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Story Notes:
Thanks muchly to Elem for the beta, Cori and CF for the read through.

 

 

Admiral Paris stood at his apartment window looking out at the bay in front of him and if he turned his head, he could see the city lights shimmering like a million stars. He took a gulp of the whisky from the glass that he held in his hand, the soft clinking of the ice and the mellow piano concerto, the only sounds in the entire place. 

 

One of the perks of being an Admiral was that you could get your choice of apartment and his seniority gave him the pick of the best. The best was what he chose - a penthouse apartment with a view of both San Francisco and the Pacific Ocean. He didn’t really understand his own motivation for picking the place, perhaps because it would have surprised his colleagues if he’d stooped to anything less. He certainly didn’t need the space, since he lived alone and had for almost two decades.

 

The problem he had with his apartment was that it also happened to be large and, in his way of thinking these days, lonely, very lonely. It was for that reason he was rarely home to enjoy the view. He hated walking into the place only to be met with silence, deep and oppressive. It was preferable to stay at work and for a while, he’d done just that. His aide had also stayed until he was ready to go home but the man had married recently and Paris didn’t want to be responsible for the break up of yet another marriage, one had been quite enough. So these days he left at a reasonable hour and then walked the streets of the city, sometimes stopping to eat at his favorite restaurant, sometimes at the mess hall, but mostly he would walk and think back on his past mistakes and dwell on his regrets.

 

They were of his own making and he’d come to terms with that a very long time ago. When his wife had left him, accusing him of being too driven and more in love with his work than with her, he hadn’t bothered denying it.

 

It was probably true; he was on his way to the top and didn’t have patience to deal with the demands of family life. It had been his intention to carve out a legacy for himself and then maybe his son. The Paris name would be engraved on the walls of Starfleet, alongside the names of famous Starfleet families like Janeway, Archer, Pike and others.  

 

It was that drive and ambition that had made him push his son more than he should have. He could see it now; when he should have been there for Tom, during those early years, he was just too busy. The vivid memory of his son’s face still haunted him. He’d let him down time and again, begging off from event after event until eventually the boy stopped asking. Then later when he did have more time, when his brush with death at the hands of the Cardassians had made him aware of his own mortality and forced him to slow down, Tom was mostly grown up and was busy with his own life and friends. They were strangers by then and he never knew what to say to his son. The only interactions they’d had were either praise for Tom for his accomplishments or criticisms of his shortcomings. Even though he was secretly very proud of his son, the latter was far more frequent than the former.

 

There were so many things he regretted in that relationship. When Tom told him he’d applied for a posting to the Enterprise, Owen made sure that the application was scuttled. It was imperative that there be no hint of favoritism for the son of an Admiral and Tom couldn’t be given such a plum assignment; even though he was an exceptional pilot and infinitely qualified for the position. There could be no implication of impropriety and Owen had insisted that Tom be passed over - and so he was.

 

It was not very long after this, that Tom had been involved in a tragic accident. A group of cadets were killed under Tom’s leadership. Owen had stood with Tom, supporting him as he professed his innocence and was absolved of all wrongdoing. But when the truth came out that Tom was directly responsible for the crash, he’d turned his back and walked away, leaving Tom to face the fall out on his own.

 

As of that moment he’d cut all ties with his son, or so he thought.

 

Although he was able to successfully disengage physically; emotionally was another matter. That was never easy. The accusing face of his child would haunt his dreams.

 

He’d watched Tom drift aimlessly through France and then with horror when he’d hooked up with the Maquis. It was almost a relief when he was arrested and sentenced to the Prison colony in New Zealand. He’d thought of visiting Tom there, but his pride wouldn’t allow it. More than that, he was afraid Tom would refuse to meet with him and that was something he couldn’t have borne.

 

The comm. beeped incessantly interrupting his thoughts. He tossed down the last of his drink and set down the glass with a thump as he took the call.

 

“Owen.”

 

“Gretchen.” he felt his irritation vanish. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

 

Gretchen’s face softened. “I think you know the answer to that. How are you doing?”

 

He sighed. “Reliving old regrets isn’t a very helpful way to spend an evening.”

 

“Owen,” she smiled sympathetically. “No, it’s not, but it’s in the past and I don’t think he’d want that for you.”

 

Owen looked away.

 

“I wanted to see if you were done.”

 

He shook his head, finding it hard to answer.

 

“I thought not, I heard you were making calls and encouraging families and friends, but I suspected you might need some encouragement yourself.”

 

“You know me too well, Gretchen.”

 

“We’ve been friends a long time and, as your friend, I’m asking you to do this. Don’t waste this opportunity you’ve been given.”

 

“I don’t….”

 

She remained adamant. “Don’t spend the next few decades regretting this, just get it done, you’ll find it easier than you think.”

 

“I’ll try.”

 

She nodded approvingly and signed off, leaving him once again to the quiet of his apartment.

 

The last time he saw his son was before he set off on Voyager. He’d watched him being walked onto a shuttle by Starfleet security and then released. Briefly, he’d thought of going up to him, but he hadn’t - there wasn’t anything he could say that would adequately express what he was feeling.

 

Then it was too late.

 

Only a few short days after that, he was given the news that Voyager had vanished, probably destroyed by the violent storms in the Badlands. All he could remember of the following days was thinking, I never said goodbye.

 

Regrets, more regrets.

 

That brought him back to the task at hand.

 

He sighed. Gretchen was right. He’d been given a second chance and be damned if he was going let his fears get the better of him.

 

Pulling out a blank PADD he began,

 

Dear Tom

I would like to begin this letter by apologizing for my behavior towards you in years past. I don’t know if I can actually find the words to express how sorry I am for my arrogance and for my negligence but I hope that perhaps someday you will be able to forgive me. Hearing of the loss of Voyager was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to bear, so you can imagine my joy when we were told by your Mark-1 that Voyager hadn’t been destroyed, and that, not only were you safe but you had been awarded the commission of Lieutenant. I would like to write so much more to express how proud I am of you and how much I love you, but we have to keep these short. I want you to know that I am going to do everything I can to bring you and the rest of the Voyager crew back home.

Your Father.

 

His comm. unit sounded, this time it was his aide.

 

“Admiral, we’ve made contact with the alien network and will be transmitting the messages soon, are there any others?”

 

Paris nodded “One more for Lieutenant…for my son.”

 

Transmitting the letter to the Starfleet office, he poured himself another glass of whiskey and went back out to his balcony. Looking up at the sky and at the faint haze of the Milky Way, he raised his glass.

 

“Bring my son back safely, Kathryn.”

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