January 2363
Cadet Tom Paris viewed the monitor on his desk with a barely controlled sense of panic. On it were displayed the grades from his first semester at the Academy, and they were not acceptable. They had been released only twenty minutes prior but already he had a blinking icon in the corner of his screen, indicating waiting messages. It had to be the Admiral. How could a little yellow dot look so accusatory?
Really, it wasn't that bad. I mean, a B+ average is downright respectable. It was his first semester at a new school! All kinds of intense pressure! He got an A in Intro to Astrophysics! And Biochemistry! If only he hadn't fallen in love with his cruel, heartless lab partner, that Stellar Cartography grade would have been much higher.
Who am I trying to fool here? The Admiral is not exactly known for his sympathy regarding matters of the heart. Tom started to bang his head against the surface of the desk.
"Hey, I'm no expert, only being a first year engineering student and all; but I'm pretty sure that is not good for you," said an unfamiliar voice.
Tom jerked his head up to see a shortish, red-haired cadet regarding him with an expression of amused bewilderment. He was carrying a suitcase. "Uh, can I help you?" Tom said.
The cadet thrust out his hand confidently towards Tom. "Charlie Day," he said. "I'm your new roommate."
"New roommate?" Tom said, confused. "But Ichigo…" He looked to the other side of his dorm room, and noticed for the first time since he'd returned from break an hour ago that it was empty of any personal belongings.
"Must've dropped out," Charlie replied and looked over Tom's shoulder. "Maybe it's in one of those...wow, seven messages you're ignoring? Hey, nice GPA! Mom! Dad!" he called over his shoulder, "Looks like I'm moving up in the world! Roommate-wise, at least." He winked conspiratorially at Tom. "My last one washed out. He totally bombed Stellar Cartography. I mean, seriously, what kind of idiot fails that class?"
Tom quickly shut his console. "Your parents are here?" he asked, looking towards the door.
Charlie had already opened his suitcase on the other bed. "Yeah, they'll be along in a sec. I'm an only, you know, so they feel like they have to document every moment of my life. There's probably a detailed list of my sock preferences somewhere, and possibly a holovid compilation of my first day of school pictures from the last thirteen years. Which reminds me, watch out for my Dad's holocamera. He's brutal."
As if on cue, Tom looked up to have a flash go off in his face. "Ah!" said a man that looked like someone had put his son in a time machine and sent him thirty years into the future, "You must be Charlie's new roommate! Mitchell Day!" He reached out for Tom's hand in a gesture exactly the same as his son's.
Tom stood quickly into an at-ease position and extended his right hand. "Yes, sir. Cadet Tom Paris, sir."
Mr. Day started laughing, "At ease, Cadet!"
Charlie sighed from where he was unpacking. "He is at-ease, Dad. And relax, Paris, my parents are definitely not Starfleet."
"Paris?" The older Day said. "Any relation to Vice Admiral Paris?"
Tom cleared his throat. "Yes, sir... I mean, Mr. Day. Admiral Paris is my father."
"Well, well, well!" Mr. Day clapped him hard on the shoulder, "Charlie, you are moving up in the world!"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Mitchell, don't be such an ass. You're going to embarrass the poor boy." A petite brown haired woman bustled into the room, her face mostly blocked by the large box in her arms. "And why don't you put down that infernal camera and take this!"
Tom quickly came to her rescue, "Here, ma'am, let me get that for you."
"Thank you, dear, you're very kind." She beamed at him. "Tom, you said? I'm Elizabeth Cornwall. Charlie's mum, and to my occasional regret, Mitchell's wife." She elbowed her husband in the side, but Tom didn't miss the affection in her tone.
The various members of the Day family spent the next hour unpacking Charlie's things, decorating the dorm room, plying Tom with homemade cookies, and engaging in a large amount of good natured teasing. Tom was initially taken aback at how easy Charlie was with his parents, but quickly got into the spirit of things as Elizabeth (both she and Mitchell insisted on first names) gently got him to open up about his own family and interests and coursework. "That must be quite a bit of pressure, having descended from generations of Starfleet officers. I'm afraid I would have run screaming in the opposite direction if I were you," she said at one point, an understanding smile on her face.
"Actually," Tom said, blushing a little, "I did consider…"
"Thomas." A quiet, stern voice interrupted his thought. It came from a man with ice blue eyes and short-cropped grey hair. He filled the doorway of the small room.
"Admiral on deck!" Tom responded immediately, and turned to face his father in full attention stance. Charlie followed suit a beat later.
"At ease, cadets," he intoned, in the same soft but commanding tone. He walked past the young men and headed straight to Charlie's family. "You must be Cadet Day's parents. Vice Admiral Owen Paris," he said, hand extended.
Tom didn't dare turn around to see Mitchell's and Elizabeth's reactions to his imposing father, so he was surprised at the change in tone when Charlie's mother spoke. Gone was the warm and friendly voice she used with her family. It was replaced by one that was crisp and professional and very British. "Elizabeth Cornwall. And this is my husband, Mitchell Day."
"Cornwall?" Owen asked. "As in the ethics professor from Harvard Law?"
"The very one."
"We wanted you to teach here," the Admiral responded, his tone implying that he didn't understand why something he wanted hadn't come to pass.
"Yes, you did."
He came around to Charlie now and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, Day, you come from impressive stock. I also hear from Professor Lanka that your final paper for Quantum Mechanics was well beyond typical first year work. Well done."
"Thank you, sir!"
"Don't let your new roommate be a bad influence on you, now." Tom's father said, aiming a sidelong glance at his son. "Tom's approach to his studies can be a bit casual."
"I'm sure it won't be an issue, sir!"
Tom couldn't risk a grateful look at his new roommate, as much as he wanted to show him one. Charlie had just given his father a response that was not just respectful but also managed to stick up for a guy he met only an hour ago. It showed a gift for insinuation that Tom himself had yet to master, and he'd dealt with the man his whole life.
"If you all will excuse us, I need to have a word with my son. Thomas, the corridor please." He stopped before he followed Tom into the hallway. "You should give my aide your contact information. I'm sure my wife would love to have you to the house for dinner."
Tom started to walk towards the exit of the dormitory, assuming they were heading for his father's office. "Here will be fine, Tom, I've got a briefing in fifteen," his father said from a spot only steps outside his room.
"Right here?" Tom said, uncertain. "It's just... people are coming back from break, there's a lot of foot traffic."
"Maybe if you hadn't ignored the half a dozen messages I sent, I wouldn't have had to waste time walking across campus."
Tom swallowed hard. "Yes, sir." Steady on, Cadet. You can handle this. Time to fortify against the enemy.
"I suspect you know what I'm going to say, Thomas." And Thomas certainly did. He knew it so well he could almost recite the lecture the Admiral was giving him word for word. This iteration's subject might be Stellar Cartography, but the main themes of Parental Disappointment, Startling Lack of Discipline and the granddaddy of them all, Not Living up to Your Potential were all touched upon. As per usual, the Admiral's voice started out calm, but gradually escalated in tone until he was near shouting. He always seemed to be frustrated by Tom's lack of an appropriate response, despite the fact that he never allowed his son to speak during one of his sermons. Tom's general strategy at this point was one of feigned retreat. Look like you're listening, internally consider what you might want to replicate for dinner. This time Tom was so tuned out, he nearly missed the punchline.
"And what about Biochemistry?" his father demanded. Was this some sort of diversionary tactic? Proceed with caution, Cadet.
"I got an A in Biochem," Tom said, indignant. Counter-attack! Finally he had a leg to stand on.
"Yes, the grade is fine, Tom, but why did you take it? Biochemistry is not a standard part of the command track curriculum."
Ambush! Tom wasn't expecting this. Going to battle against the Admiral unprepared was near suicide. "Last summer, when I was picking classes, I talked to Kath. She thought, I mean, I thought… The sciences.. Well rounded..." His voice petered out into an unintelligible mumble. Major tactical error! Crap. It had made sense when his sister had said it.
"Did Kathleen join Starfleet when I wasn't looking?" his father asked him. Turning maneuver - his father was the master of isolating his enemies from their allies.
"No, sir." When in doubt, retreat and regroup.
"Your sister's proclivity for the life sciences is irrelevant to your academic career. Your mother thinks I should give you more freedom to make your own decisions. But it's clear to me you're not ready for that. I've fixed your schedule for the semester, you should review it before classes start tomorrow." He handed Tom a PADD.
Tom looked it over. "But you've changed nearly everything! What about Temporal Mechanics? And Submolecular Biology? And you put me in your section of Survival Strategies." And… he was whining. The Tom Paris version of running up the white flag. Total capitulation. Maybe I should have taken more command track classes.
"The classes you had showed absolutely no direction or focus; it's like you picked them randomly out of a hat. This schedule is much better for what you want to do," his father said off-handedly, looking at a second PADD in his hand.
"What you want me to do, you mean." He should have known better than to think he could ever score a win. His father was one of the foremost experts on wars of attrition, after all.
His father sighed, and his face softened. A little. "Tom, I know you don't believe me, but I do have your best interests at heart. You're a Paris. The fast track to a command posting is yours for the taking. And you have everything you need to make it happen - talent, charisma, natural leadership abilities. You can do this - but only if you believe you can. And until you do, I'll believe it for you." He tapped the PADD he was carrying lightly against Tom's shoulder. "Your mother wants you home for dinner on Sunday. I'm already late." And without further ceremony, the Admiral walked briskly down the corridor.
Tom slowly re-entered his dorm room, head down, shoulders slumped, and focusing very hard on pushing down the emotions that were fighting to overwhelm him. He looked up to see the entirety of the Day family lined up on Charlie's bed, spines straight and looking anywhere but at him. He wondered in the back of his mind if they'd meant to organize themselves in order of descending height.
"Sorry you had to hear all that," he started to apologize.
The family immediately sprung to life, all talking at once.
"What are you talking about? Hear what?"
"Don't worry about it, dear, we could barely make out what was said!"
"Did you leave the room, Tom? I didn't notice!"
Tom just remained where he was standing, blinking at them.
Charlie's mother broke first. "My God, family, we are the worst collection of liars in the entire quadrant!" she moaned, her face in her hands.
Surprising even himself, Elizabeth's distress struck Tom as immensely funny and he burst out laughing. His reaction seemed to relieve the Days a great deal, and they all came up to him, still talking over each other in their rush to reassure him.
Mitchell ended the commotion by clapping him on the shoulder once again. "Clearly you are a man who needs a drink! We're going to that new Moroccan-Bolian fusion place in the Mission. You should join us for dinner!"
"You will join us for dinner," Elizabeth said firmly, meeting his eyes despite their difference in height.
"Thank you for the invitation, but-" Tom started.
"They won't take no for an answer, Paris. Just give up now." Charlie interrupted, his chin resting lightly on his mother's head.
"OK," he said, since surrender was apparently the Tom Paris word of the day, "But just dinner. Alcohol and I don't really mix. There was an... incident a few years ago, involving some Romulan ale and my father's shuttle. And a lake."
Mitchell had his arm around his shoulders now, and was guiding him out the door. "If at first you don't succeed - try, try again. That applies to alcohol as much as anything in life, Tom."
"Really, Mitchell, you've already corrupted our own child, isn't that enough?" Elizabeth squeezed Tom's hand affectionately. "Don't worry, love. I'll look after you."
Author's Note: Full credit goes to Sareki for the idea of Bolian fusion. Such a great, and yet terrible, idea. Also, I've hidden little Easter Eggs throughout the story, some fairly obvious (why does a pilot take a single semester of biochem?) and some very very subtle. I'm curious if anybody will catch them - please post a comment if you figure them out.
