Be Careful What You Wish For

by Barbara Watson

  They all stood in silence for an awkward moment. Quickly, though, they returned to the official matters at hand. “Have a seat,” Owen indicated. He spent the next hour giving them a tactical briefing on all that had happened in the years they’d been gone—or at least the parts he was authorized to share with the group as a whole. He had also prepared a schedule for their return to Earth and a list of questions about Voyager’s condition: not only the damage but the enhancements—many of them Borg-inspired—they had made to the vessel while they were gone.

  This reminded Janeway of her first official request. “Admiral, because of the unique modifications we’ve made to Voyager, I’d like to recommend that Seven and Lieutenant Torres, my chief engineer, supervise any Starfleet crews assigned to the refit.”

  Her comments made the elder Paris shift uncomfortably in his seat. “First things first, Captain. Let’s get everyone home, get some things resolved, find out how extensive the damage is, then we’ll make a formal plan. But I will include your recommendations in my report.”

  ‘Of course,’ Janeway thought. If her two friends weren’t in jail or under the microscope.

  Owen sensed the tension in her face and changed the subject. “I’ve heard a lot about your chief engineer. I’m anxious to meet her.”

  Tom smiled, “I think I can arrange that, sir,” he said wryly.

  “Well, then,” the Admiral offered, “I know how anxious everyone is to see their families. Let’s get the base crews working with your people to get that structural integrity field stabilized. Then we’ll put Voyager in gray mode, transfer you all to my ship, and we’ll get underway again. I’ve arranged for a maintenance tug to tow Voyager back to McKinley Station as soon as we’re ready, and you’ll all be given temporary quarters on the Scobee while we make our way home.”

  Seven interjected before Janeway could. “Admiral, we prefer to stay aboard Voyager until we reach Earth.”

  The elder Paris was surprised. “Based on Captain Wheaton’s survey, your ship is barely able to sustain the crew’s basic needs. I can’t believe you’ve stayed aboard as long as you have.”

  Tom smiled. “You’d be amazed how much progress B’Elanna and her staff have made in just a few days.” Owen could see the pride in Tom’s eyes as he talked about his wife’s hard work. “Voyager won’t be flying under her own power for a while, but we’ve got everything we need to survive. She may be a little banged up, sir, but she’s our home.”

  Owen always marveled at the way Tom could attribute human qualities to a piece of technology, especially if the machine could be flown, sailed, or steered. He knew enough Starfleet captains who shared that sentiment, though, and couldn’t think of any reason why he should deny their request. “Very well. We’ll act as your escort then, though I hope you’ll at least make use of our replicators and other amenities. I imagine life on Voyager is a little less than comfortable at the moment.”

  It was and it wasn’t, Kathryn thought. Certainly more comfortable than the reception they had received from their Starfleet colleagues so far.

  Owen continued. “Then if we’re finished here, Captain, perhaps I could meet the rest of your crew.”

  Kathryn suspected the Admiral was just looking for an excuse to spend some time with his son, and meet his new daughter-in-law, but she was happy to oblige him. “Of course, sir. I’m sure Lieutenant Paris would be happy to show you around our ship.”

  Tom was actually surprised at how much he looked forward to it. He loved the thought of showing off B’Elanna to his father. She symbolized all of the love and validation he had searched for so much of his life. She was proof that he had, in fact, done some things right. The couple had accepted one another—flaws and all—many years earlier and, in doing so, had given each other a new confidence and self-assurance. She was a part of his life—of himself—he was anxious for his father to see. “Yes, ma’am,” Tom said with his customary twang. “It would be my pleasure.”

  ~*~*~*~*~

  They heard her before they saw her. “Vorik, what the hell is wrong with this dammed relay? I just replaced this whole assembly this morning. Do not tell me you shorted it out!” She slid on her back from under the panel, and right into the legs of her father-in-law. The Starfleet Admiral.

  “B’Elanna, you’re going to have to watch that language once the baby’s born,” she heard her husband teasing from above her. “You’ll have to excuse her, Dad, she has a mouth like a sailor when she’s ripping an engine apart.”

  She resisted the impulse to kneecap Tom with her hyperspanner, instead wiping her plasma-covered hands on her uniform slacks and trying to come to her feet as gracefully as possible considering her condition. She did shoot Paris the Janeway ‘death stare’ as he helped her off the deck. “Admiral Paris,” she said, now blushing from head to toe. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting...”

  The elder Paris laughed out loud and put her out of her misery. “B’Elanna,” he said pronouncing her name perfectly. “Call me Owen.” She looked slightly less uncomfortable, but would still have preferred a more formal introduction to this man who had loomed so large over her husband’s life.

  “B’Elanna, I’m giving my dad a tour of Voyager, but he’s invited us to have dinner on his ship when you’re done here.”

  She tried to be civil, though she still wanted to kick Tom in the shins, at least. “Sure,” she said. “Give me another half hour to replace this relay assembly and another to shower and change. I’ll meet you in our quarters in an hour.” She turned back to their guest. “It’s good to finally meet you, Admir—Owen.” The men smiled warmly at her before they turned to leave.

  B’Elanna was happy to see how comfortable Tom seemed in his father’s presence, even if she decided to reserve judgment on this man who had done so much damage to the husband she loved. B’Elanna knew this was a pivotal time in her husband’s relationship with the Admiral, and she didn’t want her own feelings to get in the way of their reconciliation. She thought their easy banter was a good sign. Besides, she had to put her energy into plotting her revenge for Tom’s surprise inspection.

  The Parises continued their tour of the lower decks before Tom decided to act on an impulse he’d had all day. “Dad, I’d like to show you something. Another one of my special projects, if you don’t a mind a little detour.” The Admiral was happy to oblige his son. He was hardly surprised when they’d made their way back to Deck 10 and the now-empty shuttlebay.

  ‘Someday walking into this room won’t be so painful,’ Tom thought as he heard the bay doors close behind him. ‘But not anytime soon.’

  They walked to the far end of the room before Tom spoke again. “I wanted you to see my ship,” he said to his father softly. “We all helped refine and build her, but she was my design,” he said, though not boastfully. “I fought to get her built—at least the first time. This one is second-generation thanks to a little run-in with the Borg.” Owen noticed that Tom said this as if it were just another day in the Delta Quadrant. Maybe it had been. “But she’s a beauty, Dad. Parametalic hull plating, modulating shields, Borg-inspired weaponry, and enhanced thrusters for better maneuverability.”

  His father wondered if this was what he had missed when Tom brought home his first supped up hovercar as a teenager. Owen wasn’t around much in those days, he remembered sadly. Perhaps if he had been...

  Tom had already opened the hatch and was leading the way inside. “We had to gut her for parts to make the transwarp jump,” he said, only afterward realizing that his father probably already knew this. The plan had come from Starfleet and his father had been overseeing the Pathfinder project. He turned his attention back to his vessel. “I know she’s a low priority, but I’m anxious to get her space-worthy again.”

  Owen stood back and watched as Tom climbed into the pilot’s seat, enjoying his son’s obvious pride in his handiwork. “So whatta ya think?” Tom asked a little expectantly as he spun the chair around. Owen wondered for a moment if this was some
kind of test.

  “I think you’ve got more talents than just piloting,” he said very sincerely. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up designing these ships instead of just flying them.” Owen feared for a moment that Tom would take that as his denigrating the skill that went into piloting. They’d had that fight before, too, he realized, and he’d meant only to praise his son’s engineering instincts. He was relieved to see Tom take it as the compliment he had intended. But there was also a cautious edge to Tom’s reply.

  “I just hope I get the chance to choose,” Tom said, knowing that a substantial part of his future was out of his hands. Owen took the opportunity to take a slightly larger risk in his budding relationship with his son.

  “I know you’re worried about what’s going to happen when we get back, but I don’t want you to be. I know the three admirals that will be making the recommendation on your status, and I could give them a call. With all that you’ve done with your life over the past seven years, I think they might see fit to expunge your criminal record and wipe your conviction off the books. Starfleet wouldn’t have any reason, then to—” Tom cut him off before he could continue.

  “Thanks for the offer, Dad, but I don’t want you to do that.” The irony of the situation struck Tom hard. He flashed back to all of the times during his childhood when he had hoped and dreamed of his dad being there for him. Of his days at the Academy, when his father’s fears of looking biased caused Tom to be shortchanged out of grades, postings, and awards he had actually earned through his hard work. For most of his life, being the child of this admiral actually worked against him. Now, his father wanted nothing more than to pull rank on his son’s behalf—and Tom wanted no part of it.

  “It’s taken me a long while to accept responsibility for the mistakes I’ve made in my life. It was always too easy to blame you or Starfleet—anyone but myself—for the things I did. I’ve learned to accept that I can’t undo the past. I don’t want to pretend now that it never happened. And I don’t want the Federation to pretend either.” Tom looked up into his father’s eyes. “If I’m going to stay in Starfleet, it’s going to be because they’re giving me a second chance despite my past. Just like Captain Janeway did.”

  His father didn’t say anything, but Tom could sense that Owen was proud of the way he was willing to own up to his mistakes. It was a lesson Admiral Paris could have stood to learn himself back in his days as a young father. When his father nodded his approval, Tom decided to change the subject back to their surroundings.

  “You know, Dad, I proposed to B’Elanna in this ship. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I have to let her go.” He told his father about the trans-stellar rally and the way B’Elanna had almost given up on him that day. While Owen listened carefully to the rest of the adventure that had led to Tom’s brief engagement, his mind started to focus on something else he’d wanted to do.

  They were leaving the shuttlebay, when Owen made an unexpected request. “I’d like to see the bridge,” he said out of nowhere.

  “Dad, it’s a twisted pile of junk. I don’t think...”

  His father cut him off. “I need to see it, Thomas. Don’t fight me on this.”

  When his father spoke his full name, Tom was preprogrammed to obey, and the familiarity of the feeling made him uncomfortable for the first time since their reunion. He couldn’t figure out why this was so important to the admiral. “Sure, sir. Right this way.”

  They rode the turbolift to Deck 2, then climbed through the Jeffries tubes to Deck 1. Even with the path cleared by the salvage crews, it was an effort to make it inside the bridge itself. When they finally stepped through the briefing room doors, Tom could hear Owen draw in a deep breath. His father maneuvered past the exploded science station and down toward the viewscreen. He put his hands on the junk pile that had once been the conn. Tom still couldn’t tell what was going on.

  “I can’t believe anyone survived this,” Owen said haltingly. “Is this where they found you?”

  Tom took a step closer. “Yes. I must have been knocked under the helm console before the ceiling caved in,” he said softly, amazed himself that he’d been so lucky. “Dad, what is this about?”

  Owen couldn’t look at him. “You could have been killed here,” his father said, silently thanking the gods for his son’s life.

  “A lot of my friends were,” Tom offered with equal emotion. Father and son stood there silently for a long moment before Owen continued.

  “I couldn’t be here with you. I couldn’t protect you from this.” He didn’t look at Tom has he continued. “But I wanted to see the panel that saved your life. I needed to touch it with my own hands. I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t made it home safely.”

  Tom couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, he took a step closer and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. They stood like that, together, looking around the shattered bridge for a long while, before either spoke again. Finally Owen turned to face his son. “Do you want to talk about it?” he said gently.

  Tom could only shake his head. He was too close to his pain, and too unaccustomed to baring his soul to his father, to open up this fast. “Maybe one day,” he said.

  Owen nodded, then offered a chance to look forward instead of back. “Then let’s go find my daughter-in-law and have that dinner I promised you.”

  They made their way back to the access shaft in silence. But something had changed. For the first time since he was eight or nine, Tom Paris once again felt like someone’s son.

  ~*~*~*~*~

  “This is ridiculous, Doctor!” B’Elanna complained. “I’m transporting to a fully-equipped Federation starship. Tom will be with me the whole time, and I’ll never be out of contact. You’re overreacting.”

  The Doctor kept working, adjusting the fetal monitor until he liked the settings. He had spent the whole day working on his temporary engineering assignment, and he was glad to feel like a physician again. “You’re either wearing the monitor or you’re not leaving Voyager. Take your pick.”

  His patient stewed, but knew she was outgunned. As the ship’s chief medical officer he could put an end to her night out with one word to the captain. Her last hope was pity, “I’m meeting my father-in-law for dinner for the first time, and this thing makes a big bulge under my tunic. How is that going to look?!”

  He wasn’t even slightly persuaded. “It will look like you’re very pregnant and that your Doctor takes good care of you. Besides, the big bulge under your tunic is your daughter. No one will even notice this tiny little bump.” This didn’t make B’Elanna feel any better, but she knew she’d lost the argument. He did try to soften the blow with some reason and common sense. “B’Elanna, I told you that the normal Klingon gestation period was thirty weeks. Human pregnancies last forty. You’re now at thirty-six weeks. You could go into labor at any time, and we have no idea how your unique physiology will react. Your daughter’s a quarter Klingon, you’re half-Klingon, and your husband is—well there has to be some genetic component to his unpredictable behavior. So humor your family doctor. Admiral Paris will understand.”

  Why was it the Doctor could always weasel his way onto her good side? “Fine,” she said, not happy that she was conceding so easily. “But I think I’d know if I was about to go into labor.”

  “Then you can stop by after dinner and say ‘I told you so’,” he said, making the last adjustments.

  “I’ll do that,” she said snarled back at him. Suddenly she didn’t feel so sympathetic about the Doctor’s long day venting radiation from the mid-decks. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t help but wonder if there were other—equally ‘challenging’—duties she could have the captain assign him.

  Her attention was diverted when the doors to sickbay opened and Seven and Icheb entered. B’Elanna smiled when she saw Icheb avert his gaze. One day, she thought, he’s going to get over this crush on me. She pretended not to notice the cadet’s nervousness, instead focusing on
the concerned look in Seven’s eyes. “Is everything alright, Lieutenant?” she asked.

  “I’m fine, Seven. I just have an over-protective obstetrician,” she said snidely.

  “Yes,” Seven said, now looking into the Doctor’s eyes instead of the chief engineer’s. “He does hover a bit, doesn’t he? But I have come to view that as one of his many qualities.” The affection in her voice was obvious. B’Elanna was relieved to see that her advice to her friends might have worked. But she was in no mood to muse on the Doctor’s ‘qualities’ just now.

  “Well, then, Doctor. I’ll leave you in the company of someone who does appreciate your hovering.” Her back was now to Seven, and she took the opportunity to wink at the Doctor. “And I’ll save my ‘I told you so’ for the morning.”

  The doors closed behind B’Elanna as Seven moved to stand closer to the Doctor. She didn’t want Icheb to hear what she was going to ask. “Is there a problem with the baby?” The EMH smiled. Seven was taking a real interest in something besides her own pain.