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Tuvok and B’Elanna sat on the back porch of Tuvok’s home. The sun was high in the air and it was warm - pleasantly warm for Vulcans, hot to B’Elanna and way too hot for Tom who was inside sipping chilled tea with the rest of Tuvok’s family.
T’Meni, Sek’s daughter, was floating in a pool of water placed at the bottom of the porch’s steps which Tuvok was sitting on. Tuvok’s feet (washed and sanitized beforehand) were also in the water, anchored on either side of the girl.
T’Meni, being barely over a year old, glanced around at her surroundings with a sleepy half-interest as her grandfather collected some of the water in a spray bottle and began to soak her hair.
The girl jolted at first, making a curious and slightly anxious noise as she looked for the source of the sensation. Tuvok held her hand out (uncurling her fingers) and sprayed her palm until she grew used to the sensation and began occupying herself with splashing languidly, watching as light danced across the small waves she produced.
B’Elanna watched from the porch proper, feeling secure in the shade provided. It was a netted porch which was accessed from a small room in the downstairs hall filled with windows, gardening supplies and a small desk piled high with books and other documents which B’Elanna couldn’t read as they were written in Vulcan.
She hadn’t expected a Vulcan house to feel so homey. Maybe it was because the house was old, inherited from some relative for some ceremonial reason, and there were so many signs of family life throughout it: A growth chart on the wall, an unsanctioned mural on the porch, toys in the living room and brightly colored dishware in the cabinets.
It was a place B’Elanna felt instantly at ease in - even if she didn’t feel quite the same way about the people who lived in it. Vulcans were difficult to feel at ease with. Well…truthfully, it was difficult for her to feel at ease with anyone.
Miral was swaddled tightly (T’Pel had shown her how to do it herself with almost any ‘cloth of appropriate length’) in a light material so she wouldn’t overheat. The baby blinking sleepily, probably curious about the noise she couldn’t see the source of.
There was a large bowl of water by B’Elanna’s knee - given to her by Sek after he’d declared it ‘hair washing day’. When B’Elanna said, anxiously, that she didn’t know how to wash a baby’s hair, Sek had told her that his father would teach her.
Miral had hair despite being so young - not even a year old yet. That was her Klingon genes shining through. It was a rarity to find a bald Klingon baby and B’Elanna remembered her mother had called such children ‘lucky’ and pretended to shine their heads. Did that mean Miral was unlucky? No. It meant she was normal. Normal.
B’Elanna’s train of thought was interrupted by T’Meni shouting something that seemed to be gibberish from how Tuvok responded with a noncommittal hum. He’d moved on from spraying her hair to massaging the water in, making sure that more than just the top layer of curls were wet.
He glanced at B’Elanna. “Instead of a spray bottle I would suggest you use your hand.”
B’Elanna blinked then looked away, nodding. She didn’t really know what to say about this. She didn’t know how to act around…anyone, really. Not anymore. But especially not Tuvok and she hated that. He’d been kind to take them in while they looked for somewhere else - he probably wanted time alone with his family and here she and Tom were encroaching on that. Lumbering strangers in his family home because they didn’t have one of their own.
Miral made a soft gurgling noise and B’Elanna’s heart skipped several beats as she changed her position, checking thrice over that the baby was okay. Her daughter seemed thoroughly unbothered by this, closing her eyes and yawning.
Once she was assured of Miral’s safety, B’Elanna placed her hand in the bowl of water and began to gently, carefully, massage her daughter’s head.
Miral was so small. B’Elanna worried about that. She worried about everything. Tom told her it would be fine. They’d get a place, Miral would live, Tuvok’s family seemed nice (as nice as Vulcans could seem) - what’s there to be anxious about?
But B’Elanna couldn’t stop thinking about things to be anxious about. It was insane to her how relaxed Tom was about the whole thing. What if they were arrested? What if the captain’s trial went poorly? What if Tuvok’s family hated them? What if they wisened up and told them to get lost? What if Miral got sick? What if she died? What if B’Elanna accidentally killed her or she said the wrong thing when she was interviewed by Starfleet brass? What if it was all her fault? She always messed everything up and now she had this little person in her hands that depended on her completely.
She couldn’t mess up this time. Not with Miral.
But she always did. Not with Miral yet but she always found a way to screw things in the end, didn’t she? Even now with Tom things were sort of falling apart. They didn’t talk as much. When they were together it wasn’t like it’d been on Voyager. Whatever spark had been between them was fizzling and she didn’t know what to do about it. Neither of them did. So they just kept going.
When things were going well they were just going wrong in a slower way that’d reveal itself to B’Elanna in time.
Miral made a little noise. Maybe she liked the feeling of her mother’s hand?
B’Elanna smiled, just a little, before frowning again. She wanted to cry for some reason.
The door behind them opened and Sek’s wife, T’Nia, came out. B’Elanna stiffened. The woman was gorgeous - like a daydream. Tall, busty, slim, unblemished brown skin. She was a dancer and she moved like one, her hips swaying gracefully as she crossed the porch’s length.
Tom had said ‘wow’ the first time he saw her and they’d fought about that ‘wow’ for several days until Tom said she was being crazy - they had a kid together for christsake.
B’Elanna wanted to say it wasn’t about the kid but it wasn’t really about the ‘wow’ either. She’d seen T’Nia and thought ‘wow’. T’Nia was just ‘wow’, objectively.
B’Elanna didn’t know what it was about. So she told Tom he was right and she forgave him and they went on with their lives.
B’Elanna wished she knew what it was about. She wished she didn’t always have some sort of issue. She wanted to be a light and breezy girlfriend, a cool wife. She didn’t want to be a nag like the non-leading women in Tom’s old films. She hated those women as much as she hated her mother.
She paused her hand.
T’Nia was speaking to Tuvok in low tones. For a second B’Elanna thought maybe she was coming to check on her daughter but she turned and crossed the porch again without even looking at her.
B’Elanna clutched onto that fact. Maybe T’Nia was a bad mother. She wasn’t out here washing her daughter’s hair after all.
She let the thought go…half-go. She felt guilty. She didn’t want to be a mean person, the kind who jumped on other people’s problems. She hated that. What was wrong with her? Why was she only things she didn’t want to be?
She thought about her mother. She ran a thumb over Miral’s ridges. They’d almost completely receded into her forehead and were blunt to the touch instead of hard like B’Elanna’s mother’s had been. Were. Maybe.
If Miral had a child would their forehead be smooth?
“B’Elanna.” Tuvok said and B’Elanna twitched, causing Miral to frown and become agitated.
“Shit-” B’Elanna whispered, soothing the baby while distractedly looking up at Tuvok.
The Vulcan held up a bottle of baby shampoo and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I-” B’Elanna reached behind her, producing her own bottle. “I have some!”
Tuvok nodded and returned to T’Meni. The girl was asleep, still floating. The flotation device she was inside looked something like a lily pad. B’Elanna had thought it was cute before and it looked even cuter now that T’Meni was asleep.
Tuvok was using some sort of sponge-brush to work the shampoo into his dozing granddaughter’s hair and B’Elanna wanted to ask what she should do but maybe it was obvious and he’d give her that raised eyebrow look for asking. Like: I thought you could handle this but oh well. She hated that expression. She hated that whenever she commented on it Tuvok’s demeanor only exuded it more.
“I am not making an expression.” He’d say, exuding something like a put-upon sigh or a sneer.
B’Elanna looked around. She didn’t have one of those brush things so she assumed she didn’t need one. Instead she just balanced Miral and rubbed the shampoo into her hand, rinsing the other one off so she could hold the baby still.
Calm again, Miral made a low noise at the sensation of the shampoo but B’Elanna hummed softly to her and she immediately quieted.
Tom had said he hadn’t expected a Klingon baby to be so quiet and B’Elanna told him that Klingon babies didn’t usually cry as much as human babies because they were used to more noise. Miral had been born during such a turbulent moment and immediately after that it was nothing but noise noise noise until they’d settled at Tuvok’s house. B’Elanna wondered if she missed it.
Sek, who’d been passing by, said Vulcan children were very sensitive to noise because of the same thing. They were used to strong emotions and telepathic chatter but external sounds could easily upset them due to the habitual quiet or outright silence of Vulcan households.
“Hence, parents must remain calm and in control of themselves at all times.”
Tom had raised an eyebrow, glancing at B’Elanna before looking back at Tuvok’s oldest son. “All times?” He’d asked in disbelief.
Sek had nodded once. “All times, Mr. Paris.” Then he’d been called down the hall, vanishing from sight.
“If you ‘remain in control of yourself’ at all times how do you think you get more kids?” Tom had asked B’Elanna, flashing a smile.
She’d laughed, falling in love with him again.
Tuvok was filling a small jug with water and pouring it carefully over T’Meni’s head, one hand over her eyes.
B’Elanna remembered someone telling her to use circular motions when she shampooed her hair to encourage curls. She’d never actually done that with her own hair but with Miral…well, she was too young to straighten it. She might as well try.
Miral’s hair was soft, ladden with suds and lighter than B’Elanna’s own - almost red when it was in the light. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing gently with the occasional harsh exhale, asleep.
Hair washing had never been so peaceful in B’Elanna’s childhood. She remembered a lot of tears and screaming. Nothing horrific but nowhere near peaceful.
She peered at Tuvok who was using his hands to manually rinse out whatever shampoo was left over. His movements were methodical and slow and he appeared to be taking extra time to make sure he wasn’t disturbing her sleep. Though his expression was the same as ever (blank, focused) B’Elanna felt care radiating from him. Love.
She remembered sitting between her mother’s legs and telling her she didn’t want curls she wanted straight hair.
“No one around here has straight hair. I thought you wanted to fit in?”
“I want to fit in with humans! Not Klingons, humans!”
“Not every human has straight hair.”
“Dad did!”
“Too bad.” Her mother said, the conversation immediately ending as soon as the subject of her ex-husband was brought up. “Live with what I gave you.”
B’Elanna didn’t know how she felt about her mother now. She’d sent her a letter saying she’d love to see her, Tom and Miral sometime and B’Elanna knew it was true - her mother was big on family but…
If Tom met her…what if it went poorly? B’Elanna wasn’t all that Klingon despite what he thought of her and Miral was just a baby. B’Elanna’s mom had a strong personality and a way of making things her own, becoming the leader of any group. If she got her hands on Miral what if-?
B’Elanna shook her head and washed her hand off, getting ready to rinse the shampoo out of her daughter’s hair.
Across the way, Tuvok had lifted T’Meni out of the water and laid her head in his towel-covered lap, drying her hair as he arranged a series of small vials B’Elanna assumed were for further hair care. B’Elanna herself had a distinct lack of small vials. Did T’Pel make them? Did they sell them somewhere?
Miral cooed and shook her head, still asleep. B’Elanna could feel her attempting to wriggle before stopping. She wondered if it was uncomfortable, being swaddled - but if it was she’d have cried, wouldn’t she?
It was hot outside. The kind of heat that made B’Elanna think of cramped engineering spaces, buffeted on all sides by machinery. That was her happy place - in the beating heart of something made by hand, sweat running down her brow and jaw set so tightly it’d ache the second she was done with whatever task occupied her.
But this wasn’t a cramped engineering pit. It was the porch of a two story family home, beyond which was a garden beyond which was desert, then mountains with stairs, ramps and walkway grooves carved into them.
It was quiet. No beeping, clanging or hiss of steam. There was just the sound of sleeping babies and water and murmuring from somewhere inside the house - people walking softly so as not to disturb others.
B’Elanna leaned down and kissed Miral’s forehead. The part of her that was scared and hated herself said she should just go. She should just put Miral down and walk out. Leave forever. Her daughter would be in much better hands here, with these people who knew what peace and love were.
“Tuvok?” she whispered.
Tuvok tilted his head to show he was listening. He was going through T’Meni’s hair with his fingers and painstakingly picking out individual curls. B’Elanna didn’t know why or what exactly he was doing, though she assumed there was some logical reason behind it.
“Did you ever think…when you were a teenager I mean. Did you ever think you’d get here?” she asked.
“Define ‘here’.” he said, also whispering.
B’Elanna almost moved to gesture but held Miral tighter instead, worried she’d nearly dropped her. She should just go. Leave.
“Here. Here…this place. A baby in your lap who trusts you. This peace…” B’Elanna smiled somewhat ruefully. “You might not believe this but Klingons really do value it. Peace and all. Family. As a kid I never thought I’d find either of those things.”
“It seems you still don’t believe you have.” Tuvok commented.
“What makes you say that?” B’Elanna asked, scoffing without much conviction.
“...Is your intention to brag about what you have achieved?” Tuvok asked, giving her the raised brow look.
B’Elanna grit her teeth. “No. I- oh.” she paused. “...Are you joking? Was that a joke?”
“Vulcans do not joke.” Tuvok reminded her, returning his gaze to his granddaughter. It was odd to know she was his granddaughter. Tuvok looked old enough to be her father, really.
“Do they tease people who’re trying to have a sincere conversation with them?” B’Elanna grumbled, annoyed that her attempt to bond had been rebuffed.
“You are sensitive as always.” Tuvok said.
They lapsed into a somewhat tense silence. Well, to B’Elanna it was tense. She wasn’t sure Tuvok cared about tension or awkwardness. He claimed not to feel them and nothing about his conduct suggested that wasn’t true. He let silences drag on, even after arguments. He let jokes die on the vine. He watched people throw him conversational lines and observed, studiously and with what B’Elanna saw as a satisfied malice, as they shattered to pieces on the ground by his feet.
He was not an easy person to get along with. Even though he was kind, when it counted.
B’Elanna shifted, watching the water. She wondered, not for the first time, if Tuvok hated her or something. He talked easily with Janeway and Chakotay, he and Neelix had a bantering rapport, he played kal-toh with Harry…hell, he’d even opened up a bit to Tom when they’d crashed into that planet.
Whenever she brought that fear up to Tom he’d either say “who cares what Tuvok thinks of you?” or “Didn’t he teach you meditation?” and she’d either agree or argue until she circled back to agreeing or one of them left the room.
Tuvok had taught her how to meditate because Chakotay told him to and Chakotay was the first officer. He’d said she was too sensitive and called her turtle head, knowing it would hurt her, trying to hurt her just to prove a point.
If anything it only cemented his dislike for her in her head and their sessions had become ‘unproductively combative’ (his words, specifically his words to Chakotay) until Chakotay had first told her to be more open to them and later told her his little experiment was over.
“Tuvok doesn’t think it’s a good idea.” He’d said and even though B’Elanna hadn’t wanted to do the sessions in the first place, she still got that sharp ache in her chest from the failure.
B’Elanna looked up from the water as T’Meni made a whining noise, still asleep. Tuvok wiped something from her face and she relaxed again. Miral continued to sleep in B’Elanna’s arms.
“I was unsure I would live to adulthood, when I was teenager.” Tuvok said suddenly in the same tone he’d said Vulcans didn’t joke or asked if anyone wanted more water.
B’Elanna balked. “What?” she asked reflectively, though she’d heard. Tuvok of course didn’t repeat himself so she shook her head, cursing under her breath. For some reason the admittance shook her deeply, though they weren’t close. “That’s…I’m sorry.”
“You had nothing to do with my erroneous belief.”
B’Elanna was tearing up again, looking at Miral and listening to Tuvok. She’d also had a difficult time as a teenager. And as a young adult. And as a kid. And…well, she was having a difficult time now. On Voyager it’d been fine. For a while. For a very specific stretch of time it’d been perfect. What did that say about her life?
She hadn’t thought about it as a teenager, ending it. She’d just assumed she’d drag herself on and on until it eventually got better. It was only on Voyager that she’d fallen too deep in the muck of her life to keep dragging her body forward. So instead she threw it around. Tossed it at whatever might break it in a way that made her remember she was alive - not that that was a good thing. It was just something.
Had Tuvok felt like that? She couldn’t imagine it. He seemed like the type to get out of bed and work no matter what. And he had, on Voyager. No matter what happened he was at the bridge if he wasn’t in sickbay.
B’Elanna thought of her monstrous face and her bad attitude and her shitty brain and her intentionally broken body.
“Live with what I gave you.”
Had she cursed Miral by giving birth to her?
B’Elanna blinked, tears running down her cheek. She sniffed. Tuvok probably knew she was crying but was studiously ignoring it. He probably regretted being so upfront with her.
She hated crying. When did she start to do it so often? At least she had Miral to blame it on now. But now she was already blaming her for things. She didn’t want to be that kind of mother.
Suddenly Miral made a loud noise, jolting B’Elanna out of her downward spiraling thoughts. After a few seconds the girl burped and settled once again.
B’Elanna stared at her daughter then laughed, trying to be quiet. She was crying again, a little bit, for a different reason.
She loved her, this little person in her arms.
“...It is as satisfying as it can be baffling - the ability to bring another being such calm.” Tuvok said quietly, still not looking at B’Elanna. “Children are able to bring about such fascinating contrasts.”
B’Elanna knew Tuvok was holding a lot back. As usual, he was stingy with his words. But this time she smiled, feeling like maybe she actually did understand what he was talking about. That thing he was talking around.
Miral didn’t know her as a failure. She didn’t know her as a Maquis terrorist or an insane girlfriend or a nagging wife or a jealous bitch or even as B’Elanna Torres. She just knew her as warm hands holding her. A soft voice, slightly off-key, singing to her. She knew her as a mother. It’d be years before she knew her as a person.
Maybe by then B’Elanna would be a person they both liked.
She hoped so.