A/N: Because my favorite character just died on LOST and I need some hope that not all the good ones get chopped.
Flyboy, she called him. Flyboy. As if he'd leave her any minute. As if one day he'd wake up and realize she wasn't pretty, wasn't worth it, wasn't funny or charming or patient. Wasn't the woman he was looking for. Wasn't good enough for him. For Tom Paris.
But then he'd look at her, with those eyes, and flash that goofy grin, or come home wearing that ridiculous leather jacket and tease about casting Miral as the next Arachnia, and she'd melt. Just melt.
It was silly. Naïve. Girlish and overrated and, she had to admit, totally cliché. But it was true. After seven years, he could still make her melt, just by looking at her.
Flyboy…
She might be afraid on the dark days, the long days, the hard days. But she knew, somewhere deep inside her, he'd never fly without taking her with him.
