"I was in the neighborhood." (Harry/Libby)

Author's Note: This story takes place after "Endgame".

/

"Ms. Webber? You'll never believe this. One of the Voyager crew is in the audience. In the back row, of all places."

The young usher was practically bubbling over with excitement, as if she'd spotted a celebrity, which she had. The crew of the U.S.S. Voyager, missing in action for seven years, had been all over the news ever since their return to Earth. She couldn't know that, for Libby Webber, even after all this time, the name of that ship still pierced her to the heart.

Libby put down her water bottle, turned away from the dressing room mirror, and asked in her best attempt at a casual tone: "Oh, really? Which one?"

It could be any one of more or less 140 people, although it was the senior officers who would be most recognizable from interviews. It didn't have to be …

"It's the youngest bridge officer, the cute one. Harry Kim."

Libby felt time expand and contract like an accordion around her. When had she kissed Harry Kim goodbye at the San Francisco spaceport? She could barely recall the sound of his voice, but she could still taste their last cappucino. It was forever ago. It was only yesterday.

She'd left flowers at the memorial in Golden Gate Park. White chrysanthemums. It was a horrible thought, but in some ways, his death would have been simpler than this. Moving on had taken all the strength she had. What in the galaxy was she supposed to do now?

All she knew was that she couldn't let him go without at least seeing him again.

"Could you, um … can you do me a favour?" she asked the usher. "Can you invite him here, please?"

The young woman beamed. "Right away," she said, darting out of the room.

Libby used the waiting time to try to compose herself, at least on the outside. She refreshed her makeup, which always sweated off a bit when she was playing. She ran a brush over her unruly dark curls. She drank some more cold water, though it didn't do anything to cool off her face. She paced back and forth around the plainly lit room, tapping her fingers to the rhythm of the last piece she had performed until she could breathe easier. The few minutes seemed to take at least seven years.

A polite knock on the door made her jump.

She crossed the room in two steps to open it.

"Hi," said a light tenor voice she should never have forgotten.

He'd grown older. Instead of his uniform, he wore a tuxedo, as was suitable for a classical concert. The shine had worn off him, like one of his clarinets after a few years of constant use, but she could sense that it had made him stronger. He met her eyes with quiet confidence. "It's good to see you."

"What … " she stammered. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood." That boyish smile hadn't changed at all. He was still unfairly charming.

"Don't give me that!" she snapped. "You've been in the neighborhood for weeks, and you never even messaged me!"

"You never messaged me either." He held up his hands apologetically. "You're right, though, I should have. I'm sorry. It's been so long, I … I thought you must have forgotten."

Libby's answer was to pick up her padd from her dressing room table, pull up a certain file, and hold it up inches from his face.

It was the score of a duet composed for clarinet and harp, the same duet she had written for him when she'd asked him to marry her. It was the same piece she had played this very evening, to roaring applause, with a clarinetist who might be technically a better player than Harry, but would never harmonize with her the same way.

"Think again, mister."

He took the padd in both hands, glanced from her face to the notes and back again, and swallowed hard. "Libby, I … "

"I didn't sit around pining for you, but that doesn't mean I forgot."

"Me neither," he said. "I never found anyone else like you, not in seventy thousand lightyears. And believe me, I tried."

"Huh." She folded her arms, jealous and intrigued in equal measure. There must be a lot of stories there.

"Look … " He put the padd back down on the dressing room table. "I didn't come here to disturb you in the middle of a concert, but if it's okay with you, I'd really like to talk to you again. Can you meet me at the bar later? To … catch up?"

"All right, I will. On one condition."

"What's that?"

She took hold of his bow tie, just as she always used to do with his uniform collar, and set it straight. "Don't disappear for another seven years."

"Not gonna happen," he said emphatically. "Not now that I'm finally home."