Starfleet Cadet Be'lanna Torres sat and waited at the Alpha Centauri Prime Way-Station. She had sat and waited for five hours; She would do so for five hours more, before giving up.  Again, she approached the clerk, to whom by now she was a familiar face. The Andorian stopped her as she approached.

"I know. His name is Torres, and he was supposed to have already been here, but he is not."

When Be'lanna's face showed only disappointment, rather than the anger of only an hour ago, the clerk's attitude softened a bit.

"You know, sometimes family obligations are the hardest to meet. Things come up, almost at random."

She wanted no pity, but Be'lanna saw no reason to start anything.

"That's kind of you. Especially when the story goes that Andorians will fly through novae, if need be, to meet a family obligation."

The older man's antennae sagged a little, a sure sign of sympathy.

"So you're at Starfleet Academy. Before I retired, I was Starfleet. Could have been Xo aboard the first Enterprise, after the Mitchell incident. But Kirk promoted you-know-who, and the rest, as they say, is history. My name's Thelin. Ms. Torres, what you're doing to yourself is a crime. For a family member to disregard another as  you have obviously been..."

Be'lanna grabbed him, at that. But the Andorian had a knife, and showed it.

"Put me down, girlie. I used to eat your mother's ancestors after hand-to-hand, and I mean REAL Klingons, not the 'Vulcans-with-Bat'leths' of today. Geez, did I just say that? Bigoted old man. Be'lanna, sit down. Please."

A tear emerged from her eye, as she let Thelin down.

"Are-are you gonna call security?"

"Why? Nothing happened. I only call security on Nausicaans. That kind of bigotry, I don't apologize for. One last thing, kid."

 "Yes?"

"Tough out the Academy. It can be a real pain, trust me. But it tends to be worth it."

"How-could you know that I was having a hard time?"

"Easy. Your forehead has all kinds of worry lines. The place changes you. Why, before the first Andorian went to the Academy, we didn't even have antennae."

Be'lanna tried not to smile at the species-driven humor, but failed.

"So long as you don't tell me to get friendly with the gardener."

Thelin stopped typing at the terminal.

"Is that old Martian still there? Just give me some hope. Tell me he stopped using the name 'O'Hara'."

"Er, we all just know him as 'Boothby'."

"Ha! Told him he'd have to give it up."

Thelin promised to inform her of any arrivals, so Be'lanna sat back down. A voice came from next to her.

"They aren't going to show."

Be'lanna turned and saw a woman, a Klingon-human hybrid like herself, but with features that ran just a bit more Imperial than her own. Her voice was that one that seemed designed for sarcasm.

"Who isn't going to show?"

The woman had a bit of the know-it-all in her arch features.

"Your non-Klingon parent, of course. This is where all Klingon hybrids wait for the non-Klingon. Myself, I've logged whole months here. What's your name?"

"If its any of your business, my name is Be'lanna Torres. And my father will show."

Her unwanted companion smiled, and it was damned disconcerting seeing someone who looked so Klingon with such straight, clean teeth.

"Denial---with attitude! I like that. Wanna go out?"

"Noooo!!!"

The increasingly annoying woman laughed.

"Sorry. Really. In my case, I was just kidding. But Klingons are still the only species around you can get a rise out of with that kind of joke."

Be'lanna looked around for any signs of her father.

"I--don't like Klingon racial jokes. They disgust me."

"Why? We're really the only ones who can legit tell them. I know some doozies. By the way, my name is Trapper. Trapper Joan McIntyre."

Be'lanna eyed her chatty companion warily, certain she was being set up for another dumb joke.

"You'll excuse me, but that isn't a very Klingon name."

Trapper Joan shrugged.

"McIntyre is my dad's name. Trapper Joan is a family derivative. My Klingon name is an Imperial derivative that means, 'The Cager Of Prey', or 'Trapper'."

Be'lanna thought for a second.

"Then why not just use the name, 'Keh'lyr'?"

Trapper shrugged.

"The only people who use Ke'hlyr on me are officials, my frequently angry parents, or Worf. I like being Trapper. Have you ever heard of a man named Hawkeye Pierce?"

Be'lanna frowned.

"Nope. Never heard of him. I also never heard of Kirk, Kor, Surak, S'Tassk, or Emperor Kahless."

"Temper, temper. So you know the story. Well, my ancestor, one Trapper John McIntyre, was instrumental in helping the Pierces beat the twin conspiracies. So its a name I wear--if you'll pardon the expression-with honor."

"Thanks for sharing. Do you really think he just won't show?"

"Has he before?"

Be'lanna was now very annoyed. This woman seemed to know her situation inside and out.

"I suppose you'll tell me I'm being a fool."

"No. But your father is. He's decided that the troubles between you and your mother should include you as a target. And I'll bet your Mom spends whole days telling you how much you're acting like him-that is, when you speak at all."

Torres hung her head. Trapper had her bagged, and up on the wall.

"Been there, done that, huh, McIntyre? Any other pieces of wisdom to impart, O High Priestess Of Half-Br---I can't believe I just said that."

Trapper laughed.

“Why not? Its funny. I have some wisdom, sure. I just gotta keep an eye on the clock. Captain Walter Macleod is an old family friend, and he was taking care of my son this week."

Be'lanna was stunned.

"Captain Walter 'Radar' Macleod, of the Essex? He's not your son's father, is he?"

"Nooo. Immorta---Walter can't have children. No, my Alexander is the son of Worf Rozehnko. Yes, THAT Worf."

"Wow! I've heard so many things about him. I've tried to use him as an inspiration at the Academy--without much success."

"Oh, please! An inspiration? Let me tell you something about the magnificent brute, Worf. Let me tell you something about all the stories that have built up around him, and his mighty prowess. Each and every one of them---are true."

"Do you two get along? Does he like his son?"

"Hmmm. No, only sometimes, and he doesn't know he has a son. He will in about a month, when I go aboard Enterprise again. Old K'mpec is about to buy it, and its the title bout of Duras vs. Gowron for the Chancellory. I'm kind of an unheralded Ambassador. But that's how I like it. Fame is a joke."

Be'lanna rubbed her hands. She would have to take the next transport back, and work hard not to curse her father's name.

"If you had told me you were THE Keh'lyr, I wouldn't have given you that kind of lip. You are famous, whether you like it or not."

"But Be'lanna, I like lip. Lip is honest, something a diplomat sees precious little of. And here, I'm Trapper. Listen, I see the shuttle arriving. Before I go, let me tell you a story. It contains that wisdom you were after. Now, stop me if you've heard this one. A Klingon woman marries a human male. Her family warns of disaster if she does, but she does anyway. One day, her father receives an urgent call, and rushes to her side, bat'leth in hand. He enters her house. He can barely recognize his daughter. Her skin tone and  lower face are the same. But her ridges are gone, and her   once-sizable chest has dwindled to nothing. He asks what in blazes has happened to her."

Be'lanna's face showed her concern.

“So what did she tell him?"

Mock-sniffling, Trapper gave her reply.

"She said, 'Father, he left me flat!'"

Trapper found her own joke hilarious, but Be'lanna got up, then and there.

"That is the vilest---most disgusting---how can you---lady, you are sick. Dumb jokes are no substitute for a life. I hope you don't tell that joke to other Klingons."

"Just one. But Worf has no sense of humor, either. I wish you well, Be'lanna Torres. And consider two things, as you go on your way. One, self-acceptance takes time for any sentient to feel, and in hybrids it takes longer. Just give it time."

"And the second thing?"

Trapper removed a small dagger from her person, and pointed it right at Be'lanna's chest. Gently, she poked it, then put the dagger away.

"Pffffttttttt!!!!!"

Be'lanna realized Trapper was making the sound of a balloon  deflating, and stalked off, angrier than ever. At his desk, Thelin looked over at the smiling Trapper.

"You know what, kid? You've been coming here almost your whole life. And not once has anyone found that joke funny."

Trapper-Keh'lyr went to meet her son.

"Everyone's a critic."

-------------------------------------------

Several years later, USS Voyager

The night of love was sweet. Of course, after hours in leaky enviro-suits, air tasted pretty damn sweet, too. But Tom and Be'lanna had each other, at long last, and that was good. In the afterglow, they snuggled and chatted.

"Y'know, Tom. I was part of a betting pool that had you going after Seven. For weeks, your eyes seemed glued to her mammary banks, as it were."

"Hey. So I stared. I mean, they gotta put her in a regular uniform some day. That bodysuit just accentuates her in some major ways. It hardly leaves her flat."

They began to kiss, but were torn apart by Be'lanna's sudden giggling. Tom's eyes shifted.

"Its a little late in the game for color commentary, Be'lanna."

But now her giggling had Torres falling out of bed, laughing her backside off.

"Left her----left her flat!!!! I finally get it."

Tom stared down at his hysterically laughing lady love. She looked up at him, still giggling.

"Paris, if you don't get down here and take me now, when I'm  feeling this good, I will kill you-hooooo-hoh-oooohahhheeh."

Tom needed no further prompting, and joined her on the floor.

"Yes, MA'AM!"

Their love, now in full bloom, had taken its time, of course. But some people need that time, if only to figure things out. Tom never did figure out, though, why Be'lanna liked him to make leaky balloon noises when kissed on a certain spot.