Summary The thoughts of Tom and B?elanna?s daughter, two days after her mother?s death. Set 20 years into Voyager?s journey.

Disclaimer ? Paramount and Viacom own everyone and everything.

Dedication ? This little piece was inspired by something that my friend Misti put to paper. You can find ?Her simple words? at her homepage. So, I?m dedicating it to her. Thanks for letting me borrow your ideas!

Feedback - All will be welcome, any way shape or form and I would really appreciate it if you could send some. This is my first foray into something without one phaser rifle ? that?s scary in itself!

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It was a funny feeling. She didn?t know if she wanted to sleep or if she wanted to finish the homework padd that lay on her dressing table. The indecision was unsettling. Everything had come easily before, two days ago she would have known what to do. She wouldn?t have just sat there, the edge of her Federation issue bed, grey sheets, head in her hands. She wouldn?t be having trouble deciding between two menial tasks, both important, both pointless.

A deep breath, her eye lids closed slowly only for her to force them open. That essay would need finishing. Ensign Davis was so particular about homework.

The Doctor had told her that it was okay to cry. No one would think that she was weak, he?d said, a programmer?s interpretation of a sympathetic smile plastered across his mass of light and energy. She?d resented that. He was assuming again, assuming she?d need the sedative he?d pressed into her hand with that friendly reassurance, that gentle pat on her back. He?d barely touched her, as though she was some frail object, shatter at the lightest touch.

Janeway had looked at her, her eyes holding back tears that she thought she should shed. She?d been invited to her office. A chat, that was all it was going to be. Informal, natural, but as expected it was awkward, tedious, just another thing to do, pass the time. She hadn?t wanted to go. She?d anticipated the long silences and the monosyllabic answers she gave. She bet Janeway had too. Someone else had assumed, Janeway had made assumptions on a character she had purposefully distanced herself from. She hadn?t got the right to do that anymore, she wasn?t close enough to assume, few were.

She sighed as she ran her slender hands through her dark hair. She?d had enough of the condolences and the endless stream of well wishes. Had enough of being tolerated by people who disliked her, smothered by those who wanted to help or at least, help themselves. It seemed strange to her that everyone believed that the self-pity and wallowing she?d indulged herself in wasn?t right. Apparently it wasn?t the proper way to tackle her grief, the correct way to mourn. They?d wanted to replicate her ice cream, tell her about the time their Grandfathers? died, talk to her about her mother, relive the good times. It wasn?t healthy, the forced smiles, the bad jokes, it was all-fake, an intricate charade that must have been played out whenever a bereavement occurred on Voyager. They weren?t healing or helping that much was obvious to Jodie.

Again she stared at the padd on the desk. Two days she?d been away. She?d been out of course. Sometimes to sickbay, the holodeck, the visit to Janeway that had lasted all of five minutes and to she?d been to Naomi?s quarters briefly. She?d gone to retrieve her black shirt that Naomi had never given back. Naomi had been good, given her space, room to breathe, room to shout, room to rip the stupid black shirt in half. Naomi hadn?t raised an eyebrow or lifted a finger to her lips in a pointless effort to silence her. Naomi had just stood and stared. A good call on her part.

Tomorrow was going to be hard. Back to school, back to reality and out of the daydream haze of the last few days.

She was getting angry again. She scratched her arm ferociously, ran her bare feet over the short carpet, wriggled restlessly in an effort to take the edge off the sheets that she had made that morning. Her room was annoying her now; it?s ordered prissiness, the cutesy pictures that were stuck to the wall, the emptiness of the space. She felt like she wanted to crawl out of her skin. It was becoming a familiar feeling, this lost feeling, wanting to be anywhere but there. It didn?t take a genius to work out when she?d started feeling this way.

She tried to recall the day it happened. The day her life had been torn apart.

It had been a normal day, well, as normal as they got on Voyager. School; lunch with Naomi and Karen, home, the normal arguments over what would be replicated with Dad, a normal day and a familiar routine. The first thing she noticed that night, the first thing that had woken her, was the ship moving. Abruptly, she had been thrown pillows and all, out of bed, crashing heavily against her wall, taking some of those despised pictures down with her. Even a small smile, *Dad must be in the driving seat*. Her sleep would often be interrupted; the five-year-old in her would worry occasionally. But, it was all part of the job. She?d cause more trouble than good getting upset, sleep was the better option.

Back to the present with a jump. Her grim recollection halted.

She stood. Sitting had become constricting. She needed to pace, helped her think. It was something to do and it saved twiddling her thumbs. She?d been told not to feel guilty. She hadn?t thought about it until it had been mentioned. It wasn?t her fault, things like this just happened, there was nothing she could do about it. As soon as it?d been said the words had stuck in her head. Popping into her consciousness at the wrong times. Leaving no room for the thoughts she was meant to be having, the good ones, the constructive ones.

Her mother?s death had been an accident. She?d been a little too close to a console that had exploded in engineering. Jodie had played very little part in it. She hadn?t seen the body either. The last time she?d seen her mother they?d argued. She?d shouted, her mother had glared, her arms folded in that domineering way of hers. It was about curfews or something, possibly rations probably Jodie?s choice in boyfriends. It hadn?t mattered then as it didn?t matter now. Jodie almost felt she had to argue back whenever her mother asked a question. It added to the rebellious reputation she was slowly and surely building up. Why not? What could they do? Throw her in the brig? They were stuck with her and it was a kind of game seeing how far she could push. When it came to her mother, it wasn?t very far.

Remembering, accepting it was all part of the healing process.

That night she was woken properly again at around 0530 hours. She?d heard her father come in. She hadn?t slept well, a broken, agitated rest. She?d heard his deep sigh as he entered the family?s quarters, he?d thrown something on the sofa. She hadn?t got out of bed, no need. He?d probably just had a hard shift. ?Computer 40% illumination,? he?d called. That was odd on two counts. First of all it was still early and second of all he always put the lights on to 80%. It wasn?t enough to get her out of bed. She?d stretched though, rolled over, pulling the covers higher over her shoulders.

?Jodie.? He?d called. His voice was hoarse and low, almost a whisper. She?d groaned loudly, making her annoyance audible. She?d stumbled to the door of her room, cursed as she hit her toe on her desk. She?d leaned on the doorframe; she would have said something throwaway, acerbic, as witty as she could muster at the unearthly hour. It was the look he gave her that had stopped her. He was pale, his hands shaking slightly as they hung against his sides. He?d stared her straight in the eyes, his lips relaxed, his eyes inert. To diffuse the situation she?d yawned slowly, one hand had covered her mouth while the other had moved a strand of hair away from her eyes.

She?d looked up to see her brother coming out of his room. He hadn?t noticed straight away. He?d grumbled to himself as he?d walked into the room, pulling a robe over his nightshirt, his hair a mess. But as soon as he?d seen his father, he?d known too. She was dead.

They?d hurried to Sickbay. Not a word had passed between them. They?d avoided eye contact, preferring the floor, the walls to the faces of their family. It was a time of solitude, and a time they all needed. A chance to work out what was happening, collect their thoughts, let it all sink in, or deny it, whatever you wanted. There would be no family line on this one, no easy precedent to follow.

Voyager?s corridors had never been colder, never greyer, never more morbid. It was strange that your home for 15 years could seem so different. Normally those corridors were so regimented, so constricting, now they seemed slightly too wide, lonely.

She hadn?t wanted to see the body. A decision that she regretted now. She?d had to make her goodbyes to the torpedo casing shooting away from Voyager. Her silent promises, hard promises, stupid promises, promises that should have been made a long time ago, promises that she?d never keep. She?d promised to keep her room tidy and to tie her hair back when she went to school. She?d promised to keep going with that algebra, promised to look after her brother, her father. Promised to keep her mouth in check, promised to try harder making friends and keeping them, promised to forget, to move-on, to live with the good memories.

Her thoughts drifted away and her focus returned to the present.

As the single tear ran slowly down her cheek she laughed at herself. A broad, toothy smile reflected in the glass that she stared out of. The stars sped by. She?d often wondered what Earth was like. Different, was all she could come up with. This was her home. This was where her mounting responsibilities lay. This was hers. Earth could wait. A second tear met with an even bigger smile. She didn?t care what the Doctor said, she looked weak. For saying she was only a quarter Klingon her ridges were prominent, they looked slightly odd against her light blue eyes but she was proud of them. Proud of their heritage, proud of where she came from. The crying didn?t fit those ridges either.

What came now? One thing was for sure; the selfishness had to stop. Stephen, her annoyingly timid older brother had taken it badly. Accused her of not feeling anything, being cold and heartless, detached. It was true; she had sneered at his blubbering at the funeral. His catch phrase, ?Mom would have wanted it this way? could be heard everywhere, every turn, every snippet of conversation. If anyone wanted her opinion, he was doing what he thought he should be doing, not what he felt. That was her opinion though, sometimes, she had to accept that not everyone saw it that way. He?d shouted at her, as though there was no hope, no continuation to the story. She?d smiled back, he was being melodramatic. He?d slapped her right across the face. He had the right; she?d been insular, uncaring, insensitive and selfish. But she'd been hurting too. Sometimes she felt like there was no time for her; there was always someone else to be thinking about, someone else's feelings to avoid. That wasn't true, she hadn't wanted their help, she?d gone out on her own. She?d abused her friends, disregarded her parent?s wishes, raised hell whenever she wanted. But that was the old Jodie. Or the Jodie, she hoped never to revisit, nothing was set in stone, no promises were life long, were they? There, more selfishness, it was creeping back, as reality slowly crept back.

"Not anymore," she said. Her lips were moving but there was no sound. It was important to be truthful. Giving the words sound would make them harder to ignore. She?d been scared, was scared. Maybe she?d make those vows later, when she was stronger. There she went, putting things off again.

She returned to sit on her bed. The homework padd still stared at her menacingly. She reached out to get it. Life went on...

"Jodie?" Her father poked his head around the door. A smile on his face, though his eyes were vacant. She didn?t expect him to ever return to normal, too hard. He?d given her all he could, a face to shout at, a referee, someone who understood more than anyone else how she was going to deal with this. For once, she?d tried to give back, leaving him to himself, humouring his family holodeck time and his forced visits to sickbay en masse.

She copied the smile. Her tears were too fresh to muster one of her own.

"Don?t you think it?s time you got some sleep?" She didn?t protest. She only nodded and wiped her wet cheek with a finger. It wasn?t late but she knew what he was doing. He had to play ?Dad? and it was about time she let him.

Tomorrow was going to be hard.

Fin~