AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story assumes that Voyager reaches home in much the same manner described in the series finale, "Endgame," though it presents a much different set of character relationships amongst the good ship's crew. The story takes place in the same timeline as my C/P story "Ladies' Man" and my J/7 story "The Wrong Person," both posted here on fanfiction.net -- which means yes, it's also slash, though like its predecessors it's of a nonexplicit nature. If you find same-sex pairings offensive, or object to a bit of AU, this is not the story for you.
Truth Will Out
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
For seven years, the people of the starship Voyager had been dreaming of, driving for, questing in hopes of, home.
Somehow, that hadn't made it any less surprising when they attained that goal. Especially considering that they'd done it about sixty-three years sooner than they'd had any reason to expect, thanks to the good offices of some friends, the bad offices of one very powerful -- but now deceased -- enemy, and the occasional benevolent quirk of fate.
When Voyager emerged from the Borg Queen's transwarp junction, to be greeted by an entire flotilla of Starfleet ships, Captain Kathryn Janeway was beyond happy. Indeed, she seemed on the verge of floating away with bliss, an image only enhanced by the balloon-like roundness to which advanced pregnancy had inflated her small frame. Her first officer, Chakotay, would have been a bit more wary had he not been assured by Federation authorities, long since, that neither he nor any of his former crew would face imprisonment for their activities in the Maquis. As matters were, he was almost as happy as his captain.
Their respective partners were not nearly so enthusiastic. In the past, Seven of Nine had made few bones about her concern at how the Federation would react to the presence of a former Borg drone. Her trepidation now was obvious, and not only to the woman who so proudly (and visibly) carried her child. Tom Paris, however, had spoken of his own fears to very few. Most of those who noted the slight visible signs of his nervousness would probably attribute it to worry over his legal status.
Chakotay, however, knew better. Thanks to the data stream that had linked Voyager to Starfleet and the Federation for more than a year now, Tom's legal status had been resolved months before. His concerns were of a more personal nature.
As Voyager's command crew lined up in the transporter room, awaiting the arrival of their "reception committee" of Starfleet dignitaries, Chakotay thought back to when he'd learned exactly what Tom was worried about.
* * *
Tom had first broached the subject with him at dinner, the evening of the same day when Voyager established regular communications with Starfleet Command.
Tom had toyed with his pasta primavera before speaking, all the while not meeting Chakotay's eyes. Sensing his partner was disturbed about something, Chakotay waited in accepting silence, not attempting to push or pry. He knew from long experience that any effort to force his partner to speak before he was ready would only have the effect of pushing Tom further into self-protective mode.
Then Tom looked up, and Chakotay was surprised to see something like fear in the blue eyes. "Chakotay," he said quietly, "would you mind if I don't tell my father about...us...right away?" At the other man's surprise, Tom pressed on, hastily, "It's not that I'm ashamed of you or anything -- "
"That's good to know," Chakotay teased gently.
"It's not that I'm ashamed of you or anything," Tom started again, as if he had planned his speech from Word One and didn't know how to finish it other than going in a straight line from Point A to Point B. "I'm proud of you. Proud that you've chosen me to be your partner. It's just that my father -- my father has always had very conventional ideas about relationships."
"Oh?" Chakotay asked, curiously.
"Conventionally *heterosexual* ideas. You know: one man, one woman, various mutual kids carried by the woman and conceived in the old-fashioned way. That sort of thing."
"Ah." Anglos had some damned weird cultural conventions, there was no denying that. Who ever heard of restricting relationships on the basis of *gender*, for gods' sakes? Luckily for the rest of the Federation, Terra's puritans had never managed to get such restrictive notions codified into Federation law. Even more luckily, in the last half-century or so the general mood, even on stodgy old Earth, had shifted to acceptance of almost any type of marital arrangement that was entered into with the consent of the adults involved (and took proper consideration of any affected children). Of course, there were still pockets of reactionary thinking, though Chakotay was surprised to hear that a high-ranking Starfleet officer could get away with subscribing to such intolerant notions.
"I have every intention of telling him," Tom added quickly, as if he was anticipating resistance. "Just...not yet, okay? It's been such a long since I've actually talked to him, Chakotay, and there's so much I need to say to him. If I can just get some things straightened out between us first, then...."
"Then you won't be afraid that this will just make things worse," Chakotay finished, quietly.
"Something like that, yeah," the pilot admitted, shamefaced.
Under ordinary circumstances, Chakotay could have cared less for the opinions of an uptight old Fleeter. But, given his rocky history with Kolopak, he could empathize with Tom's desire to reconcile with his own father. And in any event, he could hardly bring himself to argue with his partner when the younger man looked so miserable. "All right, Tom."
"You don't mind?"
Chakotay reached across the table and took Tom's hand. "The only thing I mind," he said, looking into the blue eyes so that Tom could read the sincerity in his own, "is that his attitudes have hurt you. And how could I blame you for that, lover?" He squeezed the younger man's hand, reassuringly. "You do what you have to do with him, Tom. It's all right. Honestly."
Even if Chakotay had had any doubts about his decision, the smile Tom offered him then was more than enough to compensate for the concession. "Thanks, Chak. Now all I have to do is talk to the captain and make sure *she* doesn't spill the beans to Dad, what with them being old buddies and all."
"I have a conference with the captain in the morning. I'll talk to her then," Chakotay offered.
The smile redoubled.
* * *
As was her wont, Captain Kathryn Janeway was cradling a large, steaming mug in her hands when he entered her office the next morning. "Coffee," she said reverently, taking a large swallow. "Thank God for coffee."
He collected his own mug from her desktop before settling into the chair opposite her. "I thought you were going to give that up," he said, curious.
She shot him a cross look. "I'm not pregnant *yet*."
"A fact that your partner is eager to change, I hear," he teased gently.
The captain's expression softened at the reference to Seven. "Very much so," she confirmed, a tender smile playing about her ormally-stern lips. "Who would have ever thought that someone who's spent so little time around children would be so eager to be a mother?"
He took a sip of his own coffee. "Only anyone who's ever seen the way she looks at you." //And the way she talks about you, and the way she can't keep her hands off of you,// he added silently. Seven of Nine obviously adored her partner; Kathryn Janeway was her first, her last, her only love, and she could no more conceal her affections than she could her exaggerated mammary endowments. When he'd first heard the rumor that the ex-Borg hoped to make a baby with her older partner, Chakotay had not been even slightly surprised. He'd assumed that, once the Doctor worked his medical magic to combine the two women's genes, Seven would want to carry the child herself. But when Tom had told him, in confidence, that Seven's nanoprobes would make implanting an embryo impossible, Chakotay hadn't had the slightest doubt that Kathryn Janeway would soon be prevailed on to do the honors herself. And now it was only a matter of time.
For himself, Chakotay had no urgent desire to produce children with his own partner. (Which was undoubtedly just as well, as for him and Tom it would be a considerably more complicated process.) He loved Tom at least as much as Seven loved Kathryn, of course; but, remembering his battles with Kolopak -- and considering Tom's shaky relationship with his own father -- he doubted either he or his beloved had the faintest idea of how to make anything like a normal family life anyway. (And, to be honest, he admitted to himself, if he and Tom had children he'd miss the frequent, uninhibited sex they had now!)
Chakotay shook himself out of his wayward thoughts just as he saw Janeway, with a smile, pull herself from what looked to be a pleasant reverie. "To business, Commander?" she suggested.
"In a minute, Captain," he said amiably. "First, there's something I'd like to talk to you about. Now that we have the data stream set up, you're going to be in contact with Tom's father, aren't you?"
"Of course. Even if Admiral Paris weren't an old friend of mine, he's the officer in charge of Project Pathfinder. He'll be receiving my reports."
"You don't need to report *everything* to him, do you?"
She was obviously confused. "What do you mean?"
Briefly, he described Tom's concerns to her, about how Tom feared the admiral might react to the news of Tom's marriage to Chakotay, and how that reaction might further damage the already-fragile father-and-son relationship. Janeway nodded as he spoke.
"I can see where Tom might be worried," she agreed. "Admiral Paris is very conservative -- always has been. I remember the way he treated a few of the same-sex couples on the Al-Batani. Nothing incorrect, of course, but there was definitely a bit of a chill. I always thought that was strange, considering that his best friend was George Marshall."
Chakotay let his curiosity show in his expression.
"Our security chief on the Al-Batani. He'd sleep with anything that held still long enough."
"Ah. But the admiral, of course, thought much differently."
"Much," she answered succinctly.
"So you won't bring up our relationship to him?"
"Tell you what, Commander," Janeway offered. "Let's see how Admiral Paris reacts to me and Seven first. After that, there'll be time enough for Tom to tell him about your relationship. Who knows?" Her lips quirked up in a smile. "After all this time around people like Marshall, he's bound to have learned a little
tolerance."
* * *
Much later, he'd asked her, "So how *did* the admiral react when you told him about you and Seven?"
Janeway smiled. "I don't think Tom has anything to worry about, Chakotay."
* * *
He'd passed the news on to Tom, but his partner had still been uncertain, a bit diffident. "How he reacts to *her* relationship might or might not have anything to do with how he reacts to ours," he'd pointed out, which was true enough. Kathryn Janeway might once have been the admiral's protégéé, but she was not,
after all, his only son, and Chakotay knew from experience how that sort of thing tended to color a father's reactions.
Chakotay had consulted with his spirit guide on the problem, but the only memory he had of that vision quest was the impression of a laughing wolf.
* * *
So far as he knew, Tom had never told the admiral a word about their relationship, much less their marriage. Well, there would be no concealing things now, surely. Standing before the transporter platform, Chakotay took his partner's hand in his and squeezed it firmly. Tom offered him a wan smile, returning the squeeze.
"It'll be all right, Tom," Chakotay whispered, letting his affection for the younger man shine in his eyes. For just a moment, love glowed in the blue eyes that met his, only to be swiftly replaced by worry again. "Hey," Chakotay whispered, trying to distract his partner from his fears, "don't forget to check your messages when we get back to our cabin. I think someone sent you a mash note."
That coaxed a quick grin from the other man. "Really?"
"Sure." Trying to work on the message when Tom wouldn't catch him, Chakotay hadn't finished until the wee hours of last night, but he didn't doubt his sleep had been well lost. "You didn't think I'd forget, did you, lover?"
"No, I guess not," Tom answered, a little sheepishly. "Happy anniversary, Chak."
"Happy anniversary, lover." They shared a quick kiss, and Chakotay had a fleeting moment to consider that this wasn't how he'd figured on celebrating their special day at *all*. (Still, it was kind of neat to think that their shipmates would now be celebrating the day as well.) Then someone was hissing them to quiet, and Chakotay heard Kathryn giving the command to transport the Starfleet dignitaries aboard.
With a low, almost musical hum, and eight glowing columns of sparks, they were there: the high-ranking officials who made up the core of Starfleet Command. Chakotay followed Tom's gaze to the center of the group, where stood a balding, middle-aged man in an admiral's uniform, familiar to Chakotay from more than one of Tom's holographs. At the admiral's back was a man in captain's garb, a tall craggy-featured blond who looked straight-spined as an arrow and solid as a rock.
"Dad," Tom rasped, his throat dry.
The admiral's gaze flicked to his son, and Chakotay noted that Owen Andrew Paris looked oddly nervous as he sketched a quick smile at Tom. Then the entourage converged on Janeway, with much congratulating and shaking of hands. In the course of events, Chakotay found his own hand being pumped, his back being slapped, his name and title being woven into commendations and good wishes. Smiling automatically, he returned the greetings and handshakes, mouthed all the appropriate platitudes that came to mind, and divided as much attention as he could spare between the older Paris and the younger one.
When Owen Paris at last turned to Tom, Chakotay gave up even pretending to pay attention to anything else, murmuring an absent "excuse me" before turning to face his partner and -- well, his father-in-law. The tall blond captain stepped up behind Admiral Paris, flanking him, and Chakotay found himself instinctively moving into a similar protective position next to Tom.
"Tom," Admiral Paris said, huskily, staring at the younger man as if he could not get enough of seeing him.
"Dad," Tom whispered, looking stunned. As if his arm were on autopilot, he thrust out a hand toward his father.
The admiral stared at Tom's hand for a moment, as if he were not quite sure what to do with it. Then he shook his head ever-so-slightly. "Oh, that won't do, boy. That won't do at all." Then -- to Tom's obvious amazement and Chakotay's delight -- the older Paris wrapped Tom up in a bear hug that seemed likely to squeeze
the breath from him. After a moment, Chakotay saw his partner's arms tighten around the other man in return.
When the admiral's hold finally loosened, he and Tom stood regarding one another with looks of wonder. "It's good to see you, too," Tom murmured at last, smiling dazedly.
"Gods above, boy, but I've missed you."
"Yeah?" The corner of Tom's mouth quirked up, crookedly. "Me too." He shot a quick glance toward Chakotay, and drew in a quick, deep breath. "Um, Dad? I guess this would be as good a time to tell you as any. This is my partner, Chakotay."
There was a snort from the blond captain, and Owen Paris turned to Chakotay then, his gray-blue eyes widening in patent surprise. "Really?" Chakotay nodded, offering the admiral a quick, nervous smile, waiting for his reaction.
"Look, Dad, I know you don't approve of same-sex marriages," Tom said swiftly, defensively, "but I think you should know that we've been together for a long time now, and we're going to stay together. I love Chakotay, and nothing you can say is going to change that."
"I see," the older Paris said, slowly.
"Dad, just wait until you get to know him before you judge him." A little desperate. "Before you judge *us*."
The admiral held up a hand. "Easy, son," he said mildly. "I had no intention of judging either of you. You're a grown man, and I'm sure you're the best judge of who you'll be happy with." He extended the hand to Chakotay. "Good to meet you, Commander. Welcome to the family."
"Thank you, sir," Chakotay answered, a little warily. He accepted the proffered hand, and discovered that Admiral Paris's grip was firm and sure. If the older man had any misgivings about his son's marriage, they were certainly not evident in his greeting.
From behind the admiral, the blond man offered his hand to Chakotay too. "George Marshall," he introduced himself. Chakotay blinked, trying to remember where he'd heard the name before. Ah, yes: the security chief on the Al-Batani. Kathryn had said he was Admiral Paris's best friend. But what was he doing here?
"Tom, you remember George, of course," the admiral said. Was that a note of nervousness in his voice? Surely not.
"Of course. Hi, George." But Tom looked a little confused.
George Marshall apparently suffered no such discomfort. His grin revealed even, white teeth. "Hi, kid."
After what actually resembled a moment's indecisiveness, Owen Paris turned to Chakotay. "I don't know if Tom mentioned it, Chakotay, but his mother and I were divorced a few years back."
"He mentioned it," Chakotay allowed.
"And we both started dating and she's -- well, I understand she's involved with a very decent man, a gems trader from Rigel. And I --" he swallowed once, then looked directly at Tom. "And I married George."
Tom's jaw dropped, and for a few moments he seemed incapable of speech. "Dad?" he squeaked, finally.
"I'm sorry, Tom," Admiral Paris said apologetically. "I would have told you before, but you -- well, you always had such conventional ideas about relationships."
Tom just stared. Out of respect for his partner, Chakotay fought down a mighty urge to laugh.
He lost the battle when he heard the deep baritone guffaw of George Marshall.
END
Truth Will Out
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
For seven years, the people of the starship Voyager had been dreaming of, driving for, questing in hopes of, home.
Somehow, that hadn't made it any less surprising when they attained that goal. Especially considering that they'd done it about sixty-three years sooner than they'd had any reason to expect, thanks to the good offices of some friends, the bad offices of one very powerful -- but now deceased -- enemy, and the occasional benevolent quirk of fate.
When Voyager emerged from the Borg Queen's transwarp junction, to be greeted by an entire flotilla of Starfleet ships, Captain Kathryn Janeway was beyond happy. Indeed, she seemed on the verge of floating away with bliss, an image only enhanced by the balloon-like roundness to which advanced pregnancy had inflated her small frame. Her first officer, Chakotay, would have been a bit more wary had he not been assured by Federation authorities, long since, that neither he nor any of his former crew would face imprisonment for their activities in the Maquis. As matters were, he was almost as happy as his captain.
Their respective partners were not nearly so enthusiastic. In the past, Seven of Nine had made few bones about her concern at how the Federation would react to the presence of a former Borg drone. Her trepidation now was obvious, and not only to the woman who so proudly (and visibly) carried her child. Tom Paris, however, had spoken of his own fears to very few. Most of those who noted the slight visible signs of his nervousness would probably attribute it to worry over his legal status.
Chakotay, however, knew better. Thanks to the data stream that had linked Voyager to Starfleet and the Federation for more than a year now, Tom's legal status had been resolved months before. His concerns were of a more personal nature.
As Voyager's command crew lined up in the transporter room, awaiting the arrival of their "reception committee" of Starfleet dignitaries, Chakotay thought back to when he'd learned exactly what Tom was worried about.
* * *
Tom had first broached the subject with him at dinner, the evening of the same day when Voyager established regular communications with Starfleet Command.
Tom had toyed with his pasta primavera before speaking, all the while not meeting Chakotay's eyes. Sensing his partner was disturbed about something, Chakotay waited in accepting silence, not attempting to push or pry. He knew from long experience that any effort to force his partner to speak before he was ready would only have the effect of pushing Tom further into self-protective mode.
Then Tom looked up, and Chakotay was surprised to see something like fear in the blue eyes. "Chakotay," he said quietly, "would you mind if I don't tell my father about...us...right away?" At the other man's surprise, Tom pressed on, hastily, "It's not that I'm ashamed of you or anything -- "
"That's good to know," Chakotay teased gently.
"It's not that I'm ashamed of you or anything," Tom started again, as if he had planned his speech from Word One and didn't know how to finish it other than going in a straight line from Point A to Point B. "I'm proud of you. Proud that you've chosen me to be your partner. It's just that my father -- my father has always had very conventional ideas about relationships."
"Oh?" Chakotay asked, curiously.
"Conventionally *heterosexual* ideas. You know: one man, one woman, various mutual kids carried by the woman and conceived in the old-fashioned way. That sort of thing."
"Ah." Anglos had some damned weird cultural conventions, there was no denying that. Who ever heard of restricting relationships on the basis of *gender*, for gods' sakes? Luckily for the rest of the Federation, Terra's puritans had never managed to get such restrictive notions codified into Federation law. Even more luckily, in the last half-century or so the general mood, even on stodgy old Earth, had shifted to acceptance of almost any type of marital arrangement that was entered into with the consent of the adults involved (and took proper consideration of any affected children). Of course, there were still pockets of reactionary thinking, though Chakotay was surprised to hear that a high-ranking Starfleet officer could get away with subscribing to such intolerant notions.
"I have every intention of telling him," Tom added quickly, as if he was anticipating resistance. "Just...not yet, okay? It's been such a long since I've actually talked to him, Chakotay, and there's so much I need to say to him. If I can just get some things straightened out between us first, then...."
"Then you won't be afraid that this will just make things worse," Chakotay finished, quietly.
"Something like that, yeah," the pilot admitted, shamefaced.
Under ordinary circumstances, Chakotay could have cared less for the opinions of an uptight old Fleeter. But, given his rocky history with Kolopak, he could empathize with Tom's desire to reconcile with his own father. And in any event, he could hardly bring himself to argue with his partner when the younger man looked so miserable. "All right, Tom."
"You don't mind?"
Chakotay reached across the table and took Tom's hand. "The only thing I mind," he said, looking into the blue eyes so that Tom could read the sincerity in his own, "is that his attitudes have hurt you. And how could I blame you for that, lover?" He squeezed the younger man's hand, reassuringly. "You do what you have to do with him, Tom. It's all right. Honestly."
Even if Chakotay had had any doubts about his decision, the smile Tom offered him then was more than enough to compensate for the concession. "Thanks, Chak. Now all I have to do is talk to the captain and make sure *she* doesn't spill the beans to Dad, what with them being old buddies and all."
"I have a conference with the captain in the morning. I'll talk to her then," Chakotay offered.
The smile redoubled.
* * *
As was her wont, Captain Kathryn Janeway was cradling a large, steaming mug in her hands when he entered her office the next morning. "Coffee," she said reverently, taking a large swallow. "Thank God for coffee."
He collected his own mug from her desktop before settling into the chair opposite her. "I thought you were going to give that up," he said, curious.
She shot him a cross look. "I'm not pregnant *yet*."
"A fact that your partner is eager to change, I hear," he teased gently.
The captain's expression softened at the reference to Seven. "Very much so," she confirmed, a tender smile playing about her ormally-stern lips. "Who would have ever thought that someone who's spent so little time around children would be so eager to be a mother?"
He took a sip of his own coffee. "Only anyone who's ever seen the way she looks at you." //And the way she talks about you, and the way she can't keep her hands off of you,// he added silently. Seven of Nine obviously adored her partner; Kathryn Janeway was her first, her last, her only love, and she could no more conceal her affections than she could her exaggerated mammary endowments. When he'd first heard the rumor that the ex-Borg hoped to make a baby with her older partner, Chakotay had not been even slightly surprised. He'd assumed that, once the Doctor worked his medical magic to combine the two women's genes, Seven would want to carry the child herself. But when Tom had told him, in confidence, that Seven's nanoprobes would make implanting an embryo impossible, Chakotay hadn't had the slightest doubt that Kathryn Janeway would soon be prevailed on to do the honors herself. And now it was only a matter of time.
For himself, Chakotay had no urgent desire to produce children with his own partner. (Which was undoubtedly just as well, as for him and Tom it would be a considerably more complicated process.) He loved Tom at least as much as Seven loved Kathryn, of course; but, remembering his battles with Kolopak -- and considering Tom's shaky relationship with his own father -- he doubted either he or his beloved had the faintest idea of how to make anything like a normal family life anyway. (And, to be honest, he admitted to himself, if he and Tom had children he'd miss the frequent, uninhibited sex they had now!)
Chakotay shook himself out of his wayward thoughts just as he saw Janeway, with a smile, pull herself from what looked to be a pleasant reverie. "To business, Commander?" she suggested.
"In a minute, Captain," he said amiably. "First, there's something I'd like to talk to you about. Now that we have the data stream set up, you're going to be in contact with Tom's father, aren't you?"
"Of course. Even if Admiral Paris weren't an old friend of mine, he's the officer in charge of Project Pathfinder. He'll be receiving my reports."
"You don't need to report *everything* to him, do you?"
She was obviously confused. "What do you mean?"
Briefly, he described Tom's concerns to her, about how Tom feared the admiral might react to the news of Tom's marriage to Chakotay, and how that reaction might further damage the already-fragile father-and-son relationship. Janeway nodded as he spoke.
"I can see where Tom might be worried," she agreed. "Admiral Paris is very conservative -- always has been. I remember the way he treated a few of the same-sex couples on the Al-Batani. Nothing incorrect, of course, but there was definitely a bit of a chill. I always thought that was strange, considering that his best friend was George Marshall."
Chakotay let his curiosity show in his expression.
"Our security chief on the Al-Batani. He'd sleep with anything that held still long enough."
"Ah. But the admiral, of course, thought much differently."
"Much," she answered succinctly.
"So you won't bring up our relationship to him?"
"Tell you what, Commander," Janeway offered. "Let's see how Admiral Paris reacts to me and Seven first. After that, there'll be time enough for Tom to tell him about your relationship. Who knows?" Her lips quirked up in a smile. "After all this time around people like Marshall, he's bound to have learned a little
tolerance."
* * *
Much later, he'd asked her, "So how *did* the admiral react when you told him about you and Seven?"
Janeway smiled. "I don't think Tom has anything to worry about, Chakotay."
* * *
He'd passed the news on to Tom, but his partner had still been uncertain, a bit diffident. "How he reacts to *her* relationship might or might not have anything to do with how he reacts to ours," he'd pointed out, which was true enough. Kathryn Janeway might once have been the admiral's protégéé, but she was not,
after all, his only son, and Chakotay knew from experience how that sort of thing tended to color a father's reactions.
Chakotay had consulted with his spirit guide on the problem, but the only memory he had of that vision quest was the impression of a laughing wolf.
* * *
So far as he knew, Tom had never told the admiral a word about their relationship, much less their marriage. Well, there would be no concealing things now, surely. Standing before the transporter platform, Chakotay took his partner's hand in his and squeezed it firmly. Tom offered him a wan smile, returning the squeeze.
"It'll be all right, Tom," Chakotay whispered, letting his affection for the younger man shine in his eyes. For just a moment, love glowed in the blue eyes that met his, only to be swiftly replaced by worry again. "Hey," Chakotay whispered, trying to distract his partner from his fears, "don't forget to check your messages when we get back to our cabin. I think someone sent you a mash note."
That coaxed a quick grin from the other man. "Really?"
"Sure." Trying to work on the message when Tom wouldn't catch him, Chakotay hadn't finished until the wee hours of last night, but he didn't doubt his sleep had been well lost. "You didn't think I'd forget, did you, lover?"
"No, I guess not," Tom answered, a little sheepishly. "Happy anniversary, Chak."
"Happy anniversary, lover." They shared a quick kiss, and Chakotay had a fleeting moment to consider that this wasn't how he'd figured on celebrating their special day at *all*. (Still, it was kind of neat to think that their shipmates would now be celebrating the day as well.) Then someone was hissing them to quiet, and Chakotay heard Kathryn giving the command to transport the Starfleet dignitaries aboard.
With a low, almost musical hum, and eight glowing columns of sparks, they were there: the high-ranking officials who made up the core of Starfleet Command. Chakotay followed Tom's gaze to the center of the group, where stood a balding, middle-aged man in an admiral's uniform, familiar to Chakotay from more than one of Tom's holographs. At the admiral's back was a man in captain's garb, a tall craggy-featured blond who looked straight-spined as an arrow and solid as a rock.
"Dad," Tom rasped, his throat dry.
The admiral's gaze flicked to his son, and Chakotay noted that Owen Andrew Paris looked oddly nervous as he sketched a quick smile at Tom. Then the entourage converged on Janeway, with much congratulating and shaking of hands. In the course of events, Chakotay found his own hand being pumped, his back being slapped, his name and title being woven into commendations and good wishes. Smiling automatically, he returned the greetings and handshakes, mouthed all the appropriate platitudes that came to mind, and divided as much attention as he could spare between the older Paris and the younger one.
When Owen Paris at last turned to Tom, Chakotay gave up even pretending to pay attention to anything else, murmuring an absent "excuse me" before turning to face his partner and -- well, his father-in-law. The tall blond captain stepped up behind Admiral Paris, flanking him, and Chakotay found himself instinctively moving into a similar protective position next to Tom.
"Tom," Admiral Paris said, huskily, staring at the younger man as if he could not get enough of seeing him.
"Dad," Tom whispered, looking stunned. As if his arm were on autopilot, he thrust out a hand toward his father.
The admiral stared at Tom's hand for a moment, as if he were not quite sure what to do with it. Then he shook his head ever-so-slightly. "Oh, that won't do, boy. That won't do at all." Then -- to Tom's obvious amazement and Chakotay's delight -- the older Paris wrapped Tom up in a bear hug that seemed likely to squeeze
the breath from him. After a moment, Chakotay saw his partner's arms tighten around the other man in return.
When the admiral's hold finally loosened, he and Tom stood regarding one another with looks of wonder. "It's good to see you, too," Tom murmured at last, smiling dazedly.
"Gods above, boy, but I've missed you."
"Yeah?" The corner of Tom's mouth quirked up, crookedly. "Me too." He shot a quick glance toward Chakotay, and drew in a quick, deep breath. "Um, Dad? I guess this would be as good a time to tell you as any. This is my partner, Chakotay."
There was a snort from the blond captain, and Owen Paris turned to Chakotay then, his gray-blue eyes widening in patent surprise. "Really?" Chakotay nodded, offering the admiral a quick, nervous smile, waiting for his reaction.
"Look, Dad, I know you don't approve of same-sex marriages," Tom said swiftly, defensively, "but I think you should know that we've been together for a long time now, and we're going to stay together. I love Chakotay, and nothing you can say is going to change that."
"I see," the older Paris said, slowly.
"Dad, just wait until you get to know him before you judge him." A little desperate. "Before you judge *us*."
The admiral held up a hand. "Easy, son," he said mildly. "I had no intention of judging either of you. You're a grown man, and I'm sure you're the best judge of who you'll be happy with." He extended the hand to Chakotay. "Good to meet you, Commander. Welcome to the family."
"Thank you, sir," Chakotay answered, a little warily. He accepted the proffered hand, and discovered that Admiral Paris's grip was firm and sure. If the older man had any misgivings about his son's marriage, they were certainly not evident in his greeting.
From behind the admiral, the blond man offered his hand to Chakotay too. "George Marshall," he introduced himself. Chakotay blinked, trying to remember where he'd heard the name before. Ah, yes: the security chief on the Al-Batani. Kathryn had said he was Admiral Paris's best friend. But what was he doing here?
"Tom, you remember George, of course," the admiral said. Was that a note of nervousness in his voice? Surely not.
"Of course. Hi, George." But Tom looked a little confused.
George Marshall apparently suffered no such discomfort. His grin revealed even, white teeth. "Hi, kid."
After what actually resembled a moment's indecisiveness, Owen Paris turned to Chakotay. "I don't know if Tom mentioned it, Chakotay, but his mother and I were divorced a few years back."
"He mentioned it," Chakotay allowed.
"And we both started dating and she's -- well, I understand she's involved with a very decent man, a gems trader from Rigel. And I --" he swallowed once, then looked directly at Tom. "And I married George."
Tom's jaw dropped, and for a few moments he seemed incapable of speech. "Dad?" he squeaked, finally.
"I'm sorry, Tom," Admiral Paris said apologetically. "I would have told you before, but you -- well, you always had such conventional ideas about relationships."
Tom just stared. Out of respect for his partner, Chakotay fought down a mighty urge to laugh.
He lost the battle when he heard the deep baritone guffaw of George Marshall.
END