ugly bag of mostly voyager

He’s trying to hold back, to touch her with the kind of confidence that’s born of long experience. Trying to keep his hands from shaking, because the last thing he wants to do is frighten her.

But he’d started to believe he would never see her again, let alone be with her like this, and a part of him – a desperate, terrified part – is urging him to remember every single moment, and how can he be casual when he’s concentrating on the luscious feel of her skin, on memorising every tiny pore and freckle? How can he be confident when he feels like crying?

And how can he hold back when he’s close to panic, when he’s petrified that this reality will dissolve and leave him gasping in his bed on Voyager, aching and alone?

The trembling of his fingers must alert her, or perhaps the shuddering of his breath, because she cups his face in her hands and holds him still.

“Harry, what is it?” she whispers. “Talk to me.”

He shakes his head, because he’s already tried that and anyway, what more can he say?

“It’s nothing,” he says instead. “Sometimes I just remember how lucky I am, you know?”

Her hazel eyes radiate softness and understanding, although he knows she doesn’t really understand at all. He brushes a thumb across her lower lip.

“Just kiss me, okay?” he murmurs. “Kiss me as if you haven’t seen me in a long time.”

“This again?” she smiles.

“Please.”

He presses his lips together, knowing the despair has leaked into his voice, and feels her hand slide into his hair.

“Okay,” she says, leaning in to brush her lips over his – slowly, and with such tenderness that it makes him ache – before she lies back on the pillows and lets her hands drape above her head. “It’s okay. Take what you need.”

He’s almost embarrassed at the sob that bursts out of him, but as he sinks into Libby’s welcoming body he feels her trembling too, feels her arms come around him tight, and it’s okay. Even if they only have tonight, he’s going to be okay.