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Chapter Text

Admiral Paris slipped into the hall five minutes before the end of the lecture. His arrival went unnoticed by everyone apart from the professor at the front of the room. If he was perturbed by the Admiral's arrival, he didn't show it, but he did end the lesson a few minutes before the bell was due to ring.

Most of the students were too buoyed by the early finish to notice the Admiral lurking in the back row - even on a good day, Professor Chakotay's classes ran for a good ten minutes after the bell. The few students who did notice shot the Admiral quizzical looks and a couple of the bolder ones lingered in the aisles hoping to catch a snippet of whatever the two men had to discuss. It was no secret that there was no love lost between the Admiral, who sponsored Starfleet Academy's Command Track Training Programme and Captain Chakotay, who taught its Advanced Tactics course. Only Admiral Janeway had been known to be able to broker peace between the two, but she was currently off world on a diplomatic mission.

Chakotay stood with his back to the room gathering his padds slowly and stuffing them into a worn leather briefcase. It wasn't until the last straggler had left the room that he spoke, his voice low and gruff. "What happened?"

"We've lost her shuttle."

"'Lost' as in you can't find it, or 'lost' as in it was blown to smithereens?"

Admiral Paris tracked his was through the desks and chairs to the front of the room. "It disappeared from sensors. The Homestead hasn't discovered any debris, nor was it able to pick up a further warp trail from the shuttle's last known location."

"She told you this would happen. She told you she didn't trust them." Chakotay fumbled with the clasp of his briefcase.

"Kathryn knew the risks, but like any good officer, she was doing her duty."

Chakotay's eyes met the Admiral's for the first time. "She was following your orders."

"She was following Starfleet's orders."

There was a long pause before Chakotay spoke again. "I assume you'll let us take Voyager out help with the search."

"Need I remind you, Captain, that Voyager and its crew are grounded."

Chakotay made to protest but the Admiral cut him off. "And we already have the Homestead out there, doing a perfectly capable job."

"Capable isn't enough! No one knows her like we do and no crew would be more tireless in their efforts. Come on, Owen, this is Kathryn we're talking about. She loves you like a father and I know you care for her too."

Owen smiled sadly at Chakotay. "That I do, Chakotay. That I do. And that's why we have protocol - to make decisions for us when our judgments are too clouded. You of all people should understand that."

It was an age old story. Sira, a small planet on the outskirts of Federation space had finally met the requirements for Federation membership. Whilst a large number of the Siran people welcomed this development, a small but powerful faction wanted to preserve Siran independence and their old ways.

"I don't trust their President one bit," Kathryn had confided to Chakotay one evening as they sat on the veranda of her San Francisco apartment watching the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge. "He makes all the right noises, but he doesn't seem truly excited at the prospect of joining the Federation."

"Then why do you think he's doing it?"

"Ratifying the membership treaty?"

Chakotay nodded.

"It what the people want. And he wants to stay in power." Kathryn sighed. "Thousands of years and the stories never seem to change."

"That's not like you," said Chakotay, reaching over to massage her forearm tenderly. At the quizzical arch of her eyebrow, he elaborated. "You have always been the more idealistic of the two of us; more willing to give people a chance."

Kathryn shrugged. "When I accepted this commission, I was hoping to be able to influence Federation politics and mould the future of Starfleet. Instead, I fly around shaking people's hands and fixing my thumbprint to documents. There's no real challenge, Chakotay. No space anomaly to investigate or innocent civilisation to rescue."

"I think the Siran people will be plenty grateful when they receive their first aid package."

Kathryn scowled at him. "You know what I mean."

"Have you shared your concerns with Owen?"

"About President Keja or about my commission."

"Well, I was thinking about President Keja, but both."

"Yes and no. I told Owen how I felt about Keja, but that's just it - they're just feelings. Even if Keja isn't enthusiastic about Federation membership, he's already committed himself. The negotiators have already ironed out the finer details - there's nothing left to do but hold a signing ceremony, cut some ribbons and drink some tea. As for my commission, I'm sure I'll find a way to make it work. You know some people aren't very happy with me for signing off on Seven's transfer and I don't want to rock any more boats." She gave him a crooked grin. "For the time being, at least."

Two days later she had deposited her dog Molly Mark 2 (or Mark 2 for short) at his flat, given him a friendly farewell peck on the cheek and flown out the door to catch her transport to Utopia Planetia where the Homestead was waiting to take her and the rest of her diplomatic corp to Sira.

That had been a little over a week ago. Now, ensconced in the privacy of his office, Chakotay couldn't - and wouldn't - accept that their last few moments together had been so casual and unceremonious. They had been through tougher scrapes in the Delta Quadrant and it would take far more than a missing shuttle for Chakotay to believe that the worst had happened.

His gaze fell on a framed photograph by his computer console. It had been taken a couple of months ago at Naomi Wildman's seventh birthday party, which coincidentally also marked the six month anniversary of Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant. In it, the birthday girl stood flanked by both parents in front of a Voyager-shaped cake. To her left, Seven of Nine and Tuvok gazed serenely into the camera and next to them Harry Kim beamed proudly at his new girlfriend, Gabriella Lau. Tom and B'Elanna Paris were at the other end of the line up trying to contain a rambunctious Miral Paris, who was leaning precariously out of her mother's arms to reach for the large cake, almost toppling Kathryn Janeway over in the process. Laughingly, Kathryn had gripped at Chakotay's jacket to steady herself and, instinctively, Chakotay's arms had snaked around her waist to hold her in place.

Kathryn had groaned when she spotted it on his desk. "Of all the photos to display..."

"I like it. It's very us," he'd said, too defensively.

She'd given him a wry smile. "You just like it because it shows you rescuing a damsel in distress."

He'd chuckled. "You got me there."

"Make me a copy, won't you?" She'd said, taking him by surprise.

"Oh?"

"This damsel would like a reminder that she needs to be rescued every now and then," she'd said softly, her eyes holding his for just a moment longer than they should have.

He smiled wistfully. It had been like that for a few months now - subtle flirtations, lingering looks and friendly hugs that lasted just a fraction too long. It was just as it had been on Voyager before he had started seeing Seven, only now they didn't have protocol keeping them apart. Nor was his relationship with Seven much of an obstacle. He and Seven had ended things amicably shortly after their return to Earth on the (separate) counsel of their Starfleet mandated therapists. Instead, something much larger loomed in Kathryn and Chakotay's way. Something so obtrusive and yet so eluding that whenever Chakotay tried to probe at it, it blurred at the edges and slipped from his grasp.

Did Kathryn feel it too? He wondered. Did she understand it?

He rubbed his eyes to shake of the haze of introspection that had settled over him. All this speculation would be of little use if he didn't find her and bring her back to him. The edges of a plan began to form as his tacticians mind rattled into gear. If Owen Paris thought that he would sit idly by whilst Kathryn Janeway was in danger, he had better think again.

TBC

Chapter Text

"I can't decide whether to call it a 'starttle' or a 'shutship'," said Tom Paris jovially from where he lounged at the helm of his latest brainchild - a starship/shuttle hybrid.

"It's small enough to appear completely innocuous, but powerful enough to do some serious scans and calculations... or damage, whichever way you're so inclined," he added, reciting from the pitch he'd made to a panel of Starfleet Admirals some months earlier, when seeking funding for the project.

"But the vessel belongs to Starfleet, doesn't it?" Seven asked, as she appraised the spacious cockpit. "And I believe that Admiral Paris made it clear to Captain Chakotay that the Homestead and the Homestead alone will conduct Starfleet's search for Admiral Janeway."

"But this ship is still a prototype. It hasn't been consigned to the fleet yet," B'Elanna explained from her perch on the engineering console. In her arms, little Miral Paris gurgled happily, as though in agreement.

"A deep space flight is next on our testing schedule," added Tom. "It won't look suspicious at all - at least, not until its too late. It's your call though Chakotay..."

All eyes turned to look expectantly at the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood half cast in shadows at the back of the room. He hadn't said much when Tom and B'Elanna had given him the guided tour of their new ship, but Tom knew that he was mulling over his options, playing through each possible scenario, trying to determine which would lead to the best outcome. "Its exactly what we need, but I'm taking it alone."

"How very Captain Janeway of you," said Tom with a chuckle. "But that would never work. It would look incredibly suspicious if anyone but me or B'Elanna were seen flying this baby. Besides, given your track record with shuttles, I'd be crazy to leave you with it unsupervised."

"Think carefully about this, Tom," Chakotay warned. "About what this would do to your relationship with Owen. You two are finally getting things back on track. It would be much easier for him to think that I just took off with the ship."

"I don't care what he thinks," said Tom, suddenly serious. "I've spent my whole life trying and failing to please him. Well, this time he's disappointed me. I always thought he had a soft spot for Admiral Janeway. I mean she lived up to his expectations more than any of his children ever did. Not to let us help with the rescue effort just... just doesn't make sense!"

"I disagree," said Seven coolly, earning herself scathing looks from Tom and B'Elanna. "It isn't logical for any of us to attempt this mission. It assumes that the Homestead's crew is incapable of the task and puts additional lives and resources at risk."

"If you don't think that we should go looking for the Admiral, what are you doing here?" B'Elanna growled. As if sensing her mother's rage, Miral stilled and observed the scene with wide eyes.

"On the contrary, if there's one thing I've learnt from Admiral Janeway its that the most logical course of action doesn't always yield the best results. I think that Admiral Janeway would come looking for me if I went missing under similar circumstances and I intend to do the same for her."

Placated, B'Elanna stood up. "Good, that settles it then. I can have this thing ready to go in the hour. I'll have to do some tinkering on the way though - its not quite battle ready yet."

"Wait, what?!" said Tom, aghast. "You're not coming! Who's going to look after Miral?"

"She's coming with us, obviously." At Tom and Chakotay's striken looks, B'Elanna added, "You need me to keep this ship going and Miral needs me to keep herself going. Like it or lump it, boys."

"B'Elanna," said Chakotay cautiously, in a tone of voice he usually reserved for negotiations with deranged dictators. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"You stay out of this," she snapped. "She's our child."

"B'Elanna, what if something were to happen to Miral. We'd never forgive ourselves."

"And what if something happened to Kathryn, or - god forbid - to the rest of you because of something I could easily have prevented. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. No, we're better off together. Miral will be fine. We'll take extra precautions."

"That makes no sense, this is exactly why we resigned our commissi-"

Seven cleared her throat. "The Captain and I will begin our preparations and leave you to your domestic disagreement."

But Tom and B'Elanna were too busy bickering to pay her any attention.

It was B'Elanna who ultimately (and perhaps unsurprisingly) won the squabble, although now, two days into the trip, she and Tom were still arguing over the most effective safety protocols for Miral. As they bickered in the aft section of the newly christened Alpha Flyer, Chakotay and Seven sat idly in the cockpit, watching the stars streak by as the autopilot guided them to their destination. It was the first time that they had truly been alone since discussing the "termination" of their relationship.

"How are things on Vulcan?" Chakotay asked casually, keen that there should be no awkwardness between them.

I am finding my preparations for the Kolinahr unfulfilling - just as Admiral Janeway predicted."

"Oh?" Chakotay struggled to reign in his surprise. Only two months ago, Seven had been adamant that she leave Starfleet and undertake the sacred Vulcan ritual by which all emotions were purged. Even more surprising was the news that Kathryn had opposed the idea. When Starfleet had fought tooth and nail to keep Seven within their ranks (even going so far as to consider depriving her of her autonomous rights on grounds that she held information vital to the Federation's national security) Kathryn had fought back. Finally and at great risk to her career, Kathryn's first act as a new admiral had been to unilaterally sign off on Seven's resignation.

"My studies seem to be defeating their purpose. I am now more acutely aware of my emotions, but I have come to realise that I..." Seven paused, uncharacteristically searching for the right word, "... that they can be an asset."

When Chakotay didn't say anything, Seven continued. "As part of the preparations for the Kolinahr you are asked to identify the strongest memories that you have attached to certain emotions. I realised that my feelings have often acted as a powerful moral compass. I... have learnt from them. For example, with the Tsunkatse, with Axum and even with you."

"Then it sounds to me like the Kolinahr was anything but a waste. Although I have to confess that I never understood why you wanted to study for it in the first place."

"I used to think that my feelings were a liability. That they impaired by judgement and prevented me from taking the most efficient course of action. Not to mention that Admiral Janeway was always encouraging me to understand and embrace my emotions and I wanted to prove her wrong."

Chakotay chuckled. "Like a petulant teenager."

"Quite. Counsellor Troi observed that I had come to treat the Admiral as a parental figure. You too for that matter."

Chakotay blanched. Deanna Troi had said something similar to him. She'd noted that Chakotay's emotional past was a complex one, tinged with loss, betrayal and many fleeting but complicated relationships. It was unsurprising to her that he had therefore turned to Seven, who delineated and dealt with her feelings in a very straightforward and transparent way. The emotional simplicity that he was looking for was exactly what she didn't need at this point of her development, when she should be learning about the convoluted messiness that feelings can bring.

"It occurs to me," Seven was saying, "That Admiral Janeway was often far more insightful that I gave her credit for. You know, she counselled me against my relationship with you."

Chakotay's throat suddenly felt dry. "She did?"

"Yes. I asked for her opinion and she said that she didn't think I had sufficient emotional maturity to be with a man like you."

"What else did she say?" he asked, with feigned nonchalance.

"She said that you required "delicate unravelling". I was unsure what she meant, but she would not elaborate. She said that she had too much "skin in the game" to comment further."

"Really?" said Chakotay, feeling partly bemused and party violated at having been discussed so intimately without his knowledge.

Seven continued, unaware of his discomfort. "I assume she meant that she knew us both too well and did not want to interfere further in our relationship, although I would argue that what little she did say was interfering en-"

Before Seven could finish, her console beeped and she leaned forward to study the readout. "We are within sensor range of the Homestead. Engaging cloaking device..." A pause and then, "Cloak engaged."

"It occurs to me, Captain," said Seven, as Chakotay summoned Tom and B'Elanna to the cockpit. "We have not discussed how best to determine the Admiral's last known location."

"Haven't we told you, Seven?" He asked, as he pointed up to the Homestead, which was looming ever larger above their heads in the view screen. "We have friends in high places."

TBC

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Harry Kim was tired and frustrated. He had been studying the sector of space around Admiral Janeway's last known location for hours now to no avail. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that the Admiral's shuttle had just vanished into thin air.

He was about to replicate his third coffee of the evening when he noticed a blinking red light on the periphery of his console notifying him of an error in the waste processing systems. As much as he wanted to ignore it and focus on tracking down the Admiral, he also wanted to impress Captain Lundy, his new commanding officer. That meant ensuring that the response times in his weekly stats were low. Besides, he rationalised, it seemed like a routine error that wouldn't take long to fix and a break from searching for the Admiral might actually do him some good.

He studied the read out before him. Odd, he thought, there isn't anything wrong with the waste systems. He ran the code underlying the error message, hoping it might point him in the right direction and found the problem instantly - the code had corrupted. A simple reset should fix it. His finger hovered over the reset button. Something felt off. He was sure he had seen the corrupt code before. Where had that been? He stared at the screen for a good few minutes before it hit him. It was the same code that Seska had used to communicate with Crewman Jonas after she had left Voyager. But Seska and Jonas were dead, weren't they? In his line of work, you could never be too sure. It definitely seemed like too much of a coincidence for this code to have cropped up now, when Admiral Janeway's was missing. Curiosity got the better of him and against his better judgement, Harry tapped into the communication.

Immediately, his screen flickered to life to display an all too familiar face. "Harry, good man! We knew you'd figure it out!" Said Tom, beaming at him proudly. Behind Tom, Harry could make out B'Elanna's smiling face. Chakotay and Seven stood next to her looking more serious but not displeased to see him. Harry couldn't help himself, he grinned widely at them.

"What's all this?" He whispered, even though he was alone in his quarters. Tom filled in him on everything that had happened and outlined their request - they wanted all the data that the Homestead had on Admiral Janeway's last known whereabouts.

Harry groaned, so much for making a good impression with Captain Lundy. "I could get into soooo much trouble for this," he moaned, but he was already uploading the data for transmission.

"You'll let me know if you find anything?" He asked, feeling for a moment that he was on the wrong side of this adventure and wanting more than anything to be with his friends.

Chakotay was non-committal. "We'll be in touch when we can. Chakotay out."

Racing his fingers over the console, Harry deleted all traces of the communication from the ships logs. Unless they probed further, to anyone else, it would seem like a routine end-of-day data purge. He may not be on board the Alpha Flyer, but Harry would do whatever he could to help his friends find and retrieve the Admiral. In that moment he knew that although he had a new commanding officer and served on board a new ship, his loyalty would lie first and foremost with Voyager and her former crew.

Chakotay had been staring at the data on his screen for so long that it had started to blur and swim before his eyes. He sighed and forced himself to concentrate. The longer Kathryn remained missing, the lower their chances of finding her (and, in particular, their chances of finding her alive).

"I just don't understand it," B'Elanna growled from across the room. In frustration, she threw the Padd she had been reading on the table in front of her.

From her high chair, Miral chucked her rattle on the floor in imitation of her mother. She giggled when it landed with a loud crash. Absentmindedly, B'Elanna picked the rattle up and handed it back to her daughter. With a squeal of delight, Miral flung it to the floor again.

"According to these logs, one second the Admiral's shuttle was there and then the next second it was just gone. It doesn't make sense! There are no signs of spacial anomalies, temporal rifts, unusual warp particles or... anything," B'Elanna said as she bent to pick the rattle up once more.

"As illogical as it may be," Seven contributed calmly from her own desk in the ship's small communal area, "I must concur with your analysis."

Chakotay sighed. "We've already lost four days. We can't lose any more! What are we missing here? Did you try running a magneton scan?"

"Yes."

"What about-"

"I've tried it all, Chakotay!" B'Elanna snapped. "Anything you can think of, I've tried." She sagged in her seat and rubbed her hands over her face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped. It's just... I don't know what else to try."

"How about a different lead?"

All eyes swivelled to stare at Tom Paris.

"What do you mean?" B'Elanna asked gruffly.

"While the three of you have been focusing on the shuttle, I asked myself what else we had to go on. You told us, Chakotay, that the Admiral was suspicious of the Siran president - a guy called Keja."

"That's right," said Chakotay, still looking somewhat perplexed.

"So I did a little digging through the Siran press to see what I could find out about him. All the big publications - the state run media - herald him as a peace loving diplomat. Its all completely innocuous fluff. But if you dig a little deeper, some of the smaller publications are less than kind about him. There are all sorts of allegations: corruption, fraud and then there's this..." Tom rotated his computer so that it faced the rest of the room. He had called up a blurry picture of two men entering a bunker. The picture appeared to have been taken from behind some bushes.

One of the men was visible only in profile, he was stout with rounded shoulders and the ridges that ringed his eye and ran down the side of his face identified him as Siran. There was no doubt that this was Keja as he wore an elaborate headdress that bore the insignia of the President's office. The other man was more clearly visible for he was looking back, almost directly at the camera, as though to make sure they weren't being followed. He was tall, with dark hair and broad shoulders. The characteristic Siran ridges formed only an arch over one of his eyes.

"Just twenty four hours before the Admiral disappeared, President Keja was pictured meeting with Chip Tejha, leader of the rebel group that oppose the Federation treaty."

"The picture isn't great, but he looks almost human," said Chakotay, moving in for a closer look.

"Half-human. Apparently his mother was a scientist from Earth and his father was a Siran diplomat. I don't know if you remember, but an explosive device was discovered under the Siran parliament before the government was due to meet to consider the Federation treaty last week. A number of newspaper outlets think that the bomb was planted by Tehja and his men. He's also led all sorts of other protests throughout the planet."

"The Admiral was right," said B'Elanna, softly. "It seems like Keja is somehow involved. Based on the Homestead’s logs, her projected route would have taken her past the President’s residence. She could have been on her way to meet with him. He could have collaborated with this Tehja guy and arranged for Kathryn to... disappear."

"That seems a fair assumption," observed Seven.

"Its the only thing we have to go on," agreed Tom. "What do you say, Chakotay? Shall we pay the Siran president a little visit?"

Chakotay nodded. "Let's do it."

TBC

Chapter Text

Everything hurt. She was sure that there were at least half a dozen knives embedded in her body. Either that, or she was being roasted over an open fire. Wasn't that smoke she could smell?

She cracked her eyes open and was blinded by a sliver of bright light. She tried to hold up a hand to block it out, but the attempt at movement sent a jolt of pain coursing through her body and she let out an involuntary groan.

Almost instantly, she heard someone scramble to her side. "Don't move," a voice said. It was soft and deep and comforting.

"Chak - tay?" She managed to croak.

"You've had a bit of an accident, but we're looking after you. Don't worry, everything will be alright."

She felt something being pressed into her upper arm. Whatever it was made it more difficult for her to focus on her already hazy thoughts. But its alright, she thought as she succumbed to sleep. Its all going to be all right. Chakotay's here.

"Chakotay here." Chakotay tapped his combadge from his hiding place in the shrubs just below President Keja's kitchen window. Seven was crouched next to him, tinkering away at a panel of exposed circuitry. The glow of the wires cast her face in green light and reflected eerily off her ocular implant. Tom stood in the shadows at the far end of the wall, his phaser trained on the guards' hut just around the corner, but Chakotay didn't think the guards would present any trouble tonight. He'd spotted them earlier, when scaling the towering metal fence that walled off the president's residence from the rest of Sira's capital city - four burly Siran men crammed into a small outpost, listening intently to some kind of sports broadcast. In the stillness of the night, Chakotay could hear the commentator's voice ringing out loudly across the president's vast compound.

"I managed to access Keja's security files," B'Elanna's tinny voice sounded softly from his combadge. She had remained on board the Alpha Flyer to look after Miral. "If the system goes down for longer than thirty seconds an alert gets sent, not just to his guards, but to the Siran military. Tell Seven to install a subspace transponder before she takes the system offline. That should give me control once you guys are in."

Chakotay glanced over his shoulder. "Seven, you got that?"

"Affirmative."

"Remember," said B'Elanna, "You'll only have-"

"Thirty seconds," repeated Chakotay. "Got it. I'll leave the comm line open so you'll know when we're in."

"Oh, I'll know," said B'Elanna, staring at three blue dots on a digital map in front of her. They showed the away team's life signs and position in the compound. Next to her, oblivious to the severity of the situation, Miral was fast asleep in her bassinet. Fleetingly, B'Elanna considered taking a photo for the baby book: Miral's first away mission. She chuckled and then shook her head as if to chase the perverse thought away. Focus, 'Lanna, she told herself.

"Almost there," she heard Seven say over the open comm line. Then footsteps and she saw Tom's dot moving to join Chakotay and Seven's by the window. "Now!"

There was the sound of wood sliding against wood - presumably the window being opened; followed by muffled scrambling - the away team trying to climb through as quickly as possible; then a loud slam. "We're in."

B'Elanna's fingers were already flying across the console. She brought Keja's security system back online with nanoseconds to spare.

The away team were crouched behind one of the many alien contraptions in the kitchen. In his haste, Tom had slammed the window shut a little louder than he'd intended. They listened closely for several long seconds to see if the noise had roused the president or his family, but all remained calm.

To reduce the chance of discovery, they'd chosen an entry point far away from the sleeping quarters, but this meant that they would have to pick their way silently across the large house to the east wing, where their scans had shown them that the President was working late in his study. Having memorised the floor plan, Seven led the way. The beacon on her wrist, flicked to the dimmest setting, providing the barest of illumination.

Chakotay followed stealthily behind Seven. His heart thudded loudly, seemingly ready to burst out of his chest, and adrenaline coursed through his body, heightening his senses. He'd learnt a long time ago that there was no such thing as a routine away mission. Each one brimmed with danger and the possibility of death. Still, he'd been doing this for so long now that he greeted the nervous energy like an old friend. His body thrummed with single-minded purpose: Find Kathryn. Find Kathryn.

So when they slipped silently into the study and found Keja standing with his back to the door, pouring himself a drink at a low cabinet, Chakotay wasted no time in marching over and digging his phaser into the small of the President's back.

"Make a sound and I'll shoot," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. Behind him, he heard Tom and Seven taking up strategic positions around the room, just as they'd planned.

Wrenching a tumbler from Keja's hand and setting it down on the cabinet, Chakotay nudged the President to the centre of the room with his phaser. Tom watched silently from where he stood sentry by the window. It was difficult to reconcile this version of Chakotay - the gruff Maquis leader - with the Starfleet Captain who gave his students hearty claps on the back and played with Miral in the dirt.

"I'm only going to ask you once - where's Kathryn Janeway?"

"I... I don't know," Keja stammered, breathing heavily.

"Don't lie to me!" Chakotay pressed his phaser deeper into the Siran president's back. "We know you met with Chip Tehja shortly before the Admiral disappeared. Where is she?"

"I only suspect that Tehja had something to do with this, but I don't know any more than that. I - I promise you!" The words tumbled out of Keja's mouth, seemingly unbridled. "I've been trying to find her. The Federation treaty rests on it!"

Chakotay looked unconvinced. He jerked his head, motioning Tom towards a laptop-like contraption on Keja's desk. "Check his computer."

Tom hurried over and began striking at keys on the console. "It needs a password," he said, quickly familiarising himself with the alien technology. So many planets, so many cultures, but some things remained the same.

"Its fingerprint activated," Keja volunteered. Later, Chakotay would realise that the President had offered this information far too quickly.

"Fine," said Chakotay, nudging Keja towards the desk, all the while maintaining a vice-like grip on the Siran man. Keja leaned heavily on the table as he pressed his thumb to the screen. Immediately, the desktop flickered to life. Chakotay dragged Keja away and back towards the centre of the room.

"He isn't lying," said Tom in disbelief, as he scrolled through the data in front of him. "He's been trying to find the Admiral. In fact, he's got whole teams conducting the search."

"I told you," said Keja, now seeming a little more sure of himself.

Chakotay was confused. Had they really come all this way for nothing? "Then why'd you meet with Tehja?" He asked, shaking the President violently.

"Wait, I found something." Tom pounded at keys on the laptop. "He's been-"

"Guys..." B'Elanna's worried voice filled the room. "I don't know how it happened, but someone's alerted the Siran military. The guards are already coming in."

"Beam us out!" Chakotay roared, shoving Keja away from him. Tom slammed the laptop shut, tucked it under his arm and ran to join the others in the centre of the room where they were already shimmering out of view.

"Something's interfering with the beam out," B'Elanna called out, largely out of habit, since the away team were mid-transport and unable to hear her. "Someone else has a lock on you! I'm recalibrating the confinement beam!"

Three figures shimmered in and out of view on the small transporter pad behind her. B'Elanna's shouts had woken Miral who was crying loudly in her bassinet. Ignoring her daughter, B'Elanna battled for control of the beam out. She tried everything in her arsenal, but ultimately the "starttle's" systems were no match for her mysterious adversary's and the away team shimmered out of view for the last time. As they did, the laptop that Tom had been holding crashed to the ship's floor.

B'Elanna hit the console in frustration, causing Miral to cry even louder. How on earth was she going to mount two rescue missions on her own?!

TBC

Chapter Text

She awoke in a small alcove set off to one side of a much larger cavern. There was a jagged cut in the rock above her head from which she could see a cluster of stars twinkling brightly in the night sky. Everything ached, but the pain was more manageable than she remembered and her mind less groggy. She glanced down and saw that her arms were tightly bound in swathes of long, thin leaves. An orangey-pink paste oozed out from between the gaps in her makeshift bandages.

Kathryn glanced about the cave. The warm light of a fire cast long, dancing shadows about the place, making it difficult to make out anything but the most obvious of features - a large metal contraption suspended above the fireplace, a hulking chunk of machinery along a wall, and a figure resting against the mouth of the cave whittling a shape into a small block of wood. He was stocky, with dark hair and a square jaw. Kathryn thought she could make out an indistinct pattern just above his left eye.

"Chakotay?" She called, her voice barely rising above the soft cackle of the fire.

He was by her side at once. "I'm sorry. I don't know what - or who - that is." His eyes were bright and kind, but they weren't Chakotay's. She felt a sharp pang that seemed to hurt worse than any of her injuries.

"How are you feeling?" The stranger asked, concern clearly etched on his face.

She tried to speak, but words failed her.

"Hold on," he said, holding up his hand to indicate that she should stay in place. As if I'm going anywhere, she scoffed to herself.

He hurried over to the fire and the metal sphere that hung just above it. A narrow chute led from the top of the sphere to a container that sat on a low table nearby. He twisted a tap at the bottom of the container and clear liquid began to fill the glass beneath it.

Back at her side, he helped her sit up, propping a couple of grey, fraying pillows behind her back. "Drink up," he said, raising the glass to her lips. She drank deeply and greedily, barely registering the rivulets of water that ran down the side of her face. Only when she was truly satisfied did she look up at him again.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice stronger now.

"You were in a shuttle accident."

"A shuttle accident..." she echoed, wracking her brain for some recollection of the event.

"Do you remember anything about it?"

"There was... some kind of displacement beam..." she said, her memories unfolding slowly. "It came at us out of nowhere. We couldn't disperse it or outrun it. Ensign Jorell..." Her eyes widened and she looked around frantically. "Ensign Jorell - my pilot - where is he?!"

The stranger hung his head, a raft of emotions flickering across his face.

"Oh," she said, suddenly feeling sick.

It was a long while before either of them spoke. "Well, thank you for all your help," Kathryn said, at last. Now that she was sitting up, she felt considerably better. She may not have much use of her hands, but she was sure that she would be able to walk. "I must get back to my ship."

The man chuckled. "You won't be going anywhere. You sustained severe burns to at least forty per cent of your body. Your arms, chest and neck are the worst affected, but you're pretty much banged up all over."

She licked her lips. "Well, I need to contact my ship. My people will be looking for me." She searched her body for her combadge, but instead of her Starfleet uniform, she was wearing a baggy shirt over a pair of slacks. "Where's my 'badge?"

The man looked confused.

"A shiny metal pin. It would have been fixed to the top left of my uniform."

"I'm sorry, I don't remember a badge. Your clothes were pretty badly burned when we pulled you out of the wreckage."

Kathryn rested her head against the wall and sighed. "Do you have a communications system that I could use?"

The man looked almost guilty. "I'm sorry, no." He nodded towards the large machine that ran along the cave wall. "Our computer was damaged pretty badly a couple of days ago. My head engineer designed the system and knew it best, but he's left us. We can't seem to get it back up and running without him."

"Us?" Kathryn looked around the otherwise empty cavern. "Who exactly are you and where are we?"

The man smiled, "I'm-"

"Chip! You'd better come quick!" A voice rang out from just outside the cave before its owner, a Siran man in his early twenties, came running into view. "Makja's back from the city. He brought news about..." His voice petered off when he saw Kathryn studying him intently.

"Hold that thought," Chip said to her with a half-smile. "I'll be right back."

Kathryn scowled as both men left the cave, chatting softly. Chip, she thought to herself, why was that name so familiar?

In all his adult life, Chakotay had never been made to feel more like a child than he did now.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Owen Paris demanded as his hologram paced the conference room on board the USS Homestead. Still unaccustomed to the technological developments that had occurred during his time in the Delta Quadrant, it had taken Chakotay a while to realise that the Admiral was being projected in from a holo-suite at Starfleet HQ.

After requesting a beam out, Chakotay and his away team had spent a disorienting few minutes in transport suspension before materialising on board the Homestead. They'd learnt that the Homestead was monitoring all official Siran communications since Captain Adrian Lundy and his crew had their own suspicions about the Siran government's involvement in Admiral Janeway and Ensign Jorell's disappearance. The Homestead had simply chosen to take a less direct approach with its investigations. For reasons unknown to Chakotay, when Lundy had realised what Chakotay and his team were up to, he'd removed them from the situation at once.

The Admiral didn't wait for a response. "This is exactly why I didn't want Voyager involved. All of you - especially you, Chakotay - are too emotionally attached to one another and to Kathryn Janeway. You're not thinking straight. You've spent so long playing things by the skin of your teeth, that you've forgotten how to follow protocol. You're reckless, irresponsible and negligent. If not for Captain Lundy and his crew, you would have caused a major diplomatic incident.

Peace, in this region of space, is hanging by a precarious thread. Not only are a group of Siran rebels causing all sorts of trouble, but a violent species - the Dakaans - have recently come to power in the neighbouring system. They have a lot of interest in Sira, since the planet is rich in Voran ore. I don't suppose any of you remember why the ore is so valuable?"

"It can be used to create energy-based weapons," said Seven coolly, seemingly unfazed by the severity of the situation. "Varon disrupters can penetrate some of the most durable metals. When fired at organic beings, they tear the body apart slowly and painfully from the inside out. They were deemed so dangerous that the Federation outlawed the use of Varon-based weapons in the 23rd Century."

Owen nodded. "Sira is the last stalwart between Dakaan territory and Federation space. At this stage, we can't afford to do anything to offend the Sirans. We need them to join the Federation, we need to be able to protect the Sirans, and we need to control the use of Varon ore. Your actions have done nothing to help matters. You risked it all for nothing! You didn't even get any information on Kathryn's whereabouts."

Tom started to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. So much for standing up to your father, Chakotay thought bitterly. But truth be told, Chakotay had to admit that Admiral Paris was right. He hadn't stopped to consider the consequences. He hadn't cared about anything but the safe retrieval of Kathryn Janeway. It pained him to admit that a part of him still didn't care about the Sirans. He had to see Kathryn again. He hadto tell her how he felt. He had to hear her admit she felt the same way. Couldn't the needs of the few outweigh the needs of the many just this once?

"Your logic is flawed," said Seven, breaking Chakotay our of his reverie. "Every day that we fail to find Admiral Janeway is another day that you fail to sign the Siran-Federation Treaty. The Federation cannot, in good faith, sign the treaty when it appears that the Siran government might have kidnapped one of its top officials. The kidnapping itself suggests that current the Siran government does not want to join the Federation. Press reports indicate that the Siran people support the treaty. So the quicker Starfleet identifies and roots out the bad actors, the quicker the treaty is signed. Action, in this case, is better than inaction."

Chakotay stifled the urge to give Seven an approving look. Tuvok would undoubtedly be proud. But it was impossible to discern if her words had any meaningful impact on Owen Paris. The Admiral had simply regarded her coolly before turning to Captain Lundy and the two security officers who stood by the conference room doors. "Confine all three of them to quarters."

Chakotay made to protest, but Admiral Paris cut him off. "Watch it," the older man warned. "I could change my mind and have you sent to the brig instead." Then he tapped his combadge and flickered out of view.

TBC

Chapter Text

Kathryn sat propped against the mouth of the cave surveying the valley before her. It was early in the morning and a light mist snuck its way around the shrubbery and hung just off the ground as though being kept at bay by an invisible force field. The air was filled with the unmistakeable sounds of a village coming to life. Pots clashed against pans, men were starting fires and mothers were ushering their groggy-eyed children down to the river to bathe.

Kathryn had seen similar scenes play out across tens if not hundreds of different settlements, but something about this one - maybe it was the makeshift shelters, or the vegetable plots that grew some of the largest tomatoes she had ever seen - reminded her of the small planet that she had shared with Chakotay and a friendly monkey almost six years ago. She felt a familiar wave of nostalgia creep over her. She had always liked and respected Chakotay, but it wasn't until New Earth that she had begun to realise she loved him too. On her worst days in the Delta Quadrant, she would often sit alone, in darkened quarters, imagining what might have been if she hadn't been forced to resume her role as Captain with all the responsibilities and restrictions therein. Of course, now that they were back in the Alpha Quadrant, she could have her cake and eat it too - she was single, he was single, but they tiptoed around one another, each too afraid to broach the topic. She guessed that he shared her feelings for him. There were times when she caught him staring at her just a little too long; when his touches lingered, but there were also times when he held back, when their faces were mere centimetres from each other but he didn't lean in. She sighed, resting her head against the rock behind her. It was much easier to live a life of daydreams and maybes than to take the bull by the horns.

"Hey there," a voice said kindly, as its owner settled himself across from her, a bowl of steaming gruel in his hands. She looked up into Chip's smiling eyes. She'd waited for him to return for what felt like hours last night before sleep had finally overtaken her. He intrigued her. She had hardly spent more than a couple of (conscious) hours in his presence and yet he felt so familiar. Why?

"How are you feeling?" He asked, giving her thigh a friendly pat.

"As well as can be given the circumstances," she said, trying to keep pain out of her voice. Earlier that morning, a young Siran girl had applied a fresh layer of orange paste to her wounds before helping her hobble out of the shelter to the ledge on which she now sat. The balm and cool morning air had helped ease the burns, but they were beginning to sting once more. It was frustrating to suffer through injuries that the Homestead could easily have healed in hours.

"I'm Chip, by the way," he said, as he spooned the brown sludge and allowed it to cool before bringing it to her mouth. "Chip Tejha. I lead this tribe."

"Kathryn Janeway." She searched his face for the tell-tale signs of recognition that usually appeared whenever she introduced herself, but none appeared.

"So, Kathryn Janeway, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

She raised an eyebrow at the old English idiom, but didn't question it further. She already suspected that her saviour was at least part human and though she wanted to know more about him, her priority was figuring out why she was here, where exactly here was, and how to get back to the Homestead. "Honestly," she admitted. "I don't know."

It was his turn to raise a questioning eyebrow. She let out a frustrated sigh. "I've been thinking about this all morning. I remember the displacement beam. I remember Jorell shouting that we were going to crash, but before that... nothing." It was only a partial lie. She knew very well that she was in the region to ratify the Federation/Siran treaty, but it was true that she couldn't remember why she'd been on the shuttle. It was perplexing. Nothing about their mission warranted a side-trip, much less one involving only the Admiral in charge of mission and a newly-minted Ensign.

Setting the bowl aside, Chip held her chin and turned her to face him.

"What are you doing?!" She gasped, as surprised by the sudden invasion of her personal space as by the cold hand against her hot skin.

"Checking for a concussion," he said, shifting closer so that he could study her eyes closely. "We ruled out a head injury, but if you can't remember..."

Kathryn was acutely aware of his close proximity to her. She took two steadying breaths as he pulled away, noticing, for the first time, his chiselled face and tanned, muscular arms. She'd clearly been alone for too long if the simplest and most benign of touches made her heart race.

"I don't see any signs of a concussion and you seem alert enough," he observed, oblivious to her discomfort. "Then again we don't exactly have the most sophisticated of medical equipment. How does your head feel?"

"Fine," she said evenly. "Although, it really is quite hard to tell where one pain ends and the other begins."

"I'm sorry about that. I've added analgesic to the list for our next supply run, but that's not due to happen for another three weeks."

"Three weeks?!" Kathryn said, incredulously. "I don't intend to be here that long. Surely you must have some kind of transport or communications device." She shifted uncomfortably, wracking her brains for some way out of this mess. "How close is the nearest city?"

"It's a two week trek north over some pretty tough terrain." He nodded at the hillscape before them. "But you're in no fit state..."

"What about my shuttle?" She asked, cutting him off.

"What about it?"

"Where did it crash?"

"In the jungle," He nodded eastwards, "Not far beyond those trees."

"How far exactly?" She asked, scanning the horizon.

"You must be joking! You could barely walk the five steps out of the cave!" He exclaimed, reading her mind. When he saw that she was deadly serious, he added, "The shuttle's not even fit for spare parts. Trust me, we would have taken anything salvageable for ourselves. Just wait the three weeks — when the supply rover comes, we can ask it to take you to the city."

"I don't have three weeks!" She snapped. "I need to get back to my people now." She knew that Starfleet would be looking for her, but with her combadge and the shuttle destroyed, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. If she could get to the shuttle, maybe she could fashion a homing beacon or send them some sort of signal. She wasn't going to sit idly by, especially not now that she knew about Dakaans' interest in Sira and its Varon ore. It was imperative that they sign the treaty sooner rather than later and put an end to any designs that the Dakaans might have on the planet. Failing that, at the very least, a trip to the shuttle might explain what she'd been doing on the damn thing in the first place.

"We can barely deal with your current injuries. We can't risk them getting any worse." Chip looked at her imploringly. "Kathryn, please."

Kathryn, who had been prepared to meet his resistance with a hot-headed retort about how little he understood about anything of significance, softened at the use of her first name and the kindness he was showing her. He hadn't had to take her in and care for her, but he had chosen to do so out of the goodness of his heart. As much as she intended to do things her way, she had to acknowledge that. "It's not that I don't appreciate everything you've done for me. I do. Very much," she said gently. "But I can't impress on you how important it is that I get back to my people as soon as possible. I understand the risks and I'm doing this with or without you, but I would much rather have your help." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Please..."

Kathryn paused to lean her good shoulder against a tree. Panting wildly and hoping against hope that Chip wouldn't turn back to spot her resting, she tried, stealthily, to steady her racing heart by taking deep breaths, but it felt like a Klingon Targ had settled itself on her chest.

They'd been trekking through the Siran jungle for what could only have been an hour but felt, to Kathryn, like half a day. Her sweat had intermingled with the orange paste that she was lathered in and caused the makeshift bandages to slide down her body, taking some of her charred skin with it. She was also becoming increasingly aware of other aches and pains that until now hadn't bothered her.

"Why do I get the impression that you're not the kind of woman who does things the easy way?"

She hadn't noticed Chip come up beside her. He snaked an arm around her shoulder and eased her away from the tree so that her weight rested against him.

"You're not the first person to have made that observation," she hissed, as her bandaged shoulder pressed into his chest. The heat from his body made hers feel on fire and, this time, not in a good way.

"I'm not going to say I told you so," he said, as he helped her over a small boulder. "Because I'd never kick a woman when she's down, but I hope you have a good reason for putting yourself through this."

"Oh, I do," she said through gritted teeth.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what it is?"

"What... would be... the fun in that," she panted absentmindedly as she concentrated on navigating the uneven terrain. Then, remembering her lie, she added, "It just feels like something I have to do. My people will be worried."

"It had better not be for... some man," he puffed.

Immediately, her thoughts turned to Chakotay. When she got back to Earth, she'd tell him how she felt. Life was too short and she was too old to wait for him to make the first move. If he didn't love her, she'd move on, find someone else. How much sweeter things would be if, at the end of ordeals like this one, she had someone's arms to fall into. Real, sturdy arms, not arms the subject of daydreams and wishful thinking. But now, she looked at Chip out of the corner of her eye and scoffed, "Hardly..."

"Good," he said. Did she imagine it or did he shift his grip to hold her tighter against his side?

Why good? She wanted to ask, but bit her tongue. She couldn't very well go from thinking of Chakotay in one breath to flirting with a stranger in the next.

They paused for a moment whilst Chip consulted an old-fashioned compass that, until now, she'd only seen stuffy old Admirals use as adornments for their desks. "Not much further," he reassured her, as he stuffed the compass back into the leather pouch that was strung around his waist. "It's just beyond that ridge."

"Oh great, a ridge..." she huffed as she allowed him to guide her over a protruding root about the size of Voyager's warp core. "Answer me this," Kathryn said, as much to abate her curiosity as to distract herself from the arduous trek. "You speak Federation Standard, you're unperturbed by a shuttle crashing in your backyard and yet you use antiquated navigational devices - ones, I might add, that probably cost more than a cheap tricorder - you have one antiquated computer to serve an entire community, and you cook all your meal on an open fire. Don't get me wrong, it's not unheard of," she said quickly, thinking of Chakotay's people, "But it seems unusual, given all else I've seen and heard of Siran culture."

He chuckled. "We're not ignorant, Kathryn - just traditionalists. Sure, a number of my people have never known life outside of Vilra, but many others are former scientists, doctors and accountants. They came to Vilra for a simpler life - a happier one."

"And you, is that why you're here? For a simpler life?"

He tugged at his earlobe. "It's not so straight-forward in my case."

"Oh?" She said lightly, encouraging him to go on.

He paused as though trying to determine where to start. When he finally spoke, his tone was more somber than she had heard it before. "My mother was a scientist with Terraform Command. They sent her to Sira to study its soil composition - it's extremely fertile and they wanted to know why. She discovered the village on one of her expeditions. The villagers have been living off this land for centuries so they know everything there is to know about it - bearing capacity, field capacity, and the like, although not in those terms, of course. She also found that the soil in this region is richer than it is almost anywhere else on the planet."

"Did she ever find out why that was the case?" Kathryn interrupted, even though she suspected that she already knew the answer. Countless studies had shown that Varon ore wasn't particular harmful in its natural form, but it could, if certain other conditions were met, bring agricultural benefits. If her suspicions were right, she was smack dab in the middle of the most valuable land in Vilra. Land that the Federation was keen to ensure did not fall into the wrong hands.

"Something to do with naturally occurring minerals - I can't say I ever quite understood. She died when I was eleven."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was a long time ago," he said softly, but despite his words, Kathryn got the impression that he was still terribly affected by her death. "Mom published several papers on Vilra and, suddenly, there was great deal of interest in the land. Some politicians wanted to use it as farmland, others wanted to turn it into a reserve. Even property developers were interested. Everyone seemed to have grand visions, but none of those visions involved letting the Vilrans continue to live here peacefully. My mother was wracked with guilt - the Vilrans were facing the loss of their home all because of her. Together, she and my father did all they could to stave off the vultures. I spent most of my childhood here, whilst they travelled to-and-from the cities, filing petitions, raising awareness, bringing court cases. They received a lot of support for their work and number of threats. I was here when we received news that there's been an explosion at one of their rallies. My mother died on the spot and Dad a few days later, in hospital. Since then, I've vowed to everything I can - everything - to continue their work."

"You mean the case is still being litigated?" Kathryn asked, thinking back to the due diligence dossier she'd received. She knew that her memory wasn't entirely reliable at the moment, but she didn't think she'd read about any relevant, ongoing court cases and Federation lawyers were known for being thorough.

"No-o," Chip said slowly, breathing heavier now that he was pretty much lugging Kathryn up a steep incline. "We lost the case... and all the appeals, but we were prepared for that. There are other means... other weapons in our arsenal."

And just what might those weapons be, Kathryn wanted to ask, but just then they crested the ridge and she was distracted by the sight of the shuttle Georgiou, lying on its side in a small crater. The earth around it was scorched and the smell of molten metal overpowering.

"You weren't kidding," she gasped, as they made the way down the crater's rim. Whilst the aft section of the shuttle was still intact, the rest of looked like it had been run through an industrial trash compactor. "You pulled me out of this?!" She asked incredulously.

"No, we found you over there." He indicated an area a few feet away from the shuttle's aft section. "We think that there was an explosion that threw you clear of the shuttle. Your friend wasn't so lucky."

Kathryn tried not to think of young Jorell as hobbled round to get a better look at the other side of the shuttle. It was clear the even if she somehow managed to get inside, none of the Georgiou's systems would be operational. Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, she slumped to the ground and hung her head between her knees. Unless the Homestead managed to track her location, it looked like she'd have to wait for the supply transport after all.

She felt Chip settle down beside her and pat her back comfortingly. "I'm sorry," he murmured and she looked away, feeling worse.

"No, I'm sorry," she said once she'd composed herself. "I should have taken your word for it. The trek back is going to be a nightmare."

"Let's just sit here and rest a while," he offered amicably, indicating that there was nothing to be forgiven. They sat in companionable silence whilst she studied the shuttle absentmindedly, still not quite content to accept her fate. There must be something on the Georgiou that she could use to her advantage. She ran through a mental schematic of the shuttle aft section - control mechanism for the hatch, landing gear, atmospheric thrusters - all useless.

She glanced at Chip, who was fishing around in his pouch. Finally, he pulled out a small flask and held it to her lips. "I should warn you, it's potent," he said a little too late, she was already pulling away from the bottle, spluttering.

"What is that?!" She gasped, but already she could feel the alcohol hitting her bloodstream. The aftertaste was herbal and bitter.

"Just something we keep handy to keep ourselves going," he explained sheepishly. "The Elders swear it has medicinal properties."

"I bet they do," Kathryn grumbled, but she had to admit that she was feeling somewhat more alert. Her eyes flickered back to the shuttle and at once an idea came to her. Of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner?

"Chip, I need you to do something for me," she rushed out excitedly. "There's a low bench in the aft section of the shuttle immediately to the left of the hatch. Beneath the bench is a drawer and inside it you should find a small medkit. It looks like a black briefcase and has a silver caduceus on its front."

Chip hesitated for a second and for a moment she worried that he might argue that it wasn't safe to enter the shuttle. Finally, he stood up and asked, "Just by the hatch, you said?"

"Yes," she nodded eagerly. "On the left."

As he disappeared inside, Kathryn reminded herself how to reprogram a medical tricorder to emit a homing beacon and debated whether to use the dermal regenerator to heal her arms or it's power supply to boost the tricorder's signal.

"The bench's dented in on itself. I can't get the drawer open!" Chip called from inside.

"Pry it open!" she urged, "Maybe you can use a sheet of metal or a branch or something!"

She heard muffled grunts followed by a loud crash. The shuttle rocked precariously and for a moment it seemed like it might tip over. "Chip? Are you alright?"

In the long silence that followed, she worried that he had hurt himself and was trying to get herself upright to investigate when he emerged from the wreckage. His shirt had come untucked and his pouch now hung even lower against his hips, but otherwise, he looked no worse for wear. She beamed at him when he held the medkit triumphantly over his head. "Got it!"

Her happiness was short-lived. Not only did some of the instruments appear damaged, but the kit was missing several instruments - the spray applicator and reader tube she couldn't have cared less about, but the tricorder was gone too.

"Damn it!" she cried in frustration. Why couldn't things just be straight-forward for once?

"What's wrong?" Chip asked, sifting through the remaining instruments. "Won't these help with your injuries?" He inspected the content of the hypospray, "Melenex... cordrazine... hydrocortilene - that should do it, shouldn't it?"

Kathryn nodded grudgingly, exposing her neck to him. "You're sure there wasn't anything else?" She asked pleadingly. "That there wasn't anything else in the drawer?"

"No, just the medkit and a couple of these." He pulled a micro resonator coil out of his pouch. "I hope you don't mind that I helped myself. I thought they would come in handy."

Kathryn nodded. After all the help he'd given her, she could hardly begrudge him a couple of spare parts. She sighed again and fought to temper her frustration. It helped that the hydrocortilene was kicking in and taking the edge off her pain. If Chakotay were here, he'd tell her to be thankful for small miracles. She had the hypospray, the dermal regenerator, and a friendly stranger who was willing to go out of his way to help her. Besides, it wasn't like she was going to be stuck in Vilra forever.

"Here comes the shuttlecraft! Open the pod bay doors," The spoonful of mushy peas swooped and swerved until it came to land in Miral's mouth. "Good girl," B'Elanna said proudly when the spoon came away clean. She flicked a glance at the computer next to Miral's high chair where she was running two programmes simultaneously - a decryption code to access Keja's laptop and a scan of the planet for the away team's signatures. Both were taking an inordinately long time.

"Are you ready for the next one? Here it comes!"

As the "shuttle" was about to make its second pass, the computer emitted a loud beep to indicate that it had successful deciphered the laptop's encryption code. Distracted, B'Elanna turned to the console, leaving the shuttle hovering in mid-air. "Let's see what you've been up to, Mr President."

Miral scowled and craned out of her seat, desperate for the second mouthful that was just out of her reach.

"Interesting," B'Elanna mused out loud as she abandoned the spoon and scrolled through Keja's calendar. The Siran President had been due to meet with Janeway on the morning of her disappearance. Odd, she thought, Harry didn't mention that. Odder still was that Janeway had made the trip with only a low-level ensign for company. Or maybe it wasn't that odd, B'Elanna reasoned to herself. Although the treaty was pretty much in final form, it wasn't unusual for diplomats to arrange social or friendly side-meetings and given that this region of space was relatively safe, perhaps Janeway hadn't felt the need to bring anyone with her beyond the duty pilot. She wished for Chakotay - he usually knew why Janeway behaved the way that she did.

Still, it was becoming increasingly evident that Keja had little to do with Janeway's disappearance. If he was going to kidnap her, he wouldn't have left the appointment in his diary. A cursory look through his inbox corroborated this view. He'd been coordinating search teams and demanding constant updates from the military generals leading the effort. It occurred to her she might find a clue in one of those reports and she quickly went to work coding a simple algorithm to filter the reports out of the thousands of messages in Keja's inbox.

She glanced at Miral, who had given up on the waylaid shuttle and dived into the bowl in front of her with both hands. Consequently, the quarter-Klingon was covered from head to toe in bright green pea purée. "Miral Kathryn Paris!"

B'Elanna was about to admonish her daughter further when the first hit caught her eye. On the screen was a message from Chip Tejha to the Siran President:

You know what you have to do if you want to see Janeway again. You have 72 hours.

TBC

Chapter Text

“Damn it, Paris!” Chakotay stood from the table he’d been sharing with Tom and Seven so abruptly, his chair toppled over. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?!”

Chapter Text

Kathryn let out a wry laugh and hung her head. Was this her lot in life - a series of almost-but-not-quites?

Chapter Text

Waves lapped gently against the ship’s hull. Kathryn sat on the upper deck of the New-E II, her legs dangling high above pitch black water. Moon beams rippled brightly across Lake George - too brightly, in fact. For a moment, Kathryn considered adjusting the holodeck settings, but thought better of it. She needed a reality check this evening.

This programme had always been a safe haven for her, and - ever since an alien had masqueraded as her father to lure her to her death - for Chakotay as well. They shared it often. They’d come here after they’d received their first letters from home, after he’d been misled by the Vori, and most recently, after Unimatrix Zero. Over the years, they’d made several tweaks to her original programme - they’d redesigned and renamed the yacht, he’d carved intricate designs into the wheel, and she’d knitted the blanket that now lay heavily across her lap. It was here that they sometimes allowed themselves to narrow - but never bridge - the distance between them.

The truth was, however, that she didn’t want to be here, with him, today, but she had to if they were going to be the team that Voyager needed them to be, and she was nothing if not adept at setting her feelings aside for the good of her crew.

Still, she stiffened as footsteps padded up from the galley below. Taking the charcuterie board from him so that he could settle himself beside her, she took a deep breath and schooled her face in what she hoped was a neutral expression. He leaned back slowly, resting his weight on his hands, mimicking her pose. His hand rested next to hers, fingers splayed between her own, almost, but not quite, touching.

“Kathryn,” he said softly.

She hated it when he said her name like that - tenderly, like a caress. It was a carefully calibrated photon torpedo to already battered shields.

As though sensing her reticence, he said nothing more, but she decided to steer them to shallow waters.

“Was that really what it was like in the Maquis?” She asked, her gaze fixed on the horizon as she remembered how easily he’d taken over her ship and how fearful she’d been when he’d ordered Tuvok to fire at her.

If he was taken aback by her question, it didn’t show.

“Not far off,” he said, his voice gruff. “But we never provoked a Starfleet vessel - and certainly would never have taken one over. I’ve told you this before, Kathryn. My fight was with the Cardassians, not Starfleet.” He swallowed deeply. “I didn’t lie then, and I’m not lying now.”

“It’s one thing to talk about it,” she said, rubbing her arm absentmindedly. His hold hadn’t been that tight, but she could still feel where he had grabbed her earlier that day. “It’s another to experience it first hand.”

“I’ve done things that I’m not proud of. Terrible things. But when you don’t have the might and resources of the Federation behind you, and when you’re leading a rag-tag crew - not all of whom are there for the right reasons - you have to resort to... unconventional means.” He paused and she knew that he was considering his next words carefully. “Some of my methods may have been questionable, but there were lines I never crossed. I don’t have any regrets, Kathryn. All I wanted to do was keep my people - my family - safe. I’d do it all again if I had to.”

Kathryn glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She could relate to that, couldn’t she? She’d resorted to all sorts of desperate means for the well-being of her crew and she was sure that she’d resort to more.

“Teero may have warped my mind, Kathryn, but I was still there. I would never have hurt you.” He shifted his weight and his fingers to brushed hers. The movement was so slight, it could have been an accident, but she knew better.

She resisted the urge to pull away. Of course he’d never hurt her. On some level, she’d always known that. It was dawning on her that she wasn’t bitter about the mutiny nor did she believe that he’d betrayed her in any real way - so why did she still feel so troubled by the events of the day? “I understand that, Chakotay. It’s just...” She sighed, shivering slightly. She couldn’t explain what she didn’t herself understand.

There was a long and uncomfortable pause. Chakotay broke the silence, speaking quietly. “Has your position on the Maquis changed then?”

Kathryn met his gaze sharply. “What?” she breathed. Her hand reached for his. “No. Never. How could you think  that?”

“Then I don’t understand, Kathryn - why are we having this discussion? You’ve always understood that the Maquis - that I - did what I had to do.”

Kathryn nodded quickly. “I won’t lie to you, Chakotay. Had Voyager’s original mission gone as planned, I wouldn’t have hesitated in delivering the Maquis to the nearest Federation penal colony. At the time, I agreed with Starfleet that the Cardassian treaty was a necessary evil that put the needs of the many ahead of the needs of the few. No...” She shook her head. “Agreed is too strong a word - I harboured a lot of ill will towards the Cardassians and couldn’t trust myself to take an impartial view.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to explain further; that he remembered all she’d told him about her time as a prisoner of war. He squeezed her hand gently and nodded for her to go on.

“But now that I know you and understand what you and your crew stood for...” She turned to look out across the lake.

When she spoke again, her voice was laden with steel. “I will fight tooth and nail for the Maquis if I have to, Chakotay. I promised you that and it hasn’t changed. It never will.”

“So what has?” he asked. “You’ve not spoken to me all day. I know this isn’t an excuse, but it wasn’t me - Teero... I would never...” He was starting to get agitated, desperate to clear this mess up.

“I was scared,” she found herself blurting out in her haste to put him at ease. The admission took her by surprise as much as it did him.

“Scared?” he asked, clearly confused. She could understand why - in the six years they’d known each other, she’d been careful not to so much as tremble in front of her crew, much less admit that she was afraid of anything. “Scared of what?”

She pursed her lips, her two halves battling - The Captain wanted to sidestep the question, Kathryn desperately wanted to answer it.

“Kathryn?” he pressed softly.

The revelation was still so new that a lie couldn’t come quickly enough. She squeezed his hand tighter. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Of what it would do to you to know that you had killed me.”

A lone tear tracked down her cheek, taking with it the tensions of the day.

“Kathryn,” he sighed, as he released her hand to brush the tear away. His touch was cold, damp. He spoke again, but his voice was muffled, as though coming from a great distance...

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t how it had been.

“Chakotay...?” Kathryn murmured, her teeth chattering. Her clothes clung tightly to her damp skin. She took a deep breath and felt a sharp burning in her lungs. It forced her up coughing and gasping for air.

She was sitting in a shallow pool at the bottom of a small cylindrical pit. She heard rushing overhead and sensed that the water level was rising - and quickly too. The river must have burst its banks. She stumbled unsteadily to her feet. Ignoring the spots that burst behind her eyes, she ran her hands over the walls searching frantically for a way out - her prison was rapidly becoming a death trap.

The rest of the away team were assembled and collecting equipment from B’Elanna when Chakotay joined them in the transporter room. As ordered, they were dressed in red and brown leathers reminiscent of the outfit B’Elanna’s assailant had been wearing. Passing off as a Jedburgh, if only for a second, might give them an advantage and Chakotay intended to take all the advantages he could get.

“Are leather vests mandatory in all rebel organisations?” Tom huffed, pulling at his collar and eyeing the deep V-neck of Chakotay’s outfit enviously.

B’Elanna glanced between the men as she handed her husband a tricorder and visor. When she thought no one was looking, she whispered something in Tom’s war that made him flush brightly. Chakotay smiled, pleased that the two were on better terms. The last he’d seen them, they were bickering heatedly as Tom all but frog-marched B’Elanna to sickbay with Miral in tow. He could only assume that B’Elanna had taken lessons from Kathryn Janeway because it was equally impossible to get Kathryn to a doctor unless she was at death’s door and even then Chakotay often had to drag her there kicking and screaming.

Kathryn’s penchant for self-sacrifice had always frustrated him and his recent meeting with Captain Lundy had been a fresh reminder of this. According to Lundy, Kathryn had received a private communiqué from President Keja the morning of her disappearance. The President had requested a bilateral meeting and against Lundy’s better judgment Kathryn had insisted on attending it virtually unaccompanied.

“She didn’t think Keja would be frank with her if she didn’t humour his request,” Lundy explained.

“O-kay.” Chakotay responded slowly, wondering where the Homestead’s captain was going with this. Whilst Kathryn’s recklessness irked him, this wasn’t new information. “But we ruled Keja out of all this. What’s changed?”

”We ruled him out of the kidnapping, but that doesn’t mean he’s not an unsavoury character.” Lundy swivelled his console towards Chakotay. “Take a look at this.”

“What am I looking at?” Chakotay asked, scanning through pages of text, hoping to cut to the chase.

“Keja’s in the pocket of the Dakaans - reluctantly, he claims, but in their pockets nonetheless. The Dakaans want Sira to sign the treaty so that they can use Federation resources to mine the Varon ore and siphon it off for themselves.”

“Surely they don’t think they can get away with that?”

Lundy shrugged. “It’s not beyond the realm of possibility. The Dakaans have people peppered throughout the Siran government and military. The Commander-in-Chief is one of theirs - he’s been threatening the President’s family, making sure Keja toes the line. The treaty itself prioritises Siran contractors over third parties. If their people end up in charge, they could certainly cook the books. Of course, now that we know their plans, we’re not going to let that happen.”

“You got all this from Keja’s computer?” Chakotay asked, incredulously.

“Yes and no. I met with Keja. He came clean. Claims that was the purpose of his meeting with the Admiral, although he might have known that we have his computer and were about to uncover most of it anyway. My people have been through the device, it corroborates his story.”

Chakotay sat back in his chair, processing this information and assessing the implications for his mission. “Does he know what this Tehja guy wants?”

Lundy shook his head. “He claims not to know anything about that.”

“Of course he doesn’t.” Chakotay sighed. “So Keja’s working for the Dakaans... But we know that Keja also met with Tejha... So I guess the question is, who’s Tejha working for?”

“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. If he’s in league with the Dakaans, this mission is more dangerous than we think.”

Chakotay ran a hand over his face. “But if the Dakaans want the treaty to go ahead, why kidnap Kathryn? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe they changed their plans - as you said, trying to dupe Federation auditors is a risky move.” Lundy leaned forward, his voice low. “The only thing that’s clear in all of this is that no one is who we think they are...”

“These are yours,” B’Elanna said, handing Chakotay a couple of devices, drawing him back to the present. “I’ve calibrated the tricorders to Birj’s specifications. It’ll pick up any life signs within a 35 to 40 feet radius. I’m still working on improving the range of our scans - I’ll send any updates to your tricorders remotely.” She tapped the visor in Chakotay’s hand. “These have polarised lenses to improve visibility in the rain. I’ve linked them to your tricorders so sensor readings will show in the bottom right of your display.”

“Sh-shouldn’t we wait until the weather clears up before attempting this mission?”

All heads turned to the ensign in the middle of the room.

He tugged at the sleeve of his dark red shirt and swallowed. “I... I mean Regulation 18.2 of the Away Mission Protocol clearly states that in the event of inclement weather-”

“Ensign Rah Merah.” Seven interrupted the young man with a withering look. “It is rain, not a plasma storm. Or would you prefer that we wait until next month - once the monsoon season is over - to rescue Admiral Janeway, thereby jeopardising peace in this region and the Admiral’s life.”

Ensign Merah took an almost imperceptible step back and shook his head quickly. “Uh... n-no, ma’am,” he stuttered, his eyes flicking between the senior officers in the room and then down at his shoes.

In addition to Tom, Harry and Seven, Lundy had assigned two members of the Homestead’s crew to the team - Ensign Merah and Commander V’rok. It was always a political minefield when two Captains worked together and Chakotay knew that V’rok and Merah were meant to serve as a reminder that Lundy remained in charge of the Siran project. Chakotay would have preferred to run the mission with just the former Voyagers. Having worked together day in and day out for over seven years, the four operated like a well-oiled machine, a hive mind of sorts. Chakotay couldn’t help but snicker at the analogy. He wondered what Kathryn would make of the fact that she’d spent four years outwitting the Borg only to end up creating a mini-collective of her own.

With a pang, Chakotay realised that he would give anything - anything - to see her roll her eyes at one of his “dad jokes” (as Tom called them) again. Since their return to the Alpha Quadrant, barely a day had gone by in which they hadn’t spoken. In their first few weeks home, they’d worked together on debriefings and crew re-assignments. By the time that was complete, they’d settled into the habit of sharing at least one meal daily. Deep space couldn’t keep them apart either. Chakotay was always sending her holoimages of Mark 2’s latest antics and missives about the calibre of his cadets, and she’d respond with sympathy and rants of her own.

Putting aside thoughts of what should or could have been, Chakotay faced his team as they took their places on the transporter pad. “Remember,” he said, echoing an earlier briefing. “If they have any skill in placing booby traps, they’ll have tried to exploit natural human behaviours. If a route seems too obvious or too easy, then it’s probably a trap. Don’t touch anything unless you have to, even something as innocuous as a rock could be an explosive device.”

He nodded at B’Elanna, prompting her to call up a holo-map of the region. “This is the only river that runs through The Worsts.” Chakotay indicated a blue streak in the middle of the projection. “We think the Jedburghs have set up camp somewhere alongside it - it’s the best source of food and water in the area. The terrain by the river is also the easiest to navigate, which means it’s probably laden with traps, but we’ll start our search there.”

“I’ve programmed your tricorders to pick up anomalies in your surroundings,” B’Elanna chimed in. “The presence of unusual metals, for example, or things that appear to be man made, but if the Jedburghs are as sophisticated as Siran authorities make them out to be, I suspect they’ll have thought of ways to fool our scanners. So be alert - think twice before you make any sudden moves. Because of the dampening field, we won’t be able to get a lock on you unless you’re at the beam out coordinates.”

“Constant vigilance,” Chakotay agreed, donning his visor and taking his place on the transporter pad. Then, noticing that Ensign Merah looked a little pale, he added, “You’ll be fine. All of you,” before the transporter bean took hold.

The away team were drenched the moment they materialised in a small clearing deep in the Siran jungle. Reflexively, Chakotay held up a hand, reminding the others to hold their position as he took stock of their surroundings and waited for preliminary tricorder readings to come in.

The jungle was very much like the wilderness on his home planet, Dorvan V, except that the plants here were some of the biggest he’d ever seen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tom arching away from a pitcher plant half the size of Voyager’s warp core. “Who needs booby traps when you’ve got these?” Tom murmured, his voice carrying over the open comlink.

Tall grass, bent double, snaked through the trees towards the nearby river. It seemed odd that the grass should thrive under a canopy of trees so thick that even the rain had to fight to make it to the jungle floor. Chakotay certainly hadn’t seen anything like it before.

He took a few, tentative steps forward. “This way,” he ordered, choosing a more circuitous route towards the river. “Avoid the grass. Follow my footsteps if you’re unsure.”

They heard the river before they saw it. It was rushing wildly, tumbling over large rocks, thwarting Chakotay’s plans to wade through shallow water. “Keep to the edge as much as you can,” he cautioned, as he led the team upstream, treading carefully to avoid slipping on the wet stone.

He found himself tiring quickly as they manoeuvred the rocky terrain. He knew he’d let his fitness slip since accepting the professorship at the Academy, but he certainly didn’t consider himself to be out of shape - he boxed at least three time’s a week and went for an occasional run along the Bay, sometimes with Kathryn and Mark 2 in tow. He took some solace from the fact that - judging from the laboured breathing coming from behind him - the rest of the team weren’t faring much better either.

He was thinking of calling a break when he heard Ensign Merah begin to mutter. The junior officer was pale, an almost feral look in his eyes. “This way looks quicke-“

It happened so suddenly, Chakotay didn’t even have the chance to call out. The instant Merah veered off the rock face and into the grass, an arrow shot through the air and pierced clean through his shoulder. Merah let out a cry and tumbled to the ground, the grass obscuring him from view.

The away team huddled together at once, phasers drawn. But apart from the rain, which was still lancing down, all remained calm.

“Must have been motion triggered,” Tom said at last, holstering his phaser. He nodded in Merah’s direction. “Who wants to go get him?”

“I’ll go,” Harry volunteered, starting towards the spot where Merah had disappeared. “I picked him for this mission.”

“No!” Chakotay barked, but it was too late. Harry had already taken two steps into the grass. He turned back to Chakotay, his face frozen in alarm as the ground beneath him gave way and he disappeared from view.

“Harry!” Tom hollered, horror struck. He took an instinctive step forward before stopping himself. “What do we do?” he asked, his gaze flicking rapidly to Chakotay and back to the spot where Harry had disappeared.

“Stay there,” Chakotay ordered, moving towards the grass. “All of you. Don’t even think about moving.”

Kathryn stumbled out of the way just as something whizzed past her and splashed into the water. She stood stock-still, fearing that it might be some kind of animal, but when the water - which was now chest deep - remained calm, she ventured a hand out towards whatever it was that had joined her prison. It was thick and course and moved slowly against the pit wall. Kathryn reeled her hand back before she realised that lit was just rope.

A narrow beam of light appeared overhead, barely illuminating the ladder that had been thrown down. It grew wider and brighter as its owner descended, easing himself into the water next to Kathryn.

“I told you not to wander off,” Chip said gruffly, aiming his headlamp at her. He reached out to touch her head. Only then did she realise that it wasn’t water trickling down the side of her face.

Squinting against the bright light, she jerked her head away from him with a hiss of pain. “Come to finish the job?” she rasped.

He sighed as he unfurled the harness he was carrying. “Are you always this obstinate?”

Without waiting for a response, he moved closer, his arms circling her waist to strap her in. As though sensing she was about to pull away again, he backed off, his hands raised in the universal gesture of surrender. “I only want to help you, Kathryn,” he said softly. “I promise.” 

Fixing her best glare at him, she bit back the retort that hung heavy on her lips and raised her arms.

“I’ll tug the rope three times before I pull you up,” he said, as he secured the buckles tightly across her chest. Kathryn smothered a groan as the straps dug into the raw skin on her arms and back. His arms lingered a little longer than they should have. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, so earnestly that she forced herself to look away. What was it about this man that overruled her better judgment and made her want to trust him?

As soon as Chip began his ascent to the surface, Kathryn scrambled in the water for the gadgets she’d lost in the fall. She’d barely managed to grasp the slim handle of the phaser when she felt three sharp yanks at the rope and began to lurch slowly upward.

Suspended in thin air, her life literally hanging in the balance and powerless to do anything about it, Kathryn felt a great weariness descend upon her. It would be so easy to stop fighting - to stop having to come up with escape plans and contingency plans - and just give in to whatever fate had in store for her. This wasn’t Voyager , the Treaty didn’t rest solely in her hands. Remove her from the equation and there were a dozen young upstarts who would gladly (and probably, just as capably) take her place.

The thought vanished just as quickly as it arrived. It was impossible to override years of Starfleet training, her duty to the cause and her sense of self-preservation. She hadn’t thwarted the Borg and the Hirogen - heck, the whole damn Delta Quadrant - to be felled by some two-bit terrorist. Besides, she reminded herself, she still had some unfinished personal business to attend to.

Phaser drawn, body tensed, she emerged from the pit into the glow of Chip’s lamp. The bright light cut harsh shadows on her face and glistened off her damp skin, making her appear as though a phoenix reborn.

Temporarily blinded, she propelled herself towards the light, meaning to tackle Chip to the ground, but was surprised when she met no resistance. Swinging clean through the air, she landed in an unceremonious heap on the wet ground. Water gushed and flowed around her, threatening to sweep her back into the hell hole from whence she came. She dug her hands deeper into the mud, steadying herself so that she might attack again.

Before she could get upright, strong arms gripped her shoulders and cold metal pressed into her neck. “I thought you’d try something stupid,” Chip whispered, before she heard the tell-tale hiss of the hypospray and the world faded to black.

TBC

Chapter Text

For the third time in as many days, Kathryn struggled to consciousness. Everything was dark and hazy, but she could tell from the echo of the rainfall and the rough ground that she was in yet another cavern - bigger than the prison she’d just escaped, but smaller than the cave she’d come to think of as Chip’s home.

She shook her head to clear her vision and felt her brain slosh in her skull, like a specimen in a mishandled glass jar. She gagged as nausea threatened to overwhelm her. At once, strong hands hooked under her arms, pulling her into a seated position and pushing her head between her legs. She struggled against his grasp and realised that both her hands and feet were bound.

“Wh-what did you give me?” she slurred, her teeth chattering against the cold.

“Melenex,” Chip said brusquely, as he tucked a coarse, thin blanket around her shoulders. It did little to keep her warm. “From that medkit of yours. Should wear off in a couple of hours.”

Kathryn shut her eyes and swallowed deeply, willing the throbbing in her head and churning in her stomach to stop. It was only when she heard a grunt of frustration from a corner of the alcove that she forced herself to look up. Chip sat hunched by the mouth of the cave trying to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together. After yet another wisp of smoke snaked it’s way into nothingness, he threw the twigs against the far wall with a growl.

Kathryn’s stomach flopped, only this time it had nothing to do with the sedative and everything to do with the memory that had just come to her unbridled. Of course , she chided herself. How could she have been so blind?

“What?” he snapped when he caught her staring.

“You need kindling,” she said evenly. “The fire needs to catch on to something. You might try leaves, or...” Her throat felt dry. “Hair.”

She watched as he hunted about their small shelter, coming up with only a smattering of dry leaves and twigs. “Everything’s too damp,” he grumbled, when it didn’t take light. His eyes searched the cave, finally travelling up her face to the auburn hair that hung dankly between her eyes. Kathryn resisted the urge to tuck the stray strand behind her ear, suddenly conscious that she must look a sight.

Removing his headlamp and helmet, Chip wiped his hands on his trousers before running his hands through his own hair. “Looks like I get to make the offering,” he said lightly, unsheathing a small knife from a holster in his boot. He knelt beside her and offered her the blade, butt-end first. “Do they cover hairdressing in Starfleet 101?”

Kathryn tried to grasp the handle tightly, but her movements were sluggish. “H-how do you know I won’t slit your throat?” she rasped, angling the blade towards him.

“Because I trust you,” Chip said, a smile tugging at his lips. “And because we’ll be lucky if that thing cuts my hair much less my skin. I mainly use it as a sort of pry bar. Besides,” he added, prying the knife from her hands with ease, “given the state you’re in, you don’t pose much of a threat at the moment. Now, come on,” he said, tucking the blade back between her hands and giving them a gentle pat. “Before we both freeze to death.”

Slowly and shakily, Kathryn ran her hands through his hair, easing her fingers through the tangles. It was softer than she imagined, almost as silky as her own. When she located a dry patch at the crown of his head, she set to work with the serrated edge of the blade. Just as Chip had predicted, it was slow work. It felt like hours before Kathryn was finally able to hack off a small tuft of hair.

“You know,” she said, keeping her tone casual, as she deposited the first clump into his waiting hands, “this would go a lot quicker if you untie me.”

Chip chuckled. “I trust you, but not that much. You’ve proved to be a dangerous woman, Kathryn Janeway.” But despite his words, he angled himself closer, giving her better access to the top of his head.

The thunder rumbling overhead and the ran crashing outside faded into white noise. With the Melenex still coursing through her system, it took all of Kathryn’s energy to focus on the task at hand. What she would give for a cup of coffee right now, she thought to herself, only vaguely aware of Chip’s eyes searching her face, as though she was some heretofore unseen curiosity.

“I wonder what would have happened if we’d met in different circumstances,” he whispered, his breath stirring the clumps of hair in his hands.

When she didn’t respond, he tried again. “I never meant to hurt you, Kathryn. My fight isn’t with Starfleet.”

Kathryn stilled, finally allowing her gaze to meet his. When she spoke, her voice was low. “You killed a member of my crew. You crashed my shuttle. So you’ll forgive me if, somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

Chip sat back on his haunches. “I told you that was an accident. I needed things to slow down. I only wanted to talk.”

“What about the bomb you planted under the Parliament building? I suppose that was an accident too?”

Chip scrambled to his feet. “We were never going to detonate it! That was only meant to scare you off.”

Kathryn jutted her chin. “Well I don’t scare easily. You’ll have to do a whole lot worse than plant a few bombs and crash a few shuttles if you think you’re going to thwart this treaty. The Siran people want this. It’s in their interests. Why are you so intent on trying to stop it?”

Chip slammed his hand against the cave wall. “Let’s not play dumb, Kathryn! We all know that Starfleet’s real interest in Sira has nothing to do with the betterment of its people and everything to do with the Varon ore that lies under this land. Who cares about Vilra and its people? This is their home. This is their livelihood. It’s all they’ve ever known!”

Kathryn’s eyes followed Chip as he began to pace the length of their short shelter. Outside, thunder clapped and lightning crackled.

“You’re wrong,” she said pointedly, once the din had died down.

Chip whirled to face her. “Tell me that the Federation has no intention of mining the ore. Because I’ve read the treaty. I know what it says.”

Kathryn sighed and twisted in her bindings to pinch the bridge of her nose. “No,” she said at last. “You’re not wrong about that.” And then quickly, before could interject again, she added, “but we’re not the villains here. Yes, the Vilrans may be displaced and I’m sorry about that, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that far worse will happen if we allow the ore to fall into the wrong hands.”

Chip gazed down at her, hands on his hips. “You mean the Dakaans?”

“Yes,” Kathryn said exasperatedly, searching his face. “If you know about them, why are we having this conversation? Surely you can see that without the Federation Sira is no match for Daka?”

“No,” Chip said sharply, crouching down so that they were face to face. “There’s so much that you don’t know. This treaty of yours, it works in the Dakaan’s favour. They plan to use Federation resources to mine the ore for themselves. They’ve infiltrated the Siran military and government. The Commander-in-Chief and several high ranking generals and ministers are either themselves Dakaan, or work for the Dakaans. They’ve been blackmailing the President for years. Threatening his family and holding them hostage. Keja doesn’t want this treaty anymore than I do - it will make the Siran people slaves to the Dakaans!”

Kathryn’s eyes widened. “I don’t believe it,” she murmured, running her hands over her face. But the puzzle pieces were falling into place - Keja’s apathy towards the Federation treaty, his restlessness around his Commander-in-Chief, his request for a clandestine meeting just hours before the treaty was due to be signed.

“I never lied to you, Kathryn,” Chip said, taking her hands in his. “I may have withheld the truth, but I never lied to you. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but the Vilrans don’t have much and despite all the pain and suffering that my parents brought upon them, they’ve been nothing but good to me. Some of my methods may have been questionable, but all I wanted was to keep my people safe. Surely you can understand that.”

Kathryn studied their joined hands before turning to look at him. In the dark of the cold, blistering night, he looked and sounded so much like Chakotay. She resisted the urge to feel the ridges around his eye; to remind herself that it wasn’t him . Hadn’t Chakotay uttered very similar words to her once before, late at night in the middle of holo-Lake George. She hadn’t had to give him the benefit of the doubt then, but who was to say that Chip wasn’t deserving of that same trust?

Taking her silence for mistrust, Chip ploughed on. “If you won’t call off the treaty, then I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands. The Dakaans are onto us - they killed my Chief Engineer and we’ve detected their presence here in the jungle - but we have a plan to reveal them for who they are. Once the Siran people know that the Dakaans are behind the Federation treaty, it’ll lose all public support. Until then, I’m afraid I can’t let you go - Starfleet won’t sign the Treaty whilst their most decorated Admiral is missing in action.”

As Chip stood to retreat to his corner of the alcove, Kathryn clenched her fingers around his sleeve, keeping him in place. “Let Starfleet help you,” she said softly. “Let me help you. Your plan may keep the Dakaans at bay, but Varon ore is highly valuable and your people will always be at risk. Maybe with your,” she looked around the cave and cracked a small smile, “ingenuity, and my resources, we can find a better - a more permanent - solution.”

Chakotay stood, phaser drawn, pressed hard against a tree trunk as he scanned the sprawling campsite before him. The rain had subsided a couple of hours ago, shortly after the away team had rescued Ensign Merah and Lieutenant Kim.

Both were fine; Merah a little worse for wear. The arrow had pierced clean through his shoulder and the shock, blood loss, or both, had knocked him unconscious. “He’ll live,” Tom had announced, after giving the young man a once over. “He’s lucky though, any lower and it would have gone straight through his heart.”

Harry sported a sprained ankle and bloody lip, but Chakotay suspected that his ego hurt far worse. “I’m sorry, Captain,” Harry had croaked, as they loaded him onto a make-shift stretcher to cart him down to the beam-out site. “I should have known better.” But it was difficult to stay angry at the Lieutenant when he thrust a small, metal device into Chakotay’s hands. “I found this at the bottom of the pit. I think it’s from the Georgiou .”

Sure enough, when Chakotay checked the registration number at the bottom of the now-defunct tricorder, it matched that of Kathryn’s shuttle. Despite the brief sojourn from their original mission, the away team were bouyed by the find and had resumed their search with renewed vigour - a task made easier by clear skies, for it was only a couple of hours later that V’rok’s superior Vulcan eyesight had spotted a campground in the distance.

Eyes still trained on the Jedburgh’s settlement, Chakotay quickly devised the next phase of the mission. “We’ll split into two groups,” he whispered to the rest of the team, who were dispersed in the trees behind him. “Commander V’rok, Seven, you search the west side, Tom and I will take the east-“

That was when he saw her, slowly descending a steep, rocky incline that led to the main compound. Though she was a mere spec in the distance, he would recognise her anywhere.

Even before he’d hit the zoom button on his goggles, Chakotay could tell that Kathryn was hurt. Her hair was bloody and matted. Tatty bandages hugged her forehead and arms, and what exposed skin he could see was raw and bruised. She was leaning heavily on the tall, Siran man beside her. Chakotay recognised him instantly as Chip Tehja. Tehja had his arm wrapped tightly around Kathryn’s waist and his head bent close to hers, listening intently to what she was saying. Despite her injuries, Kathryn seemed in no immediate danger. In fact, she looked in her element. Chakotay could tell from her pointed expression and confident gestures that she was doing what she did best - strategising and issuing orders.

Chakotay sagged against the tree. So great was his relief at seeing Kathryn not only alive but safe, that it never occurred to him that the rest of the away team were oddly silent until it was too late. He heard scuffling behind him before he felt cold, hard metal being pressed against the base of his skull.

“Drop your weapon.”

Chakotay raised his hands above his head but didn’t relinquish his grip on his phaser.

“I said, drop your weapon.” The metallic object jabbed roughly against his head. “Now.”

Before Chakotay could do as he was told, the phaser was wrenched from his hand and he was pushed against the tree and frisked. His assailant made quick work divesting him of his equipment. Only then, did he come face-to-face with his attacker - a brawny Siran man in a faded black tunic and trousers. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the rest of the away team were being bound and gagged by several other similarly clad men.

“We mean you no harm,” Chakotay said calmly, ignoring the weapon pointed at his chest. “We’re just looking for one of our people.”

“Oh, we know why you’re here,” the man said, as he secured Chakotay’s hands behind his back. He nodded at one of his associates, who stuffed a gag into Chakotay’s mouth. “And believe me, you’re going to wish you hadn’t come.”

The away team were frogmarched into the settlement at gunpoint. Villagers scuttled out of their way and mothers clutched their children closer as they watched from the doorways of their homes. Here and there, the universal translator picked up snippets of harried conversations: “How did they find us?” ... “Are there more of them?” ... “Will we have to leave?”

The group came to a halt in a large clearing at what Chakotay presumed, from the way the huts and shelters converged around it, was the heart of the settlement.

“Get Chip,” the man at Chakotay’s back ordered as he forced Chakotay to kneel in the dirt alongside Tom and the others. “Tell him to come quickly.”

The man that Chakotay had seen helping Kathryn down the mountain was a veritable kitten compared to the version of Chip Tehja that stalked into the clearing, his face drawn and fists balled.

“How did you find us?” Chip demanded, honing in on Tom and ripping the gag from his mouth.

“We mean you no harm,” Tom said, taking Chakotay’s lead from earlier. “We’re just looking for a memb-“

“I don’t think you heard me.” Chip grabbed Tom by the scruff of his collar and shook him violently. One of the guards pressed a gun to Tom’s back. “I said, how did you find us?”

“Birj,” Tom said quickly, clearly hoping to diffuse the situation. “It was a man called Birj.”

It was the wrong response. Chakotay saw the fury bubble in Chip’s eyes before the man snapped. Grabbing a pistol from one of his men, he jabbed it between Tom’s eyes. “Birj!” he roared, a vein throbbing in his temple. “You killed Birj!”

Chip cocked the gun and Chakotay cried out, his voice muffled by the cloth wedged between his teeth. He struggled against his bonds, desperate to do something to save Tom when a steely voice lanced across the square. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Chip’s threw a glance over his shoulder. “Stay out of this, Kathryn. This has nothing to do with you.”

Despite the fact that it looked like she’d done six rounds with an Andorian wildebeest and barely lived to tell the tale, Kathryn Janeway strode across the clearing and wedged herself between Tom and Tehja. “These are my people,” she said, her voice laced with ice as she stood toe-to-toe with with the Siran leader. “And I expect you to treat them with the same respect as you would have me treat yours.”

Chip’s hold on his gun faltered. “Your people?” he asked, running a hand over his face. “They’re Dakaans. They’re wearing Dakaan colours.”

“Dakaan colours?” Tom asked, his confidence noticeably bolstered by Janeway’s presence. “These aren’t Dakaan colours. These are your colours - Jedburgh colours! A man wearing this uniform tried to kill my wife and child. He killed Birj!”

Janeway rested a hand on Tom’s shoulder and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Hold on a second,” she said, her gaze flicking between Tom and Chip. “Who’s Birj?”

“My Head Engineer,” Chip said, finally lowering his weapon.

Kathryn placed a hand on her hip. The other rested on Tom’s shoulder, as much to steady herself, Chakotay realised, as to reassure her former pilot. “Is this the same Head Engineer who left the day I arrived?”

Chip ran a hand over his face. Chakotay thought he saw a flicker of guilt there. “Yes. Birj was... disgruntled at my decision to bring you here. Well, not so much the decision, more the means by which I chose to do so. He tried to warn me that our computer wasn’t powerful enough for the transport; that people would get hurt, but I wouldn’t listen. After the shuttle accident, he wanted out. I couldn’t stop him from leaving and now… he’s dead.” Chip’s eyes locked on to Tom he raised his firearm, his finger tightening around the trigger.

Kathryn placed a hand on Chip’s chest and wedged herself further between Chip and Tom. The barrel of his gun was now aimed firmly at her midsection and Chip’s finger was still tightening around the trigger.

“Kath-“ Chakotay tried to warn her. His cry was garbled by his gag, but it succeeded in getting her attention. She looked at him, her eyes lingered on him for just a moment before she looked back at Chip. Chills ran down Chakotay’s spine, leaving him hollow inside - for the first time in a long time, Kathryn Janeway was completely unreadable to him.

“Step aside, Kathryn.” Chip growled.

“No, no, hold on.” Kathryn insisted, her fingers grasping tightly at Chip’s chest. Chakotay knew she was appealing to all his senses in an attempt to get him to stand down - it was a tactic she had employed with him in some of his most heated moments; it was a tactic that could only be deployed if there was some level of intimacy between the players. Chakotay felt something hot stir at the base of his belly; something that made him feel like punching Chip Tehja in the face.

“You said men in this uniform killed… Birj.” Kathryn said slowly looking back at Tom.

Tom nodded quickly.

“And you say these are the Dakaan uniforms?” She asked Chip.

Of course ! Chakotay knew immediately where this was going. Chip and Tom however, were a little slower on the uptake; they were still looking at Kathryn with dazed expressions.

“Gentleman,” Kathryn said triumphantly, “I think you’re both hunting the same enemy.”

TBC