Home for the Holidays
by Smaragd
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"Hello, Maman, I'm glad you're home," the young woman bustled through the doorway, carrying so many packages she didn't notice the trail of mittens she left in her wake.

"Hello to you, too, Libby," Leila Kim scooped up the mittens and tucked them into one of the gilded bags.

"I've brought you some gifts. . . for the Solstice, I know you don't celebrate Christmas. . ." She was slightly breathless, smiling at the older woman. "And some pfefferneuse. I hope you and Papa like them," she hesitated, only slightly, "Don't mind how they look, the kids helped. They still taste good."

"You know we adore your Christmas cookies, Libby." She put them on the table, "And please be sure to thank the children for us."

"Oh, I will. We're planning to stop by on New Year's Day, if that's alright this year. You can thank them yourself."

"Of course, dear, we always have an open house then. I bet I won't even recognize them, they must be so big." She went to the cupboard. "Do you have time for a cup of tea?" Without waiting for an answer, she added, "Sit. I'll make it."

Over the fragrant blossom tea, they chatted of the weather, of current events, of family doings. The conversation lapsed into a companionable silence.

Suddenly Libby felt the tears catch in her throat, "Oh, Maman, I miss him even more this time of year." Her eyes glistened.

Leila had known this was coming. Taking the younger woman's hand, she said, "Oh, honey, don't cry,"

"How can you do it? I mean, how can you be so brave? He's been gone so long . . ." She rubbed her eyes, knowing they'd turn even more red by doing so.

"Libby, I know he's gone. But that doesn't mean we love him any less. And it doesn't mean he loves us any less. You don't have to be in the same place to love someone, and to be loved by them."

Libby had tears streaking her face, now. "But something horrible happened to him, to all of them. . ."

"Oh, shush. We don't know that. The universe isn't such a certain place. They could find their way home tomorrow from whatever pocket of time they've been hiding in."

"You don't have to say that. . . I know I was in denial for a long time, but it's alright. I know Harry's d- dead." She didn't know why she had a hard time saying the word. She had accepted it long ago.

Leila pretended not to hear the slip. "He might well be, my dear. But even then, do you love him any differently? I know you don't. . . and I know wherever he is, he loves you. He loves all of us." She smiled, her face glowing, her hand on her chest. "I can feel his heart, right here, loving me."

"Oh, Maman, is it alright if I still love him? Because I do." She closed her eyes, a few more tears squeezing past her lashes.

"Of course, honey. He wouldn't have it any other way. I'm sure he can feel it right now."

Libby smiled weakly, and nodded, "Maybe you're right." They held hands and she finished her tea in silence, feeling a part of herself start to come back to life.
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Harry bit into the misshapen lump in his hand that Neelix called a cookie. He closed his eyes and remembered Libby's cookies at Christmastime. He could taste the ginger, the cinnamon. Almost. Good memories could only go so far against leola root flour.

He remembered the first time Libby had made cookies for him. . . and smiled to himself. He could feel her love in his heart, still, so sweet, mixed with the love from his family, back home. And now it was folded in with the love he had here, from his family here, and from Tom. It swelled in his chest, like cookies in the oven, and his heart felt full to bursting. He opened his eyes.

Sound faded from his ears as Harry looked around the room. Tom and B'Elanna laughing about something silly. . . Neelix trying to get the Captain to eat a cookie. . . Chakotay ladling out punch. . . the stars streaming past the window. Harry sighed happily.

Tom's eyes found him with a questioning look. Harry returned it, letting all the love in his heart flow onto his face. He joined the group, placing a light kiss on his lover's cheek, feeling Tom's arm around his waist. He was home for the holidays.

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End