Dateline: London calling--the muse has spoken.

Summary: A response to Annie M's "Only for a Minute," written with her gracious permission. Thank you kindly, ma'am.

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom--they own it all, except for our imaginations.
(c) August 3, 2000--P. L. Heyes.

"You need to sleep."

Those words echo in my mind as I wake up.  I think I begged her to stay, only for a minute, hoping she would, and she must have done so.  My arms are empty, but tactile memory insists she was here, snuggled up against me, warm and soft.  Her scent lingers--against my skin, on the pillow: earthiness with just a touch of cinnamon, tinged with hard-earned sweat and plasma coolant.

All her, always her.

The memory deepens, and I know she stayed, for that precious minute--perhaps longer.  There was a kiss, and the sound of her breathing, steady and sure, and I was lulled to sleep by that comforting rhythm.

And then--did I dream of a touch, a soft caress and a tender kiss?  Oh yes--no one else may believe it, but B'Elanna can be gentle, and I savor such moments all the more for their rarity.

So I slept, and she had to leave.  Above and beyond the call of duty--that's the way it is out here.  Sacrifice and compromise, over and over.  It's how we live.  God knows what's ahead of us with the Borg.  All we can do is prepare for the worst and hope it's not that bad.

Hope we survive.

I'm lucky to be allowed a night off, but I worry about B'Elanna pushing herself too hard--even though after all this time, I still marvel at and slightly envy her stamina and energy.  I've been pulling double shifts at the helm, plotting courses and tactical maneuvers, then working in Sickbay, prepping for the inevitable casualties.

But I can't cover for myself under both the captain's and Doc's watchful eye, so I'm sent off duty when I want to do more, but know it's a risk to try.  B'Elanna soldiers on, surprisingly more adept than I am at escaping close scrutiny and new orders.

She'll be all right.  I know she will.

I hope she will.

I wish she'd come back before the night is over, and sleep beside me.  That's all--just sleep.  Sometimes that's all I want--her closeness, the warmth--the faint scent of cinnamon tickling at the edge of consciousness.  Does she know how much that means to me?  She came, and stayed, for just a minute.  Maybe she craves such moments as much as I do.  I hope she does.

There's no way I'll get any more sleep tonight.  I get up, slip into the uniform, and make my way to the Bridge.  Rollins gives me a look--are you really that crazy, Paris?--but I make an excuse, and he shrugs as I relieve Culhane at the helm.

Systems checks, diagnostics--all routine and somehow as much of a comfort as B'Elanna's arms around me.  I discreetly tune into the comm lines, and eavesdrop on the action in Engineering.  Over the hum and buzz her voice comes through, quick and confident, securely in charge.

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