Disclaimer: ST: VOY isn't mine
Author's Note: Well, I've been contemplating a lot of late. I miss my corps. I'm not officially a part of it anymore since I graduated and my mother will never let me take the extra training to be an officer. This is for them...
Watchful
by mistress amethyst une
When the nights are warm, that's when I miss her the most.
I remember how the stars glared coldly through the windows when we stopped at this particular moon for supplies. She sat in her own little corner, sipping her coffee, pretending she wasn't watching me over the rim of her cup. I sat halfway across the room, reading reports, pretending I didn't notice her watching. Several empty tables took up the space between us. The empty mess hall was unkind. I had no excuse to come near her. There were so many empty chairs. I didn't deserve to sit next to her. She probably thought there were too many chairs, chairs that had been empty for too long…
Neither of us was brave enough to close the distance we had made. The artificial warmth brought by the environmental controls wasn't enough to thaw either of our hearts. The only reason I hadn't left the mess hall when I saw her seated there was the awkwardness. What would she think? That I was afraid of her? Avoiding her? And so I sat away from her.
She was alone with me.
Alone.
Even if she was with me…
"How did we end up this way?" I muttered under my breath.
She pretended not to hear.
When the nights are warm, that's when I miss her the most.
I remember how a tear silently slid down her face that night.
I remember how I got up, deciding to just leave her there to cry, thinking she needed her privacy.
I remember how she got up and caught up with me.
I remember how she managed to grab hold of me, to embrace me from behind.
I remember how she cried into my back.
I remember how I fell in love with her again.
When the nights are warm, that's when I miss her the most.
She was my second wife.
She was probably my first love despite all the stupid romantic conquests I'd been on my entire life.
"I'll get them home, Kathryn."
I utter these words as I sit by my daughter's bed, watching our little girl sleep over the rim of my cup.
Yes, I'm depressed.