Beloved B’Elanna, Part 13 - No Regrets
by (the Parisite who’s also the youngest member of JetC7) Cheile

To Robbie and Roxann, with hugs.


        "Don’t be ridiculous," B’Elanna growled, a dangerous undertone 
in her voice.
        "I’m not being ridiculous, Miss Torres.  I only thought you’d 
like to know what sort of man you’re marrying."
        "How can you prove that Tom fathered your child?"
        "Except for the few features she inherited from me, Rhiannon is 
his very image.  That’s how I know."
        "Have you had it proven?"
        "Why should I?  I know that he’s Rhiannon’s father.  And I only 
came to warn you.  He left me after one night.  Who’s to say he won’t 
eventually do the same to you?"
        "Tom’s infidelity days are over.  He hasn’t looked at another 
woman since we’ve been together."
        "So far," Erica said.  "But his type always revert back.  I’ve 
seen it happen before.  Think ahead, five—ten years from now, when you 
have two or three small children and you’re pregnant again.  Do you 
really think he’ll want you—bloated, belly swollen?  He’ll find someone 
else—coming to you only to keep you bearing children."
        The image flashed across her mind—and B’Elanna felt tears sting 
her eyes.  Furiously, she blinked them back and spun to face Erica.
        "I don’t know where you got such a ridiculous idea, but Tom 
would never do that.  And unless you have proof, I won’t believe that 
your child is Tom’s."
        "Don’t worry—I’ll prove it to you," Erica smirked before she 
walked out of the room.
        B’Elanna could barely contain her rage.  How *dare* she say such 
a thing about Tom!
        *But do you wonder if maybe she’s right?*
        *Shut up*, she angrily told the voice in her head.
        But the doubting voice continued to nag at her.
        And all that night, she was plagued with nightmares, nightmares 
in which Erica’s words came true.

*

        Early in the morning, Tom slipped into B’Elanna’s room.  
Perching on the edge of the bed, he watched her sleep, the slow rise and 
fall of her chest, the way one hand rested by her head, palm upraised, 
fingers slightly curled inward.
        *She’s so beautiful*, he thought, gently brushing back a stray 
lock of raven dark hair, then lightly traced her brow ridges with the 
tip of one finger.  *More than I ever could have hoped for, my brave, 
beautiful ‘Lanna.*
        B’Elanna awoke to find Tom beside her.  The first thing she 
thought of was Erica’s words, and unconsciously, she pulled away from 
him.
        "’Lanna, is something wrong?"
        "No," she lied.  "Nothing’s wrong."
        "All right.  Just making sure."  He kissed her forehead lightly.  
"I’ll leave you alone, so that you can get dressed."
        After he left the room, B’Elanna sighed as she sat up, running a 
hand through her hair.  She had wanted to ask him—but had lost her 
courage.

        Everyone else was gone later that day when Erica showed up 
again.
        "What do you want?" B’Elanna demanded icily.
        "I want to speak to Tom."
        "He’s not here.  And even if he was, I wouldn’t let you near 
him."
        "I have every right to talk to him, considering he fathered my 
little girl."
        "Until you have proof, I won’t believe you."
        Before Erica could respond, a familiar voice echoed down the 
hall.  "Honey, I’m home!"
        Seconds later, Tom walked into the room.  He crossed over to 
B’Elanna and kissed her.  Then he turned to Erica.  "Oh, I’m sorry, 
‘Lanna.  I didn’t know you had a friend over."
        "I don’t know her.  But she says you do."
        Tom looked closely at Erica.  "I don’t know how that’s possible, 
because I’ve never seen her before."
        "How can you not?" Erica cried.  "Don’t you remember the night 
we spent together?!"
        "What night?" Tom demanded.
        "Seven years ago, right before you left for the Maquis."
        "That’s impossible."
        "No, it’s not, because there’s one minor detail you forgot."
        "Oh?  And what’s that?"
        "You have a daughter."
        "What are you saying?!"
        "You got me pregnant—and then up and left for the Maquis, 
without even thinking of it.  I only wanted to warn your fiancee, in 
case you pull the same thing on her."
        "That’s ridiculous!"
        "It is not!" Erica shot back.
        "That’s exactly what it is!" Jennifer snapped from the doorway.  
"How dare you accuse my brother of such a thing!  Get out!"
        Erica turned to storm out, pushing Jennifer aside.  But in the 
doorway, she turned.  "I’ll prove it to you, Miss Torres.  Then you’ll 
believe me when you find out what sort of man you’re marrying."  With 
that, she left.

*

        The next day, B’Elanna got a call from Erica.  "Come to my 
house, if you want to know the truth."
        *All right, that’s it.  She’s pushed me too far!*

        The door opened to reveal a man who was about the age of Admiral 
Paris.  He was rail-thin, over six feet tall and had quiet brown eyes.
        He looked down at her.  "Miss Torres, I presume?"
        "That’s right."
        He stepped aside.  "Come in.  Mistress Erica awaits you in the 
front room."
        B’Elanna followed him down a long hall into the "front room", 
decorated in dark blue and peach.  A black grand piano, the only thing 
not matching the rest of the room, sat in one corner.  Erica was sitting 
on a small couch.  She looked up when they entered.
        Having had enough, B’Elanna pushed past the butler.  "What do 
you want me here for, Erica?"
        "You said you wanted proof, you’ll get it."  Erica turned to the 
butler.  "Sanders, bring the child."
        Sanders nodded and left.  Two minutes later, he reentered the 
room, a small girl trailing him.
        "I have brought Miss Rhiannon."
        "Thank you, Sanders.  You may go."
        Once the butler had departed, Erica turned to B’Elanna, 
smirking.  "Well, Miss Torres, here’s the proof, right here in front of 
you."
        B’Elanna studied the child.  Rhiannon was small for a 
seven-year-old.  She had thin blond hair that fell to her shoulders, big 
cerulean eyes and a storm of freckles on her nose and cheeks.
        "You see?  I’m telling the truth."
        "You’re blond-haired and blue-eyed, too," B’Elanna pointed out.  
"In fact, her hair is as blond as yours.  Tom’s is a mix of blond and 
brown."
        "Yes, but I have no freckles," Erica said.  "That comes from her 
<I>father’s</I> side of the family."
        "I’ve seen pictures of Tom when he was her age.  And he had no 
freckles."
        "But his sister has them.  It seems that they only show up on 
the girls of the Paris family."
        "Have you had it really tested?"
        "What for?  I know what happened that night.  A month later, I 
was pregnant.  Like it or not, the girl is Tom’s child."
        Before B’Elanna could say anything else, Sanders came into the 
room.  "Mistress Erica, you have a phone call."
        Erica rolled her eyes in disgust.  "Oh, all right.  I’ll be 
right back."
        She left the room, leaving B’Elanna alone with Rhiannon.
        The girl refused to look at B’Elanna, even when she knelt down 
to her level.  When she finally caught Rhiannon’s eye, she saw the 
hidden fear in the big blue eyes.
        "What’s wrong?"
        Rhiannon scooted back several steps.  "Mommy says Klingons hurt 
children."
        B’Elanna struggled to supress her rage.  "I’m only 
half-Klingon."
        Rhiannon mulled this thought over before speaking again.  
"You’re my daddy’s girlfriend?"
        "My fiance is not your daddy.  Your mother just thinks he is."
        "Do I look like him?"
        B’Elanna wasn’t sure how to answer that one.  But before she 
could, she heard Erica come back in.  "That’s taken care of."
        "Mommy, why do you have that gun?"
        B’Elanna spun around to see Erica holding a gun—pointed straight 
at her.  There was a crazed gleam in her eyes.
        "I may not get Tom to believe this brat is his—but I will make 
sure he doesn’t get tied to a half-breed Klingon bitch like you."  Erica 
pulled back the hammer.  "You’d better start praying to whatever gods 
you believe in, Miss Torres, because you’re soon going to meet them."
        "Mommy?"
        "Shut up, Rhiannon."  Erica tightened her grip on the trigger.
        To her surprise, B’Elanna didn’t feel frightened.  She closed 
her eyes.  Tom’s face appeared in her mind—that teasing grin, cerulean 
eyes full of love.
        <I>I love you, Tom.</I>
        "Drop it, Mistress Erica."
        B’Elanna’s eyes flew open.  Sanders was across the room, and he 
had a pistol pointed at Erica.
        "Put it down, Sanders."
        "You put yours down."
        "You may shoot me, but the Klingon bitch will go before I do."
        "My aim is far better than yours, Mistress Erica, and this is 
pointed straight at your head."
        "Mommy?"
        "Shut up, Rhiannon."  Erica suddenly turned her gun on Rhiannon.  
"Put it down, Sanders, or I shoot the brat.  You’ve got ten seconds."
        Rhiannon was frozen.  No one moved.  Erica had her gun trained 
on Rhiannon, Sanders on Erica.
        "Six….five….four…."
        "Shooting Miss Rhiannon will get you nowhere."
        "I’ll be rid of her.  She’s nothing but a burden anyway.  
Three….two….one…."
        It was at that second that the front window shattered.  
Momentarily startled, Erica spun around.  B’Elanna took the opportunity 
to knock Rhiannon out of harm’s way.
        Two shots rang out.  Erica’s went into the piano, Sanders’ went 
into Erica’s hand.  She dropped her gun and fell to the floor, screaming 
in pain.
        People suddenly began filling the room, including several 
police, others she didn’t recognize, and Tom.
        "B’Elanna!"
        She ran to him, but he met her halfway.
        Crushing her in his arms, he kissed her fervently.  When he 
finally let her go, he looked into her eyes.  "Are you all right?"
        She nodded.
        "Thank God," he whispered, pressing her close, stroking her 
hair.
        The police had taken Erica away and Sanders was comforting 
Rhiannon.  Separating herself from Tom, B’Elanna went over to them.
        "Will she be all right?"
        "Rhiannon will be fine.  She’s just a little frightened."  They 
were interrupted as one of the cops came over.
        "Brilliant work, Rick."
        "It was worth it."  Noticing B’Elanna’s startled look, Rick 
Sanders laughed.  "I’m not a butler.  I’m an undercover agent.  We’ve 
been working on this for a year."  He shook his head.  "But it’s a shame 
that Meggy and Jenna will have to know this."
        Delany—Delany--  "You mean Megan and Jenny Delany?"
        Sanders nodded.  "Erica’s their cousin, but she’s never been—all 
there.  They love her dearly, but her condition hurts them."
        "Will what she has affect Rhiannon?"
        "Rhiannon’s is not Erica’s child.  She’s not your child either, 
Lieutenant Paris.  She was kidnapped as a baby eight years ago.  It was 
part of Erica’s ploy.  Meggy and Jenna must have mentioned you—and her 
crazed mind saw a way to get revenge for whatever reason she thought 
up."
        They bid Sanders good-bye and left the house.  Once they were 
alone, B’Elanna turned to Tom.  "Tom, I wanted you to know that it 
wouldn’t have mattered if Rhiannon had been your child.  I don’t care 
what happened in the past.  What matters is that I love you—and that 
we’re together.  I have no regrets."
        "Oh, ‘Lanna," he whispered, leaning down to draw her close for a 
tender, loving kiss.

**

        They arrived home an hour later.  Jadzia was awaiting them and 
was shocked to hear what had happened.
        "You’re both all right?"
        "We’re fine," Tom said.  "And I’ll leave you two to your girl 
talk."  Kissing B’Elanna, he left the room.
        "Well, now that all the excitement’s over, we can concentrate on 
the wedding," Jadzia said.
        B’Elanna slapped her forehead.  "Oh gods, I wasn’t even 
thinking!  Where am I going to get my dress?!"
        Jadzia smiled.  "I think I know just the person."

To be continued……

Any guesses on who Jadzia has in mind?

Anyway, legal B.S.  Paramount’s characters, my story.  Copyright 1997, 
by Cheile.  Erica Delany and Rhiannon are my creation.  It’s almost 
over!  Comments, questions, etc.?  You know how to get ahold of me:  
cheile@hotmail.com