Protocols Unknown: A Decision of The Stars

Lines We Cross

He paused, a beat longer than necessary. A gesture that, from anyone else, might have been called compassion.

"You are not alone in this, Kathryn," he said, voice dropping just enough to find the fragile space between duty and friendship.

She nodded. Once. The kind of nod that held back collapse.

Janeway straightened, pulling herself back into command posture by sheer force of will. "I need Holodeck One cleared. No interruptions."

Tuvok inclined his head. "Understood."

"And I want Kashyk escorted there," she added. "No comms. No surveillance."

"As you wish, Captain."

Janeway moved toward the door but paused, glancing over her shoulder at Astrea.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Tuvok stepped forward first. "I have her, Captain."

Janeway hesitated. Then nodded.

Tuvok moved to the couch and stood watchful by Astrea's side, hands folded carefully behind his back, the image of vigilance.

Janeway crossed the room and exited without looking back. The door slid closed behind her, sealing the quiet sanctuary she was leaving behind.

Janeway stepped into the holodeck like she was walking into a storm. One hand behind her back, her shoulders locked into command posture, her chin angled with just enough tension to cut someone's intentions apart at the throat.

"Computer," she said quietly. "Load Spiral 7. Counterpoint trajectory. Authorization Janeway-Alpha-One. Lock program."

Inside, it was quiet. No dramatic landscape. No overdesigned illusion. Just the long stretch of simulated glass along the far wall, where white-blue stars spiraled outward, moving faster than any eye could follow. Cold, silent, endless.

He was already there. Kashyk stood near the edge of the viewport, motionless, like he'd been rendered from memory instead of summoned by code. The only movement was the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the way his hands were folded neatly behind him, military out of habit, not allegiance.

She didn't speak. Not yet. Let the silence press down first. Let it suffocate whatever lingering illusions he might have held about how this would go.

He didn't turn. "I didn't think you'd come yourself," he said, voice low and familiar in the worst way.

"I'm not here for you," she replied.

Only then did he move. Not toward her, not away. Just enough to tilt his head, to study her over his shoulder. "No," he said. "But you didn't stay away either."

Janeway stepped farther in, boots clipping the floor with deliberate control. She scanned the room. No furniture. No soft distractions. Just that view. The white-blue light of the spiral outside painted everything in cold fire.

"It wasn't in the briefing," she said. "This space. This program."

"I modified it," Kashyk replied. "From memory. Yours."

That stopped her. Her jaw didn't clench, but her silence did.

"You remember my private holodeck settings?" she asked, tone cool as space.

"I remember a lot of things I was never supposed to keep," he said.

Finally, she turned to face him directly. And for one terrible moment, she saw the man from the music. The man who had listened to Mahler not because he loved it, but because she did. The man who smiled like everything was calculated except the way he looked at her. He didn't smile now. He looked tired. Older. Like guilt had settled into his bones and grown roots. And worse, like it had grown familiar.

"You came back because of her," Janeway said. "Not me."

"I came back because they'll take her if I don't."

"And what makes you think I believe that?"

"You don't," he said simply. "But you want to."

That hit harder than she wanted it to. And she hated him, just for a breath, for knowing her well enough to say it.

They stood close now. Closer than they should have. Not touching. Not daring. But just close enough for the static to rise.

"You were never real," she said.

"Then why do I still wake up remembering the sound of your breath?"

"Don't," her voice dropped. "Don't pretend this was more than what it was."

"You're the one pretending," he said. "Every minute you stand here without pulling your phaser, you're pretending this is still just about strategy."

Her hand twitched. Not toward her weapon. Toward him. She caught herself. The heat between them was unbearable now. Not physical. Emotional. History stretched so tight between them it would have snapped with a whisper.

"I almost killed you when you stepped back on my ship," she said.

"I wouldn't have blamed you."

"And if I still do?"

"Then I'll die knowing you never stopped feeling something."

Janeway stepped forward. Close enough that her breath stirred his collar. Her gaze didn't waver.

"You don't get to die in this," she said. "Not yet."

"I didn't come back to die."

"Then what the hell did you come back for?"

He finally reached for her. Slowly. With the kind of control that made the movement worse, calculated, reverent, terrifying. His fingers stopped just before her face. Hovered. Waiting.

"I came back," he said, "because that man Q knows what will happen if he didn't bring me to you." He paused, voice lower now. "And I am sure there is more he is not telling us."

The contact didn't happen. She moved before it could. A half-step back. Not a retreat. A line, redrawn. Her voice was ice again.

"You'll be called when your information is needed. Until then, stay in your quarters and off my holodecks."

She made it one step. Two.

And then he moved. Not calculated this time. Not rehearsed. His hand caught her wrist, not hard, just enough to stop her. To break the performance.

She turned fast, eyes wide and furious, but before she could speak, he had her against the wall. The movement was fluid. Reflex. Urgent. Her back met a simulated bulkhead, and his body followed, close, too close. One arm braced beside her head, the other at her waist, not touching, but there.

"She is everything you want. I have seen it here on this ship in the two days I have been here. Q told me everything. The whole story."

And with that Kashyk took his shot in the dark and kissed Kathryn, not the captain, not the mother, but Kathryn Janeway. The woman who changed his galaxy.

And she kissed him back. No hesitation. No fear. Her hand gripped his jacket like it was keeping her from falling into something she could not climb out of. Her mouth found his with a heat that had nothing to do with forgiveness, and everything to do with years of silence that had never cooled.

It was not gentle. It was not delicate. It was war, the kind that ends only when someone leaves bleeding.

"Kathryn, you are the constant and Astrea is your echo. I can not and will not save one without protecting the other." Kashyk said.

Kathryn pulled away. Slowly and deliberately. Her eyes met his.

"This never happened," she said.

She stepped around him. Walked out of the holodeck without a sound. Without a second look. Out of the spiral she had built herself. The doors hissed shut behind her.