Fan Fiction
TITLE: Chakotay's Holidays: All Together Now
AUTHOR: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
RATING: PG
CODES: C/T
PART: 11/?
DISCLAIMER: Paramount will little note, nor long remember, what I do here. But
they still own the VOY copyrights, so they get a shout-out anyway.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Thanks to my P/T-loving beta reader, Diane Bellomo, who
continues her usual stellar work despite the decidedly non-P/T nature of this
series. You're the best, Diane.
SUMMARY: Scenes from the third-anniversary celebration of Voyager's homecoming.
Will Tom and B'Elanna reconcile? The fact that I code this story as "C/T"
probably provides a hint...
Funny how much difference a year makes, B'Elanna thought.
This time last year, she had been standing on a stage with Tom Paris, the two of them fussing over two-year-old Miral as they lit the candles on her cake. The assembled members of the former Voyager crew had laughed and applauded, and Tom had slyly leaned over to give his wife a kiss, inciting a few more friendly snickers from their friends.
This year, she and Tom still stood on a stage, and still fussed over their daughter and a cake. But now there was no possibility of a kiss being exchanged between them. Oh, they might have faked it if their former crewmates had demanded such a gesture -- or perhaps, if Miral did. But she doubted it would have been convincing. They had been separated now for more than three months, and the distance between them was greater than could be measured in meters.
She stole a sidelong look at the man who was still her husband. He looked good, she had to admit, in a nicely-fitted pair of navy pants and an open-necked shirt of sky blue. But then, Tom Paris had always looked good. That had been part of the reason why he'd often infuriated her, way-back-when in the early days of their acquaintance: she might have hated his attitude and his approach, but she'd thought him one of the hottest men she'd ever met. Even in the days just before their separation, when she'd been inclined to grant him very little in the way of virtues, she'd still had to concede his physical desirability.
Remembering those latter days vividly, she decided that good looks weren't enough to stand on their own. What she was more interested -- and more surprised -- to note was that he looked sober, and a hell of a lot less brash than she usually remembered him being in company.
Was he trying to win her back?
What would she do if he were?
* * * * *
Chakotay sat toward the back of the room -- sat, so that his height and his facial markings wouldn't make him immediately visible from the stage -- and watched as B'Elanna ignited a match to set Miral's candles alight. In the process, she leaned closer to Tom Paris, and the reflected flames seemed almost to set both of their faces aglow. Miral, whose resemblance to her mother did not prevent her from having decidedly Parisian cheekbones and a smile that mirrored her father's, laughed with glee at the tiny trio of flames.
They were a handsome couple, Chakotay admitted reluctantly: Tom with his fair skin and fine, well-formed features, and B'Elanna with her dark, exotic face and lithe figure. And they had made a beautiful child. Miral blew out her candles and reached for her parents' hands, drawing them all into a close family unit.
What right did Chakotay have, to think of what might be if that family unit were *not*, ultimately, reunited? Wouldn't B'Elanna be happier if she could make peace with the father of her daughter? Wouldn't that little girl be happier in a household with both of her parents?
He sipped at his mineral water, considering it. That he was biased (and why) was all too obvious, but it seemed to him there might be one salient argument against that line of reasoning.
In the last year before she'd separated from Tom, B'Elanna had *not* been happy.
* * * * *
In a corner near the front of the room, Admiral Kathryn Janeway raised her champagne glass, in salute to the little girl who shared a special day with the entire former crew of Voyager. She considered joining in the singing of "Happy Birthday," as there were probably enough raised voices to drown her own. But as her skill at singing was on a par with her skill at cooking, she deemed discretion the better part of valor.
Beside her, a full-bodied baritone voice sounded the familiar notes expertly -- though softly, so as not to dominate the group. Kathryn smiled up at the voice's owner, with pleasure and the tiniest amount of possessiveness. (No need to display claws; he knew to whom he belonged.) He didn't smile back, but he did wink one Terran-sky-blue eye.
She knew she had disappointed several romantics amongst her former crew (those who'd still hoped she might some day choose her former first officer as a partner) when she'd entered the reunion hall on the arm of her lover, Andrei Kolkov. She could not honestly say she was sorry; having a lover was far better than being suspected of having one.
She'd met Andrei at a glittering reception she'd attended out of boredom and an admiral's duty. He'd been part of the entertainment, singing his own songs with a sure, strong, lyrical voice that even jolted a few of the worthies present out of their conversations to listen. She'd gone up to him after one set to offer a drink and a compliment. To her surprise and delight, the handsome blond was every bit the warm, engaging person he appeared to be onstage. He'd charmed her, teased her, and made her laugh, and if there was a more pleasant combination she didn't know what it was.
Kathryn Janeway had forgotten just how heady it felt, to love and be loved. She wasn't sorry now, that she hadn't succumbed to the temptation that had always teased her, back on Voyager, to make the romantics' fantasies come true by taking her first officer as a lover. She'd cared for Chakotay, and indeed she still did. She'd found him attractive, and that was also still true. But she knew, now, that she hadn't loved him, not in the way or with the intensity she loved Andrei. Making Chakotay her lover or her husband, simply because he was undoubtedly the best of the possibilities available in the Delta Quadrant, would have been unfair to him, and to her.
She wondered now if that was what Tom and B'Elanna had done: settled for the best thing available. She hadn't thought it at the time, else she would never have agreed to perform their wedding. But now, seeing the two of them together, Kathryn wondered if perhaps what Tom and B'Elanna had shared had been as much a product of the Delta Quadrant as any liaison she herself might have had with Chakotay. They didn't look as if they fitted together nearly so well in the Alpha Quadrant -- and according to what her old friend Owen Paris had told her, they didn't.
* * * * *
From the bar, Harry Kim watched as Tom and B'Elanna gathered up their daughter and her cake, and left the stage. Captain -- no, Admiral, he still had trouble remembering that sometimes -- moved smoothly into their place, to begin her annual litany of events that had happened to their former fellow crewmembers in the previous year. Usually Harry would have listened to that speech with some interest, but he thought the most fascinating event of the year was being played out before his eyes.
Having been on duty aboard the Yeager, of course Harry had not been on hand for most of the recent developments in his two friends' marriage. He hadn't even seen either of them in person since that disastrous New Year's Eve party. But of course Tom Paris (who, despite Harry's fondness for B'Elanna, was still his *best* friend) had given him more than enough calls and messages to keep him thoroughly up-to-date. Tom knew where he'd failed, he said, and why the relapse into his old patterns had proven so disastrous to his marriage. But he had broken those patterns once before, on Voyager, which fact gave him the strength to try once again. Improbably, Tom had even enrolled his own father in the effort to change things. He guessed that proved the old man did still love him.
But now that he'd cleaned up his act, Tom told Harry, he had no idea what to do about the pending death of his marriage. B'Elanna hadn't approached him, and since the initial problems had been largely his fault, he wasn't quite sure how to approach her.
As Harry looked, the erstwhile couple separated again, Tom to carry his little girl over to visit with Admiral Paris, B'Elanna to pour herself a drink of punch. Seeing her standing there, alone at the punch table, gave Harry an idea. Maybe Tom's guilt prevented him from approaching his wife for a word, but Harry had no such inhibitions.
Trying to make it look casual, he walked straight to her. "Hello, Maquis," he said cheerfully, invoking the nickname he'd given her back at their first meeting on Ocampa.
He could tell that his artlessness hadn't fooled her. Her answering look was hooded, wary. "Hey, Starfleet."
Nowhere to go but forward. "I was wondering if we could talk."
* * * * *
"Hello, Tom."
"Hi, Dad." After their months of working things through, Tom could actually be guardedly glad to see his father at Voyager's homecoming celebration. That the admiral would have gotten an invitation was, of course, a foregone conclusion: Owen Paris's ardent support of Project Pathfinder had made him an adopted godfather to the whole crew.
Miral, of course, had none of her father's inhibitions when it came to the senior Paris. "Grandpa!" she cried, and launched herself toward him. Smiling, the admiral bent and scooped her up, swinging her upward until she squealed with delight. When he drew her closer, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
"Well, hello there, birthday girl," he said, and kissed her soundly on the cheek. Tom felt a brief flash of envy for the open demonstration of affection, and mentally filed it away to discuss at the next counseling session. Why begrudge his daughter her grandfather's love?
"So how have you been, Dad?"
The admiral's smile grew a little more cautious as he looked at his son. "Oh, not bad, not bad," he answered, tone a trifle too casual. "And you?"
"Pretty good, thanks." Tom could say it with some sincerity since, owing to his hard-won sobriety, it was even true. "I'm doing shakedown flights on the runabout-B upgrade in a couple of weeks."
"That would be the Sisko-class?" The question was probably for the sake of making conversation, since Tom was pretty sure his dad would know the answer. But if the admiral could be courteous, Tom guessed it wouldn't kill him to try the same.
"Well, it will be if it passes."
"Good, good." The admiral chucked Miral up and down a few times, absently. "So. Another session next Tuesday?"
"Yeah. 1800."
"I'll be there." The admiral looked away, and his gaze fixed on something not far distant. Tom turned to see what he was looking at with such interest, and saw Harry standing near the punch bowl, talking to B'Elanna.
Tom's heart leapt into his throat. From the earnest expression on Harry's face and the intent one on B'Elanna's, there could be little doubt what the conversation must be about.
His best friend was interceding for him.
Which, despite the undoubted goodness of Harry's intentions, might influence B'Elanna in one of two ways. B'Elanna could be receptive if she realized Harry had done it on his own, but she'd be furious if she thought Tom had sent Harry as an emissary. Thanks to the example of her own father, B'Elanna had nothing but contempt for men who lacked the courage to speak for themselves.
Tom decided it would be a very bad idea to wait to see which way the chips would fall. So, with a muttered, "Excuse me, Dad," he went to the punch table as quickly as he could.
* * * * *
With a deadline looming, Seven of Nine had had no choice but to work late, despite the special occasion. She arrived at the reception just as Admiral Janeway stepped down from the dais, placing her hand in that of a tall, slender blond man. So the admiral had taken a lover, just as rumor indicated. Seeing the two of them looking so happy together, Seven decided she approved. She moved toward the couple to extend her greetings, when the scene at the punch table caught her attention.
Thomas Paris was engaged in an earnest conversation with his estranged wife, B'Elanna Torres. Given the couple's famous volatility, Seven prepared herself to hear a loud verbal outburst, perhaps even to witness physical blows. But it did not come to that. Instead, the couple's voices remained so low that it was impossible to hear the specifics of their discussion, and their facial expressions, rather than kindling with anger, seemed filled with sorrow. Eventually, Torres simply shook her head twice, sharply, and turned her back to Paris, striding quickly toward the door through which Seven had entered. Seven stepped out of the other woman's way, but Torres did not seem to notice her.
Seven saw Paris turn away, shaking his own head as if with sadness. But another rose to follow the departing woman, brushing past Seven as if he saw her no more than Torres had.
Chakotay. Seven surprised herself by murmuring, "Of course."
