Work Text:
The day he quit was the first time his father had been furious since they’d returned from the Delta Quadrant. “How can you turn your back on Starfleet!”
“I’m not turning my back on Starfleet. I’ll still design ships as a civilian contractor, and build holo training programs. But now I get to choose where I do it from,” Tom Paris said, pulling his father by the arm into the backyard so their loud voices wouldn’t reach the kids.
“That’s not enough. Starfleet is stretched to the breaking point!” Owen Paris said. “To lose an officer like you? I thought your irresponsible days were behind you.”
Tom had been trying to keep his temper in check. Trying not to let old patterns resurface, but this accusation was several steps too far. “Keeping my family together is not an irresponsible choice, Dad.”
Owen Paris blinked. “What do you mean?”
“B’Elanna’s been asked to serve as chief technical officer for the new deep space shipyard, and, when I put in for a family transfer order I was denied,” Tom said. “I was told I was too desperately needed here at the San Francisco shipyards to be reassigned with my wife.”
He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. As much as he truly respected the good that Starfleet did, Tom Paris’s relationship with the service had always been rocky. And the best years of his career had been, if he were being honest, more about his loyalty to Kathryn Janeway and friendship with Harry Kim than anything else. But this...the utter disregard for the needs of their family? It had been the last straw. There hadn’t even been a debate about which one of them was quitting – Tom was happy to do it.
“Your work is crucial,” Owen said, but he was no longer shouting. “And it wouldn’t have to be forever; you could apply again in six months. Things could...”
“Dad,” Tom said, knowing what he was about to say would hurt, but not seeing any way around it. “I don’t want my kids growing up without their father.” He tensed, waiting for his father’s inevitable angry, defensive, response.
But to his surprise, that’s not what he got. Clearly, Tom wasn’t the only one who’d changed for the better over the last two decades. Owen Paris’s eyes filled with regret and he nodded. “I understand, son. I’m sorry you had to.”
Tom reached out and hugged his father. “On the bright side, you’ll always outrank me.”
“So will I,” came a voice from the doorway.
The two men turned to see a very happy looking half-Klingon watching the two of them. “I found out today, the job comes with a promotion. I’ll always be able to give you orders, flyboy,” B’Elanna said.
Tom laughed, and looked at his dad. “Another reason I have to quit.”
So, for the rest of his life, he was surrounded by Starfleet officers, most of whom respectfully, if a little condescendingly, still referred to him as “Lieutenant Paris” – regardless of his civilian status.
But as he watched his children grow, and went to bed next to his wife every night, even as the inevitable chaos of the universe raged around them, he never once regretted his decision.