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Another piece of bulkhead falls down. Harry pays it little mind; nowadays, next to everything’s falling or breaking down. Everyone, too, really. Let’s not think about that too much. Harry’s fine, after all. He’s the young, energetic, optimistic ensign. He’s seen his fair share of death and pain by now, but he’s not overexerting himself like the captain. No, he’s fine.
“Harry, you’re hurt,” Chakotay’s wearied voice says from behind him. When did he get here? Harry thought he was still helping a frustrated Tom with his console difficulties. He guesses he was distracted.
“Harry?”
“Yes, sir.” He hasn’t talked in a while, nor drunk. His voice sounds rough and dry and dishevelled like the Bridge.
Chakotay’s hand hovers above his shoulder like he thinks he could fall and will need to be caught. Does he look that fragile? Come on now, he knows he’s the kid of the crew, but he’s not weak .
“You’re hurt,” Chakotay repeats, softer this time. His hand briefly touches Harry’s neck and when he retracts it his finger has blood on it.
“Oh,” Harry says dumbly. “I guess I hadn’t noticed.”
“You’d better get down to Sickbay.”
There’s a final look Harry’s way that he can’t quite put a name to and then their First Officer is gone, back to Tom. The corridors are dark when he walks through them and he narrowly avoids colliding with the walls of a ship he thought he knew so well. It’s eerily quiet, too, without a well-fed, happy crew to fill the silence with laughter and conversation.
He mindlessly moves out of another ceiling fragment’s way and realises for the umpteenth time that a nightmare has become reality. His world is falling into pieces, and there’s nothing he can do.
-
“Computer, activate emergency medical holographic program.”
They reinstated the voice command. Energy is low and they can’t afford to have the Doctor running whenever he wants to be awake. Harry silently envies him; he certainly doesn’t like being awake. Not that sleeping is much better. Being a deactivated computer file until he’s needed seems like the best way to pass the time.
“Let me see,” the Doc says, obviously trying but failing to be gentle in his treatment. The stress has been getting to him and he jerks Harry’s head to one side to look at the wound. He doesn’t ask for a dermal regenerator. Kes is gone and Tom’s busy; he’ll have to be his own assistant.
-
All his days are like that, perpetually moving from task to task to task to Sickbay to task to bed - if he’s lucky. Not in charge of any specific area, Harry stumbles all around the ship. Mostly he’s in Engineering or on the Bridge. He can’t decides which is worse; B’Elanna’s growing lack of fervour or the light diminishing in the captain’s eyes.
He’s watching everyone get worse and doesn’t even have the energy to help.
The number of quarters available is bisected after an attack that undoes the captain’s hair. Tom and B’Elanna become roommates. During a quiet shift in Engineering, B’Elanna quasi-casually suggests Harry join them. It’s obviously a coordinated effort, but Harry is too tired to complain and instead thanks her.
It takes a few days, but Chakotay orders him to bed eventually. Concerningly, the captain isn’t looking out for her crew personally anymore. It seems all she cares about is keeping the ship intact. Chakotay, in this respect and possibly more, is her other half.
Awoken by noises in the room, he’s surprised to find he even slept at all. “Computer, what’s the time?” he asks, but his voice is too soft and the computer doesn’t answer.
“About 0200 hours,” Tom says instead, attentive even when the computer isn’t. “Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” He’s hardly ever so curt.
-
Seven appears unphased. Harry still thinks he should check on her.
She hasn’t been getting a lot of sleep. In addition to the workload, she insists they can’t afford to have her alcove taking up energy. Nothing about her suggests any harm come from this deprivation - until you start talking to her, that is.
“Ensign Kim, this is not the time for trivial conversation,” she says harshly when he so much as nears her workstation in Engineering.
“I know,” Harry says. Something about him must have caused her to still her hands, but they soon return to moving across the console. He’s never been one to give up, though, so he leans against the wall. God, it’s been such a long time since he could lean.
A raised eyebrow comes his way, and with it a distinct feeling of rejection. He persists. “How have you been doing?”
“Irrelevant.”
“I don’t think so.”
Her hands still again, permanently this time. “Ensign Kim, I am hardly the individual most affected by the current state of Voyager. I suggest you take your worries elsewhere.” It sounds more like an order than a suggestion.
“Got it.”
The console remains curiously untouched. “Thank you for asking.”
A spark of hope ignites, setting the well-worn dullness aflame.
-
Years before Seven came aboard, Tuvok was the stoic one. There was a Vulcan in Harry’s elementary school class, but observation taught him how big a difference age can make. Stinn was curious, open-minded, always ready to learn more. That’s not to say that Tuvok isn’t, but he lacks the enthusiasm Harry’s classmate had.
He asks Tuvok once, during a nighttime moment alone on the Bridge, if it doesn’t hurt him. To have seen so much in his time, however long that may be, and to know it all might end here. Tuvok said that yes, it does. He wishes he could ensure his closest friend’s safety along with the rest of the crew’s. Harry guesses Vulcans really don’t lie.
After that, Tuvok seems to have gained a little more respect for him.
-
The Sickbay interior is growing all too familiar. He only goes there when ordered, but he’s ordered often and the Doctor is tiring despite the still great deal of time he spends offline. Recent events haven’t helped.
“Good as new,” the Doc says - lies, really, Harry isn’t sure he’ll ever be good as new - tersely. His shoulders are tense and his patience wears thin with ease. He’s a hologram, but he was modelled after a human. He should wish he wasn’t.
Offering company seems the right thing to do, but he hasn’t got the time. All he can do is thank the Doctor and linger in the doorway, just in case. Tell him it wasn’t his fault before he leaves.
“You brought her here, Harry.”
He turns around. He’s never seen the Doctor so broken before, not even when he was malfunctioning and thus quite literally broken.
“I thought after that, she’d be alright. Somehow I foolishly believed that after her escape from death, it wouldn’t catch up to her again. Not so soon, at least.”
Samantha’s quarters are no more. Neither is Naomi. Sam was working elsewhere when it happened, but she told Harry she wished she hadn’t been. Anything for her daughter.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says into the quiet remains of Sickbay. The Doctor clutches him tightly, the hug inevitable. The holographic tears on Harry’s shoulder feel just like his own, once again punctuating how human the Doctor has become - for better or for worse.
The Doc gives him one final squeeze, sniffles and sends him on his merry way. Harry’s not the only one who needs caring for.
-
In prison, Tom and Harry’s greatest comfort was the knowledge that on the ship, there was the most delicious food to fill their bellies. Now, they don’t even have that.
“I know it’s not much,” Neelix says apologetically, “but it’s the best I can do. Happy birthday, Harry.”
Harry has turned the ripe old age of twenty-five. There’s not exactly time for a party, but Chakotay - and, surprisingly, Tuvok - managed to persuade the captain to let Harry, Tom and B’Elanna have a little bit of extra time off. They’re spending it in the relatively unscathed mess hall, thanks to pure luck making it so that there aren’t any wounded today. Briefly, it gets to resume its original function like the ghost of a better past.
Neelix’s birthday present is a vaguely cupcake-shaped thing that looks and smells suspiciously like a ration cube. Harry wisely decides to leave the honour of the first bite to Tom, who grimaces. A ration cube with something like leola root, then. He appreciates the effort.
None of them appear to feel of talking. B’Elanna ends up being the first one.
“Anyone up for a game of trivia?” she asks, eyes flickering between the two men. They agree.
Minutes later, Harry could not be more grateful for this idea. It’s been so long since he was able to focus on anything fun and this is the perfect birthday gift, no offense to Neelix. All that matters to him right now are the words rude, alien and Federation, the Krenim be damned. “Ruder than Klingons?” Tom quipped, getting a vaguely loving glare out of B’Elanna.
“Tellarite,” Harry says. B’Elanna smiles at him. “Bingo.”
“Did I ever tell you my Academy roommate was a Tellarite?” Tom is leaning forward, as boyish as ever. It’s a sight for sore eyes.
“Not that I recall,” B’Elanna responds cautiously.
“His name was Lass glasch Fargguhg, but don’t pin me on that pronunciation. The guy would nitpick over everything - from the bed he himself had chosen to his grades. One day, I had enough of it. I offered to cook him dinner and I made him plomeek soup. Of course, I thought he’d hate it, figured I’d let him know what was real bad, but he loved it. Against all odds, we actually became friends.” Tom grins and it changes his entire face.
“Sounds like fun.” Often when B’Elanna says that, it’s sarcastic. The faraway look she’s wearing indicates that this is not one of those times.
“It was.”
They fall into silence again.
“I wonder how they’re doing,” Harry can’t help saying. “Your roommate, our professors. Our parents.” He hears his voice crack but resists the urge to bury his face in his arms. He wouldn’t be able to do that anyway, because his friends each take one of his hands. The synchronous movement of it makes him smile. They really are perfect for each other.
“This year will end, Harry,” B’Elanna promises fervently. “By your next birthday, Voyager will be all patched up again and we’ll be out of Krenim space. Okay? And then after that, we’ll get home. Promise.” Her pinky finger winds its way around his and it feels so good to have someone else be the optimistic one.
“Thanks,” he says, and he manages a smile again. “I’m just…really tired.”
“Let’s get you to bed, hm?” Tom suggests. The two of them escort Harry to their shared quarters. He doesn’t get nightmares this time.
-
More days pass and another holiday, New Year’s Day this time, comes around. Chakotay gives a speech. The captain’s there too, but she doesn’t say much. Doesn’t say anything at all, actually. She’s just there.
“To the new year,” Chakotay says, sparing a look towards his captain. The senior staff echoes the sentiment, but the echo reminds Harry of when he and his parents were on vacation and he’d wandered into a dark cave. He doesn’t have them now to coax him back intot the sunlight, but he has his friends.
Their First Officer gives all of them a hug and Harry wishes he could hang on longer, like Chakotay’s a lifeline. He stays after everyone’s left and hugs him again; he’s learned how good it is to be held and not just hold. Harry might have tears in his eyes by the time he leaves. He can’t be sure; it’s become so common a feeling he can’t distinguish it from normalcy anymore.
He can be sure that Chakotay does, though.
-
Tuvok and Neelix have stopped bickering. Neelix incidentally looks more depressed than ever. Tuvok looks unaffected, but without Neelix to spur them on, his quips have strongly decreased in frequency.
The Talaxian is in the background of the Bridge, helping out where he can. That’s not many places, sadly, and he doesn’t have much to do.
“Neelix?” Harry calls him over after a few hours of him lurking about. “Can you help me out here?”
“Gladly!”
His problem is a small one and he could easily solve it by himself, but Neelix feels useful. That’s what matters here. Everyone is having a frankly terrible time and if Harry can make Neelix’s even slightly better, he’ll be damned if he’s not going to.
“How’s your mission going?” he asks, ignoring the dull and ever-present ache in his head. The mission in question is to find a way to turn ration cubes into a delicacy. His attempts have been endearing yet unsuccessful thus far, but there’s no harm in encouraging him. He seems to need all the encouragement he can get.
A strange sound resembling ‘yuk’ comes from Neelix. Harry raises an eyebrow.
“Let’s not talk about that,” Neelix says, and doesn’t elaborate further.
Truth be told, his food tasted better when Kes was around to grow vegetables and taste-test. Tom may have replaced her in Sickbay, but he’s unwilling to do the same in the mess hall. The food tastes bland, now, or maybe that’s just Harry. At least Tuvok seems to like it. That got Neelix’s spirits up, at first.
“Tell you what,” Harry says, putting a hand on Neelix’s shoulder. “When this is all over, I’ll be your part-time assistant cook.” If it’s ever over. It will be, he tells himself, and stupidly, he thinks: B’Elanna promised.
It’s so easy to light up Neelix’s face sometimes. One can almost forget that he’s hurting, too.
-
All the lives on Voyager have been changed, perhaps irrevocably. Tuvok’s more so than most.
They haven’t figured out yet who’s going to assist him now that he’s lost his sight. With flowery language he claims not to care, but that’s difficult to believe. How could he have a closest friend without preferences? Vulcan or not, he does care.
Right now, they’re taking turns until Tuvok’s proverbially seen enough and can decide. It’s Harry’s turn and he’s vowed to make this work. While it’s doubtful that Tuvok will pick him, he wants to make this time as pleasant as possible for him. His pointed ears can make up for part of what he’s lost, but not all of it. It seems to be Harry’s nature to hope that kindness can.
For the most part, he lets Tuvok go about everything by himself until he’s visibly struggling. Vulcans, however unemotional, are a proud people. Tuvok might just lose all newly gained respect for Harry if he helps too much and he can hardly imagine how much that would hurt.
Harry brings him a bowl of Neelix’s improvised plomeek soup. Tuvok grimaces slightly at the smell. “Thank you, Ensign,” he says nonetheless. Harry wants to nod his acknowledgement, then remembers. “Sure,” he replies instead.
When Tuvok bumps into a passing crewmember that Harry didn’t see coming, he goes stock-still. Harry can’t for the life of him figure out what’s going on in that head of his.
“You alright?” he asks.
“Affirmative.” Doesn’t sound like it. “Are you?”
The question throws him off. The anwer is, instinctively, yes. Of course, he is. He hasn’t gone blind. He hasn’t lost a daughter, nor a friend. Not yet, at least. He pushes the thought down.
He has managed. That’s all he can hope to ask for during this aptly named year of hell. He’s had some good moments and, relatively speaking, not a single bad one.
“Yeah,” he finally tells Tuvok. “Perfectly.”
The Vulcan hums as though considering his answer. “Ensign Kim to the Bridge,” Chakotay says through Harry’s commbadge. Seven comes to take over. “Ensign,” she greets him with a nod.
She tells him later that Tuvok enjoyed the time they spent together as much as a Vulcan can. Harry’s grateful.
-
Captain Janeway has a new watch.
Not new, really. Harry may not be the most observant of the bunch, but he’s not the most inattentive, either. Months ago - though it feels like years - Chakotay held out an object to Janeway and walked away looking like a kicked puppy. Harry’s heart broke because he was simply too exhausted to help, had been for months on end. All he wanted was to help.
Chakotay’s off looking like a kicked puppy elsewhere now, with Harry’s best friend. He and B’Elanna have the room all to themselves. It really doesn’t matter. Normally it wouldn’t be as fun without Tom, but they didn’t exactly hang out. There is still the absence. At least he has experience comforting B’Elanna when she’s crying.
Who is there to comfort the captain? Tuvok, maybe. Harry’s sure he’s doing everything he can to make her feel better, but he can’t lie. He can’t tell her everything’s going to be alright, for sure.
Fuck it. Harry’s human, and he can lie.
He follows her into her ready room.
“This is not the time. Go away.”
She’s never talked to him like that before. It feels like a kick in the guts and Harry now understands Chakotay. All he wants is to curl up and for B’Elanna to hug him. The thought makes him feel sick. He’s weak, isn’t he? He’s not supposed to be. He’s supposed to pull through alright. He’s supposed to-
Hands grab his arms and Janeway’s worried eyes stare into his. “Harry? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t-”
One of the hands leaves his arm to find its new place over the captain’s mouth. “My God,” is what comes from behind it. “What have I done?”
And Harry knows she’s not just talking about him, her rudeness just now. Their beloved captain has changed. She doesn’t care about her crew’s feelings and she cares less about her own. Yes, she cares for her crew’s lives more than anything, but for that she’s given up everything that matters in those lives, including her own. She’s become detached after trying so hard not to be that kind of captain.
The hand moves from her mouth to the watch.
“Come in,” she says in a voice more familiar. Drained, stressed, but familiar. Caring.
“I just.” Harry swallows, feeling like a little boy about to give a class presentation. Janeway takes him by the hand and it does wonders. Something softens in her eyes.
“I just wanted to tell you it’ll be alright,” he says in a small voice. “We’ll find Chakotay and Tom again.” A moment’s hesitation isn’t enough to throw him off course, however weak he may have become. “I promise,” he finishes determinedly.
He hooks his pinky finger around hers.
“I won’t keep you to that,” she whispers and it’s a sign of how hopeless, how lackluster, how sad she’s become. Harry never wants to see that sign again.
“But thank you.”
Her other hand is still holding the watch. Harry would say it’s caressing it if it didn’t sound too weird.
“Can I see it?” his mouth asks before his brain can think it through. Janeway startles but hands it over.
“Chakotay gave this to me,” she says softly, almost to herself. Harry can only imagine what the gift symbolises. Time, he supposes, but that’s a rather obvious answer. What would the captain need time for?
Well. He’ll leave the analysing up to her.
“It’s beautiful,” he says, then gives her back the watch.
“It is, isn’t it?” Now, what does she mean by that?
Harry leaves the room, returning to the broken Bridge with its broken people. The helm is unmanned; propulsion isn’t even working, so it’d be unmanned even if Tom was there. Tuvok’s tactile interface, thank the heavens, is still working, but Seven’s console-tapping is less rhythmic and quick than usual.
Harry recalls the final sentence of the speech Chakotay gave months ago. Simple, but effective.
It will get better.
Those four words have been and remain Harry’s mantra. It will get better.
Janeway follows him to the Bridge, pocket watch firmly attached to her uniform, and he sees her lips turn up ever so slightly when she looks at the First Officer’s chair.