Close Quarters

A/N: Had this scene in my head for the last couple of days. It's totally PWP, but it wanted out so here it is – a little thank you gift for emmikamikatze on Tumblr (she knows why) and maybe a little 'cheer-up' gift for Laura W, although it ended up being a little more angsty than I'd expected. Written at the speed of light and unbeta'd, so sorry for any roughness… Happy weekend, all. xx

Smoke was billowing from somewhere, dense and acrid. His neck hurt. His chest hurt. He blinked into the chiaroscuro colours dancing in the semi-dark around him, disoriented, thinking I must have blacked out. He wasn't in his seat. Instead he was slumped awkwardly on the floor, his upper back and neck angled painfully against the crumpled bulkhead. He realised that the crumpled mess beside him was the remains of his chair. Gingerly he began to manoeuvre himself, turning toward where she should be. As he did so he heard a groan, the uncertain clatter of movement.

"Captain?"

"Chakotay?" Her voice rasped beneath the hissing of broken conduits. "Are you all right?"

Her chair was still in place and she was still in it, straightening up from where she'd been lying across the dead expanse of the shuttle's console.

"I… think so…"

He was sore, though. Moving was difficult. She reached for him as he tried to get up.

"Take it easy," she said, helping him to his feet. "That was some impact."

"What happened?"

She shook her head. "We've lost another shuttle, that's what's happened. We have got to stop getting ourselves into these situations."

Chakotay glanced at the viewscreen. Beyond was nothing but darkness. Wherever they were, they'd have to wait for whatever constituted daylight here to make its' way to them. If they were here that long, which he doubted they would be.

"Voyager knew our heading," he said, mildly, wincing again as he moved. "They'll pick us up soon enough."

"Chakotay," she said, suddenly, gripping his bicep and turning him toward her. "You're bleeding."

He looked down at his chest. His uniform was torn right down to the skin, a narrow slash through which blood was steadily seeping. At least that explained the pain in his chest.

Kathryn was already going for the medkit. "Sit down," she told him.

"I don't think it's serious. I can barely feel it."

"I said, sit down."

Chakotay did as he was told as she retrieved the kit and picked her way back towards him through the detritus of the ruined craft. There was a scrape on her face, he noticed - nothing serious, just a slight mar on her right cheek. Her hair was slipping from the bun she'd fixed it into, shaken by the impact into something looser, softer. When she was close enough he held out a hand for the medkit but she dumped it on the dead console instead, waving one finger at his upper body as she flipped it open.

"Take off your jacket and shirt."

He began to undo his jacket, ignoring the sting as he eased it off his shoulders. The bleeding showed no sign of stopping. "I can use the dermal regenerator on myself, Captain."

She looked down at the open medkit, hands on her hips. "Actually, you can't. There isn't one here." She shook her head. "I didn't realise the shortages were that bad, Chakotay."

"We've lost quite a few," he admitted. "Replicating them takes a lot of energy. The Doctor and I have been working out a schedule to replace what we can."

"At a bare minimum the shuttles should be equipped," she pointed out. "Especially given the crew of Voyager's proclivity for crashing the damn things."

He smiled at that, despite the pain lancing through him as he tried to remove his rollneck. "Noted, Captain. I'll make sure the shuttle medkits are overhauled as soon as we get back to the ship."

The kit did have a working tricorder. She ran it over him as he discarded his ruined shirt. Beneath it, his vest was saturated.

"It's quite a deep cut, but nothing serious. Still, we need to stop the bleeding. That'll have to come off, too," she said, indicating the vest. "Here – just cut it."

She handed him a pair of scissors. Chakotay did as he was told, nicking the bottom seam and then ripping away the wet fabric. As he did so Kathryn knelt in front of him and Chakotay found her between his legs, the top of her head level with his chin. She reached out and helped him tear the last seam of his vest, pushing it away from his shoulders so that his chest was bare, the blood glistening in the half-light.

The Captain rested one hand on his thigh to balance herself as she turned to take a packet of sterile wipes from the depleted kit. Chakotay could feel the warmth of her fingers through his uniform pants, a stark contrast to the chill air on his bared skin. He said nothing as she started to wipe the blood from around the cut in confident, light strokes. He watched her face instead, the concentration written in the faint lines around her eyes, which remained fixed on dealing with his cut. Chakotay knew he should be attempting not to notice the feel of her hands on him quite so acutely. He focused on her hair instead, on the errant strands that had freed themselves to curl in wisps against her neck. As he watched some drifted across her eyes but her fingers were too occupied with his injury to push them back. They remained where they were, drifting slightly on a breeze created by her breath.

The silence stretched.

Excess blood cleaned away, Kathryn placed a thick wad of padding directly over his open wound, pressing down firmly but gently and then holding one hand there to exert pressure. He watched as her other hand drifted down towards his thigh as if she were about to rest it there. She stopped herself before it touched him, her fingers curled into themselves instead; hovering, hesitating. He knew, then, that this silence wasn't just because they had nothing to talk about.

He saw her swallow, the movement shivering up her neck. He wondered if she could feel the increase in his heart rate. The scent of her, this close, was cutting through the smoke. He thought he would recognise her even in his sleep, just from that scent alone.

She raised her eyes to look up at his face. Their gazes met briefly and then she looked away again, dropping her chin until he was looking at the top of her head, at the unruly red tint of her beautifully untameable hair. He might have been imagining it, but Chakotay thought he felt her fingers tremble – very, very slightly - where they held the pad to his chest.

He reached out, stroking the loose curls of her hair away from her face. Kathryn lifted her face as his hand curled around to drift under her jaw and then behind her neck, fingers tangling in that loose, thick hair. He pulled her towards him, tipping her face up, gently. He kissed her.

It was a soft kiss, a full kiss, a deep kiss. He didn't hurry. His lips moved over hers with slow deliberation, because right then, for what was the first and he knew could well be the last time, Chakotay knew this was exactly – exactly – what they both wanted.

Kathryn's free hand rested on his thigh, squeezing just hard enough that he could feel her nails digging into his skin. That and the unbearably tender softness of her mouth under his: these were what he would take away from this moment. For they were the contrasts that typified her so perfectly; the contrasts that had filled him with a slow, ever-growing longing that had been seeded within a month of their journey beginning.

Her combadge beeped.

"Tuvok to Captain Janeway, please respond."

Kathryn pushed away from him and stood, turning swiftly as he replaced her hand on his chest with his own. She stood with her back to him, both hands on her hips.

"Janeway here."

"What is your status?"

"We're both relatively unharmed. But we could use a lift, Tuvok."

"Voyager will be in orbit momentarily, Captain. Standby for transport."

Tuvok cut the transmission. The subsequent silence took on a different quality. The Captain turned around.

"We've just got to stop getting ourselves into these situations," she said.

[END]