9.
Miral is chewing on my ear. On my ear! And all Tom does about it is ask her if she's hungry in that cutsie-silly-talking-to-a-baby tone that everyone uses to address her. What about "Don't chew Toby, little one. You'll hurt him."? Or perhaps, "Aww, poor Toby. Targs are not for eating." And she's hardly a baby anymore. At six months old, she can crawl, she can cruise around the furniture, she can throw things…
B'Elanna is no better than Tom. B'Elanna's father, occupying the same sofa as Tom's parents in the living room of our Starfleet-issue apartment, is my only defender. John is concerned that Miral might swallow fluff. I'll have him know my fur is non-shedding!
Grr. You've no doubt heard of a bear with a sore head. Well, I'm a targ with a sore (and soggy) ear.
I do understand, of course, why Miral finds me so irresistible. Who wouldn't? I just wish she would pay more attention to the masses of toys she's accumulated and be less attached to me. Though I suppose I should feel lucky. Flotter was dropped on the sidewalk to be crushed under the muddy wheels of an Andorian couple's tandem. The custom-made Arachnia doll was lost at sea during our recent family outing to Lake Tahoe. I can't even bring myself to think about what happened to the inflatable Trevis. His punctured and tattered remains went into our apartment's replicator and have never been seen again!
"What is that odd little thing, anyway?" Tom's mother queries with a frown. "A warthog?
Odd? Is she talking about me? She's pointing at me! Miral unclamps her teeth from my ear and hugs me more tightly. B'Elanna gives her mother-in-law the evil eye.
"It's a targ pup," John says.
'It'? I do have a name!
"He's Toby the Targ, Mom," says Tom. He sits with Miral and I on the living room carpet, where the three of us are squeezed between a large rubbery Tyrannosaurus and a mound of plastic fruits and vegetables. B'Elanna occupies the armchair under the window, the wine glass in her hand nearly empty. "The classic children's character," Tom goes on. "Star of books and holo-novels."
Not to mention award-winning author! And I think 'classy' is a better descriptor than 'classic'. 'Classic' just makes me sound really old and boring.
"He's been around for years," Tom continues. "Since B'Elanna and I were kids. And didn't Moira have a set of his 'First Adventures in Algebra' books?"
Urgh. That tedious series wasn't my idea. The kids can blame Broht & Forrester.
"Oh. Possibly," Julia concedes, taking a sip of her own alcoholic beverage: something purple in a tumbler with ice. "That does sound vaguely familiar." She coughs a laugh. "You were always more obsessed with those mermaid stories. Do you remember? Your sisters told you they were real and inhabited a water world in the Delta Quadrant. You were devastated when you learned that wasn't true."
I think she's attempting to lighten the mood – somebody needs to. Though B'Elanna and Tom have spent time with their parents on several occasions since Voyager returned to Earth, today is the first time that B'Elanna's father has met Tom's mom and dad. B'Elanna's feet were nearly wearing through the carpet before they all arrived. Tom tried to offer soothing words, but he looked kind of twitchy himself. Miral must have picked up on their unease: she screamed like a cha'qu' when Tom put her down for a mid-morning nap.
Despite Julia's absolute clanger of a faux pas (surely she knows about Monea?), B'Elanna manages a half-hearted snicker. "Mermaids, Tom?"
"I was three years old!" Tom retorts. "And, given the things we've seen, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if there was, in fact, a planet inhabited by mermaids in the Delta Quadrant."
Now Tom's father – the admiral – speaks up in support of his son. "There are far more unlikely beings than mermaids in our galaxy," he says, nodding thoughtfully with the hint of a smile on his lips. "Even in the Alpha Quadrant."
Quite right. Nobody believed in vampires until the crew of that first contact mission to Sanguis Major came back with enlarged teeth and an allergy to sunlight.
Miral raises the hand that isn't smothering me to point towards the arm of the sofa, where the remote control for Tom's television set lies in front of Owen's elbow. The motion is accompanied by what I've come to think of as Miral's 'Give me that now!' sound – a short, moderately loud grunt. Tom doesn't usually let her play with this particular gadget, even though that refusal often sparks a tantrum. Today he is quick to ask his father to pass it over to the little girl. Miral drops me into her lap. She then takes great delight in pressing all the buttons on the controller, gurgling away in a happy tone and returning the enchanted smiles of all three grandparents.
"Will she be walking unaided soon, B'Elanna?" asks Julia.
B'Elanna frowns. "I, uh, I really couldn't say."
"B'Elanna was running around at eight months," John chimes in. "She could hop before her first birthday."
"Miral is three-quarters human," Tom reminds him from the floor.
"Of course," Julia says, "And, by that rationale, we can expect her to be walking a little later than B'Elanna was. Is that what you're saying, Tom?"
This little exchange is not going down well with B'Elanna. I know that look in her eyes: it's the look that usually heralds an explosive verbal outburst with or without physical violence against inanimate objects.
"Does it matter?" Owen interjects.
The question is directed at his wife: Owen's hand taps lightly on her knee. But it's B'Elanna who answers with a resolute: "No. It doesn't."
"Kids are all so different anyway," John says to the room in general. "Human, Klingon – they do things when they're ready, don't they?" Then he shifts forwards to perch on the sofa's edge and address Miral in his own silly adult-to-baby tone. "Once you find your feet there'll be no stopping you, will there? You'll be running wild."
"I remember when Tom started walking," Julia says, sipping at her drink. "We were on a family camping trip. It was Kathleen's idea, but Owen was more than happy to show the girls some wilderness survival skills." Julia turns to her husband. "Weren't you, darling?" The admiral merely nods. "One minute Tom was propped up against a giant sequoia and the next thing we knew he was toddling around our campsite with a huge grin on his face." Julia elbows Owen. "He was so pleased with himself, wasn't he?"
"Very pleased," Owen echoes.
"I don't know about you, John," Julia goes on, "but I've never been all that keen on camping. I do have such fond memories of that particular vacation though. Children spend too much time at home in this modern era. It's easy to forget how much they thrive in the great outdoors, isn't it?"
I note that John's face has paled. B'Elanna's, in contrast, looks flushed, her body so tensed she might snap something. I'm not sure I can pinpoint the specific trigger, but I'm guessing John never bothered to take young B'Elanna on a vacation.
Julia, seemingly oblivious to any embarrassment amongst her listeners, turns to her daughter-in-law. "You and Tom should take Miral camping. Once she's a little older, that is. Maybe next summer? She's sure to be walking by then, and–"
"We'll be travelling to Bajor next June," Tom cuts in.
"Bajor?" From the look on Julia's face one would think he'd said Cardassia Prime or Ferenginar. "Why Bajor?"
"We've been invited to a wedding," Tom explains. "Friends from Voyager. And we'll probably spend a few weeks there. It's quite a journey, so a flying visit seems, to quote an absent friend, illogical."
Hmmpf. As usual, nobody has told me we're going gallivanting across the Quadrant!
"That sounds great," John says, brightening. "I've been a few times on business – between the end of the Occupation and the start of the Dominion War. You should visit Musilla Province. The mountain scenery in the south is just magnificent. I've never been anywhere quite like it. Except maybe New Zealand. And that's another place that's well worth a lengthy visit. Lovely people, and the pace of life there is much slower than here in the Americas – far more relaxing. I've a colleague with a beach house near Auckland, if you're interested."
Tom's mouth opens then closes. B'Elanna's empty hand has bunched into a fist. Even Miral has stopped her happy gurgling – though, I'll admit, that may be purely coincidental. Julia, for the first time today, has nothing to offer, and Owen is scrutinising his fingernails.
"She needs a diaper change," B'Elanna announces, dumping her wine glass on the windowsill with a clatter. Rising from her chair, she heads straight for Miral and me with outstretched hands.
"I don't smell anything," says Tom, sniffing the air around Miral.
Neither do I and I've been trapped closer to the blast zone.
"You don't have half-Klingon nostrils," B'Elanna bites back pointedly, glaring at her husband.
But I have sensitive targ nostrils and I smell nothing either.
"Isn't it my turn?" Tom asks – pleads.
"No."
As Miral is scooped up into B'Elanna's arms, the little girl grabs the scruff of my neck and I am carried off with her. Reaching the smaller of the apartment's two bedrooms, Miral and I are lowered onto the interactive play mat that she quickly tires of these days. B'Elanna stretches back to hit the door close mechanism before slumping down to join us on the mat, chin resting on the bent knees that she hugs to her chest. Eyes drooping closed, B'Elanna heaves an exasperated sigh. Miral turns me upside down and starts chewing on my left foreleg!
…
It's starting to get dark outside by the time Julia, Owen, and John finally leave the apartment. An exhausted B'Elanna carries Miral off for her bath as soon as an equally weary Tom shuts the front door behind our departing guests. I observe from the sofa as Tom takes living room clean up duty, clearing the detritus of the impromptu evening buffet he and B'Elanna had begrudgingly – but with an admirable display of false enthusiasm that only I could see through – arranged. The guests were only invited for lunch, but they stayed for seven hours! I thought they'd never leave!
Finally done with clearing up – I've seen Klingon banquets that resulted in less mess – Tom picks me up and we seek out the females. They're in the main bedroom now. B'Elanna sits semi-reclined on top of the bedcovers, her back resting against the pillows and headboard. The lights are turned down low. A drowsy Miral, up way past her typical bedtime, rests in her mother's arms drinking from a bottle. She's wearing her grey and white Starfleet-flight-suit-all-in-one sleeping outfit – the one that Tom thinks looks 'super cute' and B'Elanna has grown to find amusing.
"I thought they'd never leave," Tom exclaims, collapsing onto the vacant side of the bed.
And now I'm dangling off the side of it, ensnared between the fingers at the end of his gangly right arm, with a lovely view of nothing but the Starfleet grey carpet!
"I don't know how many more hints we could have dropped," B'Elanna responds. "And my father and your mom were immune to all of them! If it wasn't for your dad they'd still be here now, settled for the night. Camping in the living room."
Tom groans. "In fairness, B'Elanna, she couldn't have known about your…" His grip on me tightens. "…you know."
"Oh, I can forgive her for that one," B'Elanna continues. "But all the other stuff? How the hell do I know when Miral will be walking or doing anything else for that matter? I'm an engineer not a fortune teller. And as for my dad," her tone oozes bitterness now, "he has no right to talk about my childhood. No right at all. How dare he? He didn't even get all the facts right. It was my grandmother who taught me how to tie shoelaces, not him."
Finally remembering I exist, Tom's elbow bends. I'm lifted up, held against his chest as he shuffles into a sitting position. His fingers relax and, finally, I can breathe again. "I don't get it," he says. "They were far easier to deal with when we had them visit separately. But, today … it was like my mom and your dad were competing to see who could say the most tactless thing possible. Did you see my dad's face when yours brought up civil rights on Cardassia?"
"I knew things could get a little awkward," B'Elanna replies, grimacing. "But I wasn't expecting it to be that bad." She checks on Miral's progress with the bottle. It's empty now, and the toddler is merely gnawing on the teat as if she's wasting away with hunger.
"You were right. We should have invited my sisters: they could have run interference. I just thought it would feel too crowded if we had any more people over." Dropping me into his lap, Tom pats B'Elanna's thigh and asks, "Shall I take her for a bit?"
B'Elanna nods, prying the empty bottle from the little girl's hands. As Miral is transferred to her father's arms, a chubby hand snatches me up. My ear soon ends up in her mouth – again! – and I'm promptly slathered in drool. Thank Kahless she doesn't have the teeth of a fully Klingon child: I'd have long ago been dismembered!
Shuffling sideways to rest her head against Tom's shoulder, B'Elanna's eyes glaze over. "Sometimes I think fighting the Hirogen – or even the Borg – was easier than this."
Tom snorts a laugh. "Me too." And then, looking down with adoration at Miral and me, he stretches an arm up and around B'Elanna's shoulders. "But then I think about the kind of life she would have had on Voyager. Not the day-to-day issues – we would have made that work. And Naomi spent her first few years without any other kids to play with and she's turned out all right. But, the constant danger, the risks we took, the losses…"
"I know. I'm not saying I want to go back to the Delta Quadrant."
"I should hope not."
"Only that… I didn't have time to mentally prepare for this. All of this. At once."
"Neither did I," Tom reminds her, planting a feather-light kiss on the top of Miral's head.
And neither did I! As soon as Miral was born I found myself ejected from my spot in B'Elanna and Tom's bed to be rehomed in the infant's sleeping enclosure. The deafening cries and the frequent kicking and the horrible smells I've had to endure these past few months – it's enough to threaten my sanity. And did I mention I'm claustrophobic? Thankfully, things have improved somewhat since she graduated from that tiny pen they replicated on Voyager to a more spacious walled bed here on Earth. Although now I don't even sleep in the same room as B'Elanna and Tom!
Teeth still latched onto my ear and with her eyelids now fully closed, Miral starts to snore. That's another thing I have to put up with! I think I was made to suffer.
"Next time we'll go out," Tom suggests, lowering his voice to a murmur. "To a restaurant or for a picnic. Then we can leave when we've had enough."
"Next time?" B'Elanna's eyebrows rise. "Let's not think about next time. I'm done with socialising for the rest of the year."
"It's only July."
"I don't care. We'll take a shuttle out to the Kuiper belt and find a nice asteroid where the three of us can be alone."
Three? What about me? They can't leave me behind! I'm just as much a part of this family as Miral is. I'm B'Elanna's lucky charm. And I was here first!
"Hmm," Tom's lips quirk up into a sceptical smile. "Because you love the cold so much, don't you?"
Features softening, B'Elanna replies, "But I'd have you to keep me warm." And then she smirks at him.
"That's true," Tom says, his smile broadening into a grin. "But I'll take my mom and your dad over a frozen lump of ammonia any day, thank you very much. Oh, and talking of bad smells…" He pokes me in the head. Why is he poking me in the head? "…I think Toby needs a bath. The poor targ's looking a bit worse for wear, don't you think?"
And whose fault is that, hmm? Not mine, that's for sure.
"What is that?" Tom tugs on the fur between my eyes. Ouch! He squints at the crusty orange blob now pressed between his thumb and forefinger. "Is that melted cheese?"
Regurgitated melted cheese, I expect.
"He's certainly earned his keep these last few months," B'Elanna says, chuckling as she gently extracts me from Miral's fingers.
Yes, I have. Finally, some recognition! Thank you!
"He can take a dip with Miral tomorrow night," Tom says. "She'll love that."
Oh no. Please no! What's wrong with a quick sonic shower? If they're going to drown me in the bathtub then why not just chain me to a rock and throw me in the ocean and be done with it?
I'm left there sitting on the bed as Tom carries Miral to the toddler's own room. B'Elanna changes into her nightwear before heading into the bathroom to attend to her pre-sleep rituals.
When Tom returns just a few minutes later he too starts undressing. As his discarded garments pile up on the bed, his gaze locks on to mine. Pausing in mid-sock removal, his lips curve up into a smile. "You might as well stay here for tonight, Toby. I think B'Elanna would like that."
Oh, yes. Yes, she would! She'd love it. That's the best news I've heard all day! I need a good night's sleep. And B'Elanna definitely needs my comforting presence: she and Tom both do after the stressful day we've had. Miral is blissfully unaware that there was any tension. All she'll remember of this day is that she got spoiled rotten – as usual. I'm sure she won't miss me tonight.
Tom reaches down to position me in my old spot between the two sets of pillows at the head of the bed. It's so wonderful to be home again! I've a wonderful view of the bat'leth Korath gave B'Elanna which is mounted on the wall in front of me, and my nostrils are filled with the sweet scent of B'Elanna's shampoo. If I'm lucky they'll forget they ever evicted me and I can stay here indefinitely.
B'Elanna and Tom trade places. She climbs under the covers, almost burying herself entirely, whilst Tom goes off to brush his teeth. And then finally, a few minutes later, we're all together, cosy and warm in the dark. Oh, I do hope Miral sleeps through until the morning. I'd hate for our peace to be disturbed tonight.
Not that B'Elanna has settled just yet. The covers shift as she rolls over to face Tom. Then Tom fidgets too.
"I don't think I can sleep just yet," B'Elanna murmurs. "My head is buzzing."
"Yeah. I know what you mean," Tom mumbles back.
Both wriggle about some more.
And then there are noises too, and I realise what they're doing!
Nooooooooooooo!
