Part 4
Author's note: Now in between when B'Elanna basically told Tom she
never wanted to see him again and where the story picks up here, she's
gotten out of the hospital, has a place of her own in Oakland, and is
determined to get on with her life and forget Tom. However, she is
finding that difficult to do......
Beloved B'Elanna, Part 4 - A Whisper and a Wish
by Cheile
>Dedicated to Robbie McNeill and Roxann Dawson, 'cause no one else can
compare. :)
A week later.
B'Elanna slowly walked the streets of Oakland. *Idiot, idiot, idiot*,
she chided herself. How could she have treated Tom that way? Cursing
her stupidity, she mentally called herself every name in both languages
that she could think of.
"Excuse me?"
B'Elanna started and found herself looking into the blue eyes of a
fairly handsome man. His dark hair had scattered gray and he was a
little taller than Chakotay.
"Are you Klingon?"
B'Elanna grew wary. "Only half-Klingon. Why do you ask?"
"You seem familiar."
"How so?"
"I once knew--and cared for--a Klingon woman. But I was a fool. I
abandoned her and our child." He sighed. "My family thought me out of
my mind for marrying a Klingon, but D'Lena was full of fiery beauty.
She held my heart in her strong hands." He turned back to B'Elanna.
"But enough of my reminiscing."
D'Lena. Her mother's name and not a very common one. Had this man
known another D'Lena? A distant cousin of her mother's, perhaps?
"Tell me your name."
"B'Elanna. B'Elanna Torres."
The color drained from his face. "My God," he whispered. "I don't
believe it."
"What is it?" she asked, concerned.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
B'Elanna, puzzled, shook her head.
"I am Marc Torres. Your father."
B'Elanna blinked in shock. This had to be a dream. She couldn't have
heard what she thought she heard.
Marc Torres. Her father. But as the idea slowly sank in, she realized
it had to be true. He knew her mother's name.
"You're--my father?" she whispered.
He nodded.
"I have to be dreaming." She shook her head.
"You're not, B'El. Remember I used to to call you that?"
A vague memory surfaced, being held in this man's arms as a little
girl. He gave her the nickname "B'El", pronouncing it "Belle". Her
mother hated that, stressing the fact that "B'Elanna" was pronounced
"Bay-lana", not "Belle-ana", and definitely *not* "B'El".
"I do remember," B'Elanna said. "But why--"
"It's a long story," her father said, shaking his head. "Come home
with me and I'll tell you everything."
*****************
"Don't look back now
You have to let your childhood go
and then you'll find a peace within......"
-- Donna Lewis, "Simone"
*****************
B'Elanna sat on the couch in her father's house, still shocked. A
myriad of memories was whirling in her mind: her father calling her
"B'El", her mother's constant fury, her parents always fighting and the
pain at her father's abandonment.
In the next room, Marc was nervous. After that worst mistake, he never
thought he would lay eyes on his little girl again. He had tried to
forget and at his parents' insistence, married again. But Gisselle
Cosner was arrogant, spiteful and mean. She hated the fact that he'd
been married before, and to a Klingon--that was even worse. For four
years of hell, she had controlled him. She refused to let him contact
anyone on Kessik; he couldn't even send B'Elanna a birthday card.
Gisselle hated any and every thought of either of them, and one day
while he was gone, she went through the house and destroyed nearly
everything that was any reminder of them--the bat'telh D'Lena had given
him, the clay handprint plaque B'Elanna had made when she was three and
nearly every picture padd. Marc had come home to find her prepared to
smash the final two, when he'd grabbed them out of her hands. "Don't
even think about it."
Gisselle had tried to make excuses, but Marc refused to listen. He'd
thrown her out that day. "It's over, Gisselle."
"Fine. But once I leave, you won't have anyone."
"I'd rather be alone than with you," he'd shot back.
"Then you won't have anyone, Marc Torres. Not me, not your parents,
not that Klingon bitch, and not your half-breed bastard daughter." With
that, Gisselle had stormed away, leaving him in the center of the room,
surrounded by broken clay, twistedbat'telh, and shattered memories.
The only two things recovered were the last two picture padds he'd
snatched from her grasp. One picture was of D'Lena, standing tall and
proud in her battle armor, her ebony hair flowing down her back, her
ownbat'telh in hand. The other was of four-year-old B'Elanna, small
and serious, the faintest of smiles on her face, her bangs covering her
brow ridges.
Those pictures had been his last link to them--until now.
Taking a deep breath, Marc headed into the den. B'Elanna looked up at
his entrance, her eyes not quite meeting his.
He sat on the other end of the couch, fairly close to her, but not too
close. For a long while, there was silence.
"Why?" B'Elanna finally said.
"Because I was an idiot," Marc said. "I know your mother told you such
and she was right. I tried telling myself that I was leaving for your
good--and for your mother's, but in truth, I was thinking of myself.
But I never forgot you. My little B'El. Every day I woke up
wondering--how were you doing? Were you safe? Were you happy? Was
your mother all right? Was she happy?"
B'Elanna nodded.
"Will you forgive me? Allow me to be your father again? I know I
don't deserve your respect or your love, but I regret it deeply. I will
understand if you don't want me back in your life."
"I forgive you," B'Elanna said softly.
Marc held out his arms to her, and hesitantly, she allowed him to hug
her. When she pulled back, he smiled at her and slowly, she smiled
back.
"Now that we've made up, daughter, I want to know all about your
adventures onVoyager."
"Brace yourself," B'Elanna laughed. "This may take a while."
*
Over the next six days, B'Elanna spent most of her time with her
father. She went over to his house, he came to hers. He took her to
dinner, to plays and concerts. He told her about life in Oakland and
she told him about life onVoyager. Everything was practically perfect.
But the memory of Tom still lingered in the back of her mind.
*
B'Elanna was reading when the door chime sounded. Puzzled, she glanced
at the chronometer. It was one in the afternoon. Her father was at
work and the Captain had taken Neelix and Kes to meet her sister. So
who could it be? Getting up, she went to the door.
"Mother."
B'Elanna's mother swept into the room, and in a rare, un-Klingon show
of affection, embraced her daughter. Then suddenly, as if realizing
what she was doing, she released her and stepped back.
D'Lena, daughter of Kanor, was six feet tall. She had waist-length
ebony hair, the distinctive Klingon brow ridges and dark, dark eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me you were back, girl?" D'Lena demanded.
"I--didn't know where to find you," B'Elanna managed to say. *And I
didn't think you would care.*
As if reading her mind, D'Lena let out an unhappy sigh. "I'll admit--I
was--" She made a face. "--worried when you vanished into the Badlands
without a trace. Then the news got to Kessik thatVoyager had come
back. One of the crewmen, a Kessik native, mentioned a Lieutenant
Torres. I came here and started asking around. That little girl at the
Hilton, Serena, said she knew you and directed me here." D'Lena
shrugged nonchalantly. "And here I am.
"So," and here D'Lena grinned at her daughter, "you beat out those
weak, pathetic Starfleet idiots after all. Lieutenant, huh? In what
field?"
Despite herself, B'Elanna couldn't help from grinning back. "Chief
engineer."
D'Lena raised her eyebrows. "Not bad, girl. Not bad. What else
happened?"
B'Elanna laughed. "Sit down, Mother. This is going to take a while."
*
B'Elanna had gone over nearly all of what had happened in the past six
years when she suddenly glanced at the chronometer. It was
eight-forty-five.
Eight-forty-five! Her father was coming to get her for the concert and
dinner at nine-thirty! She knew that she had to get her mother out.
And fast.
"So tell me more about the Paris kid," D'Lena said. "Son of an
admiral, huh? Must have acted like a bigshot."
"He could, sometimes," B'Elanna admitted. "But he had reason to. He
was the best pilot on the ship. If he hadn't been at the conn
sometimes, I doubt the ship would have made it home in one piece."
"Describe him."
"Tall, blondish-brown hair that practically never behaved--it was
always unruly, blue eyes."
"Was he good-looking?"
"I guess you could say that," B'Elanna said distantly, trying to get
her mother off the subject.
*Am I ever a convincing liar. Good-looking, hell! He's a knockout!*
B'Elanna glanced at the chronometer again. Nine-twenty-eight. She had
two minutes.
"Why *did* you come here anyway?" D'Lena rose and began to slowly
pace the room, pausing only to eye B'Elanna.
*To get away from my memories.* But what she said was, "Just because."
"Didn't think you'd come here, B'Elanna." D'Lena scrutinized her
daughter. There was something up--she could tell by the look in
B'Elanna's eyes.
"Well, Mother, it's getting late and maybe I should get some rest."
"At nine-thirty?"
B'Elanna was panicked. If she didn't get her mother out by the time
her father showed up, the two would start a fight right in front of her.
As if to add to her dread, the door chime sounded.
"That your boyfriend?" D'Lena asked. "The Paris kid?"
*No*, B'Elanna thought. Steeling herself for what was about to come,
she called, "Come in."
Marc walked in, a grin on his face. "I was wondering when you were
going to let me in......" His voice trailed off when he caught sight of
D'Lena.
Her mother also looked shocked. Obviously, B'Elanna's father was the
last person she had expected to see again.
"D'Lena."
"Marc." D'Lena's voice was a shocked whisper.
To be continued (Don't you just hate me?! :) )
Legal B.S. Paramount's characters, my story. Marc Torres and D'Lena
(pronounced Day-lenah) are my creation and have nothing to do with any
real stuff, blah, blah, blah, etc., etc., etc.
Email: pepsi333@cris.com
