HIS FATHER'S SON Story by Veronica Jane Williams June 26, 1998 xkhoi@iafrica.com This is the final story of a six story arc which chronicles the life of the Paris Family. The story is set in the Alpha Quadrant, a few days after Voyager has arrived at Deep Space Nine. A sequel to Reflections. DISCLAIMER The characters are the property of Paramount (yawn…); I just borrowed them and took them for a visit to the Serengeti. They will be returned, a little more three dimensional. Some other characters appearing in this story are my own creation. The two characters, Elizabeth Rowena Paris (the elder) and Elizabeth Rowena Paris (the younger); Caitlin and Larissa Paris, Lieut- Com. James Greyville, and some others, were entirely of my own creation, and I therefore claim ownership. Some good family reading; therefore the lightest of ratings. HIS FATHER'S SON Lieutenant -Commander James Greyville was on his way to the office of Admiral Owen Paris. The rumours were rife this morning that the Federation Starship USS Voyager has arrived in the Alpha Quadrant, and was on its way to Deep Space Nine. He has heard that they made a hazardous journey through a wormhole, but not before sending a probe announcing their imminent arrival. He knew what this news must mean to his boss, the Admiral. Three years ago they received news that Voyager was somewhere in the Delta Quadrant, and that its crew was still alive. It was the best news he had to relay to the Admiral, who was at home at the time. Throughout his association with the Admiral he has had an abiding empathy for the older man's struggle to come to terms with his son's disappearance and subsequent death. Upon learning that his son was still alive, gave the Admiral a new hold on his life, for he was surely pining. In the three years following that news, the Admiral had become convinced that they would never make it home, and fell into his melancholy state again. Although, to give the Admiral his credit, no-one but James and Mrs Paris were aware of this. On the outside the Admrial appeared for all the world the personification of Starfleet discipline, his rigid upbringing presenting the perfect front to those who knew of his son and were afraid to ask about. He kept his emotions under tight reign, so no-one really knew how the Admiral felt about his son's transgressions. They assumed the Admiral, of high rank and bearing, was ashamed of his son, and that deserved no further discussion. But James knew differently. As did that good lady, Elizabeth Paris, and Tom's sisters, Caitlin Joy Paris-McClaren and Larissa Anne Paris. They feared that the Admiral might not live long enough to see his son, for it appeared to them that he had lost the will to live. They had tried their best to keep his hopes up, but the more they tried, the more he retreated into his world of memories and lost dreams. Therefore, James decided, this morning he would have some really good news for the Admiral as soon as he arrived at the office. James realised upon entering, that he didn't need to inform the Admiral of anything. That gentleman looked at him and said simply: "James, my son has returned. " "Then, may I say again sir. Thank God, sir." James had the rare privilege of seeing the Admiral's eyes shine with what he knew must be happiness. "What will happen now, sir?" James asked. "The debriefing will take about a week before their families can see them. Before that they will be welcomed by Starfleet Command. The senior crew, that is," Owen Paris said. James did not fail to detect the veiled implication that the admiral will be the first to see his son. Before he ventured to say anytjhing further, he did notice that the admiral seemed somewhat nervous when he told James that. Could it be that Admiral Paris, of whom every cadet was afraid, was afraid to meet his son? This was something which kept James wondering the rest of the day. He had a great respect for the Admiral, having been witness to his grief and suffering. He knew intuitively that the Admiral had regrets about the way he treated his son. The older man had, in the years since Tom's disappearance regaled him with his son's exploits and achievements, every inch the doting father who was proud of his son; no different from any other proud parent. He remembered the day he told the Admiral of the birth of his own twin sons. The Admiral looked at him in that piercing way that sometimes made his skin crawl and said: "Son, you treat your children well. Don't push them beyond their limits or what they are prepared to give. Most of all, have a relationship with them. It is worth more than gold." This the Admiral said while holding the framed picture of his son in his hands. James had taken this sound advice, and knew it to come from a man in whom all those things he told James of, were lacking. And that was when he felt sorry for Tom Paris, and if he didn't know the Admiral's son then, he gained a picture of what he had been like and the relationship that existed between father and son. Owen McKenzie Paris had longed for the day that Thomas would return. There was never a day that went by that he didn't think of Tom. His youngest son. His only son. The son whom he rejected when Tom needed him most. He had been in purgatory all these years, yearning for the release of absolution that never came. The thought that Thomas would reject his own appeal for clemency, would be the final price he would pay for the way he had denied his own son. Now the day was at hand. The day he had dreamed of. And the very thought that his son will reject him scared him, made him afraid to face Tom when such a meeting became inevitable. Tom's many achievements on Voyager appeared to him almost unreal. He has received a glowing testimonial from Kathryn Janeway, who had sworn she would never fly another starship without Tom at its helm. He, the Admiral had every reason to be proud of his son. Yet he felt this great apprehension at the pending confrontation. Father and son. Son and father. The Admiral has learnt in his long career in Starfleet that nothing ever came easy, and he had the feeling in his heart that coming face to face with Tom was going to be the most difficult thing he has ever had to do. All the more because his very peace of mind rested on how his son would receive him. The feeling of great disquiet did not leave him. Tom might not want to speak to him; not deign to be seen in the company of a man who denied his own. What right did he, Owen Paris have to expect Tom to walk up to him as if the past did not matter? He felt his heart constrict, so sharply that he actually clutched his chest at the physical pain. Coward! Coward! That's what I am. Afraid of my own son, was his agonising thoughts. He brushed a tear from his cheek, suddenly an old man, lost in the hope of reconciliation. And that was why he did not join the rest of Starfleet officials at the official welcoming of the senior crew of Voyager. He wanted to delay the moment of truth as long as he could. In this respect he was as much the coward he had accused his son of being so many years ago. So on the day the crew of Voyager were welcomed Admiral Owen Paris remained in his office. A lonely old man who stared forlornly at the picture of his son. In the Zephram Cochrane Banquet Hall at Starfleet Command, the senior crew of the Federation Starship USS Voyager waited for the senior officials of Starfleet to meet them. Captain Kathryn Janeway was already assured that the former Maquis members of the crew would receive an unconditional pardon. Yes, she thought not without anger, as long as it was poltically expedient for the Federation to do so. Among them her husband, Commander Chakotay. They were all granted a three month leave of absence after which they would receive their new commissions. She smiled a little when she thought of the rest of the crew still being pampered at Headquarters Hospital, where all were duly examined, much to the chagrin of Voyager's Doctor, who declared they were all in excellent health. For didn't he keep them that way for more than seven years? The children were of course the darlings of every doctor and nurse who danced attendance on them. They were all taken in by a cute little button- nosed precocious upstart called Elizabeth Paris, who told everyone within listening range that her Mama was going to have another baby. Six children born on a starship in the Delta Quadrant. This was the kind of stuff legends were made of, they decided. When the Admirals arrived, Voyager senior crew stood on attention, leaving the impression that they had observed Starfleet protocol and discipline even while they thought they might never make it home. Kathryn Janeway proceeded to introduce every member by rank and name, and although they already knew these names, even then protocol had to be observed. "Commander Chakotay, " she said as they approached her husband. Admiral Gordon looked at Chakotay and held out his hand, which Chakotay held in a firm grasp. "As I understand, Captain Janeway, you are married to Mr Chakotay, " Admiral Gordon said. The Captain nodded, then smiled. And so the introductions continued. The Admiral's face lit up when he came to a fair haired, blue eyed young officer, who was holding the hand of a half Klingon half human officer. "Admiral, Voyager's pilot , Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris, and his wife, chief engineer B'Elanna Torres." Tom very formally shook the Admiral's hand and smiled tightly. At last, Admiral Gordon noted, I come face to face with Owen's son. A fine, strong, mature officer, one who would be an asset to Starfleet, he decided as he held Tom's hand. He privately thought that the young man had been dealt a raw deal by his father, whom he knew could not suffer fools. He always did think Owen came down too hard on Tom. He greeted Tom's wife with a great smile and thought privately that Tom would have his hands full with this one. The moment the officials entered the hall, Tom Paris thought that he would see his father among them. It had been the moment he had been waiting for. His heart thudding, he gripped B'Elanna's hand tightly, she had to look at him. She saw the disappointment in his eyes. His father did not come. She could sense he was looking, although he thought she did not notice. While introductions took place, his eyes had kept darting to the entrances in the hope of seeing his father. He had a sinking feeling that his father did not want to see him. He felt that he wanted to get this meeting over. He was apprehensive and unsure, although B'Elanna tried to reassure him not to lose faith. So he mingled with the crowd, everybody just wanting to hear of their exploits. Most enquired about Tom's warp 10 flight. Information he departed with readily, barring those strange side effects. They wanted to know how he managed to stabilize Voyager through the wormhole. Some even spoke of Tom piloting a galaxy-class starship through the Bajoran wormhole. All of them were kept quite busy, doing the things Captain Janeway always hated about Starfleet: those boring dinners and receptions held by admirals. Tom kept looking for his father. His furtive glances did not escape Kathryn Janeway, whose heart bled for Tom at this moment. She knew how much it meant to him to make peace with his father. He was talking to B'Elanna when he spotted Lieutenant-Commander James Greyville. He remembered that James was his father's aide. He whispered something to B'Elanna then crossed the floor to where James had been in conversation with a vice -admiral. "James, I'm pleased to meet you, " Tom said without preamble. "I take it my father is in his office?" To which James, impressed with this very mature man standing before him, replied: "He certainly is. And may I say sir , good luck, sir." "Luck, " Tom said, "is what I'll certainly need. I'll need you to do me a favour…" He spoke with the older man a few minutes. Then he left in search of his father. Lieutenant James Greyville approached B'Elanna and introduced himself to her. "Your husband has asked me to look after you and your daughter. He has gone to look for his father. I'm to bring the two of you later to him," he said to B'Elanna. "I understand you are the Admiral's aide," B'Elanna said. "Perhaps you can tell me what Tom can expect? It means a great deal to him to heal the breach between the two of them." James looked at B'Elanna speculatively before he answered. "The Admiral has suffered. I can tell you that. More than that I can't tell you. It depends on them alone. You'll have to wait, I'm afraid. Now, could you take me to your little girl? I would very much like to meet the youngest Paris," he said with mounting excitement. Tom could find his father's office if he were blind. Even after nine years, the corridors of what had once been his playground so to speak, remained familiar to him. So with unerring accuracy he reached the door of Admiral Paris's office, his name embossed in gold on the door. There he stood. His heart pounding. He realised this is the moment he had dreamed of the last few months. He hesitated. The faces of B'Elanna and Elizabeth flashed briefly before him, as if to encourage him to take that final step. Yet, what will he find? How will he be received? He sighed deeply before pressing the bell. It's now or never, he thought as the door slid open and he entered. Tom took in the scene before him. He noticed first his father sitting at his desk, who appeared not to notice him. He has aged, Tom mused. The years have not treated him well. His hair is completely white, the grooves around his mouth deeper than he remembers. His eyes are sunken, and there are dark rings around them. He seemed to Tom to be suddenly so vulnerable. He had never seen his father like this. He was not expecting me, Tom realised, as he saw his father engrossed in looking at the computer monitor. It afforded him the luxury of being in a position of advantage, although Tom took no pleasure in it. He noticed absently the model of the Phoenix on the desk. His favourite childhood toy. It gave him courage, more than anything else, for that Phoenix was the symbol of the times when it had been good between the two of them. When he still looked with such trusting eyes at his hero. Tom cleared his throat. "Admiral." A statement. A challenge . An invocation. At the sound of a voice he had not heard in nine years, Admiral Paris looked up and rose slowly from his chair, all the while looking at the man before him. Time suspended for an aeon, the only sound the thudding of his heart against his rib cage, and the rushing of blood to his head. And the awful waiting. As Tom stood, looking at him. He appeared unaware of the sheen of tears forming in his blue eyes. He looked and looked and looked. Tom was standing there, his arms stiffly by his sides, on attention, the admiral thought absently, like he always did when he was given a lecture by his father. The admiral saw the strength, the quiet pride in his face, his bearing. Tom looked at him, his mouth drawn in a thin line, his chin jutting proudly, the shoulders square and erect. Waiting. For an eternity Owen was mute, his tongue locked, unable to express even single word. Owen Paris was reminded as he looked at his son, about a story he read many years ago - about the idol kneeling before the worshipper. Because this man standing in front of him had an innate strength, a great confidence and maturity which seemd to ooze from him. He felt suddenly small in the presence of a man destined to become great. And a great sadness tinged unexpecteldy with pride came over him. He could see the expectant look in his son's eyes. He is wondering and waiting, Owen realised. He is as scared as I am. It gave him courage. Owen Paris walked around the desk, took a step forward to stand facing Tom. "Sir." Tom held out his hand, but his father stood as erect as his son, hands still stiffly at his sides. Then Owen Paris, who had waited years for this meeting, whose damning words spoken so long ago haunted him to this day, took his son's hand and said: "Son, I am deeply in need of your forgiveness." Tom looked at the older man, saw the pleading look in his eyes. Somewhere in the depths of his awareness, he saw a father lift his three year old son high on his shoulders, saying: "Son, are you enjoying the ride?" And he saw a young child who nodded his head vigorously up and down. It was that look, of his father so many years ago, that Tom now saw in the eyes of his father. Of love. Of caring. Of hope. And Tom, who had last hugged his father when he was five years old, drew his father closer and hugged him tighly, convulsively, saying: "Dad, it is I who came to ask your forgiveness. " It was quiet in the room save for the racking sound of tears which came from both men, Tom holding his father as if he would never let him go. Finally they broke apart and Tom looked at Owen Paris. For the first time he allowed himself to smile. Then he said: "Dad, I stopped being angry a long time ago. I was a silly young fool who took pleasure in hurting you. I regret that, most of all. I want to say that I am sorry." Admiral Paris looked at his son, who had grown so much in stature and confidence, and turned to his desk, picking up the model of the Phoenix. "This," he said, showing it to Tom, "is what kept me going through the years. It symbolised the special bond we had when you were a child." The Admiral's voice broke again. "Forgive me, Tom. I was a stupid old man who didn't know what he had until he didn't have it anymore." Tom took the Phoenix and fingered it almost reverently. He looked at his father and said: "I love you Dad. I never did stop loving you." Owen Paris felt the tears damming in his eyes again and replied: "My son, I love you too. I have always regretted those terrible words I said to you so many years ago." So the years rolled away, each remembering the good times they had spent together as father and son. At length, Tom said to Owen Paris, who looked as if the weight of the world his been taken off his shoulders: "Please let me take you to two ladies who would love to make your acquaintance." There was a hush when father and son entered the banqueting hall together. There was a smile on the younger man's face as he stood next to his father. Those of the Admiral's collegues who knew of the bitterness that had existed between them, silently thanked the gods that the impossible had happened: father and son reunited. It was clear, looking at the Admiral, that he had a lighter spring in his step. He seemed happier. Everyone looked as the two men approached a young woman and a little girl who were standing in the company of James Greyville, the aide of the Admiral. Captain Janeway and her husband Chakotay looked at them, and smiled. The Captain, who knew both men, had always had a high regard for the older Paris, and a still growing respect for the younger man. She felt satisfied that they were reunited, and hoped that they would continue to value their relationship as father and son. They saw B'Elanna shake the older man's hand, and the same man drawing her closer to hug her. But it was the little girl who stole the scene. "Dad, this little spitfire is Elizabeth Rowena,' Tom said, pointing to his daughter who was clutching her mother's leg, a little shy of this white-haired gentleman. Owen Paris bent down to pick Elizabeth up. "Are you my Grandpa?" the little girl asked, the wonder in her clear blue eyes. The old man nodded solemnly, looking at this child who but for the faint Klingon ridge on her forehead, was every inch a Paris. "Then you can play with my Phoenix." And she proceeded with great ceremony to hand her precious toy to her grandfather. Owen looked at this child who in many respects showed the outward signs of being a Paris, and his heart swelled with pride. "Son," he said to Tom, and looked at B'Elanna. "You have chosen well." Then he looked at Elizabeth and told her: "Did your Mommy and Daddy tell you that you were named after your grandmother?" Elizabeth, as always when she was excited, nodded her head vigorously up and down. Owen Paris experienced a feeling of déja vu, for Tom had done exactly the same thing when he was the same age. She dropped the next bomb: "My Mama is going to have a baby." Both parents blushed a little at her forthrightness. Owen gave her an extra hug and kiss and told her that they would soon be meeting her grandma Paris. They moved around the room, Admiral Owen Paris proudly showing off his youngest grandchild to all his collegues, while Tom and his wife went over to where Captain Janeway stood. Tom said to her: "Captain, it went well." The family home of the Paris clan was abuzz. Today Owen Paris will bring Tom and his wife and child home. The excitement has reached fever pitch, with Mrs Paris senior agonizing over the perfection of her celebrated chocolate chip cookies, which had been Tom's favourite. She hoped the little girl would like it. Caitlin and Larissa still fighting whenever they were together, put their good-natured differences aside and declared a truce. They too hadn't seen their brother in nine years, and whatever sibling rivalry that existed between the two sisters, they poured their collective love out for their baby brother, whom they thought bore the brunt of their father's ambitions for his children. Caitlin's husband Conor and two sons Angus and Hamish, as well as Larissa's husband Aren , a Bajoran, and their two sons Grant and McKenzie were briefed about the arrival of the new family members. Especially the boys, who stopped their fighting temporarily and listened to their Grandma, who could kill them with just a look. It seemed to them that all mothers had the same withering look which could reduce them to tears. Therefore, if Grandma gave an order they would do well to obey. Only, their new cousin is a girl, and what do girls know. Craig and James, who were half Bajoran, sported today their earrings. It was something to show off to their new cousin. They hoped she had a good pair of fists and wasn't squeamish. Elizabeth Paris thought of her latest communication with her husband. She had been in contact with him that morning. Tom, he said, was married to B'Elanna Torres, a half Klingon half human, and they have a little girl. She smiled when he told her that. With four grandsons it was time that someone produced a girl. She just knew she was going to love this child to distraction. She felt like killing Owen for holding back on more information. She was just too curious to know more. But all Owen told her was: "Patience, my love. I will bring them to you. Then you can see." Standing at the large window overlooking the vast grounds of their home, she had that faraway , dreamy look in her eyes. She had been her husband's support and mainstay these years when she had seen him suffer with guilt and remorse. Little did they know that she too suffered and missed her youngest. Tom was as much her son as Owen's, she thought with motherly pride. Didn't they always run to her to patch up their knees, and soothe their childhood fears and drive away the monsters? Her heart gave a sudden lurch as she watched the shuttle land fifty meters away on the landing pad. Owen stepped out, holding the child, while he helped a young woman down. At this distance it was difficult to see their faces, although she could see that the child's hair looked like spun gold. Owen and the young woman appeared to be talking animatedly, and then laughing. Her Owen laughed! Then her gaze locked on the man, in civilian clothing, stepping down the ramp. He seemed so tall, taller than Owen. She saw him whisper something to the other three, then he moved in the direction of the house. Elizabeth Rowena Paris thought that the picture of Tom walking with purposeful strides towards her, was something that she would remember for the rest of her days. For walking towards her was Owen McKenzie Paris superimposed on her son Tom. How was it possible that she had never before noticed the resemblance so acutely as she did now? For not only were they alike in appearance, the same blonde hair, the same colouring, the same sapphire blue eyes, the same smile. No, it was more than that. It was in Tom's bearing, his carriage. The square, set shoulders, the purpose in his gait, the resolute, purposeful way he held his head. Is it any wonder, she thought, that they could never see eye too eye? Because they were too much alike? It was clear to her that Tom's incarceration in New Zealand, the responsibility of piloting a starship in unknown and unchartered space, his love for a woman, had turned her son into a man. Her feet were carrying her to the front door where she paused one second to look in her son's face, then threw herself in his arms. "Mama, oh Mama. I've missed you so much." Then he held her away from him and look at his mother and smiled. "Welcome home, Tom," she said through her tears. He kissed his mother on the forehead, then her cheeks. Then he hugged her again. She looked past him to where the other three were approaching, her eyes shining with love. "Mom, I want you to meet B'Elanna, " Tom said proudly. Elizabeth looked at Tom's young wife, saw her look a little uncertainly at her, and then she hugged B'Elanna, saying: "Bless you my child. We love you already." B'Elanna responded by saying: "I am honoured to meet you, Mama." At Elizabeth's look of surprise, B'Elanna continued, smiling at her husband, "It's okay. Tom and I talked about it. His family is now my family. I'd like to call you that." And Elizabeth gave B'Elanna another hug. Owen had been hovering in the background with a little girl in his arms. He put her down and said: "Go on, say hello to Grandma." And Elizabeth, with her father's winning smile and her mother's fearlessness stepped up to her grandmother and announced: "Hello Grandma. My name is Elizabeth Rowena , and I'm a girl." And Elizabeth Rowena senior, very honoured to have Tom's daughter named after her, replied: "Why, goodness me, so am I. Isn't that remarkable?" "My Mama is also a girl and she's going to have another baby," declared Elizabeth junior. Grandma duly picked Elizabeth up and gave her one serious grandma hug and kiss. Owen, his hand on Tom's shoulders, said to his son as they went inside to meet the rest of the family: "Thank God." EINDE This writer would welcome feedback. Some constructive criticism would be appreciated. These set of stories were the first ever I have written.