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“Have you ever lost anyone?”
The question comes as a surprise. It’s obvious that Obrist is overwhelmed with grief for his brother; why would he want to hear about someone else’s?
If any other person, like that bastard Annorax, asked Tom a question like that, he wouldn’t give them an answer. Obrist deserves one.
“No one I loved has ever died or been wiped out of existence, no.” Unless B’Elanna or Harry or Captain Janeway has died on Voyager, a voice in his head says. But he’s an optimist, right? At least, that’s what he’s become.
“My father and I never got along in the first place, which I always considered a loss,” he continues steadfastly. “And a close friend of mine went off to explore a few months ago.” He still misses Kes, a bit, thinks he could use her advice with B’Elanna. Mostly, though, he’s happy for her. She deserves to explore herself and the universe more than anyone.
“But honestly, what feels most like a loss is to be away from Voyager. I don’t have much back on Earth, but Voyager’s become my home. I miss it.”
He’s not the only one. Chakotay muttered something about a watch and Tom knows that he’s been having nightmares. Once, he had to go to his quarters to wake him and he was saying Captain Janeway’s name. Tom doesn’t know what the deal is between them, but it’s obvious Chakotay is aching to help, just like Tom is. If B’Elanna dies because he wasn’t there, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself.
And Harry. He’s older now than when they met, but Tom’s still protective of him. He never went through what Tom did with his parents, and he doesn’t deserve to be on the wreck that Voyager must be now.
At least they have each other. Harry has B’Elanna, and Tom knows they became friends before B’Elanna even stopped thinking of him as a pig, Janeway has Tuvok. He and Chakotay may be gone, but their loved ones still have friends with them. At least there’s that small consolation.
“Tom,” Obrist says, and Tom’s pretty sure it’s the first time his new friend has said his name. “Are you alright?”
It is then that Tom realises that he’s crying. Instinctively, he wipes away the tears. “Sorry,” he says. “I guess I’m just homesick.”
“I understand.” Obrist’s voice is soft and Tom can’t help but believe him. “I am, too.”
They sit together in silence until Chakotay comes to pick Tom up. They’re having dinner together every day, as a means to exchange information and also, unspokenly, to feel a little less lonely. Strangely, it helps. Chakotay’s unexpectedly good at offering comforting words and fables, and Tom tries to let him talk about his feelings, too. He clearly needs it.
To think that he was a hair’s breadth away from killing this man once. He’s glad he didn’t.