She was my wife. Seven of Nine. Annika to no one but me. Some part of me knew it would be the last time I held her alive. My desperation denied me that plain realization though. Her eyes focused on me briefly and then… They drifted.

I forced the shuttle hatch open, then reached once more to gather her form close to me. Someone yelled that the transporters were down. I ran forward on autopilot. The Shuttle Bay doors swept open. I rounded corners. I navigated corridors. Waited impatiently for the turbolift to travel. Sickbay never seemed so far.

The doctor met me at the door. She was suddenly out of my arms. I watched in dazed confusion as she was placed on a biobed. There was a rush of activity. All I could hear was the tone of the computer announcing flatline. I don’t know how long they worked on her. Time dragged. Suddenly, there was silence.

“Computer, record time of death…”

I don’t remember my knees hitting the deck. Then I was laying flat.

“Chakotay.” A soft voice. Kind.

The reality of her death finally reached me. “Annika,” I cried out to a woman who could no longer hear.

I looked up. Kathryn was leaning over me. Her hand was on my face. “I’m so sorry.”

The phantom pain in my heart and the very real pain in my back made me roll away from her.

“Doctor,” she said sharply.

The EMH stood frozen over Seven's body, the shock apparent on his face.

“Don’t move.” The words were accompanied by a strong grip on my shoulder. Paris.

“Doc! His blood pressure’s bottoming out. We’re going to lose him!”

The hologram was instantly there. “Let’s get him off the floor,” he ordered.

Hands took hold of my body. They lifted me upward into blackness.

“Annika…”