What You Wished For

27 days after the "Shattered" temporal anomaly event, in Icheb and Naomi's time stream (AU)

Admiral Owen Paris gazed out the window of his office in the Starfleet Command Communication Building, his hands clasped behind his back. As the architect and head of the Pathfinder Project, he qualified for that window, although it was relatively small compared to the ones in the offices of the bright stars who truly ran Starfleet these days. At this moment, he didn't much care whether he had a window in his office or not. Although the sun was shining on his face, the view could have been totally obscured by a pea soup fog and he wouldn't have noticed.

When Lieutenant Reginald Barclay appeared at his door and activated the announcer, Paris gruffly responded, "Enter" but didn't move away from the window or turn to face his visitor.

"I'm so sorry to come in to bother you at a t-time like this, Admiral. I just...I just wanted to say how sorry I am about the news. My condolences, sir."

He turned to face Barclay and said, just above a whisper, "Thank you, Lieutenant. I..." He knew he should say something else, but further words failed him for a moment. He gathered his thoughts before asking Barclay, "Was that all, Lieutenant?"

Barclay shifted his weight from side to side and said, "Not exactly. It c-can wait if you wish."

The admiral examined Barclay's face. Clearly, the odd but brilliant young officer was eager to tell him about something that excited him. "I could use something to distract me right about now. What did you want to tell me?"

"Sir, it's about the status of 'Operation Watson.' Remember, in the last datastream, Ensign Kim and Seven of Nine said they were working on a method to reduce the number of days between datastreams? When you heard about it, you said you wished it could be like an old-fashioned telephone call."

"I do recall. That's why I suggested the name for the project."

"Well, in this datastream, they sent some suggestions for technology improvements that would allow us to speak with them more frequently. Maybe even on a daily basis!"

For the first time since he received the initial datastream reports, the admiral's mood lightened slightly, not just because of the substance of Barclay's news, but also because Admiral Paris observed-and not for the first time-that when Barclay began to speak about technical subjects, his stuttering was far less prominent. On another day he undoubtedly would have been even more amused. "That is good news, Lieutenant."

"And that's not all!" Barclay enthused. "Commander Harkins and I reviewed their recommendations, and we realized you just might get that real-time communication you asked for. Just a couple of minutes a day, though," Barclay added apologetically. "But even a couple of minutes every day would be a tremendous help, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. It would be indeed." Now more than ever, the admiral thought, closing his eyes and lowering his head to his chest as he considered the implications.

When he glanced back up at Barclay, he was moved by the young lieutenant's own sorrow at the news. Of course-he was in mourning, too. Ever since Voyager's EMH had notified Starfleet command of the ship's survival, Barclay had been excited about helping them return to the Alpha Quadrant safely. He'd created his own holodeck version of Voyager to allow him to interact with the crew as if he were one of them. He'd even convinced the admiral to allow a holographic version of Barclay to be sent to the ship in a past datastream. Although that imitation Barclay had been co-opted by some avaricious Ferengi, Admiral Paris knew Barclay's desire to meet the crew which had achieved heroic status in the meek officer's life was genuine. And now, no matter how quickly that ship was able to return, several key members of its crew were no longer available for Barclay to befriend in real life.

Pull yourself together, Owen, the admiral chastised himself. It won't do to have anyone see you like this. Truly, he hadn't been like this for years-not since he'd struggled to recover from what the Cardassians had done to him. And to Kathryn Janeway.

The admiral was concentrating so much on his own thoughts, he was barely aware that Barclay had yet to leave until the lieutenant, who had walked to the door during his superior officer's mental absence, turned and addressed him. "There was some good news, Admiral. And I'm sure your son will do a w-wonderful job in his new position."

Admiral Paris nodded slightly. Barclay must have taken this as a dismissal. Without another word, the lieutenant stepped out of the office, leaving his superior officer alone.

So much was going through the mind of Owen Paris at this moment, he was grateful to be left on his own to dwell in his memories: with cascading images of his son as a baby, a toddler, a young boy, a cadet, and as a Starfleet officer with so much potential, he'd been promoted to lieutenant j.g. just a year after his first posting on the Exeter.

And then it all went so badly. Disgraced. Arrested as a Maquis. A traitor to the Federation. A prisoner who was offered a chance for a reduced sentence, but not the pardon that would allow him to return as a Starfleet officer in good standing.

And Admiral Owen Paris responded by becoming even more invested in the career of his protégée, the daughter of his late friend Edward Janeway. Kathryn, who had been the brightest of all his students, the star of the Arias mission. Kathryn, who had offered Tom a way out of prison, if not the right to serve temporarily as a pilot as part of her crew. Tom had accepted what Captain Kathryn Janeway had offered, despite its limited scope. They sailed off into the Badlands after a ship filled with Maquis insurgents and both were lost and presumed dead for years.

And then, beyond hope, a reprieve! They were alive in the Delta Quadrant, the survivors of Voyager's crew and the Maquis, melded together as one and working together to reach home under Kathryn's leadership, the captain who was bound and determined to get them there-and with Tom as her chief helmsman!

And now…

He'd left the communication open on the terminal monitor on his desk. It was hard to digest, despite the fact that he'd practically memorized the whole thing. While he knew he would be able to take comfort eventually in some of what his son had written, every nerve was still raw from learning of all the losses. And Owen Paris still didn't know how he should feel about those devastating last lines of Tom's letter.

To: Admiral Owen Paris, Starfleet Command, Project Pathfinder
From: Acting Captain Thomas E. Paris
Date: Stardate 54664.7 - (sent via datastream transmission)
Subject: Condolences

Dear Dad,

I hope you've had a chance to absorb the bitter news I sent to the Admiralty in this datastream. It's a lot to handle. I know it was for me, too. I sent letters of condolence to eleven families - nineteen communications in all, since more than one next of kin was listed for several of our crew. And I had to write one letter that didn't need to be sent via the datastream. I hand delivered it to Ensign Megan Delaney, who walks around the ship like a zombie ever since she discovered her twin sister Jenny's body lying in Stellar Cartography.

I know you've had to send these letters, too, Dad. You said to me once that it's a hateful job that one never, ever gets used to. I thought I understood, but I never...well, now that I actually know how it feels, all I can say is that I hope I never have to send any more of these to anyone again. That's a vain hope, I know, especially when this journey has just gotten a lot longer without Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, and Commander Tuvok to guide us.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around becoming the commanding officer of this starship. Going from lieutenant j.g. to acting captain is quite a stretch. I haven't had a chance to find out how often that's happened before in the annals of Starfleet history, but it can't have happened too often. I've been too busy working on repairs to Voyager (along with our entire crew-even five-year-old Naomi Wildman has been pressed into service as a "go-fer"), to research it.

We do have a couple of lieutenant commanders left on board, but they have no command experience at all. They're science department heads, and they were the first to say they weren't qualified to command the ship. Under normal circumstances Lieutenant Rollins would have been next in line, but one of the letters of condolence went to his wife and their daughter. My friend Ensign Harry Kim is eager to be given his own command someday, but even he shied away from taking it on now, given the enormity of the task before us.

Our EMH-Mark 1 put it this way: "It appears the mantle of leadership has fallen upon your shoulders, Mr. Paris. Good luck. We'll need it." Trust the Doc to express what everyone else must have been thinking. I know I was.

I named Harry as my first officer. While there are officers of higher rank, he's a bridge officer who's spent enough time in the Big Chair to have the most command experience of any of the survivors. He has more hours than I do, actually, but most of his were during Gamma Shift, when not much happens and a superior officer is a comm call away. And if raising a junior grade lieutenant to command is hard to fathom, how much crazier would it be for an ensign to take full charge?

I've asked the Admiralty to approve his promotion to full lieutenant. I know the captain-Captain Janeway, that is-had asked for permission to raise his rank in the past couple of datastreams (I found those communiqués the first time I went to her...to my desk in the Ready Room). It's now imperative they give me permission to hand out promotions. More officers will be needed to keep the ship's operations running as they should. All but two of the people we lost were officers, and most were regular Starfleet. We lost two non-coms. Crewman Alistair Dell, the crewman Lieutenant Commander Tuvok sacrificed his life trying to save, lingered for several hours before succumbing to his injuries. And I had to write to the wife and daughter of one of our former Equinox crew members: Noah Lessing. And...

I'm sorry, Dad. I just realized what I've been doing. I've been nattering on about all sorts of details you can glean from the official logs because I'm avoiding the real reason I wanted to write to you. Captain Janeway. Your protégée. I'm so sorry, Dad. She was like a daughter to you, especially after her own father died all those years ago. I know you will mourn her the way you would have mourned me if I was the one who had been lost. She was more than our captain; she was also a kind of mother to all of us. Her command style was unique-and brilliant. I can't put into words how much I miss walking onto the Bridge and sitting down at the conn with her in the Big Chair behind me, telling me what heading to take in that velvety, yet forceful voice of hers. Taking a seat in her chair just doesn't seem right. It will always be her chair to me.

We still don't know what happened to her. She's disappeared without a trace. We included her in the funeral we held for Chakotay and Tuvok, even though we didn't have a body to shoot out into space. I actually considered sending out an empty shell to honor her, but, as B'Elanna reminded me, we simply couldn't do it given our critically limited resources and the pressing need to use all of them for repairing our ship. And of course, B'Elanna was right.

What can I say about Kathryn Janeway to you that you don't already know? You always knew what a great captain she was, not just as a commanding officer, but as a scientist whose curiosity and passion for exploring the galaxy, despite her commitment to bring all of us home, was unparalleled. She often said that since we didn't know when anyone from the Federation would come this way again, we needed to take advantage of the opportunity to expand our knowledge of this quadrant, whether it was studying new forms of astronomical phenomenon, alien species, or unique planetary bodies. And we did, every chance we got.

When she plucked me out of that penal colony, she gave me a chance I never expected to have again: to redeem myself in my own eyes, even if no one else thought I did. Despite the many mistakes I made even after I became her chief helmsman, she never gave up on me. She was the best captain I have ever served under or ever will. Every member of this crew may be carrying on with a heavy heart because of all the good people we lost, especially our command team, but they trained us well. We're all determined to attain that goal which was Captain Janeway's obsession, her holy grail: getting this crew home. And I'll do everything in my power, even if it means I will have to become more than a little obsessed myself, to fulfill her dream and do just that.

It won't be easy. Our ship was severely damaged when that anomaly struck and overloaded our warp core. I still can't believe we still have a ship, frankly. Some factor we have yet to identify maintained Voyager's structural integrity long enough for us to bring the shields back on line, to hold it together until we could repair the hull. The ship may look like it's patched together (because it is), and we'll be limping along at Warp 2 until we can revamp the core and bring it totally up to specs, but we're finally underway again. We expected the trip to take three decades to complete. It may take even longer now, but we'll get there. I promise you.

And...well, I do have one piece of good news to share with you. The Doctor has confirmed that, against all odds of it happening without extensive intervention on the EMH's part, you will soon become a grandfather. B'Elanna is pregnant with a little girl. We weren't sure if we should announce it immediately, but Cadet Icheb let it slip to Neelix, and that meant the entire crew knew almost instantaneously. Everyone seems to have a baby name for us to consider, not that we plan on using any of them. (Prolixia? Kimberly? Octavia?...no thanks! We have a few ideas of our own already.) But having a blessed event like this to look forward to is helping to raise the crew's morale a few notches. That's a good thing at a time like this.

Share this news about the baby with Mom and my sisters. (I know the newsvids will announce the rest.) And I hope you don't mind if I write again. I may want to pick your brain sometimes about command issues. I'm sure I'll need your advice from time to time, and I suspect you'll enjoy sharing it with me. You always wanted me to become a captain. To be completely candid, I never really did. I love piloting, even if my turns at the conn are likely to be few and far between from now on. Even before I screwed up my career, I never thought I'd stay in Starfleet long enough to command a ship or achieve the goals you had for me.

Years ago, when I first expressed my romantic interest in B'Elanna, she told me to be careful what I wished for. I persevered, and I'm glad that I did. As rocky as the road has been for the two of us at times, now that we're together and bringing a new life into being, it truly has been worth it.

You've gotten what you wished for me now, too, Dad. Captain Thomas Eugene Paris. But the price was high. Very high.

I hope it will turn out to be worth it to you. For me, I'm not so sure.

Tom