Disclaimer: ST: VOY isn't mine.

Author's Note: Angst piece. Need to sharpen my skills before taking a stab at Understated Difficulties again.

Shadows at Dusk

by mistress amethyst une

When he awoke in the morning, the first thing he did was look at her. When he found her sleeping next to him, he felt relief. When she was not there, he felt anxious and searched the house for her. There was something slightly odd for him about not being lonely. The very fact of having ceased to be lonely caused him to fear the possibility of becoming lonely again. The question haunted him: What would he do? --taken from Tony Takitani by Haruki Murakami

So this was what it felt like to be perfectly healthy yet hovering over the precipice of death at the same time. It was a feeling he knew well. He knew it well enough to know that he hated feeling it more than anything else. How long had it been since he'd last seen her? The last time he'd seen her before-

Maybe not thinking about it would make it not true. No, he'd tried that. He always tried that whenever something like this happened. It never worked, didn't do him any good. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't-

This couldn't possibly be happening, could it?

She wasn't dead. He clung to that thought as if his life depended on it. No, his life did depend on it. If he lost hope-

He couldn't. Couldn't lose hope, could hardly breathe...

There was so much he couldn't do. When he'd heard what had happened-

His mind was all over the place, unable to maintain a steady stream of thought. He had to see her, had to touch her, had to know she was still in this world, still tangible, still real.

This always happened whenever she went missing.

He worried himself half to death, all the while maintaining the most convincing facade of calm he could muster. At first glance, one would think he was immune to the effects of her absence. He took command with utmost professionalism whenever she wandered into the nothingness of space and met some calamity that left her with little hope of ever returning to the ship, to him...

The crew didn't know that he went on autopilot whenever he thought he would never see her again. He parroted commands as best suited the situation; no emotion colored his decisions. All he did was take charge as best he could while waiting for any news on their progress in searching for her. It would be of no use to anyone if he allowed her disappearance to render him inept, might even get in the way of the search, besides, what would she think if he didn't take care of the ship because he'd been busy letting thoughts of her being gone get in the way of things? That was exactly what she had wanted to avoid when they'd started their relationship. The last thing he wanted to do was prove her right about how it wouldn't work out between them because their feelings would get in the way of their duty to the ship and its crew.

He couldn't lose her. Stubbornly, he clung to hope as he continued navigating through mockingly calm space.

She had been the cure to what had eternally ailed him, the shadow he needed beside his as he walked in a world that seemed eternally stuck at dusk.

Dusk, the last traces of light before darkness engulfed everything. There was something so very sad about dusk. It was brighter than starlight but it also signaled the end of the day. At least the stars gaped at you like billions of sympathetic fireflies bound to the darkness above, unable to reach you to offer you more light but sympathetic nonetheless. Dusk offered no such comfort. One would walk alone, a shadow bound to one's feet, a shadow elongated by the stresses of the day continuously pulling at it.

But Kathryn had been the cure for that sadness. Another shadow walked beside his now, one that had been stretched by stress as well, the stress of a long day, of dying light and hope as they made their way home. Her shadow extended its hand out to his. He took it. And they walked together in the dusk, casting but one shadow, not caring if night fell before they reached home. They would have each other.

Right now, he didn't have her. Again, he was walking alone. Again, the night scared him.

"Commander, we've found her shuttle. One human life sign onboard. She's alive."

He stifled a sigh of relief.

"Beam her to Sickbay."

Occasionally, she would trip and fall, wander away. He always found her again, always stayed by her as she regained her former grace. He didn't like to think of never being able to find her again. They would always find each other. In this world or the next, he would find her.

He couldn't walk alone in the eternal dusk. Not for too long...

He prayed that she would never wander away again.

It was a prayer that his spirits or the God she no longer believed in couldn't answer.


Just finished my paper! Guh...damn virtue ethicist's point of view on media ethics. Nafsika Athanassoulis is not an easy read and she's damn preachy. This might be a ficlet series. For now, think of this as all you're getting. I'm not sure yet.