Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and the characters belong to Paramount/CBS.

A/N A special thank you to KJaneway115 for her encouragement and beta help. Some rewrites have been made since her read-through, and any errors remaining are mine alone.

Two weeks since we last spoke. Five months since I last saw her in person the day before I left for Dorvan. Six days since I last saw anything. My mind can easily recall the flare of the explosion, the lancing pain through my head, and then nothing but blinding white. The doctors did the best they could with their limited medical equipment before wrapping my eyes and declaring that my own body would hopefully complete the healing. They couldn't dare to remove the bandages for two weeks, and I have eight days left to go. I should have known.

I was sedated the day I was supposed to contact her. Two days later, when I was allowed to wake up, the headache was all I could think of. Another day, and I couldn't face her, couldn't tell her that I was less than the man she knew. Useless, damaged perhaps beyond repair. Helpless. But I should have known.

The voice like the burn of a fine brandy, the sting and warmth and slow slide that leaves the hearer craving more; I would prefer a bottle of brandy to answering her. For six days, I've heard only my sister, my nephews, and the doctors, voices that blurred together and skated the surface of the darkness but never penetrated. Until one word-sip of the fine brandy burned through: Chakotay.

How?

B'Elanna.

I should have known. A dip in the mattress beside me, smell of coffee and roses and sunlight. She always smelled like sunlight to me, though I could never say how. Ridiculous, I know. Wavelength, energy, speed, yes. Odor, no, though it is there just the same in her.

How am I? Blind, Kathryn, that's how I am. Words sharper than I wanted them to be. Knee-jerk reaction. I wasn't prepared for her. Somebody should have warned me she was here. I should have known.

Eight days. No, there is no guarantee. Eight days until I see again or until I am condemned for the rest of my life. Nothing you can do. You shouldn't have come. No, I didn't mean that. You should have let me know you were coming. I could have been more prepared.

My fingers scratch through the rough beard growth on my chin and jaw. I had needed a haircut before the explosion. What did my nephew pick out for me today? I forgot to ask what color shirt I'm wearing, or even if it matches the soft pants. Maybe the sheet over my legs will hide any clash. Brown. I should tell them just to dress me in brown every day. Then I would know.

Oh, yes, the accident. How much did B'Elanna tell you? Installing a new power supply for the school. Overload. Delayed to make sure everyone evacuated to a safe distance. Optical nerves seared. Facial burns regenerated. Two weeks. Maybe, maybe not. Or some shit.

I didn't mean to jump when she touched my arm. It's her way. I don't want pity. Does she pity me? Gods, I can't take pity from her. Water, please. The glass is pressed into my hand. I manage to find my mouth and not feel a trickle down my chin. That's something, at least. Hold the glass out until it disappears from my fingers and hear the clink on the bedside table. Let my hand drop and feel hers underneath it. An entire bed, and I managed to find my way in utter blackness to her small, delicate hand. She doesn't move it, so neither do I.

I'm glad you're here. I missed talking to you. Sedated, headache, bandages, no time to contact you. What about your work? I find it hard to believe you took a month of leave. Happy to grant all the time you want, huh? HQ is still riding high on the fame of their newest admiral. Dame of the Delta Quadrant? I laugh at that. I wish I had thought of it. No, never to your face, I'm sure. Another chuckle. When was the last time I laughed?

Yes, the replicator makes coffee. I built this shelter my first month here. Too crowded in the house. One large room, small replicator, table with one chair, bed, plus bathroom. No bathtub. Don't tell her that nothing says alone like a table with one chair. Except the darkness. There is that. Useless, helpless, less.

I was doing some good. I repaired the water filtration system, helped to improve the soil yields with some of the tricks from the aeroponics bay, reviewed the power infrastructure, and developed a plan for more efficient use of the energy. The new supply at the school was supposed to help. An aged coupling failed, and no way to stop it.

The smell of sunlight and fresh coffee on my other side, now. From the change in the mattress, she's sitting against the headboard, her legs stretched out in front of her. There's no point in turning at the sound of her voice, but I do anyway. Is she revolted by the bandages? No, not revolted. She wouldn't be. Even knowing I can't see her, she would keep her expression neutral so that no one except I, and maybe Tuvok, had any inkling of what she was thinking. I wish I could read her now. What does she think of less-than-Chakotay?

My sister and my nephew entering. A second chair for the table. A plate for Kathryn, a bowl for me. My sister has taken to making one-dish meals for me so I'm not chasing food I can't see around a plate. Fortified with nutrients the doctors hope will give my body the best chance to repair itself. Hope being the operative word. I wish Doc was here. The doctors here won't let me travel to him. Too risky, too much stress. Sedate me, put me in stasis, anything. If a safe way can be found. That was five days ago.

My nephew's hand under my arm to lead me to the table. I'm beginning to learn the way, but still misjudge sometimes. The extra chair, where did they place the extra chair? My hand is led to the back of it. I would have kicked it without the help. She knows that, has to have seen that. Sit down and grope for the spoon, holding the edge of the bowl with the other hand. The first few meals had been disastrous. At least I've had time to get used to feeding myself. Mostly. I have to eat and hope the boost of nutrients helps. It would be rude to ask her to eat in the house because I don't want her to watch me.

You're staying here? No. It's not right. You don't have to take care of me. I know Sekaya and the boys have to return to work and school. Another villager, a neighbor, anybody. Damn it, Kathryn, why? You are not responsible for me. I know we're friends. I didn't mean to yell. I'm sorry I upset you. Of course you can stay.

The air is getting cooler. What time? 1800 hours. You know, I've lost all track of time. I have to ask what day it is, what time of day. I can judge a bit by the meals brought to me, when they help me to the shower, when they lay out my clothes and comb my hair. The headache comes and goes. Sekaya will show you where the hypospray is. You have more important things to do. Are you sure I can't talk you out of this? I have to smile. Heavens know I wouldn't try to out-stubborn you, Admiral. The brandy slide of her laughter in the darkness.

My foot kicks hers under the table. I'm sorry, I can't see how close I am to you. She puts my hand on her shoulder, letting me feel the distance by the length of my arm. Funny, no one has done that before now. I've had to judge by noises of movement or voices. The touch makes it easier. Thank you.

Someone returns for the dishes. No, I'm full. Thank your mother for me. And tell her to give you the cot to bring in here, with extra blankets and pillows. Your brother can help you carry it. Yes, Admiral Janeway is staying so you can return to school tomorrow. I'm glad you like school. I know you'll be happy to see your friends again. She said it's okay, so you can call her Kathryn. Yes, she came all the way from Starfleet Headquarters on Earth. She is a good friend, isn't she? Carry the dishes to the house, and don't forget the cot.

I can hear the smile in her voice. They are good boys. Sekaya has done a fine job with them. They were so little when I last saw them before Voyager. I'm still surprised by how much they've grown. They've been a lot of help since the accident.

She tells me about her family, her mother and sister and nephews. She visited briefly, but was eager to return to work. I know that she dealt with the shock of being back in the Alpha Quadrant by staying on duty as much as possible. She's one of those people who would work right through the end of the universe. It's her way of coping. It's also why I don't believe the month of leave. I'm willing to bet she hasn't taken that much time off since she entered the Academy. Maybe when her father died. I almost forgot about that. But, to take a month for me? Rather, less-than-me. If she wasn't here, I wouldn't believe it.

I stand up from my chair and try to remember the number of steps to the end of the bed. If I can find it, I can make my way around to the back wall and the bathroom. No, it's okay. I can find my way. As long as nobody puts anything new in my path, I'm getting used to it. I'm actually glad I'm in this room. It would be much harder in the house. More to the left? There it is, thank you. I know that once I reach the end of the bed, it's seven steps to the back wall, then three to the door of the bathroom.

When I come back out, she tells me she's standing by the outside door. Something else no one has bothered to do – let me know when they've moved from where I last knew them to be. It's comforting that on the map in my head of this shelter I built, I can place her and see her. She instinctively knows this, knowing how similar we are in our need to immediately recognize and assess whatever environment we're in. It's hardwired into both of us and honed by the experiences in the Delta Quadrant. No one else, not even the doctors, has been sensitive to this need.

Is it dark outside yet? Good. The doctors don't want me outside in the sunlight. They don't want to take any chance that the harsh light could find a way through the bands around my eyes. Waterproof, sealed to my skin, almost indestructible, but still there is a tiny chance. I try to sit outside after dark. Would you like to join me? When my nephew comes with the cot, I'll get him to help me outside. Right. I guess I have to get used to this. Let me hold onto your arm. There's a chair outside and to the right of the door.

She takes my hand and guides it to the back of her arm, wrapping her fingers over mine. I got used to the feel of her hand on my elbow on occasion on Voyager. To have the roles reversed feels strange. I wonder if she thinks so, too. She tells me we're at the door, then stops and warns me of the step. When we reach the bottom, she leads me to the chair and places my hand on the back of it. I'm able to reach down from there to the seat and position myself to sit down. When I'm settled, she tells me she'll be right back. She's going to get another chair from the house.

I listen to her footfalls. She's not wearing boots, which means she's not in uniform. I didn't even notice the feel of the material under my hand. I subconsciously rub my fingers together. No, it was definitely not the feel of a uniform. Suddenly, my mind's picture of her is blurred. This hasn't happened before. Why can't I see her? I realize that with other people, I've pictured them either in something I saw them wear before or a sort of generic shirt and pants. What color is she wearing? Is she in a dress? Slacks? How long is her hair? Gods, I can't see her! My heart is racing, and I take deep breaths. I touch the shirt I'm wearing. No, that's not the right feel. Pants? That's not it, either. What is that feeling that lingers on my fingertips? Is it something I've seen on her before? The white button-up shirt without a collar? The blue dress? The gray dress? Damn it! Why can't I see her?

You're back! No, you didn't startle me. Okay. Nothing's wrong. I'm okay. It's stupid. You really want to know? I realized you aren't in uniform, and I can't picture you anymore. No, it hasn't happened with anyone else. I don't know why. A dress your sister gave you for a coming home gift? You look good in mint green. Narrow cuffs just above the elbows. High V-neck, buttons down the front, skirt just below the knees. You look nice. How long is your hair? She picks up my hand and lets me feel the ends where they brush the top of her shoulder. She puts my hand at her temple and pulls it through her hair. You're wearing it loose. I like it that way. Really, no heels? White flats are more practical, especially here. I smile when she says she's wearing the same pink lipstick. Thank you, Kathryn.

She lets her knee rest against mine so I can tell where she is. I picture her sitting in her green dress, red hair shining in the moonlight, soft pink lips with the barest hint of sheen, white shoes on her narrow feet. My racing heart slows again with the image fixed in my mind, and the night sounds of Dorvan surround us.

All three of them come from the house carrying the cot and extra linens. Sekaya brings the hypospray and tells Kathryn she'll leave it on the shelf above the replicator. It's already programmed with the appropriate pain medication and dosage. The searing headache can hit at any time, and I'm helpless when it does. More helpless. I don't want her to see me that way. I can't stop it, though. I know it will happen. The pain is less frequent than it was, but far from gone. She's trying to keep her voice normal as she repeats the instructions from Sekaya. I can hear her concern. I'm relieved I don't hear pity. Concern is bad enough. She knows I'm less than the man she knew a week ago. I'm damaged.

Hugs from the boys. A kiss on the cheek from my sister. Goodnights spoken to Kathryn and returned. Footsteps fade through the grass.

No, I'm not thirsty. The nights can get cool. Are you warm enough? I didn't call B'Elanna, my sister did. I know I should have told her to call you. I would have, eventually. Yes, Miral is growing quickly. I sent a dream catcher for her nursery before I left Earth. I haven't spoken to Harry in a couple of months. How is Tuvok? I'm sure he would never admit to being a proud grandfather.

I attempt to cover a yawn. I don't sleep well. I try to ignore my fatigue because I know she stays up late. My shoulders droop, and I slide lower in my seat. Her hand on my arm. I can't deny that I'm tired. She stands and tugs me up, returning my hand to the back of her arm. Step up, cross through the doorway. She tells me the cot is set up along the far wall. I knew it would be since that's the only space where it will fit.

No, Kathryn, I'm not letting you sleep on the cot. I know you're smaller than me. No, I don't know the room layout with the extra piece in it. I will learn it. You can be the most frustrating woman, sometimes. I smile despite myself. Just for tonight. Tomorrow, I'll learn the space so you can take the bed.

She guides me through the narrower walkway to the bathroom. It won't be a problem to navigate if I get up from the bed. I brush my teeth, another activity that was messy at first. I splash water over my face, once again feeling the stubble. I must look ghastly. I reach for the towel on the rack and feel an extra one already hanging for her. I'm glad my sister thought of it. I finish getting ready for bed and feel my way back to the wall and the three steps to the edge of the mattress.

She tells me she's beside the table, getting her pajamas from her bag. I hear a zipper, the rustle of material, the sound of – a PADD? – being laid on a wooden surface. Zipper again, and a soft-sided bag being set on the floor against the wall. She tells me the case is between the replicator and the table. It shouldn't be in the way there. Soft steps. A brush of her leg as she passes me to go in the bathroom and change. I still don't know if I'm happy or profoundly sad that she's here. The man I was would be ecstatic. This less-than-me is confused. Slide under the covers and fluff the pillow under my head. I'm too tired to decide tonight.