I don't own them, I just borrow them to play with.

Commanding Officers

Chapter 1: The approach

Sitting on the shuttle, she was nervous. It didn't show in her face or manifest obviously in her behavior, of course. She spoke to the ensign who was piloting her in even tones. She made small talk about the young officer's experiences at the academy, his hometown in Indiana that was not far from her own. Gracefully, she made him feel comfortable (or at least as comfortable as he could be, piloting an admiral). Still, her fingers tapped of their own volition on the side of her chair, and her laughter was more forced than usual.

She was about to see Tom Paris for the first time in two and a half years. In so many ways, it seemed like the time had passed in the blink of an eye. In other ways, Voyager and the Delta Quadrant seemed like an entirely different lifetime. He was Commander Paris now, and to her surprise and pride, had been given his own ship, the Nighthawk. It was a ship that he'd personally helped to design in his nearly two years with the Starfleet's advanced warp and engineering facility. Upon joining the facility, he'd promptly been made a Lieutenant Commander—a surprising turn for an officer who'd only hoped to keep his commission upon returning to the Alpha Quadrant. But as the Federation struggled to rebuild after the war with the Dominion, it eagerly poured resources into strategic and technological advances. Luckily for Tom, his breaking of the Warp Ten barrier had turned heads back home.

In the wake of the war, with so many officers lost and spirits broken, Starfleet hadn't been slow to look beyond Tom's past and even his occasional breech of protocols in Delta Quadrant; especially with Admiral Janeway's sterling recommendation of him. "It's not that they believe in me, not really. It's just that they think I can give them more than I can screw up," Tom had said to her upon accepting his position at the facility. He hadn't said it with the rancor and bitterness that so often colored his remarks when she first met him. It was simply an observation, and an astute one at the time. Starfleet didn't want him, but what they thought he could deliver. And they could cast him aside just as quickly as they promoted him, without a second thought.

That was more than two years ago, and it was the last time she'd spoken to him directly. It was only a few months after they'd returned home, disoriented and groping for normalcy in the place they'd spent seven years trying to get back to. Just after she'd been promoted to Admiral. And just before he and B'Elanna decided to file for divorce. She'd kept tabs on him at the facility, watched as his work took off; swelled with pride as he quickly became an up-and-comer in the eyes of Starfleet leadership, and in turn given command of the Nighthawk. Given Tom's rank, the obvious implication was that it was a temporary command—that a permanent Captain would be assigned to the vessel after a preliminary period of testing and refitting. Still, even a temporary command was impressive and meant that Tom would be given his own ship in due time if everything went well.

As the shuttle approached the Nighthawk, Admiral Janeway was struck by the vessel's appearance. Roughly, it was the same size as Voyager and required only two dozen less crew members. She'd seen countless mock-ups of the ship, read enumerable reports on its advances. But none of these prepared her for how beautiful the ship was, nor how profoundly its sleek lines betrayed the identify of its designer. Something about its angles reminded her instantly and painfully of the Delta Flyer.

As the shuttle entered the ship's cargo bay, she found herself taking a deep breath. Why was she so nervous? This was Tom Paris, after all. She'd busted him out of jail, demoted him, promoted him, performed his wedding ceremony. Hell, she'd even evolved with him, devolved with him, and managed to procreate with him in between. And through it all, he'd always been the easy one to deal of the senior staff. She was being silly. It was just Tom! So why did she have a knot in her stomach akin to the one she got when his father had told her he'd wanted to ask her just a few questions about her senior thesis?

She stood as the shuttle's door opened, and was startled to see that of the group of officers who awaited her didn't contain Tom. As she approached the group, a female officer greeted her in a strong but pleasant voice.

"Admiral Janeway, welcome aboard. I'm Lieutenant Commander Rix, First Officer." The woman was Trill, and in her mid-thirties. Her dark hair was swept up in a ponytail, her large green eyes set in a remarkably attractive face. She moved with a self-assuredness that surpassed her age.

"Pleased to meet you, Lt. Commander, " Janeway responded, smiling. "I have to stay, even upon first sight, the Nighthawk is an impressive ship."

"The Commander will be pleased you think so, Admiral. He'd intended to meet you here himself, but he's looking into a problem in the warp manifold with our Chief Engineer. "

"I see," Janeway said with a cheerfulness she didn't at all feel. She couldn't blame him for preferring mucking about in the bowels of his ship to greeting her.

"Let me introduce you to some of our senior staff. This is Ensign Riggs, our Chief Conn officer." She gestured to a nervous looking, dark haired officer who appeared several years younger than Tom was when Voyager first began its journey (But hadn't they all been young then? Even her?) "Doctor Norel, Chief Medical officer." She nodded to a blonde woman behind her. Her ears betrayed the fact that she was part Vulcan, but her fair coloring bespoke mostly human ancestry. "And I believe you know our head of Ops."

"Harry!" Janeway exclaimed, moving in to hug (now) Lieutenant Kim. She'd been so preoccupied with seeing Tom Paris she hadn't even thought about how nice it would be to see Harry.

"Admiral, it's only been a few months, but still it seems like too long," Harry said, returning her hug.

"I know. I still can't believe I just watched you get married. And the wedding was so lovely." Harry had married his girlfriend Elizabeth just that autumn in San Francisco. The wedding was simple, in an outside garden with thirty or forty friends and family. The weather had been cool, but not too chilly. Harry had played the clarinet at the reception. She had been surprised to find that Tom wasn't there, but it was just after the Nighthawk was launched and he hadn't been able to get away. She felt all through the reception that there was something missing. She could tell that Harry felt it, too.

"How are you doing, being a newly wed out here?" In the interim period, spouses and children were not permitted on the Nighthawk. This wasn't typical even for a new Starfleet vessel, but Janeway supposed it wasn't totally out of the ordinary either.

"I miss Liz, " said Harry, his eyes wistful. "But this is great ship, and I'm happy to be posted here."

"Lieutenant, would you care to show the Admiral to her quarters and then to the briefing room?" Rix looked to Harry and then to Janeway.

"I'd love to, if the Admiral will have me as an escort." Harry smiled.

"I can't think of the last time I received a better offer." Janeway beamed.

. . . . . .

In her guest quarters, Admiral Janeway was busying herself with unpacking. She was slated to be with the Nighthawk for two weeks. She would report on its level of efficiency, its general functioning, and she would recommend alterations to the vessel if necessary. She hadn't been asked to report on the ship's commanding officer, but that was to be expected given her previous working relationship with him. Starfleet expected she'd be too biased.

The trip was a much needed distraction from the daily grind at Starfleet Headquarters. The peace was an uneasy one, and the Federation was badly weakened. There were flare-ups with rogue Cardassian forces, renewed tensions with the Romulans. Only two days before she'd left, the Starfleet Command had authorized the destruction of a munitions plant rumored to be producing blackmarket weapons. She was grateful to be home, but the Federation they returned to wasn't the same one that they'd left. As Admiral Paris had joked grimly, "It was the worst of times, and it was the worst of times."

Just as she finished and considered replicating herself a cup of coffee, her door chimed. Hopeful, she answered it manually.

"All set Admiral, or would you like some more time?" Harry inquired, smiling at her. She felt a pang of disappointment.

"Oh, I think I'm ready, Lieutenant," she replied. Harry gave her a quick tour of the ship—engineering, astrometrics, the mess hall— before finally depositing her on the bridge, in front of Commander Paris's ready room.

"I'll let you and the Commander catch up before the briefing. The senior staff should be gathering in about fifteen minutes," Harry explained. It wasn't lost on her that Harry used Tom's rank. Did he always call Tom by his rank now? They were on the bridge, she supposed, though far enough away that no one could hear them. Harry Kim had always been a stickler for protocol, but he had relaxed some in the last two years. She didn't have time to contemplate it any longer. "See you in a few minutes, Admiral." Harry took his post.

She took a breath and chimed.

"Come," she heard from the other side. It was a voice she'd missed. Mustering her best Janeway swagger, she entered, smiling.

Tom was standing by his desk, pouring over a PADD when she entered. He looked up, and for a beat, maybe two seemed to be considering her. She was standing a meter in front of the door, smiling her most sincere smile, and hoping he'd just open his mouth and greet her already. In a second, whatever emotion that initially clouded his countenance dissipated, and he graced her with a toothy grin.

"Well, how the hell is my favorite Admiral?" He asked, approaching her, his right arm out-stretched as though to shake her hand.

"I'm well. But how will your father take coming in as second-place in the favorite Admiral contest?" She grasped his hand then, and, unexpectedly, he pulled her to him for a hug.

"He would consider it an honor given the competition," he replied, his chin above her right ear. She let go of a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, making no move to break the contact.

"I've missed you Tom." At this, he pulled away, smiling politely.

She knew that smile. It was the same one she'd worn at every trade negotiation in the Delta Quadrant. It was the same one she pulled out now when she had to go into a meeting with the full Admiralty.

"I've missed you, too. . . It's been. . . a while." His reply was measured, and somehow not what she'd expected. Perhaps he was letting her off easy. But this, she felt, was more painful.

"Too long. I know. But I'm here now. Even if in official capacity." She looked at him, willing him to see her openness. Her affection. Her regret.

"True, " he said, sitting down at this desk. "Perhaps we should go over a few things before meeting with the rest of my staff?" He was already pulling together PADDs, switching into work mode.

"Of course," she replied, sitting opposite of him and pushing down her disappointment.

"I'm not sure if my First Officer told you, but Admiral Picard and Captain Riker are also on board with us. They'll be joining us in the briefing room."

"Oh?"

"They're only with us for a few days. We'll be dropping them off at Zexan IV for the next round of diplomatic talks there." He stood up, and moved to the replicator. During the silence she wondered if Jean-Luc was on board to observe Tom, and, furthermore, whether Tom had considered the possibility himself. If so, it didn't seem to shake him at all. Perhaps he was more confident than the Tom she knew on Voyager. Either way, there were worse judges to have than Jean-Luc Picard. "Two coffees, Paris Blend 5. One black, one with cream. " The replicator whirred, and Tom returned with two large mugs.

"I thought you didn't drink coffee?" she asked, her face serious except for the upturned corners of her mouth.

"I didn't. But I was told that drinking coffee was a requirement of having one's own ship." He was already looking down at the PADD in front of him and taking a drink. He seemed so different from the free-spirited man who'd worked under for seven years. He was calm, confident, focused . She thought to herself, with some measure of pride, that he wore the command well. But beneath her approval lurked the sinking feeling that the Tom she'd known for so long was wasn't there anymore, even under the command mask.

She felt bereft, but she didn't know why.

"Also," Tom finally added, deadpan, "I think the smell of coffee wafting from the Captain's chair puts Harry at ease. Or at the very least, makes him think I know what I'm doing."

She laughed, inwardly relaxing a bit. And they both turned toward the data in front of them.

. . . . . .

The briefing after her meeting with Tom had gone mercifully quickly. On the way to Zexan IV, the Nighthawk would be testing out its new engine modifications, specifically its advanced maneuvering abilities and its enhanced warp drive. They would leave Picard and Riker on Zexan, take on a few Federation diplomats, and return to the nearest Starbase for the next round of adjustments to the Nighthawk.

Admiral Picard had said little, although he seemed in good cheer. Will Riker and Tom had bantered easily as they were friends, having met two years earlier. Before she knew it, the meeting was over.

There was only twenty minutes left in the alpha shift, and Captain Riker had suggested to Paris after the senior staff, save Rix, had dispersed, that the five of them eat dinner together. The Admirals quickly assented.

"Commander Paris might even be persuaded to cook for us, " Will said, smirking at Tom. "I'm sure you've at least baked a cake for us, haven't you?" Picard was smiling, too, but Janeway wasn't quite following the joke.

"You should not confuse my profound affection and esteem for your wife with my sentiments for you, Will," Paris said, waving a finger at him. "Just because I once baked her a cake doesn't mean I'd make you so much as a grilled cheese sandwich."

"It wasn't just a cake," Riker said, looking to Janeway, as though the conversation was not between he and Tom at all. "It was a nine-layer, dark chocolate cake that he made from scratch. With vanilla frosting that he made from real vanilla beans he'd bought in France." They'd all spilled onto the bridge now, and the crew was listening with silent amusement.

"You're just ticked that Deanna refused to share any of it with you," Paris said, hovering in front of the Captain's chair. Janeway smiled softly. This was the tone Tom had used when he'd joked around with Chakotay. At least, once the two men had decided they could actually stand each other.

"Of course I am," Riker went on dramatically, "especially when she made me read your card out loud to demonstrate the fact that the cake was for her and not for us." Everyone laughed, including Janeway. She silently wondered if Tom had always liked to cook.

He seemed to have a fondness for comfort foods aboard Voyager and she knew that his parents, like her own, were traditionalists. Was this a side of Tom she'd just never gotten to glimpse before, or something that had developed when they'd returned home? She didn't feel comfortable enough to ask in front of Riker and Picard, but refused to examine why.

"I could have sworn I saw ingredients for lasagna in the galley last night," Rix said, regarding her CO from her post at the tactical station. "Are you sure you aren't holding out on us, Commander?"

"Perhaps I am, Rix," Paris said, sitting down, and gesturing for Janeway to do so as well. "But what exactly are you doing poking around in my galley late at night, hmm?" His voice was serious, but his face was amused.

"I needed a late night snack after our post-shift run," Rix responded innocently.

"You can't have a hungry first officer, "Admiral Picard chimed in, looking at Paris.

"No, just a hungry commanding officer. Commanding officers do not eat. Nor do they sleep," Riker added. Tom shot Janeway a glance, and she colored a bit, expecting a comment. But he only winked at her.

Her coffee benders and skipping of meals were constant themes on Voyager. And though Tom had been more subtle than Chakotay in his concern, he'd often turned up in her ready room with a sandwich or bowl of soup in addition to whatever report he was there to go over with her.

The banter had died down just in time for shift change. While Paris and Lt. Commander Rix spoke ship's business with the crew members taking over the bridge, Riker and Picard chatted with Janeway about their upcoming diplomatic mission. Once Paris switched his attentions back to his ship, it became obvious how tightly he ran it. He gave directions in a voice that left no room for questions, communicated with his First Officer in a series of cryptic looks and nods that only they seemed to understand. He even peppered the crew who were reporting to him with questions about minute aspects of the ship's status. Janeway listened with one ear as she chatted diplomacy on the far side of the bridge.

Eventually, all four officers piled into the turbolift, waiting for Paris. He walked slowly, talking somberly with Harry about a diagnostics report before getting in. It was as though an independent gravity source was drawing him back to the bridge. Janeway inwardly smiled, remembering the feeling, as the lift door closed in front of them.

"So how long is the Titan docked for refitting, Will?" Tom asked after a moment, looking over his shoulder.

"Five weeks, total," the Captain responded behind him, shaking his head. Paris whistled. Janeway and Picard grimaced. Being away from one's ship was not an easy thing for a commanding officer. "At least the diplomatic missions are keeping me out of Deanna's hair."

"Well, we're happy to be your escort," Tom said, sincerely.

"Thanks." Riker's voice was pleasant. "You know, I told Starfleet that any waste or cargo ship would do." Everyone knew where was this was going and started to smirk. "I didn't realize they took me seriously until they told me you'd be picking me up." Tom pretended to ignore Riker, instead turning to Picard on his right.

"All those years with him as your First Officer," Paris said, his voice seemingly laced with concern. "You must have fought the urge to throw him out of an airlock every day." Picard leaned in, as if sharing a secret.

"Thankfully, we had a wonderful counselor on board. And she happened to know what it was like to ignore one's desire to transport a certain First Officer out into space." The lift doors opened as Riker chuckled, and Tom and Rix led the way down the corridor.

"You're one to talk, Tom," the Captain retorted, still intent on needling the younger man. "Poor Admiral Janeway had to put up with you for seven long years in the Delta quadrant. Tell the truth, Admiral. It's why Starfleet promoted you. The heroism of your putting up with Tom Paris."

Janeway was surprised by Riker's comment. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the humor; it was obvious that the Captain's barbs were harmless and that he and Tom were genuine friends. Rather, she'd fallen comfortably into the role of observer in the group's banter and she somehow felt awkward and out of place joining in. She and Tom hadn't had a chance to properly catch up yet, and she didn't judge it wise to start making wisecracks at his expense. She was grateful she was trailing the rest of the group, that no one was examining her face, as she mentally composed her answer.

"Sometimes, it was heroism," she said, nonchalantly. In front of her, she heard Tom snort. "But most days, I was just damn grateful to have him as a pilot and an officer." She couldn't see his face when she said this. Perhaps being in the back of the group also came with tactical disadvantages. The group turned to the right of a corridor, and doors opened to reveal a dining room furnished with dark wood furniture. They all walked in, circling the rectangular table in the center of the room.

"This is the formal dining room," Tom said to her. She assumed Picard and Riker had already been here before. "It connects to the galley, which in turns connects to the mess hall."

"A private Captain's entrance to the ship's kitchen. Your design, no doubt?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Well… there are a few perks to designing one's own ship." Tom looked at the ceiling. His sheepishness took her back to another time and place, and she laughed loudly, shaking her head.

"So… " Rix said, finally interrupting their exchange. Tom looked at her, expectantly. "What's for dinner? "

Paris rolled his eyes, moving to the replicator.