A/N: Written for Sareki - thanks to her for supplying a fun and challenging title. Also a big thank you to Delwin, who offered her usual wisdom on initial ideas and then played a big part in helping me get this down to a neat and tidy 3000 (almost) words.
This was going to be some kind of 5+1 but it ended up as a straight 6.
Normalcy
1.
It was a stupid idea. A complete waste of time. What useful information did Mr. Stobarts think his history students were going to learn by listening to their classmates talk about how their families ended up on Kessik IV and about what they had achieved since their arrival? Even worse, each student had to illustrate their presentation with a poster-sized family tree complete with photographs! It was totally ridiculous. The kind of project more suited to second grade kids.
Had B'Elanna only been required to sit through nineteen such presentations and look like she was interested, that would have been more or less bearable. But, to have to research and prepare a presentation herself, on her own fractured family, then stand at the front of the classroom with twenty pairs of eyes all fixed upon her before fielding what would, without a doubt, be a bunch of insensitive queries about Klingons…
It was a nightmare.
She'd considered escaping the impending ordeal by faking illness when she woke on the day in question. But her class had a practical electronics test after recess, and B'Elanna knew she could ace it. She needed to score well to secure her place in the advanced science class next semester, which would put her on track towards meeting the entry requirements of Starfleet Academy in a couple more years. And then she could get off this goldfish bowl of a planet.
Mr. Stobarts was obsessed with alphabetical order. On the plus side, it meant that B'Elanna sat as far from Yuri Antonov and Dermot Briggs as was possible in the compact classroom. But it also meant that B'Elanna came last on the rollcall: that B'Elanna went last whenever the students in her class had to take it in turns to do anything. For her, there was never such a thing as 'getting it over and done with' and then being able to relax for the rest of the lesson. So she sat through nineteen presentations, simmering with resentment at the injustice of the situation, longing for a fire drill or another kind of lesson-interrupting emergency that she knew would never come.
Yuri went first, bragging that all four of his still living and socially prominent fully human grandparents had, in their twenties, been among the first hundred Kessik IV citizens. His still very much together parents had been in the first team of climbers to conquer Mount Kirk without supplementary oxygen, and his very photogenic older brother – the first free diver to navigate the Black Creek cave system – had recently set up the colony's first chain of publically accessible holosuites.
Dermot's presentation was a similar tale of accomplishments. Typically lazy, he'd put a lot of work into his poster. From the spider's web of connected names he was related to every family on the planet.
Not one of the next few students came from a single-parent household. Gita Desai had moved to the colony with an aunt and uncle, but only because her still very much together parents were gallicite prospecting in the Beta Quadrant until the end of the year. Noah MacDonald, to B'Elanna's surprise, revealed that he'd had a Betazoid great-grandfather (the boy was about as empathic as a garden gnome), but the other kids were human through and through.
By the time her turn was imminent, B'Elanna had a nauseating headache.
"And last but not least, B'Elanna."
The sound of her name was like a punch to the gut. Mr. Stobarts smiled broadly as he looked her directly in the eye and added, "I'm sure we've all been especially looking forward to hearing from you."
Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
The family tree she'd reluctantly cobbled together had no photographs. She'd probably take some flak from Mr. Stobarts for a lack of effort, but better that than give the bullies any more ammo by showing them a line-up of bad teeth and bulging foreheads.
And, anyway, she hadn't even told her mother about this project – hadn't wanted to ask her for any information, anecdotes, or pictures, not that they had many of the latter. B'Elanna had made all her notes from memory. She'd tell the class about her mother's work and about how that had brought Miral to Kessik. If prompted, she'd share the same about her father. Her presentation wouldn't last long.
Slowly, she rose from her chair.
2.
From the sunlit courtyard below, a dozen voices: the overexcited Bolian from the line at registration with her three equally raucous parents; the inquisitive Ktarian girl from the transit station with merely two; a pair of humans – twin brothers – that B'Elanna had yet to encounter up close, accompanied by their father, mother, and a younger sister. All mingling. Some laughing. Maternal advice. A plea against overprotectiveness. The giving and receiving of reassurances.
Elaborate, protracted goodbyes.
She couldn't get away from it, even here, alone in her dorm with the poorly soundproofed window slammed shut, her designated roommate mercifully yet to appear.
Her own, unshared, rite of passage had begun with the argument to end all arguments. Had continued with her first unaccompanied interstellar journey – three days idled away in her cabin with a literally eye-opening Klingon romance novel from the starliner's library on her PADD and far too many replicated pancakes in her stomachs. Not exactly ideal preparation for one of the quadrant's most prestigious academic institutions. Arriving on Earth with two days to spare, she'd spent some time visiting landmarks around the bay, staying overnight in a hostel near the Federation Council buildings. And today, she'd reported as ordered to Starfleet Academy, stepping into the registration office at midday – no, at twelve hundred hours – to find it already packed with her fellow freshmen cadets. And their entourages.
From the cheery lieutenant on the desk she got her dorm allocation. Directions to change into the uniform she'd find hung in her closet. A timetable. Next followed an informal lunch and a guided tour of the campus – for freshmen and their families. In B'Elanna's group, not even the Vulcans had turned up alone.
Moving away from the window, she slumped down on the chair at the desk near the door. The sounds from the courtyard were quieter here, the words blurring into a tolerable white noise. But, as she keyed on the computer – for what exact purpose she had yet to decide – a fresh assault of jovial voices reached her tired ears from the corridor.
And the dorm room door hissed open.
3.
"Well?"
"It was a minor disagreement."
"A minor disagreement? Balon Zor lost two front teeth!"
And Balon should be thanking her, given the state of his departed incisors. Didn't they have dentists on Bajor? "He pushed me, Chakotay," B'Elanna told her captain. "He–"
"Physically?"
"No, but–"
"You've got to learn to keep your temper in check. This is the third time in a month that we've had this conversation."
True enough, but the last couple of times there'd been no punching to be chastised for – just a lot of 'aggressive and disruptive' insults and cursing. "So you're taking his side without even hearing me out?" It was just like being back at the Academy.
"He's the one in the medbay, B'Elanna." Chakotay sighed, waving to his tiny office's only chair. "But, if you have a good explanation for your actions then talk to me. I'll listen."
Ignoring the offer to be seated, she considered how to phrase her reply. "I don't like the way he looks at me," she began.
Chakotay's eyebrows rose.
"Or the way he speaks to me." B'Elanna continued before Chakotay could interrupt her again. "He questions everything I ask him to do – in critical situations. Yesterday, we nearly had a core breach because of him." And now, folding her arms across her chest, she reached the crux of the matter: "It's because I'm half-Klingon."
"I highly doubt that."
"You don't know what it's like! I've lived with this bullshit my whole life. Believe me, I know prejudice when I see it."
"If Balon has a problem, then it's nothing to do with you being part-Klingon."
"No? Then what is it? The fact that I'm a woman? That I'm younger than him? It's the twenty-fourth century. And I know more about engineering than he ever will."
"It's because you're ex-Starfleet."
That took B'Elanna aback. "What? I was only a cadet. You were a lieutenant commander. He doesn't second guess your orders."
"But I have a personal stake in this war. My home colony was attacked by the Cardassians. I lost family to them. Your reasons for joining the Maquis are somewhat different. You can't blame Balon for being a little… wary. Other cells have been infiltrated by Starfleet Intelligence."
"Starfleet wouldn't use me to spy for them, would they? I'm not exactly inconspicuous."
Chakotay laughed at that. "No, not exactly."
Unamused, she continued, "None of the others are suspicious of me."
"Perhaps they're just better at hiding it."
B'Elanna threw up her hands. "Oh, great. So Seska, Meyer, Nelson – you're saying they're just pretending to make friends with me?"
"No, not at all." Chakotay sat down in his chair. "But the typical route into the Maquis is through some personal history with the Cardassians. You probably wouldn't be here had your time at the Academy gone as planned. You didn't come looking for the cause – the cause found you."
"Surely that's all the more reason for Balon to trust me?"
"Yes and no. But, forget about him for a moment. We need you, B'Elanna. You're a skilled engineer, you work hard and your efforts are appreciated. Could you just try to be a little more…"
"Normal?" she snapped.
Chakotay frowned. "More patient. And less…"
Klingon?
"…volatile."
Had he had this conversation with Dalby? Or Suder? Chakotay himself had been known to settle disagreements with his fists, so she'd heard. Did he plan on making some changes? She liked him a lot – owed him her life – but today he was being a hypocritical ass.
"Fine," she told him. Because she had to make it work here. She had to fit in.
In her whole life, the closest she'd ever come to that was here.
4.
They were at it again: Rollins, Strickler, and the squat red-haired crewman from Transporter Maintenance, glaring across the mess hall at the backs of Ayala and Tabor and whispering to each other.
B'Elanna turned her gaze towards her newly seated dining companion, telling him in hushed tones, "I think you should stop greeting me like that."
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "Huh?"
"Stop calling me 'Maquis' – at least when there are Starfleet people around."
The fresh faced ensign's frown deepened. "Why?" he murmured, before his eyes widened in horror. "I haven't upset you, have I? I didn't mean to. I thought–"
B'Elanna waved her fork to cut him off. Then, trying to be subtle, she tipped her head towards the table occupied by Rollins and his cohort. "Some of the Starfleet crew have been… less welcoming than you towards us," she explained. "I don't think it's wise to rub people's noses in the fact that I'm…" She paused to remember and rephrase the exact words she'd overheard outside of Deflector Control that morning. "…a vicious terrorist who belongs in the brig."
Harry's jaw dropped. "Somebody said that to you? Who? You should report them."
"It wasn't about me specifically and it doesn't matter who said it." In fact, she wasn't certain whose mouth the words had spilled out of, though she could narrow it down to a handful of suspects.
"But… but I thought everyone was getting on really well."
Of course he did. He spent most of his duty hours with the senior staff on the bridge and most of his free time with Tom Paris. "Things are going better than I'd expected," B'Elanna admitted. There'd been no riots, murders, or mutinies yet. "But meshing two crews like ours – it's hardly a normal situation. And it's only been a few weeks. People are still getting used to the idea." Herself included.
"I guess it is a little crazy," Harry agreed.
"I don't see any point in making life more difficult when it's easily avoidable." She was perfectly capable of making life more challenging for herself than it needed to be without Harry's input.
"So, does this mean you're going to stop calling me 'Starfleet'?"
He sounded disappointed. Most likely, he'd been one of those kids who played 'Starfleet versus the Klingons' in his kindergarten playground. And Harry Kim would always have been on the Starfleet team.
B'Elanna grinned. "Not a chance."
5.
B'Elanna had started reading from stardate 54063 – the day they got married. A day that she couldn't remember.
The first log entry she'd read had been short, but Tom's happiness shone through nevertheless. Subsequent entries chronicled their brief honeymoon on a shuttle called the Delta Flyer II (where a practical joke instigated by Harry Kim had left both her and Tom covered in confetti when they'd turned on the sonic shower) and then 'moving day', on which she and Tom had transferred personal effects from their respective quarters into a new, joint accommodation. Apparently, there'd been some friction over furniture arrangements. Tom had managed to 'patiently talk her round' over the placement of his lamps, but she'd had the final say on both the television and the toaster.
B'Elanna smiled as a spark of memory ignited into a more vivid recollection. She recalled them watching an old movie that evening, sharing a large tub of popcorn on the sofa. But she couldn't remember the name, plot, or even the genre of that movie any more than she could remember retiring early to bed with Tom only to be 'rudely interrupted' by someone called Vorik 'seeking her advice about a pressure overload in a plasma conduit'.
Her own personal log was very mission and work focused, factual with very little in the way of private thoughts. So she'd decided to attempt to access Tom's, the files protected only with an alphanumeric password. Something made her type in #CHAOTICA and, on her first try, she was able to open the log and download it to a PADD which she'd then brought along to the mess hall. From reading just a few of Tom's emotion-infused reflections, she was certain she could learn far more about herself, him, and their relationship than by trawling through her own dispassionate narrative.
There'd been a mutiny not long after they'd married. B'Elanna, under the influence of mind control, had been one of the mutineers. In the following months, she'd attended a conference on transwarp theory, been kidnapped by (but had ended up helping) a bunch of sentient holograms, and had planned and directed a major maintenance overhaul on a weary Voyager. Compared to her unvarying night shifts at the power distribution plant on Quarra, it seemed like a chaotically crazy life. But this ship was her home. Tom and other members of the crew were her family. And crazy, it seemed, was pretty much the norm around here.
With every revived real memory, the false history she'd been imprinted with faded further. She could no longer recall the name or the face of the man she'd been programmed to think was the father of her unborn child. She could no longer remember why he'd abandoned her.
Tom would never do such a thing: that's what he'd stated explicitly in his log a couple of days after learning he was going to be a father. Pride, excitement, a little natural apprehension that he hadn't wanted to admit – there was all of that within his words. And then hurt and frustration when B'Elanna's insecurities had caused her to lie to him. If he'd forgiven her for that – for nearly succeeding in altering the DNA of their unborn daughter without his consent and for no good medical reason – then he had to be committed to their relationship.
"I'm just about to make myself a snack," Neelix called from the galley. "Can I get you something?"
"That would be nice. Thanks," she told him.
"Anything in particular? Or shall I surprise you?"
"Surprise me," she said, then, soon afterwards, experienced a tingle of regret. Neelix's cooking was a little unconventional. That she remembered.
6.
"You know, next time there'll be three of us."
B'Elanna frowned across the cave at Tom. "I'm not sure what a ten-month-old will make of the Day of Honour."
"What do you want her to make of it?"
B'Elanna sat down on a nearby ledge, mot'loch simmering in her stomachs. It was syntheholic this time around, but still packed a punch. "What I want," she said, as Tom parked himself beside her, "is for our daughter to make up her own mind. I'm not going to make her observe any traditions that she has no interest in."
"But we can't ask a baby for her opinion."
"We can't hand a baby a bat'leth, or take her on a trek through the sulphur lagoons of Gorath, or give her mot'loch. Not a three-quarters human baby."
"Klingon babies drink that stuff?"
"It's watered down. A little."
"So we'll stick to pureed blood pie and mashed up sanctified targ heart."
"You think we should just include her in this until she's old enough to opt out?"
"You don't?"
"I guess I thought we'd stick to bedtime stories about Toby the Targ for the first couple of years."
"I'm not suggesting that we make a big deal out of it – the opposite, actually. Just that we treat it like First Contact Day or Prixin: just another holiday that we commemorate together."
It was a sensible idea – a conclusion she might have come to herself after giving the matter some extended thought. For B'Elanna, the Day of Honour dredged up strong and mixed emotions. But, for their daughter, it could be just a normal holiday – until she decided for herself how much significance to place upon it.