As he was speaking, B’Elanna couldn’t help but notice the bat’leth hanging on the wall just over Tom’s shoulder, and she thought of the circumstances under which they’d acquired it. “No,” she admitted, her eyes moving to look into his. “It sounds sweet. And I guess if you can become a Klingon for me, I can become a Paris for you.” She stroked her daughter’s head as she leaned over to kiss her husband.
But she soon realized the intense emotions of the last few weeks were wearing her out. They had survived an unimaginable nightmare only to finally bring their daughter home, and she wanted nothing more than to feel like a normal couple getting back to their normal lives, if only for this one night. She knew the best way to make it feel like just another evening at home.
When she spoke again her tone had changed. “Okay, so let’s say I do become ‘B’Elanna Paris’—how in the heck is anyone supposed to know which Lieutenant Paris is which?” Tom realized she was agreeing to his request the moment she started to kid him, and he was happy to play along with the new game.
“Gee, you’re about a foot shorter than me, and then there are the breasts....” He tugged gently at the front of her nightshirt and she smacked his hand hard. He kissed her nose, then stood up to put the baby back in her crib. If this was going to get fun, he wanted both hands free.
“I mean over the com, you idiot.” He knew she was kidding, but he offered her a solution they could both probably live with. “Well, you can do what a lot of married officers have done. Just use Torres professionally and Paris in your personal life.” Actually, she thought, that’s not a bad idea.
That didn’t stop her from teasing him some more as he climbed back into their bed. “Now, let’s just be clear about this, Tom Paris: we can watch your 1950’s television and make out in your 1969 Camaro, and listen to any number of years of rock and roll, but this name business is the only 20th century gender stereotype you’re getting out of me.” Her expression was severe, but she had trouble suppressing a wide grin.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, in his typical fashion when acknowledging orders from a beautiful woman. Of course, he couldn’t leave it at that. “Except for the clothes, that is,” he laughed. She threw a pillow at him, which he easily deflected.
“I am not wearing that ‘dog’ skirt!” she said now, practically laughing out loud.
“Poodle skirt, B’Elanna, and you promised you’d think about it once the baby was born.” Okay, so maybe she did have one ‘sock hop’ in her. At least the shoes looked comfortable.
“You’re a pig, you know that?” she said as she kissed him long and hard.
He pulled away just long enough to prod her on again. “And yet you love me,” he marveled, knowing it was true.
“Go figure,” she said, pulling his hand across her waist as she rolled over and leaned against his chest. Suddenly, she turned back toward him and tilted her head slightly. “How long did the Doctor say we had to wait before...”
Tom laughed and rolled her back over. “Goodnight, B’Elanna Paris,” he said softly in her ear, his arm wrapping significantly further around her than it had the last time they laid this way.
‘Six weeks,” he said to himself as he watched her fall asleep. ‘Six long weeks.’
~*~*~*~*~
PART 9 -- HOMECOMING
Being back in Federation space felt good, but it wasn’t the end of the journey. For that, they’d have to reach the Alpha Quadrant and then Earth.
They’d been traveling for three days, Voyager towed by a Federation salvage tug, Admiral Paris’s ship, the USS Scobee, leading the way. In six more hours, they would cross the ‘finish line’—at least the first one—for they’d have another two weeks before they were securely in the orbital spacedock of Earth’s McKinley Station.
Now that the ship’s com system was fully functional, the crew had been taking turns contacting their friends and family at home. Captain Janeway was able to have an extended conversation with her sister Phoebe, Tom and B’Elanna had shown off the baby to Tom’s mother, and Joe Carey got to hear a play-by-play recap of his son’s high school graduation ceremony.
Because of the monthly contact they’d had with Earth during their last year in the Delta Quadrant, very few of the crew would be coming home to big surprises. They had already received any ‘Dear John’ letters or other news—good or bad—that would be coming, and they were now able to start making plans for their futures once again. The entire commissioned Starfleet crew had been granted three-months of compassionate leave, during which time they were free to rejoin their families, prepare for new assignments, or just reacclimate themselves to their lives and homes. And, despite the lingering questions about their legal status and careers, even the Maquis were celebrating the rapidly-approaching end of their journey. It was a hopeful time for the crew and the families they had left behind.
Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the families of those they had lost in the transwarp accident. Just before the first personal messages arrived from the survivors to their loved-ones, the families of the dead had received the heartbreaking news: their sons or daughters or spouses had survived the past seven years only to die within sight of home. For them, Voyager’s homecoming would be a painful reminder of how close they had come to a happy ending.
Then there were the families of those who had died either in the initial shockwave that tore them from home or as a result of the incredibly dangerous conditions Voyager had faced during their years away. These families had neither the celebration of returning heroes nor the comfort and condolences of a Federation very aware of their fresh wounds. None of the milestones—not the initial word of Voyager’s survival, nor the establishment of regular communication, nor this final report of the ship’s return brought them peace, comfort or good news. In fact, each story of progress and hope had served only to remind them of their loss. They had come to feel like the forgotten families of Voyager. And, while they were happy for those who would be coming home, they looked forward to they day they would finally stop hearing about this particular ‘lost-lamb’ of the Federation.
No one was more aware of these simultaneous and conflicting experiences than Kathryn Janeway.
As the captain of Voyager, she had assumed responsibility for the lives put in her care. In the days since they left Starbase 32, she had spent her off-duty hours composing personal messages of condolence to each of the families of the dead, even those she had already written to once communication with Earth had been reestablished. She knew the story of Voyager’s resurrection would spread quickly, and she didn’t want the news to cause any more pain than necessary. She had also been busy writing letters of commendation for the survivors, petitions on behalf of her Maquis, Borg, and holographic crewmen, and preparing an official report on the mixed success and failure of their transwarp jump.
The projects had taken a toll on her, and she was now looking forward to turning her sights to preparing for a more upbeat task: crossing into the Alpha Quadrant, one of the last major milestones on their seven-year journey.
It was a bittersweet reality that they wouldn’t be making the crossing under their own power. She had always imagined standing behind Tom Paris as her pilot steered the ship safely home. As it was, she wouldn’t even be able to be on the bridge for this momentous day. Instead, she and her officers would gather in the mess hall, the largest room with forward-facing windows, as the ship was ‘handed off’ from Fleet Operations Beta to Fleet Operations Alpha. There would be no ribbon to break through, no line to cross, but instead—like the coming of midnight on New Year’s Eve—they would simply celebrate as the clock (and the Scobee’s sensors) told them they had reached the right spot.
Today’s gathering would be symbolic and casual. They’d save the formal celebration for their arrival back on Earth. But this would serve to end another chapter in the book of their adventure, and the captain was now counting the days—instead of the years—until she could close it for good.
She was sitting at her desk in her quarters—her cabin now acting as her office as well as her home—when the enunciator sounded. She was happy and surprised to see B’Elanna come through the door. Only five days after giving birth, her friend was looking and acting very much like her old self, and that included—at least at the moment, Kathryn realized—her Klingon temper.
“I need you to tell me this isn’t true!” she was shouting as she burst into the room.
“Good morning to you, too, B’Elanna—now what are you talking about?” The captain genuinely had no idea.
B’Elanna threw a PADD down on Kathryn’s desk as she spoke. “I just got a letter from my old roommate at the Academy asking me if it was true that I married ‘the traitor.’ Apparently, half the Federation thinks Tom was a Maquis double-agent and that he was responsible for getting Voyager stranded in Delta Quadrant.” As she was speaking, B’Elanna could tell from Janeway’s face that this wasn’t the first time her captain had heard this gossip. B’Elanna’s expression changed as she realized the truth.
“You knew.”
Janeway nodded. “Yes. Captain Wheaton told me a few days ago. But he also told me that the Federation went to great lengths to end those rumors once they learned what had really happened to Voyager.” This didn’t make B’Elanna feel any better.
“That was over three years after we disappeared. This rumor about Tom went undisputed for three years?” Her eyes challenged her captain as she asked, “Why didn’t you tell him?”
Janeway stood and walked around her desk to face B’Elanna. “I didn’t know how. He’d been through so much—losing Harry, almost losing you, having to take responsibility for this ship while I was injured. By the time I found out, he started to make some real progress with Admiral Paris, and then Miral was born...he shouldn’t have to deal with this on top of everything else. I guess I just wanted to protect him from it as long as I could.”
B’Elanna understood the impulse to shield Tom from this news, but she also knew that he needed to be told before he—like she had—learned about it second-hand. “He deserves to hear about this from you, Captain.”
Kathryn knew it was true. “Alright. Is he in your quarters?” she asked. B’Elanna nodded as the captain considered how she’d break the news. “I think maybe Admiral Paris ought to join me. Just make sure Tom’s at home in about twenty minutes.” As B’Elanna turned to leave, Janeway added one final comment. “Starfleet knows the truth and so do we. He’ll prove them all wrong, B’Elanna,” she said confidently.
“He always does,” her friend answered before heading home to her husband.
As promised, B’Elanna saw to it that Tom was waiting when the captain and his father arrived. In his favorite new position, the pilot was lying on his back on the couch in their quarters, his infant daughter asleep on his chest as he read a book on childrearing from a datapad. B’Elanna scooped the baby gently into her arms so her husband could greet their guests.
“Sorry,” Tom apologized as he sat up. “She naps better if she can feel my heartbeat.” Wondering if this would be the first of many times when Tom would use Miral’s needs to justify his own, B’Elanna couldn’t let that go unchallenged.
“Tom, she ‘naps’ almost twenty-four hours a day at this point. Just be honest and admit that you can’t stand to put her down for more than a minute.” She kissed her husband on the head, then made an excuse to leave the three alone. “But you’re going to have to, because I promised Naomi she could tell Miral a Flotter story this morning.” B’Elanna was trying to keep the atmosphere light, but she gave the captain a long, intense look. As she was leaving, she looked back at Tom and said gently, “I’ll be back in an hour. I promise.”
Tom wondered what he was supposed to make of the hidden message he knew he’d just been sent. Maybe it had something to do with the two senior officers now sitting in his living room—somehow he knew this was an official visit. “Can I get you both something?” he asked as he walked to the replicator.
“Coffee would be nice,” Janeway offered, and Tom ordered some for them all.
As he handed the cups to his guests he asked, “So what’s the bad news?” The captain and the admiral exchanged glances, and Tom guessed he was right about the reason for his wife’s promise to return quickly. He braced himself for the worst.
He couldn’t have been more surprised at what he heard.
Only those who knew Tom and the full story of his brief period as a Maquis could know the irony—the absolute ridiculousness—of thinking he could have done what had been alleged. Captain Janeway’s offer to take him along on her mission had been a total surprise to him and to Starfleet, a moment of inspiration cooked up solely by the captain as she sought to improve her odds of success while giving a friend’s son a second chance.
As he listened to the captain speak, Tom couldn’t help but feel a flood of emotions that were familiar and painful all at once. He was facing the consequences of some bad choices made in a different lifetime. He had more than paid for those mistakes, yet people were still willing to see him in the worst possible light. Was his absolution only valid aboard Voyager? Did his redemption expire at the boarder to the Alpha Quadrant? The timing of this news made him think it just might.
But even Tom was surprised at how quickly that feeling passed. He had finally come to mean the mantra he had said for most of his adult life: he didn’t care what most people thought of him. Because the people that mattered all knew the real Tom Paris now, knew the man who had reinvented his life, reclaimed his rank and position, and who was respected and loved by his family and friends.
He also now knew for sure that what he’d said to his father several days earlier was true: he was prepared to face the consequences of his past. One of which seemed to be a willingness of strangers to think the worst of him. In light of the questions still hanging over his and B’Elanna’s future, he could live with that. It was the least of his problems.
When she returned, B’Elanna found him alone, recycling the empty coffee cups. “Are you ready for lunch?” he asked casually. Not what she was expecting to hear.
“Are you alright?” she asked. She’d prepared herself for anger or even depression, but the man standing in front of her was the picture of calm. “Before I answer that,” he said evenly, “I have to ask you: am I still married to the most beautiful engineer in the galaxy? And is that still our baby daughter in your arms?” Wow, she thought. How could he be taking this so well?
His questions were rhetorical so she didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she took a step closer and put her hand against his face. “This doesn’t upset you?” she asked, still searching for a hint of pain in his eyes. What she found was a quiet acceptance. Tom reassured her as best he could.
“It upsets me that it hurt you to hear about it. It upsets me that my family had to live with it for almost three years before they could be sure it wasn’t true. But I’m not going to let it ruin this moment for me—or for us. I’m happy, B’Elanna, for the first time since I was a kid. And I don’t have to prove myself to anyone except the two of you anymore.”
He moved her hand from his face and kissed her palm. “Now what do you want for lunch?”
~*~*~*~*~
The party started at 18:00 hours, and was strictly a family affair. At Admiral Paris’s request, the Scobee’s officers now assisting in Voyager’s repair were transported back to his ship. Somehow, Owen knew this was a private moment for Janeway and her crew, and he didn’t want his people intruding on their celebration.
As the first real social occasion after their accident, the mood was subdued, but light. They had all dreamed of this moment for seven years, and everyone seemed determined to make it the happy occasion they deserved for it to be.
Helping to elevate the mood was the formal debut of Voyager’s ‘Beta Quadrant baby.’ B’Elanna had warned Tom in advance that he’d have to share his daughter with their friends tonight, and he had agreed to rein in his overprotective new
-father impulses. Still, she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes followed his daughter from one set of arms to another as she was passed from crewman to crewman. Not that the Doctor allowed any one person to hold her too long. He was taking his duties as Miral’s godfather very seriously—or at least that was the excuse he used when snatching her out of the arms of her latest admirer.
For her part, B’Elanna was feeling a little melancholy, though she wasn’t sure why. All day—even before her discovery of the rumors about Tom—she’d had a vague feeling of uneasiness. She couldn’t even name the reason.
As had been true for much of the last seven years, as soon as B’Elanna’s mood took a downward turn, Neelix appeared out of nowhere to brighten her spirits. She was contemplating the stars from a quiet corner of the room when her friend approached.
“Are they looking familiar yet?” he asked. He could tell from the look on her face that she didn’t understand what he meant. “The stars,” he clarified. “Haven’t we been passing through Klingon space all this time?”
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