Chapter Text
Owen Paris groaned as he straightened his back and poured a second cup of stronger-than-tar black coffee, trying to shake off some of the aches that came with his 65 years. He never liked to start his day without a full two cups of high-octane caffeine in his system, a habit left over from his days in the air force, and today was no exception. His golden retriever, Lola, watched him with an impatiently thumping tail, eager for a walk around their neighborhood when he finished.
There were gray clouds gathering off in the west, rising above the rooftops of the houses across the street, and he could see a stiff breeze ruffling the leaves of the oak outside his kitchen window. “Winds of change,” Julia would have called it, the type of wind that signals the end of one season and the beginning of another. Summer was just bleeding into fall in Rochester, NY, and the tips of the leaves were already beginning to burn a blood red on the maples that lined the avenues in the upscale part of the city.
Running a hand through his gray hair, he ruefully thought that he needed a haircut. Julia would have handed him his ass for looking like such a ragamuffin, but he’d been busy and it had slipped his mind. The thought of his late wife’s feisty retorts made him chuckle and shake his head. After her death two years ago, enough time had passed that, while he missed her desperately, he could find joy in the happy memories of their time together.
And besides that, he was lucky in so many ways. After leaving the military he’d found a job he loved, teaching science at a local high school and retiring comfortably. He’d built a beautiful life with a woman he’d adored, had two daughters of their own and then loved countless other children who had drifted through their doors when they signed up to be foster parents. The day they signed the papers to open their home to children in need of respite had been one of the most nerve wracking days of his life, but also one of the greatest.
He had been hesitant at first, to take on more children as their girls reached their pre-teen years, but Julia had told him in that passionate way of hers that it was something she wanted to do, needed to do. As usual, she had been right. Those were busy times, hard times even, but some of the best of his life, with a house full of rowdy kids, constantly running from one activity to the next. All their lives had been touched by the others that passed through their door, and he knew some of those lives had been changed as well.
After Julia had passed away, that part of his life had ended. The agency had called a few times, asking for short term stays for youth, but he wasn't ready to tackle it yet without his wife. He still worked the afterschool program at the boxing gym, the same one he’d been involved with since his retirement from teaching 10 years ago, but there were no more young voices bouncing about the house. Well, not daily anyway, since his girls and their children certainly kept him busy.
He sighed deeply as he took another scalding sip of coffee, closing his eyes against the pleasurable slide of hot liquid down his throat. In the back of his mind, a dream he’d had last night was nagging at his thoughts.
He didn’t dream often, particularly not about Julia. Right after her death he often had dreams where she was alive and radiant, that left him waking with an ache in his chest and her name on his lips. But those had faded as the acceptance settled in that she was gone, and he could hold onto their memories while still living his life. Last night was different, however.
She’d been standing in the kitchen, hands on her hips, wearing her favorite apron and rolling out a pie crust. He’d frozen in place, watching her turn in place and set those sparkling blue eyes on him, a radiant smile forming on her lips. With a laugh, she’d dusted her palms off on her apron, then rested her hands on her full hips as she regarded him.
“Owen. I’ve got a job for you,” she said, her eyes warm and tender. A familiar phrase that she’d often teased him with, knowing that with a smile and wink she could get him to do just about anything she asked. He had always been an absolute fool for that woman.
He’d known then he was dreaming, that she wasn’t real, but he went to her anyway, grasping her hands. “Anything.”
“You’re not done yet. You and that big heart of yours. You’re not done,” she’d told him, palming his cheek with her soft hand, her eyes locked on his. The rush of love that swamped him was dizzying. God, he missed her so much. As he leaned in to kiss her, she’d faded into the darkness.
He wasn’t a man that believed in ghosts, but he did believe in God and in fate, and he’d be lying if he said the dream didn’t rattle him a bit. Julia had always known things before he did, she had that way about her. He wondered what on earth she was trying to tell him now, or if he was just a foolish old man who’d eaten rich food before bed.
The shrill ring of his cell phone interrupted his ponderings, and he reached into the worn denim pocket of his jeans to pick up the call.
********************
Kathryn Janeway studied the young man who sat in front of her in the common area of the group home, running a hand over her forehead in frustration. Another foster home that didn’t work out. Another couple who couldn’t handle the burden of a 14 year old who’d lived a life most adults couldn't even conceive of. It was a cycle she was determined to break.
She’d been a social worker for only two years, returning to the city that bordered the comfortable suburb where she had been raised to try and make a difference working with young people. It was a career change that she knew her friends never saw coming and, in all honesty, neither had she. Several years working as a researcher in New York City, acceptance to a Ph.D program in psychology at Fordham, she’d been light years from a career making a meager salary and hitting the streets of one of the most poverty-ridden cities in upstate NY.
She had no regrets though. Not one. It was a move that had sent her jumping off the fast track to academia and into the raw trenches of urban poverty and trauma and their impact on youth. Here, she was making a difference, and that rush was what had her bounding out of bed every morning, downing three cups of coffee and heading off to the foster agency.
Her eyes fell to the boy who sat scowling, slumped with crossed arms on the worn sofa . She’d been assigned to Tom for over a year now and, despite his prickly exterior, he’d worked his way into her heart in a way she tried her best not to let her cases. It made their stories stay with her at night, when she sat up late with a cup of coffee and wondered how she could possibly change the world when there was so much that needed changing.
Tom, however, was special. He was extremely smart, though his marks in school rarely reflected it, with a quick sense of humor and a genuine skill at hands-on-tasks. When someone managed to get close to him, he was loyal to a fault, and she expected he had a wonderful heart under all the armor he used to protect himself from his past.
She’d tried to impart it all on the last foster home that took him in, but he’d managed to sneak out one too many times and had landed himself back here. If someone could just be a little more patient, take some time to see past his guarded exterior, she knew he had such an incredible future ahead of him.
“Tom, what are we going to do about this?” she said gently, watching him sink further down into the worn cushions, his expression darkening.
“I don’t care. I’ll just stay here.” he grumbled at her, jerking his hand to move a shock of sandy hair from in front of his eyes. His ripped jeans and ancient sneakers looked like they needed a wash, and she made a mental note to remind him about laundry.
Kathryn knew the home was a terrible fit for him, and that he’d already been there too long. He needed care and patience and frankly, room to flourish that he would never get there. After only 2 weeks back he was already settling into some old habits with less than savory other kids. To make matters worse, just that morning she’d been told that, due to his age and overcrowding, he was going to be moved to a different facility with older kids, teens mainly ages 16-18. Kathryn had been a social worker long enough to know what would happen there, what he would be exposed to, and she was determined to prevent it.
She knew there were few other options, especially options that would keep him in central NY. He’d just begun adapting to the school system, had even made a few friends beyond the confines of the group home, and she was loath to make him give that up. Tapping the toe of her high heels against the carpet, she watched him fidget as she ran through the options in her mind.
“Tom, you know I want to help, but we can’t keep doing this. You have to try to give someone a chance, please.” she said gently.
“I do! They are the problem. Those people didn’t understand anything,” he spat, eyes narrowing in adolescent fury.
Shaking her head, Kathryn’s eyes went to the tablet in her hand, scanning her records for a list of open foster placements who were willing to take a chance on an adolescent boy with a sorted history. Her eyes fell on one on the bottom of the list, a name that made her heart leap with hope.
Owen Paris.
It was a risk, she knew, seeing the note that the last placement had been 3 years ago, before Julia’s death. Owen and Julia Paris had been legends in the foster care system for well over two decades, sheltering dozens of children in their home. Besides that, her father and Owen had served together years ago in the air force, young enlisted men who had eventually found themselves settling in and near the then-booming city of Rochester.
She hadn’t seen Owen since Julia’s funeral, and before that not for several years. She had no idea if he would even be open to the idea. But she remembered picnics in his backyard, reunions of the men who had served together in their unit. The love and the warmth that radiated from the Paris house was apparent even to a young girl.
Her gut told her this was the answer.
It was a last ditch effort, asking him to do this, but maybe it would be just what Owen Paris needed. And maybe what Tom needed too.
Bolstered by desperation and an innate knowledge that somehow this was the right choice for the lost boy sitting in front of her, she picked up her phone to make the call..
*****
“Kathryn Janeway! To what do I owe the pleasure of his call?” Owen couldn’t help the surprise and delight in his tone as the voice of friend’s daughter came across the other end of the line. He hadn’t seen Kathryn in ages, though certainly her father, Edward’s, bragging kept him abreast of her accomplishments. He had heard she was back in the area, but hadn’t had a chance to run into her yet. He knew she had grown into an exceptional young woman. Smart, savvy and fiercely devoted to advocating for the children in her care.
“It's good to hear your voice Owen, but I’m afraid this is a professional call, not a personal one.. I don’t know if you’re even interested or able to do this again, but I have a case that just made me immediately think of you…”
He listened quietly as Kathryn told him what she could of the boy’s story, feeling himself slip easily back into the role that he had filled for so many years. He’d taught young people in the city school system for years who suffered from complex situations outside of school. Even now, with his work in the after school program at the gym, he saw far too much struggle and pain with these teenagers.
What he also saw was incredible resilience, if someone would just believe in these kids.
“Of course. I’ll do it.” The words were out of Owen’s mouth before he’d fully formulated his thoughts. He just knew with utter certainty it was the right thing to do. On the other end of the line, Kathryn was profusely thanking him, explaining the process and the paperwork that he already knew all too well. He had done it dozens of times before.
After he hung up, he stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, his wife’s smile flashing through his mind, bright and approving and clear as the day he met her.
“Well, Julia, here we go again.” he said quietly, chuckling to himself. He was probably out of his mind, taking on a teenage boy alone at his age, but what was life if not filled with risk and reward?
“Owen?” A loud voice hollered from the front door and Owen grinned, remembering another spirited young boy who had also crossed his door years ago, now grown and stomping his boots on the front porch.
“Chakotay! What are you doing here? Don’t you need to be at the gym?” Owen opened the door and gave the younger man a hearty clap on the shoulder. Of all the young people who had spent time in the Paris house, Chakotay was one that held a special place in Owen’s heart, and he was fiercely proud of the man he had become.
“Mike’s opening for me today, I came by to see if you wanted to come with me to speak at one of the local schools next week. They are having groups come in to talk about after-school programs and want ours to be part of it.” Chakotay shrugged off his coat, already making his way to the coffee pot. He was as much at home here as his own house, and Owen wouldn’t have it any other way.
Years ago, Chakotay had been a bullheaded, angry twelve year old boy who had been placed in temporary foster care after his mother passed away. He’d been one of the lucky ones though, he’d found his way eventually to an aunt and uncle who’d embraced him as one of their own. Even so, Owen Paris was still a constant in his life, especially with Owen volunteering for the afterschool program at the boxing gym Chakotay ran.
“I’d say yes, but I have kind of a big change happening here. Going to have a young man staying with me for a while and I want to make sure he gets settled in properly.” Owen handed Chakotay a mug, watching as the other man’s eyes went wide.
“Really? You up for that again?” Chakotay asked, pouring himself a generous cup.
Owen huffed good-naturedly, “Hell if I know, but sometimes you just get a feeling about something. That its the right thing to do.”
Chakotay nodded. He did know. And he also knew that Owen Paris was a great believer in giving what he had to give to others, whether than was time or money or a soft place to land. Owen was the reason he’d become the man he was today, spending his own stint in the military before coming home to run a boxing ring in the middle of the city. His aunt and uncle had moved down south recently, so Owen was the closest thing he had to family left locally.
“Well, let me know if there is anything I can do to help. And bring him by the gym for program if he’s interested, maybe we can get him connected with some of the other kids,” Chakotay leaned on the counter, remembering his own days as an angry teen, working off some of the frustration and the hurt against a good speed bag.
“Will do. I’ve heard he’s a fighter, so it might do him some good to learn where and when. Sounds like someone else I used to know.” Owen smiled over his cup, his eyes dancing merrily. Yep, this was definitely going to be an adventure, he thought, but he figured he had at least one more in him.