September 2012

Author's Note: Inspired by the "Time on My Hands" VAMB challenge. Frankly, I found Chakotay's characterization confusing in "Year of Hell". Let's pretend he stayed with the captain until it was time to blow the ship to smithereens, shall we? :) As ever, I'd luuurve to know what you think:)

Captain Janeway was out of time.

Voyager was wrecked, her crew departed. The metal around Janeway was singed, the sleek technology twisted and warped from the heat of warfare- the ship was stained with the blood of enemies and of friends alike.

The captain, however, took no notice of the charred debris that surrounded her now painfully-slender frame. She stood on the bridge alone. Her eyes, so piercing in the smoky darkness, fixated upon the gaping hole in bulkhead before her. The only thing protecting Janeway from the merciless black void of space was a flickering force field.

It would not last much longer.

She did not need it to.

Through the puncture, Janeway saw her crew's last chance at survival.

If she could coax Voyager to follow just one more command, she could ram their home of four years into the weapon that caused the year of hell and end this, once and for all.

A captain always goes down with her ship.

The tears stinging her eyes should be blamed on the acrid smoke; there is no room for anything else.

Janeway was just entering the final command into the remains of the pilot's console when the turbolift doors were forced apart and suddenly, she was no longer alone.

"Kathryn," said Chakotay sadly, in lack of more articulate words. What else could he say, now, at the end of all things?

Janeway straightened up from the con and faced her first officer of four years. "You were supposed to go with B'Elanna's team," she said hollowly.

Chakotay shook his head and picked out a path towards her through the obstacle course of jagged metal and exposed wiring. "It's too late now. The transporters aren't responding." The lie was blatant on his cracked lips.

Janeway mentally kicked herself for the flutter she felt- secretly, selfishly, she had hoped he would stay.

The bridge, normally so full of laughter or banter or, more recently, screams of pain, was eerily silent as Chakotay's caressing hands found Janeway's anguished face. Silent, as though already dead, when his lips met hers.

Their kiss was bittersweet- so deliciously bittersweet. Though they could detect the salty taste of unsaid fears, feel the hotness of mutual tears, there was also relief. Yes, relief; relief because even though we stand on the bridge of our wrecked ship and our ruined lives, I've found you.

Janeway forced herself back to reality and pulled away. She searched Chakotay's deep brown eyes one more time and then pressed a button on the pilot's console, sending their ship hurtling towards destruction.

Janeway pulled a silver watch from her pocket. She pressed the forgotten birthday present against Chakotay's warm palm, and together, they held a little piece of time.

The command team turned to face the stars, still joined by interlocking fingers, still clutching the silver pocket watch.

I know the last thing I will ever feel is the lurch of the ship beneath my feet. I know my body will be incinerated before my brain can even process the noise of the explosion.

But for now, I just want to taste your mouth on mine, to savor the feel of how perfectly your fingers fill the spaces between mine, with a silver pocket watch pressed between our palms.

For now, I've got time on my hands.

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