A BEGINNING, A MIDDLE, AND A PROPER END

Disclaimer: Copyright for everything related to Star Trek is held by Paramount. This particular story is mine--written for fun, not for profit. Full credits for quoted material can be found here.

Special thanks to the creators, cast, and crew of Voyager, to the executives at Paramount--without them, after all, there wouldn't have been a Voyager--and especially to Kate Mulgrew and Robert Beltran, for creating two such memorable and compelling characters.

For Guy, as always--

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Of Necessity

"Caretaker"

TORRES: Who is she to be making these decisions for all of us?

CHAKOTAY: She's the captain.

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"Come in, Commander. Please sit down."

So I've been demoted, Chakotay thought, hearing once again his former Starfleet rank. Not that any of his Maquis crew had ever actually addressed him as "Captain," nor could it be said that the Maquis paid much attention to rank at all, but in practice there was a hierarchy on board a Maquis ship, and he had been at the top of it. But those days, as they said, were gone. It was an indication of a certain degree of professional respect, in fact, that Janeway addressed him by any rank at all.

"Thank you, Captain." He sat in the chair she indicated, a firm, comfortable chair that adjusted automatically to his hips and spine, and needed no patching with fabri-tape. Luxury. He hadn't known luxury in quite some time.

Janeway dismissed Tuvok with a nod, ignoring his frown of disapproval that she should meet with Chakotay alone. Her security chief had personally escorted their guest from the mess hall, where his crew had been ensconced, and Janeway supposed that technically she was taking a risk in ridding herself of his protective presence. But Chakotay would be a fool to try anything in her ready room without his crew to back him up, and she knew already that he was not a fool. She noted the Maquis captain's wary confidence, and sensed again his unexpected deference to her authority on board her ship--despite the fact that only the week before they might have found themselves shooting at each other.

Unexpected. So much about this man was unexpected. She'd studied his record before she came after him and she'd studied it again just now, this time with a different focus and the benefit of some direct interaction with him. That first time she had been trying to profile an adversary, a target; she had reviewed his considerable battle experience looking for tendencies in strategy and tactics that she could anticipate and be ready to counter, but she had found that what he tended to be was unpredictable. In her more recent examination she had looked instead for character traits and motivations, and in those areas she had found consistency, along with plenty of evidence to support Tuvok's contention that Chakotay, though a rebel, was truly the man of principle he had, according to Tom Paris, always claimed to be. There was no question he was willing to risk and ultimately give up a great deal for something he believed in. He'd had a fine career in Starfleet, with space service on several different classes of vessel and teaching experience at the Academy. An efficient and loyal officer, every evaluation said, and a steadying influence on his subordinates. He would need to be steady if he accepted her proposition. His record also spoke of his selfless courage, but she had seen proof enough of that herself. It was true that in the last months before he resigned he'd received two reprimands for insubordination, but Captain Khoury, whom Janeway knew personally and considered a good judge of character, ascribed his first officer's uncharacteristic belligerence to the stress of knowing his home colony was under Cardassian assault and then to the deaths of his parents. I might have joined the Maquis, too, if it was personal.

A week ago she had considered him an enemy, but now he had gambled his life and sacrificed his ship to save her ship and crew. He had accepted her leadership and worked with her, proving himself as adaptable as Alim Khoury said he was. He had a temper but he could restrain it, even in the face of severe provocation--he had quite plainly wanted to reduce Tuvok and Paris to a bloody pulp in the middle of her bridge, but he had overcome his rage and worked civilly with both men in an unspoken mutual nonaggression pact. Tuvok himself had reported, in fact, that Chakotay was cool in a crisis. He was also patient--another unexpected trait--waiting for her to finish her scrutiny and not at all disconcerted by it. In fact he was returning it, sizing her up just as she was him. What did he see? she wondered--the part of her that quailed before the incomprehensible distance they must travel and the odds against their success, or the part of her that relished the challenge? His chin tipped up slightly in appraisal, and she caught a glimpse of something in his eyes that suggested he might have seen, and understood, both.

"I'd offer you some coffee, but our replicators are down and we haven't broken out the rations yet. In any case, ration coffee would be an insult, believe me." For the first time since Chakotay had met her she favored him with a smile; it softened and brightened her face and made her look years younger.

"Oh, I'm used to ration coffee. Our replicator was old and cranky--we had to save its power for repair parts. But--this isn't exactly a social call, is it?"

He was direct. She liked that. "No--and I'm sorry it's been delayed so long."

"You've had a few other things on your mind." Damage assessments, supply inventories, repairs. Funerals. Voyager had lost almost as many men and women as composed his entire crew, including most of Janeway's senior officers, those with whom she would have worked most closely. How terribly alone she must feel. And he had only added to the unimaginable difficulty of her position.

She gave no voice to the grief and regret that showed briefly in her face. Ship captains learned to compartmentalize emotion, to put off feeling; just now she didn't have time for grief. "I haven't had a chance to thank you for buying us time. That was quite a chance you took. Why?"

His shoulders moved in the hint of a shrug. "My ship was crippled; Voyager was my best chance of getting my people home. It was worth the sacrifice even if we make the trip in the brig."

"Well--it would only be for part of the trip," she said, "--five or ten years." The surprising hint of mischief in her crooked smile took away any serious threat from her words. "It would seem a bit mean-spirited of me, don't you think, to do that to you after what you've done for us? By your actions you saved not only your crew, but mine as well."

"Well," he said mildly, "they did return the favor."

While reading Paris's report of Chakotay's harrowing attack on the Kazon ship, Janeway had been struck not only by the Maquis captain's sheer guts and his quick decisiveness under extreme pressure, but also by his unhesitating barrage of orders to an unfamiliar crew, his instinctive trust in them to save him in those last insane seconds. That unfamiliar crew had obeyed him without question.

"My actions," he added, "also saddled you with about forty passengers who don't want to be here."

It was not an apology. He knew that his had been the only course of action with any chance of success and expected her to accept and support it and deal uncomplainingly with any repercussions. He also understood that repercussions there would be, by the shipload. Not everybody on this ship went into space looking for adventure.

"I'm glad you recognize that as a problem, Commander. I've been thinking about how to solve it, and I'm sure you have too. Obviously we have to combine our crews. This being a Starfleet vessel, the most efficient way to run it--the only way--is for her entire crew to wear that uniform."

"Agreed. I've already warned my people of the likely outcome of this conversation."

She was pleased, and relieved, that he had reached the same conclusion. Uniforms and civilians tended not to mix well at all. She simply could not have forty passengers aboard who would feel free to question her every order. And confining them all to the brig, or even to quarters, was simply not an option. She couldn't spare the resources to support people who contributed nothing to the running of the ship, or the security personnel to guard them. She didn't volunteer that information to Chakotay, but she had a feeling he had figured it out. He didn't seem surprised--or even especially humble or grateful--that she hadn't thrown him into the brig, or that she would suggest he join her crew. Perhaps he felt entitled. Perhaps he was. "How did they react?"

"You've got to expect some resentment, even if they know they don't have any choice."

"Do you resent me?"

It seemed to intrigue him that she had asked. "I'm not going to tell you that I'm thrilled about being yanked across the galaxy, taken away from a fight I believe in, away from comrades for whom every ship, even one held together with string and prayer, and every fighter, even a mercenary, is precious. But you aren't responsible for that. My home is already destroyed; my parents and most of my tribe are gone. Nothing I do will bring them back, and now I've been dealt a different hand in life, that's all. I'll learn to accept it. I'm pretty good at acceptance. But you need to know that some of my crew aren't. It's going to be rocky for a while."

"Understood. I'll want information from you on their training and experience so I can determine where to place them."

"You mean Tuvok didn't send you everything there is to know about us?" His voice and eyes were suddenly hard, and she sensed that that betrayal would sting for a good long while.

"Not everything--no. For those who have experience in Starfleet or other military services, we were able to obtain records, but for the majority of your crew we still have only their names."

"Most of those are false, anyway." Once again, his anger faded before necessity. "You'll have all the information you need."

"Thank you. I appreciate your willingness to cooperate, and your candor. Let me ask you to be candid about something else. When I destroyed the array, do you believe I violated the Prime Directive?"

His eyebrows flickered quizzically; he had clearly not expected this meeting to turn into a philosophical discussion. After a moment he replied, "The Prime Directive is an absolute. I don't think in absolutes--at least I try not to."

"But as a Starfleet officer you swore to uphold it."

"Even within absolutes there's a lot of room to maneuver. A principle isn't always worth dying for, or sacrificing other lives for, whether it's an entire civilization or one Starfleet crewman. Besides, you were only carrying out the Caretaker's last wishes; it was our involvement that damaged his self-destruct mechanism in the first place. In my opinion you're on pretty solid ethical ground." His tone seemed to offer reassurance without any assumption that she was seeking it. "I hope I'd have made the same decision."

She was pleased to know that they thought alike on some important issues, that he even seemed to--was "admire" too strong a word?--to admire her for being able to make a difficult choice. His elastic interpretation of the Prime Directive was a potential area of conflict, but he was thoughtful and articulate; he'd be willing to talk through a disagreement. After all, here he was in her ready room, discussing their situation very calmly at a time when others on his crew--that Klingon woman, for one--would be shouting in her face or gathering support for a takeover. A steadying influence--she did like the sound of that.

"And now, Commander--about you." He waited, well aware of the problem he himself presented. "You are a captain without a ship, in command of a significant number of people who could seriously disrupt the workings of this vessel if they chose to do so. It is in the best interests of us all that no such disruption occur--and to that end I propose that you become my first officer."

A pang of guilt lanced through her. Cavit was hardly cold and she was offering his job and his quarters to a renegade. She hadn't known her former first officer well, not even as well, she felt, as she knew the man sitting across from her now, but given his attitude toward Tom Paris she'd have bet a year's salary he would not have been happy at all about any sort of alliance with the Maquis, even one of necessity. How far would Chakotay allow necessity to take him?

He sat back in his chair, momentarily taken completely aback. And then he sat a little forward, elbows propped on the chair arms, fingers interlaced, understanding now that she had been testing him, trying to determine in an hour whether they thought sufficiently alike to work closely together for perhaps the rest of their lives. She had startled Tuvok, too, when she had suggested this course of action. No, she had shocked him, rendering him speechless for two full seconds before he had managed to utter a quiet "I see."

She glanced down at the padd on her desk, a written record of her impressions of Chakotay and those of his crew she'd met that she'd only now had time to mull over. "You have Starfleet training and experience, so we have some common ground. We've worked together now, with a fair measure of success--before we even said hello. And you've commanded your own ship. I need a first officer who is not only capable of taking command of Voyager in the event I'm incapacitated, but also just as determined as I am to get our people home. You are nothing if not determined, Commander--I've seen what you're willing to risk. And you certainly have a good reason for wanting to get home. I know you feel a strong and perhaps justified resentment toward Starfleet and the Federation, but circumstances are a little different out here, and I hope you'll be willing to put old grievances aside. I offer you reinstatement in Starfleet at your former rank, and thereby a voice in the running of this ship--in return for your loyalty and your every effort to see that your crew causes no trouble. What say you?"

He rose and paced a few steps. First officer. A subordinate position, yes, but he could hope for no more on another captain's ship, and as FO he would wield far more influence than he could as a passenger. His database had contained no information on Janeway, which meant that she probably hadn't had any significant run-ins with the Maquis, but in any case he preferred to make up his own mind. He considered what he had observed of her command style. She was abrasive and impatient, and she had a healthy helping of captain's ego, but she was also brave and fiercely protective, even of a crewman who needed a smack in the nose as badly as Tom Paris did. First officer, on a Starfleet ship. For the better part of the past two years he had made war on Starfleet ships, had questioned with phasers and photon torpedoes the very principles she was asking him to swear to uphold. And yet--things were different out here, and he did pride himself on being flexible. Evidently so did she. A Maquis captain for a first officer. Only a maverick would come up with a scheme like this, and he could think of a few admirals who would bust her down to crewman in reprisal if they ever got the chance.

"It occurs to me," he said, turning to face her, "that it's expedient for you to ask me. Your actions, too, have placed us in difficulty, and I wouldn't blame you for wanting to placate the Maquis before their resentment gets out of hand." Loyalty he was prepared to give, but not blindly. He would not put his relationship with his crew at such severe risk for a captain with whom he could not speak freely, who would not admit a first officer's right and responsibility to debate her decisions.

Her jaw set. Watching him, she had known when he decided to confront her--a stiffening of his posture, perhaps, a slight squaring of his shoulders and a significant tilt of his head, the faint narrowing of his eyes. She planted her hands on the desktop and rose, and came around to place herself mere inches away from him, her walk and stance so confrontational that had she been a Maquis he would have prepared to block a punch.

"Commander Chakotay," she said, and anger flattened and thinned her voice, "you had better believe that I wouldn't suggest this if I weren't fully confident you can do the job, expedience be damned."

Chakotay locked eyes with her, whimsically reminded of playground games of stare-down. The life of a first officer could be infuriating. The job required a thick skin, a sturdy sense of humor, a good idea of what made people tick, and almost but not quite as big an ego as the captain's. You absorbed the captain's bad moods to protect the crew and the crew's bad moods to protect the captain, and rarely heard any thanks. And that was on a ship assigned to routine duty; how much more difficult the job would be on a vessel trying to conduct business under an internal flag of truce with emotions running high. But the life of a first officer could also be fulfilling. He was attracted by the demands of the position on this vessel in these circumstances. He always liked working in a team, even if a team of only two; he'd enjoyed a productive, cordial partnership with Captain Khoury and could probably forge another one with a captain who seemed willing to meet him at least halfway. They had more in common than Janeway had suggested. They'd both made wrenching decisions--she out of principle and compassion, he out of desperation and maybe a sense of nostalgic camaraderie--and they were both confident their crews would accept those decisions, no matter the cost to themselves. And he had to admit he admired her, admired her determination, her toughness--and her beauty. Her chin jutted out and her eyes were a stormy blue, and he could easily think of her red hair as flame. His eyes narrowed a little more, this time with humor. He'd probably want to strangle her by the end of the first week.

"I do believe it, Captain. And I accept."

She drew back a little, pleasantly surprised by the genuine warmth and amusement in his slow smile; all she'd seen on his face so far was an impressive repertoire of frowns and scowls. The aggression left her posture, and she propped her hips against the edge of the desk. "I confess I expected to have to work a little harder than that to persuade you."

He was intrigued by the shifting modulations of her voice; it was as if she unconsciously employed an orator's tools in ordinary conversation, her voice an instrument that could cut like a knife or caress like a breath. "Captain, I have a responsibility to my people just as you have to yours. I can meet that responsibility far better by working with you than by working against you, by doing what I can to integrate them into the life of this ship. The only way we'll survive this journey is if we work together."

"You've certainly managed to mold a very disparate bunch of people into a crew, Commander." She refrained from calling them ragtag. "That bodes well for what you'll face in the coming months."

"Or years."

God help me, she thought. "Or years."

The leaching of color from her cheeks was easily visible beneath her fair skin. He wondered if any other starship captain had been faced with difficulties so enormous--any other captain, ever. A lifetime away from home, with no support but what her crew, all her crew, could provide. Her authority would prevail only as long as those who served under her accepted it; if ever it faltered, none of them would see home again.

It would be his job to see that it didn't. "When do I start?"

She retrieved a padd from her desk and handed it to him. "Right now."

Displayed on the screen was a directory of the ship, with the first officer's quarters and office marked in red. Also marked was the location of Stores; uniforms would have to be distributed the old-fashioned way until the replicators were back online. Beneath the directory was his schedule for the coming week, with times already noted for briefings and get-acquainted meetings with the crew, and beneath that was a list of those systems unique to Voyager of which she expected him to have a working knowledge within forty-eight hours. Both amused and appalled, he met the challenge in her gaze with another of his own. "What would you have done if I'd said no?"

It took her a moment to decide to be frank. "My second choice was Lieutenant Tuvok."

"I bet he expected to be your first."

She did not comment, which he chose to interpret as confirmation. "I'll give you an hour to talk to your crew. I should think your decision will be very unpopular."

He was pleased by her show of sympathy. His would be a difficult and delicate position; her understanding would render it a little less so. "It will. But they'll learn to live with it." He didn't mention that when he'd left them in the mess hall they were cursing him as much as Janeway; he might have positive feelings about her now, but this journey was just beginning, and the Maquis might yet need to present a united front. "I should think it will be unpopular with your crew as well--a couple of them in particular."

"Can you work with Tuvok and Paris?"

"If there's any trouble, I won't be the one to start it. I meant what I said before, that Tuvok was just doing his job. I can respect that even if I don't like it. As for Paris--my life belongs to him, not the other way around." He smiled at her evident puzzlement. "A long and somewhat muddled story. But Paris paid a lot of debts when he hauled me up that staircase."

"I see you can put aside old grievances, Commander. Can the same be said of your crew?"

"I'll keep them away from Paris until they get used to having him around again."

"Good. When you're through return to the bridge, and I'll make a shipwide announcement. I'm confident that you and I together can make this work."

"So am I, Captain. But it won't be easy." He leaned toward her conspiratorially and looked suddenly rather boyish. "We'll need more than the usual amazing ability of commanding officers to adapt."

She responded with a chuckle tinged with bemusement. She hadn't expected to feel much like laughing for a while, and she certainly hadn't expected to be inspired to laughter by him. "I'll try to find a reserve supply somewhere. See you in an hour, Commander."

She ushered him out the door and watched him down the corridor. Studying the padd as he walked, he missed the turn to the nearest turbolift, but realized his mistake within a few strides and backtracked. He caught sight of her and gave her an easy smile, not surprised to see her watching him. Of course he wouldn't have heard her door close, and she reflected that probably you didn't survive very long in the Maquis if you didn't know what was going on behind you. Her renewed scrutiny flustered him no more than it surprised him, and she found herself returning his smile as she stepped back into her ready room.

"Janeway to Tuvok. Will you join me, please, Lieutenant?"

Tuvok might have been shocked by the notion of Chakotay as Voyager's first officer, but not by the crew merger itself. He was not pleased by the prospect, but he knew even better than his captain that he did not have the security personnel to guard all the Maquis twenty-four hours a day. For Chakotay, however, she had had to argue logically, Tuvok being much more by-the-book than she, as were most Vulcans--except of course when the book wasn't logical, in which case all bets were off.

"Status?" she asked, when the doors had closed behind him.

"The ship remains on full security alert, but there is no sign of the Kazon. Nor have there been any instances of stress-related fights or insubordination--though I will point out that the Maquis have not yet been released from the mess hall."

"Noted. For your sake, my friend, I'm sorry we can't keep them in there." She eyed him from beneath her brow. "It would not astonish me to learn that you were monitoring my conversation with Commander Chakotay."

"I did not expect that it would."

"So what do you think?"

"I could also point out that it is illogical to ask my opinion after you have already made your decision and acted upon it."

"But you won't."

"To do so would be to waste time and energy." Janeway rolled her eyes unrepentantly. "The commander said nothing that caused me specific concern."

"But you still have general concern."

"Of course."

She smiled at his tone, which implied very strongly that anyone who did not was an idiot. And then she said very seriously, "I like the way he thinks, Tuvok. I really don't believe he'll use us and then betray us--certainly not when we share the same goal of getting home. He's treated Starfleet, and me, with too much respect. You yourself reported that he never fired on a Federation ship except in self-defense, and then only with the minimum firepower necessary to disable. He knows my mission was to capture him, but he doesn't hold it against me, because he knows it was my job, just as it was your job to infiltrate his crew. He's very comfortable on a Starfleet ship, comfortable with the atmosphere and the crew--even when they aren't comfortable with him. And I'm especially pleased that he decided to accept my offer without taking a vote from his fellow Maquis." A sudden realization made her add ruefully, "I suppose not too long ago he might have consulted with you."

"Perhaps. But Chakotay does tend to have confidence in his own decisions and his ability to make his crew carry them out."

"He doesn't hesitate to manhandle them when necessary, does he? He practically tackled that Klingon woman--Torres." As she replayed the memory in her mind she smiled with satisfaction all the more sweet for there having been little during the past few days about which to be satisfied. And then she grew thoughtful. "Did you hear what he said when she challenged my actions? He said, 'She's the captain.' He wasn't trying to make points when he said that, Tuvok--I'm not sure he even knows I heard him. He was sincere. And that's quite a foundation on which to build a working relationship."

"I did not hear the exchange, and I will grant you that it is persuasive. But Chakotay is still Maquis, and he is almost as protective of his crew as you are of yours. He may very well reconsider his endorsement, and try to advance Maquis interests to the detriment of the Starfleet crew and Voyager's safe progress through the Delta Quadrant."

Janeway gave a brisk nod. "You're right, of course." Tuvok was rarely swayed by human intuition, but intuition wasn't the only ruler she used to measure an ally, or an enemy. "And that's why you're going to keep an eye on him for a while."

********************

Relieved of Tuvok's watchful attendance now, Chakotay made his way to Stores, where the duty crewman had obviously been informed of developments and was just as obviously not happy to be relinquishing a command-line uniform to a renegade. He told the young woman how many uniforms should be sent to the mess hall, and was relieved that there were enough to go around. Never mind that they wouldn't fit everybody and they wouldn't necessarily be the right color for each individual's specialization; it was a dirty trick, but the sooner his Maquis were stripped of their signature boots and leathers the more tractable they would be. He hoped.

In the quarters so recently occupied by Janeway's FO--still filled with the man's clothing, books, mementos, a painting in oils of a wife and children who might never learn his fate--he stripped off his own leathers and donned the garment he had once cast aside, he had thought, for good. Adjusting the jacket in the mirror, pinning on the commander's bar, he felt a disorientation almost as great as the one that had thrown him across the galaxy and into this new but partly familiar situation. He contacted the crewman assigned to be his assistant, set up a meeting with him for that afternoon, and requested as politely as he could that his quarters be cleared as soon as there was time. The crewman sounded young and indignant, and managed to cut the comm connection before the final "Yes, sir" was quite past his lips. Chakotay walked about the room, half expecting ten other people to come through the doors to claim a corner. He wasn't used to having so much space all his own. Already he felt more civilized, less rough and ready. He would have to fight that tendency if he expected to control his crew.

On his way to the mess hall, he passed a dozen or so crewmen and could see them trying to figure out who he was; on a ship this size, while you might not be pals with everyone you were at least familiar with their faces, especially those of senior officers. In the mess he discovered that none of the Maquis had donned their uniforms, or even taken them out of the bins--a defiance he could have predicted. He stood just inside the door and let them gape.

"Got your old rank back, I see," Torres said bitterly. "What's your duty assignment?"

"First officer."

She spat out a particularly obscene Klingon oath. "The red's a nice touch. It's the same color as all the Maquis blood these people have spilled." Her hand gripped the hilt of her knife, as if she wanted to slice up the uniform and maybe him along with it.

"We've spilled a lot of theirs, too." He strode over to the bins and started handing out trousers and shirts and jackets, matching size and specialization when he could. Torres refused the gold jacket he held out to her so he draped it over her shoulder; she snarled at its touch and flung it to the floor. "An hour ago I offered to entertain alternative suggestions and present them to Captain Janeway. I haven't heard any yet."

Jarvin wadded his own gold jacket into a ball. "Paris, sure--but I never thought you'd sell out." He was encouraged by sullen nods and grumbles from Dalby and Chell and several of the others.

Chakotay's fist to his solar plexus sent Jarvin to his knees. "On this ship, you mouth off to senior officers like that and you'll land yourself in the brig. I hope that's the last time I have to discipline any of you for insubordination." While Jarvin gasped and retched, Dalby's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, but Chakotay glared at him and the bigger man backed off. Chakotay resumed emptying the bins, glad it hadn't been Torres who had challenged him. One punch wouldn't stop a half-Klingon, and the Klingon half would probably have kicked his face in. "Look, I'm the first to admit that this isn't going to be pleasant, at least not in the beginning. But with me in this position you have a representative pretty near the top."

That swayed some of them. "You could make things nice and comfortable for us," Seska said, a twinkle in her eye. "The best quarters, increased rations--" Ayala, too, looked a bit smug.

"That isn't what I meant. I respect this uniform and this profession, and I won't use my position to take unfair advantage of Voyager's crew. I will use it to keep Voyager's crew from taking unfair advantage of you. But I can't do that unless you work with me. I won't have much credibility around here if half my crew ends up in the brig--where, I'll remind you, Captain Janeway has every right to put us but hasn't. So think about it--and get dressed."

Jarvin was stumbling to his feet. Chakotay braced himself, but Jarvin only scowled and muttered at no one in particular. "What are you going to do about Paris and the Vulcan?" Dalby demanded.

Chakotay remembered referring to "the Vulcan" on Janeway's bridge not very long ago. He didn't like the sound of it now. "Not a thing, and neither are any of you." His gaze singled each of them out in turn. "Lieutenant Tuvok was doing his duty as a Starfleet officer--and doing it pretty damn well, I'd say, since none of us sniffed him out. Might be nice to have him on our side again. As for Paris-- I've developed kind of a soft spot for Paris, seeing as how he saved my hide. Anybody goes after him they'll deal with me." His roving gaze settled on Jarvin, who merely looked sour. "Now. Are you going to get dressed, or am I going to throw you all in the brig?"

For a minute or two he really wasn't certain which it would be. But at last Torres bent to retrieve the uniform jacket from the floor, and brushed at a smudge of engine grease it had picked up from her boot. "Really creative solution you've come up with--stranding us on a Starfleet ship--"

One by one they began to shed boots, vests, weapons belts. "Oh, fine," Seska snapped, and rummaged in one of the bins. "But if we're hassled the least little bit, Commander, you'll be hearing about it."

"That's what I'm here for. Thanks," he said to all of them. "We'll get through this, the way we always do. Stay here for now, but I'll get your duty and quarters assignments sorted out with the captain as soon as I can. Torres, Ayala--come to the bridge when you're dressed. I want a Maquis presence up there when the captain talks to the crew." He could trust those two not to jump Paris if the guy had sense enough to keep his distance.

"All right" and "Check" followed him out the door, and he made a note to himself to conduct a short course in Starfleet etiquette before he turned the rest of them loose. A month--that was all he asked. If he could keep them out of the brig for a month, he would count the merger a success. But they'd be rattled for a few weeks, no question, and prone to stepping on Starfleet toes; their simmering disaffection warned him to prepare for more than a few late-night pacifying chats.

And the Starfleet crew? He couldn't beat them into submission if they chose to defy him. He would have to call upon old skills, old manners, in smoothing those ruffled feathers. Janeway was getting two first officers for the price of one. But from what he had seen the crew of Voyager was surprisingly calm, a testament to their professionalism and the trust they placed in their captain. By being scrupulously fair and as friendly as they would let him, he could probably win most of them over in time.

Or possibly not. En route to the bridge he passed a dozen more crewmen; they stopped in their tracks and stared at him, and he knew that word of the new first officer was making its way around the ship. Only one gaze was remotely welcoming, that of the transporter chief who had snatched him out of his disintegrating ship. Like it or not, when you saved somebody's life you were connected to him; she and Paris ought to form a club. He found himself in a turbolift with four of his new shipmates; not one of them spoke. He began to wonder if a month of detente was perhaps far too much to hope for. He couldn't really blame them, but it crossed his mind that maybe Janeway should have chosen the Vulcan after all.

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