by Corleone
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Disclaimer: characters are the property of Paramount.

Warning: Death story

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Y'know, I've spent most of my life - the part of it that wasn't spent in prison, anyway - flying through the stars, but I've never looked at them before. Not really looked. They were just there, something you just notice. That's why I started to come here, to the conference lounge and just watch them streaking away from me. It's so beautiful. . . this is this only place where I feel almost at peace. I know why I finally started to see them, of course. I don't take anything for granted anymore. Harry. . . Harry loved the stars.

I'm just getting used to that. To using the past tense whenever I think about him. Gods, it's been six months now and I still can't get my head around it. The pain isn't any less. Everyone's been telling me it'll get easier, in time. When they say that I just nod and agree with them. It's easier than trying to explain that I know it won't get any better. I have this aching wound where my heart used to be, and every day I think it gets worse. I'll see something that reminds me of him, and it will all come back. Sometimes when I wake up (the rare times when I can actually sleep) I forget he's gone, and I reach out for him, to hold him. But he's never there. And then I remember, and I hate myself for not protecting him, not being able to save him. I wish it had been me who flew that shuttle. It should have been me. I'm not saying that the crash wouldn't have happened. I couldn't have flown her through that storm any better than he did. But at least he'd be alive right now, and I wouldn't be left alone.

That's selfish, I know. But it hurts so much. . .

It was B'Elanna who told me. I was in sickbay - I'd been mildly injured in a battle with an alien ship the day before. That was the only reason why it was Harry on that shuttle and not me. I remember she was crying. . . B'Elanna doesn't cry, and that was what me realise there was something terribly, unbelievably wrong. . . She just managed to choke out, "Oh, Tom. . . " and I knew then. Not the details, but I could practically feel my heart being wrenched away.

I just stared at her, saying "no. . . " over and over again. It was stupid, but for a while after I blamed B'Ela for the accident, just because he was the one who told me. I know now how ridiculous that was - she was closest to Harry next to me, and she was hurting too. What's that old saying, "don't shoot the messenger"? Yeah, well it's not so easy as you'd think. Sometimes you need to blame someone, anyone, because it's the only thing that makes the paingo away, even for a little while.

I didn't cry that first day. Maybe because I didn't really believe it had happened. I kept thinking someone was going to tell me there'd been a terrible mistake, that someone else had died in that shuttle. For days, I kept expecting him to walk in the door. I was brought crashing back to reality by the funeral service. I cried for the first time then, in front of half the crew. The Captain asked me if I wanted to say something. I had to shake my head no. Even if I had been able to get the words out, what could I say? I loved him more than I thought possible? That he was a part of me? Whatever I said, it wouldn't have been enough. I couldn't reduce what Harry meant to me in a few trite words. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. He was my life. More than that. More than I can ever say.

There were a million and one other things to get used to. Sam Wildman taking his place on the bridge. Our quarters becoming just my quarters again. Accepting the idea that I would never see him again, never kiss him, never hold him. There'd be times when I'd go for maybe a whole hour without thinking about him. . . and then I'd feel so guilty. I'm so afraid of forgetting. I even embrace the pain now, because it's the only thing that proves to me that Harry ever existed.

I should be thankful. We had almost two years, starting from just after we got out of that Akritarian prison. Two years is longer than some people have. I always thought we'd have the rest of our lives. I couldn't imagine not having Harry. I knew that he was the one, the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. In a way, I still believe that. If I can't be with Harry, I don't want to be with anyone. I don't know if I'd ever be able to love anyone in that way again.

"Tom?"

didn't even hear the door open. I wonder idly how long B'Elanna stood there before she spoke.

"Hi, B'Ela." I don't try to smile. She understands, I think. I haven't been able to smile in a long time.

"What are you doing?"

I gesture at the window. "Stargazing."

"That all?"

"Thinking."

She walks over to stand behind me. "He's not coming back, Tom."

I glare angrily at her, almost ready to lash out again. Doesn't she think I know that? Doesn't she think that it's the only thing running through my mind every waking second? But she's continuing, "Harry would want you to get on with your life, Tom."

I know she's right. Deep down I can understand what she's saying, and the truth in her words. But how can I get on with my life? I don't want to live, not without Harry. I don't even know if I can.

She sighs, and sits down beside me. "He loved you, Tom. But he's gone." I turn away to hide the tears forming. She sees anyway, and puts a hand over mine. She continues in a softer tone, "It was Harry who died in that shuttle, Tom. Not you. Like it or not, you're still alive. And he wouldn't want you to mourn him forever." I open my mouth to reply, but she cuts me off with, "It doesn't mean you have to forget him. But you can honour his memory by living your life the best way you can."

I slowly nod, and she squeezes my hand tightly. "You just have to take this a day at a time."

One day at a time. I have to live out the rest of my life, just taking it one day at a time, hoping that one morning I'll wake up and suddenly this won't feel so bad. I want to lose the pain, but not the memories. Is it so selfish to want both?

"Do you feel up to coming to Sandrine's with me? Everyone's missed you. You haven't been there in a while." I hear the unspoken "since. . . " I stopped going to Sandrines's the day Harry died.

I hesitate. It doesn't seem right that I should be thinking of having fun again when Harry's not here to share in it. I look at the stars. Hear Harry's voice, see Harry's face in my head. And I know he'd want me to be happy. "Okay," I say. It's almost a whisper.

We stand together and then she leads me to the door. I stop and take a last glance at the stars. For a split second I have the feeling that Harry's standing in the room with us. As if he's come to say goodbye.

"I love you, Harry. Forever. Goodbye," I whisper, and follow B'Elanna out. For the first time, it feels as if I might finally start to let go.

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End