A/N This is another in my hopefully to be mini series based on 'Pathways' by Jeri Taylor. Thanks to sophiedoodle for letting me bounce ideas

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Paramount are the almighty overlords...

"Let me get this right," B'Elanna pressed her hands to her forehead, "You want to take our ten month old child to a bar in France to meet one of your old girlfriends?"

Tom laughed, the sound gentle and mocking, "Sandrine is not one of my old girlfriends. She helped me through a lot of dark times and I want her to see that I've finally got my life sorted out."

B'Elanna was obviously not convinced. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him pointedly, eyebrows slightly raised. Tom tried again.

"Look, OK, once upon a time Sandrine was interested in me but after the others died, she spent more time trying to look after me. I was so messed up, B'Elanna."

He pulled his face into what he hoped was a winning smile, "You can come too. To show that there is nothing to hide."

"Oh no, I'm not coming with you. I don't want to meet her. That hologram was bad enough," she breathed through her nose and Tom knew he had won, "But if it means that much to you, I'm not going to stop you. You can take Miral-"

"Thank you," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. She put a finger on his lips to stop him, "But on one condition. Take Harry with you or something. If you get distracted, he can watch her while you catch up."

Tom furrowed his brow, "Don't you trust me?"

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. I just mean I know what an old gossip you are. Once you get talking there's no stopping you. Harry can keep Miral busy and I'm sure he'd like to meet Sandrine anyway. You both spent enough time flirting with her on Voyager."

"Thank you," Tom whispered again, leaning in for the elusive kiss, "I love you."

***

Harry couldn't help but be impressed at the level of detail Tom had programmed into his holographic Sandrine's. They were walking along the dock towards the bar from the transport site and to Harry, it felt like he had been there a hundred times before. Hardly a thing was out of place, from the old fashioned streetlights that lined the path to the positioning of the ancient posts that marked the end of the shallow bay. It even felt like the dock on Voyager did. He considered paying Tom that compliment for a moment, before deciding that he would be better to continue as he was, strolling quietly, matching Tom's eager pace, being there if his friend needed to talk.

It was unusual for Tom to be as quiet as he was; Miral balanced on his hip and he had one arm wrapped protectively around her. She pulled absently at his hair but he didn't seem to notice. He had a look on his face that Harry rarely saw; Tom battled hard to forget his past but, on the odd occasion, Harry had caught him staring listlessly at a bulkhead or at his hands resting on the helm controls. He was always distant then with an oddly empty smile on his face and, walking to Sandrine's now, he was no different. Watching him from the corner of his eye, Harry reflected that he could hardly condemn his mood. The last time Tom had been here, he was in the pit of despair. He'd lost his three closest friends in an accident that he blamed himself for, he'd been practically disowned by his father and he had lost the only thing that he ever really felt good at – piloting. Tom was here to show off his daughter to his old friends, and let them know that he was back on his feet, but perhaps more than that he was here to close the door on his old life and lay the memory to rest for the last time.

They arrived at the door and Tom spoke for the first time, his eyes bright.

"Let's go."

"After you," Harry murmured, following at a distance as Tom pulled open the heavy door and stepped inside. Harry heard the shriek before he saw the woman. Tom had even programmed her voice right.

"Thomas!" she shrieked, "C'est Thomas! Quelle surprise!"

***

Tom sat at his old table, his eyes tracing the familiar knots of the wood. Sandrine had gone to get another drink, so for a moment he was alone with his thoughts. Harry was stood at the billiards table chatting to a softly spoken, young German scientist who had taken an interest in Miral's heritage. The little girl herself was sat on the table, one hand gripping Harry's sleeve and the other arranging the coloured balls into patterns. Tom couldn't help but laugh when Miral, deciding that Harry needed to pay more attention to her, threw one of the balls at his head. She had a mean aim for one so small.

"Thomas?" Sandrine called, "Rouge ou blanc?"

"Rosé!" he shot over his shoulder, grinning at the string of muttering that floated in his direction; Sandrine didn't approve of rosé wine, a fact he knew full well but always used to irritate her.

"You are lucky, Thomas," she placed a bottle of white wine on the table, "I am in a good mood today."

As she poured the wine into three glasses, Tom marveled at the fact that, in eight years, she hadn't apparently aged a day. It was true, if he looked hard enough, that she had slightly more pronounced lines around her eyes and her mouth but the sheer fact that she was still as bright as ever seemed to eclipse that. Even her walk hadn't changed; she took the third glass over to Harry. Tom didn't know what she said to him but she scooped up Miral brought her back to their table as Harry set the table for a game.

"Elle est trés belle, Thomas. Her mother must be very beautiful."

"She is," he answered simply, taking a sip from his wine.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again, Thomas," she narrowed her eyes, "I didn't even know you were on Voyager until a few years ago."

Tom didn't miss the slightly accusatory tone in her voice. Sandrine always acted as though everything was a personal attack against her.

"I couldn't contact anyone, Sandrine," he soothed, "They took me from the prison to the ship under Starfleet guard. I wasn't even allowed to talk to my mother."

"Ce n'est pas juste! Ta pauvre mère!"

"It's alright," he grinned. Sandrine was as changeable as a storm in the winter. She might take everything personally but in the same breath she was incredibly compassionate.

"It's alright," he repeated, "My father did one thing for me. He sent a guard to get a message from me for my mother. He didn't come and see me himself."

"Have you spoken to him, Thomas?"

"Yes. We're alright now. He even bought B'Elanna and I somewhere to live. It's near to my parents. I don't think they want me out of their sight."

"I cannot blame them. What was it like out there, Thomas? What sort of people did you meet?"

"It was like the Alpha Quadrant really, except that we couldn't hide behind Starfleet and the Federation. We had a couple of near misses, I can tell you that. Hostile aliens, technology we could hardly dream of. And Q of course."

"It sounds horrible. Are you glad to be home?"

He didn't answer. Furrowing her brow, she tried again.

"Thomas? Are you not glad to be home?"

"I suppose I am but...I felt more at home, more accepted on Voyager, than I ever felt on Earth. Except perhaps at Sandrine's of course."

"Flattery will get you nothing but another glass of the wine, Thomas. I am old now and you are a married man," she laughed.

"But still, you know what I mean. Voyager felt more like a family than anything I had experienced for a long time. I had a brother, a mother, a sister, a lot of grumpy uncles. The sexy, misguided cousin who tries to assimilate you. And of course B'Elanna."

"Et un père?"

"No. Not a father. But you've met my dad. No one could ever replace him."

"I didn't know what to do when he came here, Thomas. I was so confused. I wanted to stay loyal to you, of course, but then he seemed so – sad. I didn't have it in me to be cruel to him."

Tom had been rather surprised to learn that Owen Paris had occasionally been to visit the bar that his son had called home. He'd sat at Tom's table, played billiards with Tom's old companions, chatted to Sandrine about his son for hours at a time. For a man tied to his work, it was an odd change of character.

"He was apologetic, Thomas. He said he was sorry that he didn't speak the language. He'd never really thought about it, what with all the interpreter devices that we have today. I spoke to him in English of course. I couldn't ignore him."

"Speaking another language is the one thing I know how to do that my father doesn't. Well, didn't. B'Elanna has been teaching him Klingon. He wants to be able to talk to Miral in both languages. I can't believe how much Miral has changed him."

"I could say the same to you, Thomas," Sandrine looked down at the child sat on her lap, pulling experimentally at the heavy necklaces she wore, "When you walked in today, I could already see you had changed. You're a man now, Thomas."

"I thought I always was."

"Non! You were a boy, lost, scared, and far too immature. But whatever happened on Voyager has changed you. It's wonderful. I never thought you would have a family of your own. To be honest, I would often expect to hear that you had been killed in a stupid fight or over a silly bet. I'm proud of you now, Thomas."

"Merci, Sandrine," he said sincerely, "I needed to see you today. You're the only person I know would be completely honest with me."

For a moment, there was a silence. It said more than anything either of them could have come up with to fill the gap. Sandrine reached up to wipe away a single tear and Tom knew it was time to change the subject. The hard part was over.

"Did I ever tell you that I had a holographic programme of this bar on Voyager? It was very popular with the crew."

"If you want another glass of wine, you only have to ask. I see that some things never change."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your misguided assumption that women will cater to your every whim if you pay them a compliment."

"It's never been a problem before."

"You've never had a half Klingon wife before. You'd better be careful Thomas, if you don't want a bakleth in your head."

"Thanks for looking out for me, Sandrine," he roared with laughter.

"How do you say it Thomas? Old habits die hard."

"They sure do."