."  His voice dropped, and his eyes glittered.  "You should be very, very careful about pursuing this course, Kathryn.  Some of your crew might pay the price for your little change in attitude."

 

          With that parting remark, he turned and retreated to the bed.  Shaken, Kathryn settled herself on the couch.

 

Chapter Six

 

          The next evening, the formal ceremony went by quickly enough.  The gist of the message was something along the lines of 'taking Free Trade back from the monopolies', redefining it as freedom for the little man against the forces of universalization.  The speakers were well chosen and articulate, but they paled in comparison to the keynote speaker.  John Durant took everyone's breath away with his passionate speech.  Even Chakotay had to admit the man could captivate an audience.  His presence, combined with the pomp and celebration of freedom and justice, proved magnetic.  The press was glued to the spectacle, and everyone involved came off shining like gold.

 

          Chakotay received far less attention from Durant the night after the ceremony than he had the night before.  Clearly, after the ceremony concluded, his purpose had been served.  As soon as the holopics had been taken, Durant had little use for him, and he no longer made an active effort to charm Janeway's former first officer.  He watched Durant work the room, laughing and cavorting with high ranking officials and wealthy political enthusiasts.  Janeway was never far behind him, smiling dutifully at times, but for the most part looking bored out of her mind and increasingly exhausted.  The only spark of life he saw in her were in those occasional moments they caught eyes, right before one of them looked away.

 

          He couldn't drink the synthehol because he needed a clear head to navigate his ship in a few hours, so the reception crawled by agonizingly slowly.  When he'd put in enough face time to undoubtedly satisfy the PR Executive at Brenner and Associates, he retreated to his quarters to wait out the time before departure.

 

                                                                                                *        *        *

 

          Janeway's eyelids drooped.  She swayed on her feet with a sudden wave of exhaustion, and the glass of champagne she'd been nursing would have tumbled out of her suddenly slack grip if Durant hadn't reached out and grabbed it.  God, she was tired.  She looked at him imploringly.

 

          "John, I'm tired.  Please let me go back--"

 

          "Of course, Kathryn," he said warmly, surprising her with his concession.  "We've covered all the bases here.  I'm ready to go if you are."

 

          Too exhausted for scruples, she clutched his arm half for support and half in gratitude as they left the reception.  By the time they reached their quarters, her legs would barely hold her.  She collapsed onto a plush chair, and her head slumped back against the headrest.

 

          "Thank you.  I'm just worn out..." she breathed, her eyes sinking closed.

 

          "Of course you are, honey.  Just relax and try to sleep."

 

          "I know you need the face time--"

 

          "Don't worry about it.  There will be other receptions.  Just take care of yourself."

 

          There was something about his tone that roused unease in her increasingly foggy mind.  With an effort, she opened her eyes to catch him watching her.  He looked away and began to strip off his formal dress uniform.

 

          But...

 

          It wasn't worth thinking about.  She just needed to lie down.  If she didn't get up and walk over to the couch now, she wouldn't be able to later.  No matter; she could lie in this chair.  She could lie here for a week.  Her eyelids began to sink closed again, and she almost didn't latch onto the problem, but the thought surfaced even as her brain grew fuzzy:  Durant was never this considerate, and she was never this physically drained.  Never.  There was something wrong here.

 

          She forced her eyes wide open as a terrible suspicion came over her.  She always watched what she ate and drank around him; she rarely took something directly from his hands.  But at the receptions she disregarded that rule.  She'd always assumed that he wouldn't have the audacity to drug her in the presence of others, but if he'd given her something that acted gradually enough, he could fool them, fool her...

 

          And with that fertility drug he gave her yesterday, she knew why.

 

          She didn't think she'd have the strength to stand up, and for a moment, her exhaustion almost compelled her to resign to the seductive lure of inaction.

 

          Her mind flashed briefly to Chakotay, making love to her that night in Italy.  Mark, Jaffen.  Sex was a lovely thing, and Durant was a physically appealing man.  She could force herself to accept it.  He probably had a good deal of experience.  Durant, tall, polished, fit...  Durant...

 

          The chill of reality roused her.  Durant, the man who'd killed her family and crewmen, who'd stolen her life from her, ordered her beaten, humiliated, destroyed her friendships, ruined her happiness... Durant playing with her breasts... Durant thrusting his penis into her body...  Durant's semen spilling into her vagina...

 

          No.  No that.  That was too much.  Not him.  Not ever.

 

          With a Herculean effort, she forced herself to inch forward and totter to her feet.  Once there, her legs felt heavy as though she'd run ten miles, and her breath was coming in short gasps.  She swayed, and for a moment she feared she'd fall.

 

          Durant stood watching her from across the room.  He began to approach her.  "Kathryn..?"

 

          Nearly stumbling, she flailed her hand out for the nearest weapon she could find-- a half-empty bottle of Saurian Brandy from Admiral Roman.  She brought it down against the edge of the shelf and it shattered.  She raised the splintered glass in front of her threateningly.

 

          "What are you doing?"  Durant asked incredulously, keeping his distance.

 

          "What do you think I'm doing?" she yelled.  "You drugged me!  You goddamn coward-- you couldn't take me in an honest fight?  It's not going to work... I'm not going to let you!"

 

          Durant watched her for a second, thinking the situation over, then dipped his head in acknowledgment.  "You're right.  I drugged you.  Go ahead and stand there.  You can fight the sedative as long as you like, but it will do its work eventually." He paused a moment, watching her struggle to stay on her feet.  He continued evenly, "Sooner or later, Kathryn, and from the look of you I'd say sooner rather than later, you're going to collapse.  You might as well make it easy on yourself; put away the bottle and sit down.  You don't want to fall on that broken glass, now, do you?"

 

          Exhaustion rolled over her in waves, and even as Durant said his words, her legs began to tremble beneath her weight.

 

          "I have lubrication.  If I can't get you ready, I'll use it," he said as if at a distance.  "I don't want to hurt you.  I promise it won't hurt you.  You'll probably like it.  It will seem like nothing more than a pleasant dream..."

 

          It would be easier... It might only take tonight.  All she had to do was sit down and close her eyes, let the cloud drift over her, and when her mind cleared,  the pregnancy business would be over and she wouldn't have to worry again...  Just a dream...

 

          She felt her legs slowly buckling beneath her, and her body sank down onto the edge of the chair.  Her elbows braced against her lap as she fought her own weakness.  What else could she do?  Where could she go, who could help her?  It was inevitable.  She couldn't stop it...

 

          Somewhere in her vision, she could see Durant approaching warily.  Her arms were trembling with the effort of keeping herself upright, and she fought against her creeping fatigue.  She swayed towards sleep, paused just short of it, then back again in time to see Durant closing in on her.

 

          Her thoughts were fractured and increasingly muddled.  He was watching her with an intent expression as he approached her.  He reached down and pulled her up, holding her limp body against his with one arm, his free hand fumbling to release the bottle from her flaccid grip.  He worked it from her fingers, and set it gently on the shelf behind her.  He reaffirmed his grip around her waist, and ran one of his fingers lightly across her lips.

 

          Her head fell backwards without her volition, and he dipped down to kiss her neck.  "Don't be afraid," he whispered against her skin.  His hand tickled down her body, caressing her breast, finding her nipple through her uniform, pinching at it until it hardened.  The hand journeyed down to rest between her legs, his fingers rubbing her sex through her pants.  "Kathryn Janeway, you infuriatingly proud woman... I'm going to make you itch for it."

 

          The crass assertion cut through her haze.  She could feel him growing hard against her side, and through her confusion emerged the realization, with cold clarity, that this wasn't a one-time deal.  He could have given her something stronger to render her completely unconscious, but he wanted her awake enough to feel; he wanted her to like this because he hoped for her cooperation in future encounters.  Even if she got pregnant immediately, he'd do it again.  He would never risk his political career by taking a mistress; she would be the only outlet he had.

 

          The sluggishness descended again, but she snapped back just in time before totally losing her strength.  She slithered her arm back and fumbled for the bottle.  Her hand brushed against the cool glass, and she wrapped her fingers around it.  Durant began to ease them towards the bedroom, and it was then that she lashed out, jabbing the broken bottle blindly into whatever target it could encounter.  It made contact with something solid, and she heard a cry of pain.  She drove it mercilessly forward again, and saw blood spurt through her fingertips.  The bottle slipped out of her limp fingers, and Durant dropped her and flinched away.  She collapsed to her hands and knees, unable to muster the strength to rise.  Even now her arms shook, and she didn't even think she could manage to remain kneeling.

 

          It was then her eyes fell upon the trail of blood on the carpet.  Durant's blood. 

 

          She'd stabbed Durant.  She'd drawn Durant's blood.

 

          Sudden fear and panic jolted through her at what were sure to be the consequences for this action, propelling her upright, and sending her blindly through the door and out into the corridor. The world was whirling and fuzzy in front of her, and her every muscle was straining under her weight.  She tried to run through the haze, repeatedly stumbling over her own feet.  She wasn't sure where she was heading, or if he was following.  The world was collapsing around her as she slumped by Chakotay's door, hitting at and nearly missing the chime.  Her legs crumpled beneath her, and she sank down to the floor.

 

          Any second Durant would come, or worse, Empek.

 

          *Please, Chakotay, be there...*

 

          Her eyes sank closed as her world blurred and darkened around her.

 

                                                                                                *        *        *

 

          Chakotay heard the chime, and wondered who could be at his door.  He thought he'd handled all the obligatory press interviews already.  He was scheduled to depart in an hour; he didn't have time for another one...

 

          He opened the door, expecting a reporter, finding Kathryn Janeway, still in dress uniform, sagging against the wall by his feet.  She looked like she'd passed out, and he stood there a split second staring at her, too stunned to move.  Finally, he leaned forward, scooped her up, and hauled her out of the corridor into his quarters.

 

          "Gods, Kathryn, are you drunk?"

 

          Even before he finished asking the question, he saw the blood smeared on her hand and her tunic.  He felt a thrill of alarm, and he laid her gently out on the floor, looking for the wound.

 

          "Were you attacked?" he demanded.  He thought he heard a faint moan.  He leaned in close to her ear and asked loudly,  "Kathryn, are you injured?"  Her eyelids trembled.  He shook her lightly and her eyes finally crept laboriously open.  "Kathryn?"

 

          She looked at him without recognition for a few moments, then, her eyes sinking closed again, she said in a slow, slurred murmur, "Please hide me."

 

          His brow furrowed.  "Hide you?  From who?  Who did this to you?"

 

          Her eyes were closed, and he tried shaking her again. She showed no sign of rousing this time.  He pressed his fingers to her pulse, and was relieved to find it strong.  He put his hand under her nose and found her breathing steadily.  He conducted a thorough visual check, and saw no wound; the blood wasn't hers.

 

          Chakotay paused in his ministrations to catch a breath.  The shock of the situation was wearing off, and he began to feel alarmed and confused.  Hide her.  Hide her from what, from whom?  Could it be Durant?  Some impulse had clearly sent her to Chakotay and not her husband.

 

          Hide her.

 

          Despite his powerful resentment towards her, the thought of refusing her help never crossed his mind.  He removed the comm badge from her tunic and tossed it into the waste incinerator.  No tracking her that way.  He lifted her up onto his bed and ran a tricorder over her.  It told him she was still partially conscious, and when he pinched her, he could see her eyebrows furrow in discomfort.  She was conscious-- incoherent and utterly paralyzed-- but conscious.

 

          As he expected, there was a muscle relaxant of sorts in her system.  When he uploaded the molecular structure of the sedative into the computer, the computer identified it as Nerium, a drug banned in Federation space.  It  kicked in too slowly for hospital use, and addicted too easily for public distribution.   There was a small market for the drug among a few junkies still hooked from it's brief period of legality.

 

          He closed the tricorder.  "Well, Kathryn, I always told you to cut out the caffeine, but this isn't much of an improvement."   There was no response from her prone form.

 

          Chakotay was at a loss.

 

          She wanted him to hide her.  He didn't know who was after her.  He was supposed to depart soon; it would arouse suspicion from her pursuers if he delayed.  Had there been a crime?  Had she hurt someone?  Why would someone drug her?  What the hell was he supposed to do now?

 

          The questions swirled around in his head for a few minutes as he set about packing his clothes, uncertain what else to do.  It wasn't until ten minutes later that a door chime cut into his thoughts.

 

          Throwing a glance over at Janeway to make sure she was safely concealed, he called,  "Come in!"

 

          The door slid open to reveal the massive man with the bleach-white hair whom he'd spotted only briefly at yesterday's reception.  The man's cold black eyes rested on Chakotay, and Chakotay instinctively drew forward to prevent any intrusion by this man into his domain.

 

          "Forgive me for the interruption, Commander," he said in a flat voice, "But have you seen Admiral Janeway around?"

 

          Chakotay blinked once, twice, then said, "No.  Why?  Who are you?"

 

          The man hesitated, then suddenly Durant emerged from behind the tall man, looking slightly frazzled, clutching his side as though he'd been injured and was trying to hide it.  "This is Empek.  He's with me, Chakotay," Durant explained with a weak smile.  "A friend."

 

          "Is Admiral Janeway missing?" Chakotay asked with mock alarm.

 

          Empek was scrutinizing him carefully as Durant chuckled.  "It's nothing, really.  You see, Kathryn had a little too much to drink tonight, and you know how poor a head she has for alcohol.  She left the reception early, and we're afraid she might have gotten lost on her way back."

 

          He was a good liar.  A very good liar.  Between his smooth deception and the menace of his large friend, Chakotay could see a formidable force.  But Chakotay was a good liar, too.

 

          "I'm sure she's all right, then.  I'm scheduled to depart in half an hour, but I could delay if you truly need my help," Chakotay said innocently, folding his arms over his broad chest.

 

          The large man sent Durant a look, and Durant suddenly smiled dismissively.  "No, I'm sure it's fine.  Don't let this disrupt your plans.  Thanks for your time, Commander."

 

          Chakotay nodded, and the men traveled off down the corridor.

 

          After the door slid shut, Chakotay wondered why, if they thought Kathryn had disappeared, they were conducting the search themselves and not summoning station security teams.

 

          He wandered back into the bedroom and looked down at her.  He ran his gaze over the dark circles under her eyes, the skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones.  So thin.  He remembered that her weight always dropped sharply in stressful times.  He thought back to her clear unease in Durant's office, and at the reception.  Her double-pronged remark about Admiral Paris shot into mind..

 

          He thought back further, to the first reunion.  "Just one night, let's forget everything that's happened, and everything that's to come..."  She'd whispered that to him.  He was too far gone to dwell on her words then.  They took on an unsettling new meaning now.

 

          That reunion... the strange intensity in her eyes, her vehement appeal to leave  with her immediately...  The next day, her tears even as she declared her indifference to him and her love for another.

 

          Her abandonment of her friends, the people for whom two years earlier she would gladly have marched into an inferno.

 

          And when he thought about it, even the way she moved... tense, sharp.  His sister had said it about him a long time ago, and he truly saw it now.  An animal, always alert, always on guard for some new danger.  She'd been safe at home for over two years, but something had kept her in that state of fear.

 

          Chakotay decided then that she was leaving with him.  He would beam her onto his ship and slip away.

 

          If he was wrong, it would give her time to wake up and explain the situation to him without any possible outside coercion.  If she had a decent explanation for him, he would allow that he'd overreacted and return her to the station.  It was a mistake easily remedied, and he could always stave off her wrath by pointing out her delirious plea for his help.  He'd return the company ship a day or two late, and avoid spending every night for the rest of his life wondering if he'd abandoned the one woman he'd truly loved to a pack of wolves.

 

          But if he was right, if there was something happening...

 

          If he was right then there was no time for delay.