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Title: To The Journey

Author: kneipho

Beta: Nada (sadly)

Rating: M for adult subject matter.

Fandom: VOY

Character/Pairing Codes: K/f with mentionings of a friendly P

Notes: Journey contains spoilers for, "Non Sequitur","Timeless" and "Endgame."

Summary: A weird revised reaction Harry's "To the Journey" speech. Harry's POV.

I keep thinking back to when I saw Tom in the Corridor the other day, right before the admiral arrived. I showed him my plans to resurrect the Slipstream Drive, asked him to meet me in the Holodeck. Re-run a few simulations. I've altered my notes and believe if the Old Janeway's scheme doesn't work out, if we make a few adjustments to the Flyer, we may still have a chance of getting home. Tom blew me off. Said he was home already.

That dirty bastard.

Out here he's gotten settled. Not that I blame him, not really. He's built a life in this God-forsaken, never-ending tract of space. A gorgeous spouse, a baby coming, success in his profession, an escape from the ruins of antecedent life.

Not like me. Sometimes, I hate it here so much —the interminable adventure. Adventure I craved before all of this began. Can you believe it? Now, sometimes, it feels so endless, so unremitting, so fucked-up and everlasting. I feel shabby. Blue and jaded. I'm getting tired. I can see in it in the mirror, in the expression of ennui stretching the skin sheltering my face. I've changed a lot since the beginning of our Voy's impelled peregrination, and I'm not sure all those changes are for the best.

Sometimes, it feels like my body has divided, no longer one, now, but two people. The first: Proficient, Opts Officer Kim; dependable; world-weary; a man blunted; my career hurtling straight on into nowhere —lost on a small ship with no room to advance. And yet, I am different. The second: a man filled with hope. I feel green. I am still green, a young blade filled with potential. The artless, youthful Harry K., fresh off the Farm -is still alive.

I am my mother's son, sheltered, aglow with wonder, living trapped in limbo. Living trapped, forever trapped, side by side, with me.

Well now, don't I sound confused? And maudlin. Shitty and bitter. I am confused, way more than a little. If we don't make it through the Hub, I think I'll go insane.

I'm just too tense. Way too tense...

I know what Tom would say if I told him (the guy means well, but he really has no clue). "Use a program, Harry. Program a girl. Hump your brains out. I guarantee then you'll feel better."

But I don't want to. Not now, not with the chance of getting, of being so close to getting home. I'm not a prude. I just I don't want that kind of sex, not anymore. Not again, or ever. Not empty sex with a holographic lie.

It's all so sad. I still miss Libby. I always have. I can't let go. Man, I how I still want her. It is the sorry truth and why my love life is a mess. I close my eyes and see her face. I can almost smell her hair, hear her voice calling out my name. I fantasize we're still together.

Sex with Libby was the best sex of my life.

After my shift, I masturbate, quick and dirty, in my quarters. It's adolescent; a pillow jammed into my face to muffle the sounds I make when I come. The act, committed in the dark, pants pushed down around my ankles, is lonely— but completely human and grounded in the truth because I love her. I still love her, will always love her, I think, until I die. When I come, my head, so full of memories; my heart, my body cresting with sensations —is filled with Libby, with what it feels like to hold her; the wonder of being planted deep between her thighs.

Is the Trek truly important? In what realm? Not mine with Libby. What was I thinking? I want to live out a full, rich, normal life at home. My Life on Earth.

I want Libby, and I need to hug my mother. Screw the journey. I'm of a mind to make it home.