Starfleet Sterile. That was the design style of his new quarters, Chakotay thought as he looked around. The rooms were spacious, equipped with enough furniture and equipment for comfort, but utterly devoid of character or personality. A visitor would have no idea whether this space was occupied by the late Lt. Commander Cavit or his unexpected replacement. Or Neelix the Talaxian, for that matter.

The Captain had told him to settle in and unpack. Unpacking consisted of folding the Maquis clothes he had been wearing when the Liberty rammed into the Kazon ship and placing them in a drawer, a task which required all of ninety seconds. The replicators were still offline, so he could not even replicate a toothbrush. Looking around, he decided to return to the bridge. He was as unpacked and as settled in as he could be.

The door chime stopped him. "Come," he said, not bothering to see who it was. It didn't really matter.

Seska came in, carrying a small duffle bag. Her hair was pinned up, so tightly that it seemed to pull at the skin on her forehead, and the uniform she wore didn't seem to fit. Or perhaps, he thought, it was just that she looked so uncomfortable in it.

Two steps in, she stopped and circled in place. "My god," she said, but whether she spoke in awe or in contempt, he could not tell. That was one of the most irritating – and fascinating – things about her: he could never quite tell what she was really thinking. "No wonder you agreed to be First Officer. This is bigger than the entire bridge on the Liberty."

With her usual acuity, she had struck exactly the point that bothered him the most. "It's not all personal space. I'll have meetings here, and other ship's business."

She laughed easily. "Relax, Chakotay. I'm just jealous. They've stuck me in with Ensign Golwat. She's a Bolian. Can you picture me living with a Bolian?"

He smiled before he could control it. The image of the stubborn and demanding Seska sharing quarters with a Bolian – a species with a rigid definition of cleanliness that differed from most humanoids – was almost funny. "I'm sure you'll do fine. You always were … particular."

"Very funny. I'd be offended if I didn't know that you are a secret slob." She went to the table that was intended to serve both as a desk and as an eating table. "Although that served you in good stead. I managed to grab a few things before you beamed us off the ship, and I didn't have to rummage through drawers to find them."

She opened the duffle bag and drew out his favorite shirt. "You're just lucky you left this on the floor," she said as she laid it across a chair. Then she reached in one more time, and handed him a hairbrush. "I thought you'd want this."

He took it almost reverently, almost in disbelief. It was an old-fashioned tool, made from wood and natural bristles. But the wood was from the live oak that grew in the back yard of his father's house, and had been carved by his grandfather. It was the only memento of home he had carried with him to the Academy.

The tree, the house and the old man were all gone now, ashes on a world abandoned to the Cardassians.

"Thank you." It was all he could say.

Seska smiled, and for a moment he remembered how tender she could be when the mood struck her. Then something subtle, something indefinable, shifted in her expression and the tenderness was gone. In its place was the false brightness he had come to recognize as a disguise for self-interest. Flinching inside, he braced himself for what must be coming.

"I'll just put the rest of this in there." She closed the bag quickly and turned toward his bathroom.

"Wait a minute. What is the rest of that?"

Her eyes opened wider, all innocence. "Why, just a few things. It would be more convenient if I could leave them here."

Not again, he thought. Why do we have to go through this again. "You aren't leaving anything here, Seska."

Her head tilted, as if she didn't quite understand what he had said. "But… you know how you hate for me to use your things. It will be so much easier if –"

"No." He said it quietly, but with enough conviction that she could not doubt that he meant it. "It won't be necessary. The need will not arise."

She froze, not moving so much as an eyelash. Then the muscles of her face shifted slightly, just enough to hint that she was fighting to control a strong reaction. Her voice was taut with emotion. "You said it was because you were the captain. You said it was because the captain can't be involved with a member of the crew. I understood that. But you aren't the captain here."

He had said those things, and they were true. But they had also been an excuse, an easy explanation that was less hurtful that the full truth. "I'm sorry, Seska. It's over. It's been over for a while."

Seska was never one for scenes; that was one of the things he had always admired about her. No matter what fate threw at her, she reacted with aplomb. This was no different. "Well," she said slowly, gathering her pride. "The way I see it, that's still to be decided. We're 75 years from home, Chakotay. That's a very long time." She picked up the duffle and headed for the door, then paused and looked over her shoulder. "A word of advice, though – don't wait too long. A girl doesn't like to be lonely."

It might have been a perfect exit, but as the door opened to let her leave, Kurt Bendera barged in with his usual bull-in-the-china-shop grace. He collided chest-on into Seska. "Oops! Sorry, Seskatoon."

Seska's mouth curled in disgust - she despised nicknames in general and that one in particular - but she said nothing. With a final icy glare at them both, she left.

"Whoa," Bendera said, looking at the door as it slid shut. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No." Then something made him add, "Although I think she hoped otherwise."

Bendera shook his head, his shoulder-length hair bouncing as if in emphasis. "You are a wise man, my friend. That is not a female for comfortable long term companionship."

The Contrary in Chakotay reared its head. Even though he agreed with that assessment, he felt compelled to argue. "You don't give her enough credit. She was thoughtful enough to get a few of my things off the ship." He raised the hairbrush, still in his hand.

"Great minds think alike, then." Bandera hefted a case on the table. "There was just enough time for me to grab this."

Chakotay recognized it immediately; it was the cushioned, wooden case he had picked up on Bajor. Stunned, he set the brush down and looked at his friend. "I don't believe it."

Bandera shrugged. "It's no big deal." He collapsed in a chair and put his feet up. "I tell you, old man, a cold brew would go down easy about now."

He ran his fingers over the case, pausing on the locks. After a second's hesitation he hit the controls and it popped open, revealing its contents. The medicine wheel that he had painted, painstakingly and under the laughing supervision of his friends, on a leather hide; the river rocks from his homeworld that he had taken from the ruins of his planet and carved; and most amazing of all, his akoonah and medicine bundle. He had written them off as lost, and resigned himself to replicating facsimiles. He touched the bundle as if he did not quite believe his eyes. "Kurt…" His voice trailed off. There was no adequate way to say thank you.

Bandera shrugged. "You were busy at the time." Then he leaned forward. "Chakotay, what's going on? I mean really going on. Are you serious about following Janeway's orders, or are you planning something?"

Cold reality intruded on the moment. He shut the case firmly. "I meant it. We're part of this crew now. No mutiny, no insurrection. Have you got a problem with that?"

"Not me. At least, not now." He leaned back again and propped his hands behind his head. "Damn, these are good chairs. You should see what I'm stuck with. No, it took a while but I finally realized that we are seventy-fucking-five years from home. We'd never make it alone. We've got to work together or we'll die in this godforsaken place."

Chakotay nodded. "I'm glad you see it that way. I know it won't be easy, but it's the only way we'll get home. And I owe it to Ayala and the others with families to get them back."

"Forget them." Bandera grinned. "You owe it to me. I may not have a wife and kiddies missing me, but there are half a dozen sweet young things who will notice that I'm not around." Then he stood. "If you haven't got any beer, I'm outta here. Tuvok's got me on the graveyard shift, and I need a couple hours of shut-eye."

"Rain check." Hopefully, the replicators would be operational again the next day. "And Kurt – keep your eyes open, will you? Let me know if any of the others decide to take matters into their own hands."

Bendera's eyebrows shot up. "You want me to spy on our own people?"

"I want you to help me head off trouble before Tuvok notices it."

"That I can do." With a final cocky grin, he left.

Chakotay looked at the table. He had more unpacking to do. It took about a minute to fold the shirt Seska brought and put it in a drawer; another thirty seconds to take the hairbrush to the bathroom. The case, the case that held his most treasured possessions, he slid under his bed. Another 45 seconds used up.

He glanced at the chronometer. 2210. There was probably no point in returning to the bridge now; the shifts would be changing soon, and he should at least try to sleep before alpha shift began. He needed to be fresh when he reported for duty. The problem was he didn't feel like going to sleep.

A shower might help. Sonic showers weren't exactly relaxing, but it was easier to sleep clean than with the sheen of the day's labors still clinging to his skin. He was about to head that direction when his door chime sounded. More than half expecting it to be Torres, he said, "Come in."

When Captain Janeway walked in, he felt his jaw start to drop but caught it in time. "Captain. What a surprise."

She smiled, and set a small case on his table. "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Commander.

"Not at all."

"Good. It occurs to me, there is something we have overlooked." She reached into the case and pulled out two small tumblers, then removed a bottle of a pinkish liquid. "Traditionally, this ought to be whiskey but I'm afraid we'll have to make do with Altair water. With the replicators still offline, it's the best I can manage."

He came over to the table, confused. "I don't understand."

She poured a generous amount of liquid into each of the glasses. "It's a tradition, older than Starfleet, I think." Then she handed him a glass and kept one for herself. "I didn't know your ship as well as you did, but I know she was nimble, and yar."

He felt his own heart turn over. He had deliberately put off thinking about his ship. "She had heart. Whenever I thought she had given us everything she had, she gave a little more."

She raised her glass, and her eyes met his, one captain to another. "To the Liberty."

"The Liberty," he agreed, and they both downed the liquid. The Altair water was bitter, almost as shocking as whiskey would have been, but he swallowed it all in one gulp.

So, he saw, did she. Then she turned her glass upside down on the table. "In other circumstances, I'd toss it against the wall, but we need the recycler credits."

"Consider them tossed," he said, and turned his glass upside down beside hers.

She nodded, and picked up the container. "Good night, Commander. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night." She was almost to the door when he added, "Captain Janeway."

She turned, looked at him expectantly.

"Thank you."

A smile spread slowly across her face, finally illuminating it fully. He felt his breath catch in his chest; it took a moment to return the expression. She said nothing, but nodded, and then left.

He stood for a moment, feeling almost dizzy. Well, why not? he finally asked himself. It's been a day. It's been a helluva day.

The first day of the journey.