*********
Miller pulled her up his body, feeling her breasts push into his chest as he leaned down to kissed her. It was gentle, almost brotherly as he waited to see what her reaction would be. Head tipped back, eyes closed, she smiled slightly in the waning moonlight.
"Do that again," she said, this time opening her mouth beneath his, encouraging him to do the same. The first touch of tongues sent a shock wave through him, causing him to become aroused so suddenly it was almost painful as he was pressed against the fabric of his army-issue underwear. Her fingers were wound in his hair, pulling him closer as she deepened their kiss, only stopping to catch her ragged breath. He was breathing just as quickly, taking the moment of separation to readjust their positions, rolling her onto her back. He returned to her mouth, then traveled down her neck, causing her to release a contented sigh. Miller pulled away, wondering at the wisdom of continuing his erotic assault. After all, she was injured, feverish, this couldn't be beneficial to her condition. He sat up, trying to control his breathing. He could still stop this, he thought; he wouldn't hurt her any further.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Katrine, I can't do this to you. You're hurt, not yourself. I won't put you in a compromising position." The look Katrine gave him almost broke his heart, devastated at his rejection. He told her he was someone else, she was under that assumption. Not only was he rejecting her, "Chakotay" was rejecting her as well.
"I don't give a damn about my leg. Come morning, we'll probably be executed like that man in the street. I don't want to spend my last moments alone. Please, make me remember what it's like to feel alive."
Miller couldn't ignore her plea, even if she *were* still confused who was kissing her with such ferocity-- him or her would-be lover. "Katrine, you're so beautiful," he sighed into her ear as his hands moved over her tight, black shirt to cup her breasts. He felt her nipples tighten beneath his palms, moving his thumbs to circle the rigid peaks. Somehow touching her through her clothes was almost as exciting as touching her skin, but he now he wanted to feel her skin beneath his hands. He kissed her again, tongues dancing, sliding his hands under her shirt. At first contact, Katrine sucked in her breath, taking his lower lip into his mouth with her teeth. Biting him gently, she resumed exploring his mouth. Miller continued to push the material of her shirt upward, with maddening slowness, leaving her mouth to kiss the clammy skin of her stomach. Here, her skin smelled more like her and less like explosives, reminiscent of the scent he'd caught when she reached around him for the pack, back in the caves. Had that only been hours ago? It felt like days. At the moment he felt as if he'd known this remarkable woman forever, or maybe it was that his life had started when he met her.
Miller wasn't usually given to such romantic notions. In fact he prided himself on his "level head." But from the moment he and his men entered the *Coeur de Lion*, he felt his life had changed.
Miller's hands continued moving up her frame, coming in contact with a delicious piece of lingerie the French were famous for. He almost left the bra in place, but he didn't want to be denied the pleasure of kissing the peaks of the breasts that had enticed him so before. Rising up slightly, Katrine pulled her back away from the floor, allowing him access to the clasp at her back. Miller dipped his head, kissing the first curve of her right breast as he slowly removed the lacy black brassier.
Katrine let out a gasp as Miller's tongue found his goal. Encircling the hard nub of her left breast with his tongue, he mimicked the motion on her right with his index finger. He stopped only long enough to pull her shirt over head, taking her bra with it. Katrine dragged his head back to her chest, demanding he pay equal attention to her other breast. Miller felt her hands running through his hair, holding him to his task. He could have told her he needed no encouragement to stay where he was, but he enjoyed the sensation of her fingers and nails running across his scalp too much to tell her to stop.
Katrine's hands moved down the back of his neck, then forward to begin unbuttoning his shirt. Moaning, she arched her back as Miller gently bit the hard tip of her breast. "Oh, God, Chakotay," her throaty voice half sighed, half moaned as she squirmed beneath him. Miller reminded himself to continue to play the part, wondering how this Chakotay would best pleasure her. Since she apparently had no prior intimate knowledge of the man, perhaps he could make love to Katrine as *he* wanted to. It would be Chakotay's name on her lips, but Miller who was truly loving her. At least in that way he felt he was giving her something of himself, not just acting as a stand-in.
Miller left her to help with his shirt. He was decidedly faster with the buttons than she'd been and soon had the green shirt off his body and white T-shirt starting after it. Pulling the undergarment over his head, he felt her hands on his chest. He didn't know which was more of a shock: the cool night air or her warm hands instantly on his body, roaming the planes of his chest, stomach, sending another rush to his groin. Running her hands up over his shoulders, drawing him closer once more she spoke.
"It's been too long since I've seen you without your shirt. You're beautiful." Miller almost laughed at her statement, but she wasn't teasing him. She was serious, and for the first time he considered that the male form *could* be seen as beautiful, at least as beautiful as the female form. Katrine sat up, pulling him closer to her, embracing him. His head rested on her shoulder as she pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat. This time it was his turn to moan, as her hands wound their way around his back, idly running her fingers up and down his spine. He mirrored the action on her back, simply holding each other, taking comfort in their closeness. Soon he found that Katrine's hands had slipped lower, entering the waistband of his pants, caressing the first swell of his buttocks, then moved up his back again. For a moment he froze, waiting to see what she'd do next. She pushed him onto his back, and he felt grit bite into the skin of his back as he made contact with the floor.
"Katrine. . . ." he started.
"Shhh," she said. "My turn." She started with his mouth, kissing him as if it were the last kiss she'd ever be allowed to give or receive. Running her hands simultaneously over the outer edges of his ears, she kissed him just below his left ear, lightly nipping his earlobe. She moved her fingers of both hands along his jaw line, one hand on either side of his face, stopping when they met at the dimple in his chin. She touched her tongue to it, then smiled at him. Such a bright, contented smile, he couldn't help but return the gesture. Katrine ran her thumbs over his smiling lips, then drew her hands down his throat, to his collarbone. Her fingers traced the contours, followed by gentle kisses until she reached his shoulder, pressing her teeth to his flesh. Another moan left him as he tried to pull her back up to his mouth, but she resisted him with a slight push, choosing instead to reward him with the sensation he'd granted her earlier; running her tongue around the perimeter of his nipple.
Miller had never realized how sensitive they could be. No wonder she hadn't wanted his mouth to leave her! The thought of any of the women he knew taking the initiative to lick his chest seemed preposterous; for some reason that thought made this even more exciting.
Then she was kissing her way down his stomach, naked breasts brushing his skin as she came dangerously close to his straining erection. Holding his breath, he waited to see if she would undo his pants or if she would be too shy. Katrine didn't disappoint him as her slim fingers undid the button and she slowly pulled down the zipper. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling her freeing himself from his confines of his underwear. If anything *he* was the one feeling shy! His eyes snapped back open as he felt her tongue on the underside of his shaft, slowly drawing upward, then he felt him drawn her into her warm, inviting mouth. Miller moaned despite himself, shocked at the sensation. He'd heard of this, of course, from the stories men traded about their conquests, but he'd never experienced it himself, the women he knew would never dream of being so aggressive. He decided it was an attractive trait in a woman. Katrine's mouth was descending on him again as his hands touched her hair, unsure if he were pulling her closer or pushing her away. He was close and he didn't want it to end this way.
"No, Katrine," he finally managed to croak out of his dry throat. He rolled her over once more, careful of her leg. She helped him remove her pants, drawing in a sharp breath as the material scraped the wound.
"I'm sorry," he said pulling the material as carefully as he could down her leg.
"It's all right," she whispered, reaching for him. He kissed her; then taking his cue from her, kissed her stomach, circling her navel with his tongue, moving downward. Miller took a moment to examine her wound as he pushed her legs apart. It wasn't bleeding, but even in the diminished light he could see how inflamed the skin around the bullet hole was. He felt a stab of guilt, thinking to himself he was taking advantage of her in a weakened state. Almost as if she read his mind, she stroked his face and gave him a small smile.
"I need you. With me. Now." she commanded.
What remained of his self-control evaporated with her words. Katrine moaned, opening her legs to him, inviting him in. His hand accepted her invitation as he probed her wet folds. Finding the hardening nub, he circled it with his finger as his other hand captured a breast, his mouth, taking her mouth. Miller swallowed her cries as the combination of sensations assailed her. Katrine moved against his insistent hand, eager for his touch. It wasn't long before she shuddered slightly and he felt her contractions.
"Stop," she managed to speak against his mouth. "I want you, inside me." Miller broke away from her long enough to remove his boots, pants and underwear, practically in one swift motion. He could smell her everywhere and he wanted nothing more than to join his body to hers. He couldn't wait any longer. Kissing her once more he murmured her name as he entered her. He tried to go slowly at first, give her time to adjust to him, but she was arching so against him, he found himself instinctively picking up his pace.
"Yesss," she said with an exhaling breath, grasping his buttocks, drawing him closer still. Katrine wrapped her legs around his hips, allowing him to plunge deeper into her. Their cries became less and less like words and more incoherent as they both neared a mutual climax. Katrine convulsed beneath him, inwardly grasping his length, crying out for Chakotay. Miller didn't even notice as his own voice called out as he came,
"Kath. . . .Katrine!"
*********
Janeway woke to a dark room, but it wasn't as dark as it had been. It must be nearing dawn, she realized. Dawn? There was no dawn on Voyager. She tried to move but was rewarded with a stabbing pain in her left thigh. The gun shot. Trapped on the holodeck. Hirogen had control of the ship. World War II. An arm around her waist. A man's arm. Chakotay's arm, no, Miller's she thought as events slowly came back to her. They were holed up in a winery, she'd had a fever, she'd. . . . Oh, God, she thought, realizing her leg wasn't the only part of her experiencing a dull ache. Bits and pieces began to come back to her as she lay on her side, nestled up to Chakotay. No, she reminded herself, he was Miller. She hadn't made love to Chakotay. Not to her first officer. It was Miller, some guy from Indiana whom she'd just met. She didn't know which scenario was worse. She remembered thinking of him as Chakotay, remembered kissing him *as* Chakotay. But why hadn't he stopped her? She smirked to herself. The middle of a war and there was a woman ready and willing to make love to him. Sure he would have stopped her! She couldn't blame him, she'd been scared too, part of the reason she'd reached out to him as Chakotay. He might have told her that this was wrong, making love under these circumstances, but Miller hadn't. He didn't have any reason not to get involved with her. The whole situation was giving her a headache on top of everything else.
Janeway couldn't stop the images that kept flashing in her mind. The two of them intertwined, groping the other. It was almost as if she'd made love to both of them. Was it Chakotay's body driven by Miller's desires? Or had some part of Chakotay been present as well? She couldn't be certain, but at the final moment she could swear Miller started to call her "Kathryn."
She had to get dressed. She couldn't have him waking up with her naked in his arms. God, she was going to have a hard enough time just looking at him without inspiring another intimate encounter. She turned slightly to look at his face. He seemed so content, she hated to leave his embrace. There was a part of her who wanted to pretend to be Katrine, to stay in Miller's arms and forget the war both on the holodeck and off, but she couldn't afford that. There was still hope that Harry could disengage the neural implants, she only hoped it was before the Nazi's discovered them.
Quietly as she could, Janeway extricated herself from Miller's arms. He rolled over with a sigh, but surprisingly, remained asleep. She would have thought his soldier's senses would have alerted him the instant she'd shifted, but apparently he was too tired. She had to admit she felt like she could sleep for a week once this ordeal was over, if indeed it ever would be.
Janeway hobbled around the room, picking up pieces of her scattered clothing. No two items were in the same spot. She didn't remember their lovemaking being frenzied, but the clothing spread around the room said otherwise. Her bra and shirt went on easily enough, but the pants and underwear were a different story. She had to lay down and inch her way into them, fighting pain the entire time. How had Miller gotten them off in the first place? Janeway wondered, but then by that point she probably hadn't cared how much it hurt to remove them if it meant she could be closer to him. Part of her wished she had clearer memories from the events of a few hours ago, part of her was grateful there seemed a surreal quality to the experience. It was easier to pretend it hadn't happened that way. In fact, dressed once more, she could almost believe it had been just a particularly vivid dream.
She felt her forehead and face. She was still warmer than usual, but she felt better than she had, except that the pain in her leg had increased. Just because she didn't have a fever at the moment, didn't mean it wouldn't return. Janeway knew she had to do something about the bullet soon. Left unattended much longer and maybe even the Doctor wouldn't be able to fix it once she got off the holodeck. If they got out.
She thought of her crew on the other side of the holographic village. Had they survived the night? If only there were some way to contact them! Janeway's frustration at her lack of options were beginning to get to her. She tried to pace, but her leg wouldn't allow it. Suddenly she heard movement in the street. The guards stationed on the street corners began to run north, where there were sounds of exchanging of gunfire. Now was there chance, they could escape to the south if they moved quickly. She didn't give a damn if she had difficulty in moving, she couldn't sit here any longer; she'd rather die making an attempt at getting back to her people than stay here one moment more.
"Miller!" she shouted, tossing his pants at him. "Time to move out! Let's go!"
He was instantly alert, throwing on his clothes with a speed she wouldn't have imagined. He looked at her, confused for a moment, disoriented.
"There was gunfire to the north; the soldiers ran off to check it out. Now's our chance to get out of here," she explained, tossing him his jacket as she headed towards the ladder.
Miller nodded, still a little dazed at his abrupt awakening. Grabbing the back pack, he followed her down the ladder. "Katrine," he said, holding her back by her upper arm, " I don't know about this, we should wait for dark to move out."
"Miller, if you think I'm going to sit here for another whole day while my people are fighting for their lives, you're crazy! This is the break we've been waiting for! Something's distracted the soldiers; we're going to take advantage of that!"
Shaking off his hand, Janeway pulled the pistol out of her pocket, noticing Miller doing the same. "Ready?" she asked.
"Let's go," he said.
The door creaked, opening on its rusty hinges as they slipped out into the street. They looked up and down the thoroughfare; it appeared empty. They'd made it a few blocks when they spotted a few more soldiers running up the street. Miller grabbed Janeway, pulling her into the alley, into a doorway as they waited for the soldiers to pass. He had her pulled tight to his body, his face inches from hers.
"Sleep well?" he asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Janeway felt a blush creep into her cheeks. She knew something needed to be said about what had happened, but this was hardly the time or the place. She told him as much.
"Miller, I agree we need to talk about what happened, but it'll have to wait."
Miller ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "Katrine, I just want you to know. . . ."
At that moment Janeway felt the barrel of a gun pressed between her shoulder blades.
"So, there *was* an American who belonged to that pack," Janeway heard the man behind her say. "As well as his French whore. The commandant will be very pleased."
Janeway recognized the voice as the man who'd searched the upper level of the winery the night before. She tried to squirm away from him but he held her arm in an iron grasp. Miller started to move towards him, but he warned the American,
"Try to be a hero, and she dies. Listen to what I tell you, she lives. Simple as that. Even a Yankee can follow rules that simple, can't you?" Miller merely nodded, licking his dry lips, as the Nazi relieved them of their weapons. Janeway tried to look into Miller's eyes, to warn him not to try anything to endanger his life, but she was pushed past him before they could make any kind of contact.
"Hands in the air! Both of you!" Neither one of them was moving very fast, causing their captor to continue to prod them with his rifle barrel. Janeway's mind was racing, she needed something to bargain with, something that might tempt the soldier from delivering them to his superior. The first thing that came to mind was herself. As much as she loathed the idea, she didn't know what else to offer. There wasn't much she could do for her people if she were dead, if they were both dead.
Janeway turned her head and smiled her brightest smile at the soldier. He wasn't very old, not much more than a boy, actually. There was something about his nervous manner that reminded her of Harry for a moment. Capturing them had obviously been a stroke of good fortune for the soldier; he wasn't quite sure what he should do with them, Janeway noticed.
"You know," she said, looking over her shoulder at the young blonde, "I've always preferred Germans. There's a reason you're called the 'Master Race,'" she added suggestively. "You let him go," Janeway indicated Miller with a jerk of her head, "and I'll make it worth your while."
"Katrine! NO! I won't let. . ."
"You! Be quiet. And you," the soldier said with a slight sneer, "what do you think you can offer me? You can hardly walk!"
Janeway stopped and turned to the Nazi, placing her hand on his chest. "You'd be surprised, " she purred. "Surely you've heard rumors about French women?" The soldier swallowed, as if he were considering the possibility. At least contemplating whether he had time to find out if the hearsay was true before he turned them over to his Commandant.
Janeway could see his hesitation, hoping she and Miller could find a way to disarm him before she actually had to play her bluff. She'd noticed the way Miller had paled at her reference to French women's techniques, wondering what she'd done to produce such a reaction in him. She couldn't remember anything "unusual," but Miller must not have seen it that way. Janeway felt a blush creeping into her cheeks as her eyes met Miller's.
"Keep moving!" the German shouted, prodding her with the end of the rifle. "Perhaps the Commandant would be interested in your 'offer,' mademoiselle, but I am not."
Janeway limped as fast as she could, but she was slowing down, the exertion of walking was sapping what little energy she had. Wishing she'd taken the time to eat some of the bread Miller had found, she didn't know how much longer she could go on; the soldier would end up shooing her where she fell. As if the thought produced the action, Janeway stumbled, only to be caught by Miller.
"Get back!" the Nazi ordered, trying to separate them with the gun. "Let go of her or I'll shoot you!"
"Miller! It's okay! I'm okay!" Janeway cried, almost pushing him away. She would *not* be the cause of his death.
"How touching," the German said, herding them up the street once more. "Such compassion for a whore."
Janeway saw Miller grit his teeth, obviously restraining himself. "It's okay," she said again. "They're only words. They don't mean anything."
"I told you no talking!" the soldier pushed her down, aiming the gun between Janeway's eyes. "What do you have to say now, whore?"
Straightening her shoulders, jutting her chin, she looked the young man squarely in the eyes. "What are you waiting for?"
"Lieutenant!" A German officer called from a doorway across the street. "Are those prisoners?"
"Yes, sir!" he said, snapping to attention.
"Then I suggest you bring them in here to question them before there's an 'accident'."
"Yes, sir!" the young blonde called again, roughly hauling Janeway to her feet. "The Commandant has a few questions for you," he hissed at her. "Be grateful or you would be dead now."
"Really?" Janeway said in a low, reedy voice. " I don't think you would have had the nerve."
She found herself half-dragged into the make-shift Nazi headquarters, only to be thrust onto a wooden chair in the center of a pool of glaring light. Glad for a moment's rest, Janeway's relief was short lived as she noted the man before her. He was Hirogen, but apparently wasn't aware she was no longer part of his "game." Doing her best to seem unaffected by his appearance, she sat up straighter, ready to face her inquisition. She noticed she was the only one in the light; she hadn't seen Miller, but she could sense he was still in the room. Or was it Chakotay she sensed? Even though she'd gotten to know Miller a good deal better than she would have thought, it was still the case that somewhere, within Miller, was Chakotay, lending her his silent support just as he did daily on the bridge.
The Commandant came forward, handing her a glass of water. At first Janeway was going to refuse it, but thought better of it. She needed the water, regardless of its source.
"I'm sorry it isn't wine, this part of town seems to be experiencing a 'dry spell,'" a disembodied voice informed her. Finishing her water, she waited a moment then said,
"Let him go, and I'll get you all the wine you want."
An amused chuckle echoed off the walls. "My dear Katrine, if we wanted wine, we'd have it. There is nothing in this town that isn't ours. From amenities to the lives of its citizens, it all belongs to us." Choosing to ignore his bait, Janeway asked instead,
"How do you know me?"
"Katrine," he said, deliberately using her name, "you wound me. After all the hours I've spent in your company?" Janeway swallowed. Had her "character" already given the Commandant what she was willing to trade for Miller's freedom? Shading her eyes, she pretended to try and get a better look at the Hirogen before her.
"Of course," she said. "It must be your choice of illumination. You look much better in candlelight."
"Still acting as if you're in control, aren't you? As if you were at one of you tables entertaining a guest. Well this is *not* your restaurant and I am *not* one of your guests," he said, slamming his hand down on a hard surface for emphasis, causing Janeway to jump. "Good, I'm glad to see you still have some reaction left in you."
"Commandant," another seemingly corporeal voice spoke, "this is ridiculous! We should just shoot them now!"
"You forget yourself. This is how the game is played."
"But, I. . . "
"Either play the game or leave," the Commandant's voice was final. Janeway tried to take advantage of the use of his terminology in front of her.
"Game? This is a but a game to you?"
"A figure of speech. I assure you, we take the occupation of this town very seriously. Now, tell me. What do you know about a handful of people who claim to be a resistance to our forces?"
"I know nothing of any resistance," she stated.
"Don't be coy with me, Katrine. You run a public establishment, people meet, they drink, they talk. . . ."
"Perhaps you missed my cardinal rule," Janeway said, somehow accessing the memory of Katrine's words, "leave the war outside."
"You're going to tell me in the course of your days, you've never heard anything of a group, calling themselves 'Maquis?'" the Commandant pressed.
"The name sounds familiar, but it doesn't mean I know who they are. I respect my patrons' privacy."
"An admirable trait. Still, it must be hard to ignore the rumors."
"What exactly are you getting at, Commandant?" Janeway asked, crossing her arms across her chest.
"I know you're not as naive as you're pretending to be. Now," the Hirogen's voice was deadly calm, "If you don't tell me what I want to know, I promise you, you'll wish you had."
Janeway thought for a moment. Regardless of what she told him, she knew the "Commandant" was going to kill her. Perhaps she'd be able to bargain for Miller's life before she played her ace. At least it would give him, give Chakotay, a fighting chance to live, to help their crew. The trouble was, she had no actual knowledge of the French Maquis' plans. Could she make something up, stall long enough for Miller to get to relative safety?
"Well?" the Commandant prompted.
"Release him," she said, nodding in the direction she'd heard the other voice coming from, assuming he was the one holding Miller.
There was almost amusement in the Hirogen's voice. "Release the American? He's an officer, a valuable prisoner, almost as valuable as you, my dear, and I don't bargain. You *will* tell me what I want to know."
"I'm afraid we can't seem to come to an agreement, Commandant," Janeway said, feigning boredom. "I guess you'll have to follow through with your threats of torture or execution."
Janeway heard the sounds of a scuffling off to her right. "Katrine! No! You can't. . . ." Miller's words were suddenly cut off as she heard a crack, then the thud of a body hitting the floor.
"What did you do to him?" Janeway cried, leaping to her feet.
"I wouldn't move, if I were you," The Hirogen warned. The silence in the room was so heavy, the sound of a pistol being cocked seemed unnaturally amplified. Janeway heard a moan escape from Miller. At least he was alive, she thought. Feeling a strong hand grip her chin, she was forced to look into the Hirogen's eyes.
"You are resilient; I shall enjoy making this kill."
*********