Chapter 3
"Lanna, wake up."
B'Elanna's eyes snapped open. She found herself staring at a grey stone wall and the PADD she'd propped up against it – the screen back from disuse. Rolling onto her back, the stuffed targ that was nestled in the crook of her arm fell away. She turned her head and saw Miral messing with the portable climate control unit that B'Elanna's grandfather had placed in the room. The steady stream of cool air that had made the afternoon tolerable dwindled at Miral's touch.
"Why are you turning that down? It's miserable here."
"You're wasting energy. You'll need to adapt to the climate; the heat will only get worse."
"Fantastic," B'Elanna muttered as she sat up. "Can't wait."
"No one made you come here, B'Elanna. It was your choice."
"I had somewhere else to go?"
"You could have gone anywhere in the Federation - or the Empire. But you chose to come live here, and now you must adapt." When B'Elanna didn't respond, Miral let out a rather human sigh and moved to sit at the foot of B'Elanna's bed. "How was your journey?"
B'Elanna continued to not meet her mother's eyes, picking up Toby the Targ from his place next to her on the bed and tugging at his brown fur. "Uneventful. VavnI' was waiting for me when I got off the transport."
B'Elanna felt her mother's hand rest on her bare foot. "I'm glad you arrived without any issues. And I'm sorry I couldn't meet you. There was an emergency at work."
"It's okay." B'Elanna drew her knees up to her chest, her foot slipping away from Miral's hand. She looked up at her mother. "VavnI' explained."
It had been a year and a half since B'Elanna had seen her mother in person – the day they'd both left their home on Kessik for the final time – and she couldn't help but think her mother looked older. Was her auburn hair tinged with more grey? Had additional lines appeared around her blue eyes and thin lips – or had she just lost weight?
Miral looked around the room. "I see your grandfather provided all the comforts you'd need."
You mean a mattress pad and a climate control unit? It's the height of luxury in here. "Yeah."
"It is good. Even I had trouble getting used to the Klingon bed after so many years sleeping human style. You would never adjust."
"Because I'm too human?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. God, why do I turn everything into a fucking fight?
Miral didn't take the bait – this time. Her voice even, she replied, "Yes. And because I raised you in their ways." Miral reached over and plucked Toby from B'Elanna's hands. "You still sleep with him? I would have thought going to the Academy would have broken you of that."
B'Elanna fought the urge to snatch Toby back. "I guess it's just another human trait I have."
Miral raised her eyebrows. "Other students still slept with their childhood toys?"
No... Like with so many things, I was the only one. "Some did." The lie rolled easily from B'Elanna's tongue.
"Hmph." Miral stood, placing Toby down on the foot of the bed. B'Elanna reached for him, stuffing him under her pillow - as she had done every morning at the Academy.
B'Elanna turned back to her mother, who was investigating the rest of the room, not that there was much to see. B'Elanna had only brought a small duffle, primarily full of clothes, most of which she would never be able to wear in the heat of Qam'Chee. The room was furnished sparsely: a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk. Miral was standing next to the desk now, looking at the two holophotos B'Elanna had placed there.
"Would you like to make a shrine for Abuela?" Miral asked, having picked up one of the two – a photo of a young B'Elanna with her paternal grandmother during one of her many summer visits. B'Elanna had always marveled at how much she looked like Isela; their dark eyes, olive skin, and full lips were almost an exact match. Of course, B'Elanna's forehead ridges were enough to distract most people from noticing the similarities.
"A shrine? Here?" B'Elanna asked, wondering what would have made her mother think of such a thing. "She has a memorial on Earth."
Miral set back down the picture. "But you are no longer on Earth, and you should have a place to honor her spirit."
B'Elanna looked down, her fingers itching to grab Toby again. It had been nine months since her grandmother had passed, after a short battle with Irumodic syndrome. She'd been diagnosed the summer before B'Elanna had started the Academy. B'Elanna had been crushed – she'd imagined her time at the Academy would be interspersed by dinners with her grandmother, who would now be a short transporter trip away rather than nearly a week by ship. But as B'Elanna had read about the condition – how Abuela would deteriorate into confusion and delusions – she knew her imaginings would not come to fruition.
Over the fall semester, Isela hadn't been that different from what B'Elanna remembered. Her short-term memory wasn't what it once had been, but she and B'Elanna could still have long talks about school and science over dinner – and she could still make B'Elanna pancakes in the morning.
Then came Christmas. Uncle Carl and his family had gone home, and B'Elanna had settled in next to the holo-fire, coquito in one hand, rearranging the Nativity with the other. As she was lining up the Wise Men according to height, B'Elanna heard her grandmother's footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor.
"You know," Isela said, settling into her chair, coquito and another helping of arroz con dulce in hand, "when I was young we would go to Catedral de San Juan Bautista, just like my mother did as a child, for the midnight mass." She chuckled. "My brother and I were always so tired by then, having stuffed ourselves at dinner and then eaten all the sweets we could get our hands on." A smile graced her face as she leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. "Papa would have to carry us out of the cathedral more times than not. I miss those days." Her eyes opened, and she looked at B'Elanna, who still had a Wise Man in her hand. "B'Elanna's always loved that Nativity. I should make a note that she's to have it when I'm gone."
B'Elanna blinked at her grandmother's phrasing. Before her thoughts could coalesce into a question, Isela continued, "Do you think she'd like it, Miral? Do you decorate the house?"
"Abuela," B'Elanna stammered. "I'm not Miral. I'm B'Elanna."
Isela's dark eyes focused for a moment. "Oh, that's right." She took another sip of her coquito before looking back at B'Elanna, a slightly dazed expression on the older woman's face. "I'd understand if you didn't want to decorate for a human holiday… it must be a reminder of John."
B'Elanna's mouth opened and closed, trying to formulate words. Why had she just said "John" rather than "your father"?
Isela continued. "I get so mad when I think about what he did to you – and B'Elanna. I knew he wouldn't be able to handle it, but I thought I'd raised him better than that."
"Abuela…" B'Elanna rose from her chair, her legs shaky, and crossed the room to kneel before her grandmother. Taking her shoulders in her hands, B'Elanna looked her grandmother in the eye. "Abuela, I'm B'Elanna."
The woman's eyes focused on B'Elanna's face. "I…" she paused before closing her eyes tight. She reached up, her bony hand grasping B'Elanna's. "Mija, I don't feel well. Can you call for Randy for me?"
After alerting her grandmother's caregiver, B'Elanna slipped out and returned to her dorm, trying to make sense of the evening's events. Everything will be fine in the morning, she told herself as she tossed and turned in bed. We'll celebrate Christmas and Abuela will be back to normal.
B'Elanna woke to her PADD beeping – Isela had gotten worse overnight and had to be taken to the hospital. Evidently alcohol and her medication didn't mix.
It had been downhill from there. Within a month, Isela retreated into her own world, one where children became their parents and the care facility was Isela's longtime workspace – the laboratory in which she'd spent her younger years. At first B'Elanna had seen her grandmother often, but the hours of sitting with a person who wasn't really there took their toll. The frequency of her visits diminished.
The following March, B'Elanna was standing on a green hillside, watching as her uncle spread her grandmother's ashes under the oak tree where they'd done the same for her grandfather, fifteen years prior.
B'Elanna looked back over at Miral, who still held the photograph. "It's okay, I don't need a shrine."
"The dead must be honored."
Stupid Klingon myths, thinking that the dead were in a magical afterlife. They weren't. They were just dead. She'd never see Abuela again, never sit in her kitchen while the woman cooked. Never get another hug and kiss. Never hear her say, "Mija, I love you" again. She was gone.
B'Elanna swallowed away the knot in her throat and turned her grief to apathy. "I'll be sure to include her in my Plea for the Dead."
"Do not mock such things," Miral snapped as she set down the picture.
B'Elanna knew she'd crossed the line. She looked away, crossing her arms. "Sorry."
Miral huffed as her attention turned to the other photo on the desk. "Where did you get this?"
B'Elanna had wondered what Miral's reaction to that one would be. After John had left, Miral had purged the house of reminders of him. In the picture, a three-year-old B'Elanna sat with her parents in a park.
"It was at Abuela's house. Uncle Carl asked if I wanted it after she died." B'Elanna tucked her hair behind her ear. She recalled staring at it on the mantel, as other members of the family packed up the house around her. It was the sheer normality of the picture that had surprised her. She could scarcely believe there had been a time when they were a proper family. When her father had wrapped his arm around her smiling mother. When everyone was happy.
Miral was still staring at the photo, as though reliving the memory of the day the photo was snapped. "Did you see him?"
B'Elanna shook her head. He wants as little to do with me as he does with you… "He didn't even come to the funeral."
Miral tore her gaze away from the photo. "He has no honor."
B'Elanna crossed her arms tight across her chest. Her mother was right – her father didn't have any honor. What kind of child doesn't show up for their own mother's funeral? But the fact that it was true didn't make Miral's words sting any less. "I guess. What time is dinner?"
"We are expected in twenty minutes – that's why I woke you."
B'Elanna let out a long sigh. Dinner with her very loud extended family – the perfect cap to this day. "Then I guess I should get ready."
=/\=
"The qa'Da' lunged, but I swept his front legs out from under him," the gruff voice boomed from the man at the head of the table. His light skin glinted in the candlelight of the dimly lit dining hall as he pantomimed his story. "The beast, on the ground, tried to rise again, but I drove my gin'tak through its neck. Blood gushed from the fatal wound, but the beast would not relent. I dove on him and thrust my fingers into his eyes as he bucked. I held on." His dark hair fell over his shoulders as he showed the audience exactly how he'd subdued the beast. Significantly smaller than the animal in question, it was an impressive feat. "In time his throws subsided. This qa'Da' was a worthy opponent, and so I've brought him to the table for this feast to welcome my niece home."
Dar'Rok gestured to B'Elanna, who was sitting at his left. Blood rushed to her face as the assembled family turned their attention to her.
Fuck, am I supposed to say something? Is there a ritual here? Why the hell didn't Mom warn me?! B'Elanna slowly rose, the combination of the heat, food smells, and panic causing her head to spin. Wiping her sweaty palms on her dress, she took a deep breath and looked up and down the long table at her family. All five of her cousins – along with various mates and children – had assembled in her aunt and uncle's hall. She noted how everyone was dressed in heavy leather, wool, and fur; a stark contrast to the airy, cream colored dress B'Elanna had donned for the occasion. Just pretend to be a Klingon… a Klingon in a sundress.
"I'm honored to be here tonight and honored that you have put together such a fine meal for me. I'm…" God, what else do Klingons say other than honor? B'Elanna's mind raced as her eyes darted around the room, trying to drudge up something appropriate for the moment. Finally, her eyes landed on her grandfather. He gave her a reassuring smile… the kind that made B'Elanna think that maybe she wasn't completely embarrassing herself. Clearing her throat, B'Elanna stood a little taller. "I'm glad to be here."
Sitting down, B'Elanna hoped that was the end of it.
Her uncle cleared his throat, dashing her hopes. "B'Elanna, it's your right to take the first portion of qa'Da'"
Oh no. She looked at the animal on the table. It had been skinned and gutted, but it didn't look like it had been cooked. That didn't surprise B'Elanna, her mother's people weren't the biggest fans of denaturing proteins with heat. Trying not to look disgusted, B'Elanna turned to her uncle and replied, "Thank you. I'm honored." Stop saying honored!
Using her fingers – because why in the world would Klingons have ever thought to invent silverware? – B'Elanna took as small of a portion as she thought she could get away with and put it on her plate. Sitting back down, she looked up to see the still expectant faces staring at her. Would it have been too much to provide me with a script for tonight?
"Eat some and declare its worth," Miral whispered from her place next to B'Elanna.
Oh, now you help. Thanks. B'Elanna took a bite of the uncooked meat, trying to make a pleasant face. "It's good…" B'Elanna ventured, hoping that would be declaration enough.
It was. The family burst out in cheers, wine mugs slamming against the table and feet thumping on the stone floor, before diving into the feast. In the fray, Miral slid the qa'Da' meat off B'Elanna's plate and onto her own. "Don't eat anymore uncooked meats. They may make you sick."
"I know. I didn't even want to eat that meat."
"That is why I told Dar'Rok that we should forgo this part of the feast."
B'Elanna's jaw went slack. Her mother had tried to stop this? "Then why are we doing it?"
"I didn't know until we got here that I had been unsuccessful in stopping it." Miral stood and grabbed a bowl of tubers from further down the table. "Fill your plate with this. You should have no problems eating it."
B'Elanna took the bowl of what looked like carrots and potatoes. "Is there anything like salad?" she asked, looking down the table.
Miral threw her head back and laughed. B'Elanna assumed that was a 'no'.
Hours later, B'Elanna was picking at her 'dessert' (it was lumpy, red, and not sweet, though Miral had assured her it had no raw animal products) and sipping at her blood wine (which she assumed wasn't made from actual blood, as Miral hadn't stopped her from drinking it).
Through much of the evening, B'Elanna had stayed silent - not that there was much room to get a word in edgewise with this crowd. But now the room was quieter; her cousins with small children had departed and others had moved outside. The windows and doors had been opened, and a breeze was now winding its way through the dining hall, making it almost pleasant. Maybe this won't be so bad, B'Elanna mused as she half listened to the conversation swirling around her. Maybe I can adjust.
"B'Elanna, what are you going to do here on Qo'noS?" Krel'Tah, B'Elanna's aunt, asked. Snapping out of her contemplations, B'Elanna looked at the large woman. With her brown, smooth skin, full lips, and sweeping forehead ridges, B'Elanna thought her aunt was one of the more attractive Klingons she'd seen.
"Um, I'm not sure," B'Elanna looked away, busying herself by rinsing her hand off in her finger bowl.
"B'Elanna will finish school," Miral informed Krel'Tah. "It's too late for her to return to university this year, but there is still time to apply for next year's class. The engineering school at the Defense Force Academy is the best, but there are other good schools here in the capital should B'Elanna not want to join the military."
B'Elanna turned her head to stare at her mother. This was the first she had heard of this plan.
"But that would be almost a year from now. What will she do until then?" Dar'Rok aimed the question at Miral.
"Well, I don't know -" B'Elanna tried to insert herself into the conversation about her future. But Miral cut her off.
"She will have to study for the exams; improve her knowledge of written Klingon. There are preparatory classes she can take in the meantime."
"That assumes -" B'Elanna raised her voice and tried again, only this time to be cut off by her uncle.
"That will hardly take all her time. She should come work at the restaurant with us," he gestured to Krel'Tah and Ma'Leth. "We can always use another set of hands."
Miral nodded. "This would be agreeable if -"
"Enough!" B'Elanna slammed her fist down on the table as she stood. "I'm sitting right fucking here! Stop deciding my future without even consulting me!"
The room fell silent at her outburst. It was as though they had just seen her – or maybe just realized that she did have Klingon blood in her after all.
"What do you want, PuqnI'be'?" Ma'Leth's eyes focused solely on B'Elanna.
"I…" B'Elanna began, but then trailed off. She had no clue how to finish that sentence. She had wanted to be a Starfleet officer. She had wanted to absorb everything there was to know about science and engineering. When had those wants been turned into an overwhelming urge to hide in her dorm room? The eyes of everyone still at the table were upon her, pricking into her flesh like a million tiny pins. As the adrenaline coursed through her, the heat and smells of the room became too much. She had to get out. Leaving the table, she muttered, "I don't know."
=/\=
Just kill me now…
B'Elanna was slumped over the toilet, her head resting against her forearm. As another wave of dizziness hit her, she gripped the toilet seat, white knuckled, and prepared to expel more of the contents of her stomachs.
After the torrent passed, B'Elanna spat, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. Feeling better – for the moment – she released the toilet and eased herself onto the stone floor.
Lying on her stomach, B'Elanna closed her eyes and tried to bring her sweat drenched body into as much contact with the cool floor as possible. Her exhausted mind wondered if sleeping here was an option, rather than trying to make it back to her bedroom.
"B'Elanna?"
She didn't open her eyes at her mother's voice. "This planet is trying to kill me."
"I heard." There was a rustle, then B'Elanna felt her mother's hand on her back, moving in slow circles. "Do you remember when you were young and we came to Qo'noS for the first time? The first night we were here, you were also sick."
B'Elanna groaned - she remembered.
"You woke me up in the middle of the night." Miral moved her hand up to B'Elanna's hair, stroking the sweat matted curls. B'Elanna sighed, comforted by the endorphins her mother's touch released. "And told me your stomachs hurt. The next thing I knew, you were vomiting all over the bed. And me."
"I'm always a lot of fun on Qo'noS."
"We did have some fun on that trip. I remember you practicing the Mok'bara with my father," Miral chuckled. "You didn't know any of the positions, and despite him trying to show you, you preferred to just dance around the courtyard, doing your own interpretation of his movements."
"It's nice that he tolerates me." B'Elanna could feel her stomachs beginning to churn again.
"He loves you. He always has," Miral confided. "Always been interested in how your mixed heritage presents itself. He called your dancing 'Human Mok'bara.'"
B'Elanna snorted. She could just imagine her mother's embarrassment, as her human child danced around and refused to act like a Klingon. As though to remind her just how not Klingon she was, the world began to spin and chills raced up and down her body. B'Elanna shivered, sucking in a quick gasp of air between her clenched teeth.
Miral's hand moved to rub B'Elanna's sweat slicked arm, obviously trying to warm her up. "You need to be more careful about what you eat."
Are you lecturing me right now?! The vertigo was increasing – even though B'Elanna was laying on the ground – a sure sign she was about to puke again.
Miral droned on. "Your human physiology can't tolerate the raw foods here."
B'Elanna's eyes snapped open, and she lunged for the toilet. After depositing the contents of her stomachs in the commode yet again, she turned to face her mother. Her vertigo had subsided, to be replaced by fury. "Are you serious? I didn't want to eat the stupid… whatever it was! All these ridiculous rituals and posturing - that's why I'm sick! If you weren't always trying to avoid the fact that I'm not fully Klingon, we could have just explained why I couldn't eat the stupid meat and then I wouldn't be lying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night!"
B'Elanna's stomachs rolled again, and she turned back to the toilet, waiting for another surge to erupt from her stomach. When nothing came, she slumped against the seat and closed her eyes. B'Elanna heard movement - she assumed it was Miral standing up.
"Do you need anything?" Miral's voice was even, if a bit cold. B'Elanna had expected her mother to snap back at her… but then again, she probably looked too pathetic to be yelled at while hanging her head in a toilet.
"No. Just leave me alone."
Her mother's footsteps left the room, only to return a minute later. "I thought I said-" B'Elanna opened her eyes, stopping short when she saw a glass of water had been placed next to her on the ground - and her mother leaving the room.
=/\=