Disclaimer - Paramount owns 'em, just not quite in this way...
For Sarah, who basically said "You *will* write this. *Now*." Thank you dear.
WARNING - This story involves spoilers for 'Timeless'. So if you don't want to know...run away!
*
The bridge was so quiet. There wasn't a single bleep of a console in use, or the familiar and comforting hum of a powered ship. But most noticably of all, there were no low murmurs of conversation. No orders being given, no gossip being shared.
Instead there was silence, except for the sound of his own breathing that echoed loudly in his ears. He shivered subconciously. The thermal clothes he wore protected him from the ice that seemed to grow from the bridge itself. It was everywhere - every surface covered in the harsh white material.
The first body he found was Tom's. He was frozen in place on his knees, stretching forward, his arms reaching in apparent desperation for his console. Perhaps he'd known somehow what they'd been headed for and tried in his last moments to steer them from it.
Chakotay knew he was delaying what had to occur. He knew who would be lying or sitting behind him. He concentrated on the cold air that whistled into his mouth and stared at the white clouds as he exhaled. He half expected her to be sitting in the chair, legs crossed with a wry smile plastered on her face for the rest of eternity.
Closing his eyes, he turned one hundred and eighty degrees before forcing his eyelids open again and discovering he was wrong.
She was sprawled over the stairs on the starboard side of the ship, her face up to the ceiling, her eyes closed. He was thankful for that. He'd been fearful that he'd find her with her eyes fixed glazedly open, devoid of life and warmth. He'd never been able to imagine them that way, and he never wanted to see them like that either.
Approaching with slow, careful steps he tried to fix on the cold air filling his lungs, the sound of his shoes crunching on the floor, anything but the grief that wanted to expell itself from his body in the form of low, loud wail.
He almost fell to his knees beside her, his gloved right hand resting on the top step, his left directing the simms beacon that was strapped to his arm towards her face. Reaching his left hand back up, he gripped the edge of his goggles and pulled them up to rest on his head.
With a completely unobstructed view he gazed down at her face so...peaceful. He thanked the Gods that she hadn't died with a frown etched forever on her face.
Pointing the simms beacon back at her again, he took in every detail. Most of the time he tried to remember everything about her anyway, but he thought it important that he should have a clear mental image of what she looked like in death. It had to be catalogued in his brain somewhere.
Ironic really. He hadn't let himself *really* think that she could die now, at this age. When he thought such morbid thoughts, he imagined that she'd live to a grand old age, and die in a comfortable bed. Perhaps on Earth.
But because she had died now...she was perfection. Her skin was flawless, if tragically pale. Chakotay smiled slightly as he remembered how he used to tease her about how pale she was and...it started then. His eyesight began to blur and he leant down until their foreheads were almost touching. He wanted so much to hold her, to feel her breath brushing against his hair, to smell the scent of her and...
His eyes squeezed shut tightly and his mouth worked itself open as a near-silent sob began to emerge. Gods...Kathryn...
A gentle pressure on his shoulder reminded him that he was not alone. Instantly his eyes opened and his mouth snapped shut.
"Commander?" Harry's voice wavered as he spoke. Chakotay understood.
He tried not to sigh too loudly. "Is there...?"
"No, sir. There's no one."
He couldn't stop the words that escaped, and his eyes closed again. "No...somehow I didn't think..." Drawing himself away from Kathryn, he stood, still staring at her.
"What do we do now?" Harry asked, clearly desperate for a purpose. Something to do that would keep his mind focused on something other than the tragedy that surrounded them.
Chakotay turned to face him, pulling his goggles down as he did so. "What we do now Ensign...is check for survivors. I don't care about the odds, if there's any chance in hell that any one of them survived...we're going to find them."
Harry studied his superior officer sadly, before looking down at the Captain's still, immobile form.
"Aye sir."
~FINIS