Admiral Owen Paris stared out of his expansive windows at the foggy San Francisco skyline without seeing it, his mind still reeling from the news he had received barely two hours ago. Tom's alive, he kept thinking, the words running through his head like some sort of mantra, as if saying them to himself would make him believe them. It was such a paradigm shift from the last few years, since Admiral Anderson had approached him with stricken and concerned expression on his face and informed him that Voyager had been lost in the Badlands, that he knew it would take a while for them to set in. He tried to figure out if he felt any different, if knowing that his only son was alive on the other side of the galaxy had changed him, but in a way, it felt almost like the day after a birthday when he was a child—he had known on one level that he was a year older, but still felt like the same person and couldn't identify the affect of that day.

He had told Alicia as soon as he had gotten off the comm with Admiral Hart, of course, but even seeing the stunned and jubilant expression on his wife's face had done little to help those words sink in. In a way, it seemed like one of those old science fiction films from the twentieth century that Tom used to watch growing up—an outdated medical hologram, a 'blast from the past' in the form of a Mark I EMH, had appeared suddenly on a top secret prototype starship after engaging in battle with the enemy to bring news of a crew that was slowly but surely making their way home after being transported to the other side of the galaxy. If it had been any other situation, he would have laughed. Instead, he was still standing there in his office, watching the shuttles fly by and thinking of his son. His son. The surprise much-younger third child, the spoiled only son, the self-confident and talented pilot, the boy he had helped raise into a man capable of making his own decisions and standing up for what he believed in, for what he wanted for himself. He remembered the last time he had seen Tom, sitting out on the deck on a clear early-September evening, watching the lights of the ships and shuttles and stars overhead as they drank their beers and discussed Tom's ideas for a shuttle he wanted to build. In the year after finding out about Voyager's disappearance, he had replayed that conversation a million times, wondering what he would have said differently or done differently had he known that that would be his last conversation with his son. He probably wouldn't have wished him a good night and told him that he would be gone in the morning by the time Tom awoke, but that he hoped Voyager would fly well for his shakedown cruise and that he would see him in about a month. He had had so many regrets about the things he had said and hadn't said to Tom as he was growing up, and for a long time, hated himself because of those things. Now, he was torn: glad his son was alive, but wishing with his whole being that he could talk to him again so he could set some of those things straight. He couldn't even remember if he had ever told Tom how proud he was of the man and officer he had become.

"Sir?" He turned from his window to see one of his aides holding a PADD in front of him. "The team is done downloading the information from the EMH. There was a notation from Captain Janeway that you would probably want to see a few of these personnel files right away." The ensign paused. "There's also a file addressed to you from the chief engineer."

"The chief engineer?" Paris repeated with a frown. "Are you sure it was addressed to me and not the engineering teams at UP?"

"It's addressed to you, sir. The team doing the download checked three times. It's possible that there's been a corruption in the data, given the state of the EMH and the distance traveled, but as best as anyone could figure out, this is the file that you're meant to read."

"Okay, Ensign. Thank you." He accepted the PADD and returned to his desk. The aide, knowing a dismissal without having to be told, turned and left the office.

Paris glanced at the picture on his desk, one of only two pictures there, the one of Tom during a debate his first classman year at the Academy. He looked serious sitting in that board room, and not for the first time, the admiral couldn't figure out why that had been the picture he had kept of his son. It captured none of what made Tom, Tom—the humor, charisma, the light attitude, the confidence. He made a mental note to ask Alicia to help him find one of Tom in a Nova Squadron flight suit. That was the Cadet Thomas Eugene Paris he remembered from those four years his son had been at Starfleet Academy.

He activated the PADD to find a directory of four items. The first three were marked 'Personnel file' followed by a Starfleet ID number, and the last was untitled, only bearing a download number from the team that had been studying the EMH Mark I since his arrival. He opened the first of the personnel files and found himself staring at a picture of his son.

Knowing Kathryn Janeway has he did—he had trained her, after all—she probably kept the personnel files up to date, despite their distance from Starfleet Command and any governing council, which told him that the picture would be one taken from within the year and the data current. Sure enough, the Thomas Paris he was staring at was older than the one he had talked to on the deck that night, although the uniform he was wearing had recently been put out of use. Owen smirked slightly to see the thinner hair on his son's head; he certainly hadn't been fortunate enough to inherit a full head of hair from either side of the family. Alicia's father had been bald by the time he turned thirty.

He skimmed through the personal data down to the service record. "Rank: Lieutenant," he read, earning raised eyebrows. Eight years since graduation from the Academy, Tom should be a full lieutenant - or even a lieutenant commander - by now. Promotions were slower to come by the Test Flight division, but Tom's CO had told Owen in confidence a few months before Voyager had departed that Tom would be facing a promotion to full lieutenant within the year. He was glad that, even with the few openings for rank advancement in the Delta Quadrant, that Kathryn had given him that. He reminded himself that Tom was never concerned with rank or prestige, and forced himself to stop celebrating Tom's promotion and keep reading. "Position: chief flight controller, USS Voyager." Although it might have explained the promotion - on a ship of Voyager's size, the position of chief flight controller was usually a full lieutenant, and Kathryn was probably just filling out her senior staff - he still gave an almost sad chuckle at the irony of that. Not being a flight controller was something Tom had felt so passionately about as a cadet first class that he had stood up to his father about it, to state his reasons for wanting to be a test pilot. It was that position in the test flight division that had put Tom on Voyager in the first place and earned him a spot right where he never wanted to be.

His eyebrows rose as he read through the service record, seeing one example after another of how great of an officer his son had become, of instances where bold actions were needed and he had delivered. He had to re-read the line about breaking the warp ten barrier several times before the words actually set in. His son had done it. He had defied the laws of physics and done something no one had ever done before. He had assured himself a place in a record books for all time. Kids would someday learn about Thomas Paris in their history classes the way they learned about Chuck Yeager or Neil Armstrong or Zephram Cochrane. The thought made Owen's head spin.

Although curious about the other two personnel files, the admiral skipped them in favor of the file directly from the chief engineer, still wondering if it was some sort of mistake that it had been addressed to him. That notion was dispelled as soon as he caught the note attached to the data file:

"To: Admiral Owen E. Paris, Starfleet Command. Dad—rank has its privileges. In our case, that means sneaking a personal file in the EMH's program. In yours, it means being the first in your quadrant to meet your granddaughter. Love, Tom, B'Elanna, and Ryanne." He blinked at the note, not quite able to comprehend the meaning of the words. Granddaughter? B'Elanna? Ryanne? Suddenly realizing what those two personnel files must be, he switched back to them before opening the file. He had to shake his head in wonder at what he saw in the first. Only Tom could manage to be sent to the other side of the galaxy and run into the one woman he had visibly cared about, B'Elanna Torres. Like Tom's file, her picture looked as if it had been taken within the last year. Gone was the nineteen-year-old cadet who had covered up her fear with a defiant look as she sat in the courtroom at Starfleet Academy, waiting for a panel of admirals and captains to decide her fate. Gone was the challenge issued to the entire universe in her eyes. Gone was even the long curly hair that Linssay had so admired during that winter vacation in France. In the place of that cadet Paris remembered was a mature officer, dark hair straightened and neatly coiffed, a look of practiced professionalism on her face. "Rank: Lieutenant. Rank based on commissioned rank within the Klingon Defense Force, years in service, and position aboard USS Voyager." He was a bit confused by her rank within the Defense Force, but figured that was best left for someone else to figure out. Peace between the Klingon Empire and the Federation was tenuous at best at the moment, and he didn't want to be the one rocking the boat, not when they were facing other problems on other fronts. "Position: Chief Engineer, USS Voyager." Not terribly surprising, considering her talents—and the personal note from the chief engineer, which was now making sense.

He finally opened the file and realized he was staring at a holovideo of some sort of ship gathering aboard Voyager. He transferred it to his desk console to get a larger view as Tom's voice drifted out. "Where'd the birthday girl disappear to?" The camera scanned the room—likely Voyager's mess hall—before falling on a small girl, thick dark curls in what was probably permanent disarray. She turned toward the camera as her face broke into a large grin, and Owen's breath caught as he felt a surge of pride at the grandchild he had never met. She was a beautiful child, with that curly hair and light ridges on her forehead, large green eyes and that smile. Tom's smile. He could remember seeing that grin on his son's face when he had been a toddler.

"Say hi to Daddy, Ryanne." He recognized that voice as well, although it had been years since he had heard B'Elanna Torres speak. The holoimager panned out slightly as the woman—Owen's daughter-in-law—came into view, looking just like the image in her personnel file, but with a relaxed smile and casual off-duty tunic and pants.

"Hi, Daddy," Ryanne said dutifully, the grin still on her face as she attempted to run toward her father, behind the holoimager. She stumbled over her own feet, as toddlers did, and went sprawling onto the deck. Owen had to chuckle at the determined expression as she pulled herself back to her feet to try again. There was no doubt that she was Tom and B'Elanna's daughter, that was for sure. Ryanne's determination to take on the universe could have come from either.

"Who's ready for cake?" Paris didn't recognize the voice, nor did he even know what species the man who came into view belonged to, but he did recognize birthday cake when he saw it, and apparently, Ryanne did, too. She changed course and barreled toward the man, but was caught by her mother before they could collide.

"Tom, put the imager down and come control your daughter," she said in an exasperated tone.

"Here, Doc." The video jostled slightly as the imager changed hands, and then Tom came into view, and again, Owen's breath caught at the sudden emotions that surged within him. Just like in his personnel file, he looked older than Owen remembered, maybe weathered a bit by the lifetime of experiences that he had crammed into a few short years, but was looking relaxed in his off-duty clothes and that familiar quirky grin on his face. There was something else there, too: the obvious love and pride the man had for his family. His boy had finally and completely grown up to become a man.

The Tom on the video paused to give B'Elanna—his wife—a quick kiss before sweeping up his daughter and thrusting her overhead, earning him squeals of delight. "Happy birthday, dollface," he said as he lowered her back to the ground. Owen thought he remembered the nickname from one of Tom's old movies, but he would have to ask Alicia to be sure. They took a break from the dialogue for everyone gathered to sing a chorus of "Happy Birthday" to the small child.

"Can you believe she's a year old already?" The camera turned to face the man who had spoken, a young Asian-looking man who waved the imager off with an embarrassed expression on his face. "How much longer until she has a little brother or sister?" the man teased.

"I don't know, Harry. We still haven't decided if we're keeping this one," B'Elanna deadpanned. "According to Klingon tradition, you have through their first year to decide if they're worthy to be raised or warriors or not. And there's still six more Standard months of the Klingon year."

The man gaped. "What?" he asked, his eyes wide in disbelief. B'Elanna turned to face Tom.

"You're right. That's too easy," she said to him.

"Well, how am I supposed to know Klingon traditions?" the young officer protested. Tom laughed.

"Harry, Harry, Harry...they're not barbarians," he told him. "Aside from their eating habits and tempers and rituals and—"

"Watch it, Tom," B'Elanna said warningly. Owen saw his son grin and give her another kiss. He was struck by how happy and normal the whole gathering seemed to be—no moans about being so far from home, no visible damage to the ship from being so far from a repair station—they were just another crew on another ship, taking time to celebrate a milestone in the life of one of their own.

"How much longer until we can expect to see her filling in for her father on the bridge?" Paris recognized the man who spoke as former Lt. Commander Chakotay, the Maquis captain Janeway had initially been sent after.

"I don't think she quite has the manual dexterity for that yet," Tom remarked with a grin. The furry alien began passing out pieces of what appeared to be blue cake. As expected, it wasn't long before Ryanne had smeared it all over her face, which made Tom smirk at the demonstration of his words. "It'll be a couple of years yet."

"Maybe in the next seven years we'll scrounge up enough spare parts to assemble an S-type shuttle," Captain Janeway commented with a small smile. Tom groaned good-naturedly.

"Is there anyone in Starfleet who hasn't heard that story?" he moaned. Owen realized with a start that he had been so proud of his son's abilities to handle that ancient craft that he had told everyone he thought would listen.

"I think it's time for a speech from the guest of honor," the man behind the imager commented.

"Doc, I think you're over-estimating her abilities. She's one. She's barely able to put two words together. I don't think it'll be much of a speech," Tom commented.

"Then maybe her father would like to give one in her stead?"

Realizing he was trapped, Tom gave a short chuckle before nodding slightly. He raised a glass in a toast, and the others followed suit. "To my beautiful and talented daughter, Ryanne Miral Paris, happy birthday. May you have many more to come that are just as happy. And to my dad, who I think is going to be very surprised when he discovers that not only does he have a Paris granddaughter, but that she was born on his sixty-fourth birthday, happy birthday to you, too, wherever you are. And someday—and knowing the talents of my amazing wife, someday soon—we'll be celebrating those birthdays together back home."

"Hear, hear!" everyone cheered before drinking to the toast.

"Hear, hear," Owen echoed softly, incredibly touched by the words. Tom was right; he was surprised. It was a day of surprises, and of gifts that he couldn't have even conceived of during his sixty-fifth birthday party three weeks before.

The announcer chimed on his door, and he did his best to straighten himself up before calling out, "Enter!" It slid open to reveal Commander Janine Marshall, his oldest daughter. He had forgotten that she was temporarily stationed at Starfleet Command while her son was undergoing tests at Starfleet Medical.

"Mom just commed me with the news," she said haltingly, the expression in her blue eyes a combination of excitement and hope and disbelief. "Is it true? Is Voyager still out there? And Tom still alive?"

He nodded and felt a grin beginning to form on his face. "It's true," he told her, "all of that. And more." He gestured for her to come around to his side of the desk as he returned the holovid to the beginning. "Come over here and see what your little brother has been up to the last three years."