Crunch.

That was about all I remembered, at first. Crunch. It stuck in my mind, even when everything else seemed to pass through my memory like water through a sieve. All I could think was crunch.

But later, I remembered other noises. Only the sounds, nothing else. Scrapes, and small, baby crashes, and footsteps. The trickle of water. Sometimes, the purr of a fire. And a voice I couldn't make sense of yet. It ran across my hearing, but I didn't understand the words, or just didn't remember them. Only the voice. I remember trying to place it.

They told me later that I was injured, badly. That had been the crunch. We crashed. That's why I don't remember touches. Everything hurt. And you don't remember the pain. At least, I don't.

The first word I remember was just "tonight". It came at the end of a sentence, I think, but clarity came so suddenly. Her voice. I wished I could see her. I wished I could see.

She talked a lot. It was her way of staving off the loneliness, she said, and the fear. Crashed, with only me for company, and I wasn't at my most vivacious. I spent days listening to her. Mostly, she talked about me.

She told me about the first time she saw me, really saw me. She said I was fire. I heard her stirring up the embers of ours, and a soft sound that might have been laughter. I wondered how long I'd been asleep. She was different from who I remembered.

I learnt a lot about how she saw me as I lay there. In darkness. I dreaded the night, because I would hear her bed down, and whisper, "Goodnight." And then she'd sleep. She slept so quietly. I could hardly hear her. I needed to hear her, or else... no else. Silence was not a good thing to listen to.

The first thing I felt was water on my lips. I tried to swallow. I think I had before and hadn't felt it. "You're getting better at that," she said. She sounded pleased, but tired. I tried to answer, this time, and choked. "Hey, easy, easy," she said gently, as a soft cloth wiped at my face, lightly, avoiding the bits that were broken. Then silence. "Did you say something?"

"Buh... lan?" It was the best I could do. The next sensation was water on my cheeks, her tears. Joy. I think until then she wasn't sure I was really alive.

She wanted to touch me, I realised, but knew there was nowhere she could that wouldn't hurt. So she didn't, but asked how I felt. Hungry, I said, so she moved away and came back again. I smelt food, but screamed as she put it in my mouth and I tried to chew.

"You have to eat," she said, worried. "It's been too long already." More silence, and then I heard her sigh. "I can't think of anything else. Just hold on, okay? This'll probably still hurt." A few seconds later, soft, warm lips touched mine, parted them, I felt soft paste in my mouth and swallowed. "I'm not sure this is really in accordance with protocol, though," she teased. I remember a croak in my own ears that was laughter I'd left unpractised too long.

Speech began to come to me more easily. B'Elanna moved and spoke with more energy in the sounds, from sheer joy in the end of her solitude. I started to notice the pain.

"I wanted to treat you... But I didn't have a way to," she apologised worriedly. "I'm sorry, Kathryn." It had seemed too formal to hear 'captain' from the lips that provided me daily with the only nourishment I was able to consume.

I told her it wasn't her fault. It wasn't.

I wasn't very up on passing days, so I'm not sure how much longer it was before Voyager found us. I don't remember the transport, only waking up on board the ship. Faint aftershocks of pain were everywhere. And it was still dark. I cried out.

"Hey, relax. I'm here. It's okay. We're safe." It was her. I felt her hand on my arm. "We're on Voyager."

"Why can't I see?"

"The Doctor says you still have some lasting nerve damage. It should regenerate in a few days, he says."

"And if it doesn't?"

She paused a long time, but I knew she wouldn't lie. "You could be blind."

I seemed to find my voice a long way off. Maybe it had gone back to Earth, where there was light. "Help me up."

She guided me to my feet. I felt dizzy. Then another voice. "Captain, you should still be in bed."

It seemed like it had been so long since I heard any voice but hers. He sounded almost alien to my ears. "I think perhaps I'd recuperate better in my quarters, Doctor. Unless you have a medical reason to keep me here, that's where I'm going."

I heard him sigh. "Fine. How do you plan to get there?"

"B'Elanna?"

"Of course, Ka - ptain." I'm not sure whether the doctor caught the mid-word hesitation. I squeezed B'Elanna's hand reassuringly as she took my arm.

I think we passed people on the way. I'm not sure what they thought. I was too tired, and too frightened, to care. I must have looked like hell. B'Elanna took me to my couch in my quarters, and then I felt the air move as she knelt in front of me. "You should sleep, Kathryn," she said softly, as she tugged at my boots. The uniform I wore was in tatters, I think.

Her tenderness as she helped me to my bathroom was unmistakeable. I think we both knew we needed to stay with each other, but neither of us wanted to mention it. Things had changed. It scared us.

"I'll wait outside," she told me, after placing me by the shower. "Call if you need help." Her hand guided mine to a rail. "Your towel and gown are here. Just throw your uniform on the floor. I'll pick it up afterwards."

I nodded. I had long ago ceased thanking her for the infinite care and kindnesses she gave me, but this was different. New. "Thank you, B'Elanna," I said sincerely. I heard her smile in her voice as she told me I was welcome.

I showered from memory. It felt good. Afterwards I found the robe and felt my way to my bedroom. "Feel better?" she asked.

"Much," I replied, with feeling. "Can you help me find a nightgown?"

"Sure." She opened my closet, and handed me fabric. "I'll be in the -"

"B'Elanna," I interrupted, "Relax. Stay. You took care of this body for... how long?"

"About a month."

"It won't kill you to see it again."

"I suppose not, Kathryn." She was smiling again. "Shall I help you, then?"

"Please."

Her fingers found closures with ease that I would have fumbled for. And in truth, I didn't want to be alone. The darkness was too total, still, too frightening.

In the end, she stayed that night in my quarters. I eventually abandoned all shyness and asked her to. She curled up on my bed, on the other side, where only the movement of the mattress told me where she was, along with the scent of her that reassured me of her presence. It was strange to feel the softness of my bed and of Starfleet-issue sheets again, crinkled against my skin. Only she was still familiar.

In the morning, she fetched my breakfast. I felt awkward trying to feed myself again, but at the same time the wholesome smell of real food, freshly replicated, was somehow the first thing that really began to convince me we were home. I could feel her eyes on me, and reached out for her hand. I needed contact, to ease the shared memory of the mutual nightmare.

I fumbled with knife, fork, and breakfast, until finally I heard her move to sit beside me. She gently relieved me of my cutlery and pulled my plate to her assumed placing. "I claim feeding you as a privilege of rank," she joked weakly. "Open." The fork deposited its load in my mouth, and I chewed as she cut my next bite.

"I don't know how I'm going to manage if I can't see again," I commented, between mouthfuls. I needed to talk about this, and by now I trusted B'Elanna implicitly. "I don't know how to adjust. I don't know how I can be a good captain if I'm... blind."

"You'll have me, Kathryn," she answered seriously. "I'll help you adjust. And I don't see why you won't be able to be as brilliant as ever. Here." She pressed a glass of juice into my hand. This, I could manage, and I drank. It tasted of freshness, tart and perfect. "But if somehow you don't think you can do it... You'll adapt, Kathryn. And I'll be here to help you."

My hand was shaking slightly as I put my glass on the table. "Promise?" I asked, fumbling to touch her.

"I promise." We seemed to cross some kind of barrier, and I found myself enfolded and enfolding in a tight embrace. I have no idea how long we clung to each other. "It's okay to be scared, Kathryn," she told me at last.

Blindly now by instinct rather than force, my lips sought her neck and kissed her there. I needed that closeness, but couldn't bring myself to find her lips or face the memories that would evoke. She sensed it, shared it, kissing my hair and ear and neck and seeking the same fulfilment.

"Don't leave me," I think I whispered. I remember her murmured promises more, loving and devoted and everything I wanted them to be.

She gave me her arm to walk on as we reacquainted ourselves with the ship. I gradually lost my disorientation as I learnt to recognise my home by senses other than sight. We left the bridge until last. Silence fell across it as we entered.

"Uh... Captain, are you... How are you?" Harry Kim broke the silence. I pointed my quick smile in the direction of his voice.

"I'm fine, Harry. Just a little short-sighted these days. It comes with age."

Hesitant laughter. "The Doctor says I could be fine in a few days. If not... we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

That night, in my quarters, B'Elanna turned off all the lights and darkened the windows. It had to have been pitch black. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Equalising," she answered simply.

I walked to her more surely than she was moving. "I love you," I told her.

"I know," she answered. I knew I had felt her love in the endless gift she had given of her caring. Now, hesitantly, her lips found mine, and we held each other tightly as we remembered the horror. She wouldn't give up, though, and neither could I, and soon we became lost in the simple pleasure of the loving kisses we shared.

We made love that night, and for a while I didn't notice the darkness. By morning, I was a little more accustomed to it, enough that I let B'Elanna return to Engineering. I missed her, however, and was glad of the easing of the almost-physical ache when she returned mid-shift on her lunch break.

So we established a routine. I started listening to audio reports from my departments, and in the spirit of preparedness began learning to use tactile interfaces. Two days later, the Doctor gave his final report on my vision as he removed the lenses that had protected any healing tissue.

"I'm sorry, captain," he said, pain in his voice. He's more human than I sometimes credit. I smiled past the pain in my chest.

"You tried, Doctor," I said firmly. "I don't expect the impossible - often."

B'Elanna squeezed my shoulder. I didn't even cry until hours later.

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