Title: Have a Nice Trip
Author: SaRa
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Paramount must own it if Seven of Nine is still sucking air.
Author's note: It's a little late, but this is another response to the "Die, Seven, Die!" challenge. Besides, it's never really too late to read about Seven croaking, is it? Didn't think so. Huggles to those who were in #JetCJr when I shared the excerpt from "Ghost of a Chance" that was about Chakotay falling on top of Kathryn during a battle. Without you, I never would've thought of this. Maybe that would've been better, though....



A bleary-eyed Kathryn Janeway padded barefoot down the corridors of her ship. She'd been summoned to Chakotay's quarters by the distressed commander himself all of four seconds earlier.

The halls were lined with crew members who were too busy gossiping about the accident in Chakotay's quarters to give their pajama clad captain a second glance.

Janeway heard bits and pieces of conversations as the sleep induced haze she was in slowly left her.

"Seven killed herself."

"No, Chakotay killed her because she's been screwing the captain."

"You're both wrong. She died right in the middle of having sex with the commander."

"Hmm, not a bad way to go, but that's not what I heard. I heard her Borg implants malfunctioned and she hit the deck."

"Hardly! Seven..."

Janeway blocked all this out, sure none of it was true. No, Seven was fine and Chakotay had had a nightmare about Seska. And maybe cows fly.

"Report," Janeway ordered when she saw the holographic doctor outside Chakotay's quarters. Her voice, like the rest of her, was sleepy and disinterested. She wanted to crawl back into bed and hug her one-of-a-kind teddy bear with Chakotay's tattoo and red Starfleet uniform until she fell asleep.

"Captain," said the Doctor, "Seven of Nine is dead." The EMH looked heartbroken.

Suddenly becoming interested, Janeway raised an eyebrow and asked how she'd died.

"Maybe you should have Commander Chakotay explain," the Doctor suggested.

"All right." Janeway walked into Chakotay's quarters not knowing what to expect. Hesitantly, she called for Chakotay. When he responded that he was on the couch, she walked in that direction, tripping over his coffee table on the way because it was pitch black in the room.

Chakotay gave a half laugh. "That table is rotten luck tonight."

Kathryn sat on the couch. "Excuse me?"

"Here," he took her injured foot and began to rub it while he tried to gather his thoughts. He cleared his throat and began. "I asked Seven to come for dinner because there were some reports I wanted to talk to her about. When she got here, the room wasn't lit much better than this and she tripped over that coffee table of mine. I went to help her up, but I tripped over a book that had fallen off it. I landed on her and, well, let's just say they don't make Borg necks like they used to."

Kathryn laughed, but quickly covered it up with a cough. She shouldn't laugh when one of her crew members had just died, but this was something else. Chakotay fell on Seven and ended up breaking her neck and killing her? That was priceless! It also explained a lot of the things she had heard in the corridors. "Oh, Chakotay, you must feel awful," she said, pulling her foot away and reaching out to hug him.

"At the moment it happened, I did. Now I see how strange it was and just want to laugh." He happily returned the embrace as he was saying this.

"You do realize, Commander, that this proves that you really are a big oaf. I'd always suspected, but now I have proof." Smiling, Kathryn shook her head.

Like a shuttle he'd piloted slams into the earth, a thought hit Chakotay. "Why are we happy? Seven's dead."

Letting out a long sigh, she responded with, "That, Chakotay, should be obvious. Seven is dead, therefore you're mine. All mine."

Chakotay mimicked her sigh and said, "I was always all yours, Kathryn. All you ever had to do was ask. I thought you knew that."

Snuggling up to him, she whispered in his ear, "I'm asking now. Is your answer the same?"

Capturing her mouth with his, he managed to say, "Yes."

That was the last coherent thing either said all night.

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