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Keiko’s making dinner when Nerys gets back from her shift. She lets herself in quietly, with none of the aggressive slamming she’s used to in her quarters. These days she mostly gets her anger out on the holodeck when she needs to, out of respect for Keiko and Molly.
“Hey,” Keiko calls, a vague clanging sound signalling that she’s obviously too busy to come out. “Good shift?”
“Fine.”
Nerys means to go in to say hello properly but instead she comes to a stop in the living room, taking in the mess Molly’s made of the floor. “Wow,” she can’t help but let out.
Molly looks up, her face bright with excitement.
“Look at all my paper!” she exclaims, gesturing at the pieces scattered on the floor around her. The paper has all been cut into perfect squares — some brightly coloured, some patterned; some holographic and catching the light. It looks like the aftermath of an explosion, albeit a relatively harmless one.
“Wow,” Nerys says again, trying to avoid crumpling any of the pieces as she awkwardly folds herself up to sit on the floor. It’s more difficult than she expected, as nearly everything involving her body is these days. “Did your mom replicate all these for you?”
“No, my grandma sent them,” Molly says, sounding immensely proud.
Nerys’ eyes widen appreciatively, taking that in. She honestly hadn’t considered that Molly might have living grandparents; her own were long gone before she was even born.
“That’s nice of her,” she says, reaching out to touch one of the patterned sheets, running one finger along the surface of it. Molly notices and picks the piece up immediately, holding it out until Nerys takes it and holds it awkwardly, unsure what to do with it. Molly’s been folding the squares into complex little shapes: various animals, mostly, some more recognizable than others. Nerys can see a bird and a fish, at least. The rest she isn’t so sure about. She has no idea how to do any of that, so she rests Molly’s paper gift carefully on the floor next to her instead. “Do you see your grandma a lot?” she asks, watching Molly as she searches for the right colour.
“We send messages a lot,” Molly says distractedly. She settles on silver, then peers down at her tablet to start copying whatever’s happening on the screen. “Mommy says we can visit again next year, maybe. So she can meet the new baby.”
“That will be fun.”
Nerys tries to sound knowledgeable, even though she has no idea whether visiting one’s grandma is actually fun or not. She has the vague idea that it involves being fed, which is probably nice. Molly hums something that could be agreement, still distracted; for a moment Nerys is content just watching Molly work, until it occurs to her that Nerys isn’t joining in and she looks up halfway through her folding with a frown.
“You should make one too,” she says, holding out her half-folded — something, Nerys isn’t actually sure what it is. Something with wings, maybe.
Nerys smiles.
“I don’t know how,” she admits, picking her paper back up and waving it at Molly, as if to demonstrate. “I never learned.”
“Really?” Molly asks, surprised. “Mommy said she did this all the time when she was little.”
“I bet she did,” Nerys agrees. “But I never had a chance to. I never had any paper like this.”
Molly frowns, disturbed at the idea.
Nerys doesn’t usually talk to Molly about her life. It makes her feel weirdly guilty, like she’s ruining Chief O’Brien’s perfect kid, even though logically she knows it’s not like Molly’s childhood has been some sort of rose-toned utopia.
Close, though. Compared to Nerys’ own childhood, Molly’s been growing up in paradise.
“You can have as much as you want,” Molly says seriously, oblivious to Nerys’ thoughts, with a simplicity that almost makes Nerys want to cry. “I don’t mind. I can show you how to do it.”
Molly crawls over to sit next to her, much less careful about crumpling the paper than Nerys had been, spare sheets crumpling under her clumsy knees. When she makes it to Nerys’ side she resettles herself so the padd screen is visible for both of them. “I’ll start it over,” she says, clumsy fingers adjusting the time of the video on the screen. “We can do it together.”
“Sure,” Nerys says, watching the screen carefully as the video restarts and trying to copy the movements as best she can. “It’s kind of you to share, Molly.”
Molly shrugs, too preoccupied getting her folds right to pay Nerys’ words much attention. Her hair obviously started out the day in some sort of complicated braid but now half of it has unraveled, baby hairs sticking out straight around her hairline and a long piece at the back of her head that’s escaped the braid completely. One of her socks is on inside out, and she smells like kids’ shampoo and moba jam. Nerys swears she’s gotten bigger just since Nerys came to live with them.
The baby will grow just as quickly, Nerys thinks, and for some reason the thought makes her strangely sad. On Keiko’s behalf, she tells herself.
Right?
//
“Thanks for playing with her,” Keiko says later when Nerys excuses herself to the kitchen, her mangled attempt at a frog still clutched in one hand. “It means a lot to her that you humour her like that.”
Nerys frowns.
“I’m not humouring her,” she says. Is that what Keiko thinks? Maybe it’s a human thing, saying it like that. On Bajor Keiko’s words would be considered rude, even spoken about her own child. “I like spending time with Molly.”
Keiko’s eyes flick up to hers, surprised, before she catches whatever’s on Nerys’ face and her expression softens.
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she says immediately. “Just — I’m sure you have more important things to worry about than folding paper.”
Nerys does, of course. She always does. She can’t remember a time in her life when there was nothing more important than making a paper frog, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy doing it now.
She shrugs.
“It’s nice to think about something else for a while,” she admits, perching herself on the edge of one of the kitchen chairs. It’s a relief, after spending her whole shift standing. “It’s … fun, playing with her.”
On Bajor all children are precious, she thinks but doesn’t say, because she doesn’t want to imply Keiko doesn't think her own child is precious.
“Well, I appreciate your patience,” Keiko says, taking the lid off of a pot to peer at what’s inside.
Nerys snorts.
“That’s not something I get a lot,” she says frankly. Keiko aims a look at her over her shoulder, mouth open like she’s going to disagree, but Nerys waves her off before she can try. “It’s okay,” Nerys says, saving Keiko the attempt. “I’ve heard it all before.”
Her words have the opposite of their intended effect: Keiko’s nose wrinkles in a frown, and she looks genuinely disturbed.
“I think you’re plenty patient,” she says, a little defiantly.
Nerys doesn’t really know what to say to that. She shrugs awkwardly, letting out a breath that’s almost a laugh. Keiko stares at her for another long moment, before she turns back to the pot, fidgeting with the lid where she’s set it on the counter.
“I was worried at first.” Nerys nods in agreement, even though Keiko can’t actually see her; she’d figured as much. But Keiko isn’t finished, opening her mouth to continue before Nerys can reassure her that it’s fine; she doesn’t mind. She knows she wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice for something like this. “But then I saw that you were worried, too.”
“And that made you feel better?” Nerys asks, laughing a little in disbelief.
“It meant you cared,” Keiko insists. “You took it so seriously.”
“Well, of course I do,” Nerys says, still not really understanding what Keiko’s trying to say. “Keiko. It’s your baby.”
“I know that,” Keiko says — snaps, almost, before she takes a deep breath and visibly forces herself to calm down. “It’s just — I was nervous when I got pregnant with Molly. I wasn’t sure I wanted to have children at all.”
“It’s a big decision,” Nerys agrees slowly, squinting at the back of Keiko’s head to try to get an idea of where this is headed. She’d like to think they know each other pretty well, at this point, but she’s not following Keiko’s train of thought at all.
“My mother wasn’t — well,” Keiko says. She’s still turned towards the pot; Nerys can’t see her face. “She was never very kind to me, growing up. When I got older I understood her better, but as a child it was difficult.”
“I can imagine.”
“I used to say I preferred plants to people,” Keiko admits, and Nerys smiles.
“Miles mentioned that once.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should even get married, much less have a baby.” Keiko’s still turned around, but Nerys holds herself still anyway, not wanting to disturb her as she speaks, sensing this is something she needs to get out. “But when I got pregnant, I promised myself my daughter wouldn’t grow up like I did. I promised myself I would raise her differently, because I wanted her to feel the warmth I never got.”
“She does,” Nerys says honestly. “You’re doing a great job with her, both of you.”
Keiko glances over her shoulder, offering a watery smile.
“Thank you,” she says, and then she shakes her head. “But that’s not the point.”
Nerys blinks.
“Then what is?”
Keiko snorts out an incredulous laugh, and Nerys realizes that she was much too blunt, remembering belatedly that not all cultures value directness like hers does. Keiko tried to explain her native language to Nerys once, a few weeks ago — Nerys had been the incredulous one, then, thrown off completely by the concept of respectful pronouns. How could there be so many different ways to say “you”?
“The point is I had enough sense to be worried about it,” Keiko says, pulling Nerys’ attention back to her voice. “And so do you.”
Nerys frowns, still not getting Keiko’s point.
“That’s a strange way to think about it,” she says, turning the idea over in her head as she tries to understand what Keiko means.
“You trust your instincts, don’t you?” Keiko insists. Nerys hesitates, unsure, and then she nods, slowly. “Then you can trust them here, too. That’s all I mean.”
Nerys finds she doesn’t really know what to say to that, but she guesses at the end of the day Keiko knows more on the subject than she does — or ever will, probably.
“Sorry,” Keiko laughs, sensing Nerys’ discomfort. She takes the pot off the heat and sets it on the counter, pulling open a drawer to fish around for the right sized spoon. “I guess it’s not my place.”
A few years ago Nerys would have agreed on that front. A few years ago she would have argued as soon as Keiko started speaking, probably.
A few years ago Nerys wouldn’t be sitting here at all.
“Of course it’s your place, it’s your home,” she says, now. “Your baby, too.”
Keiko only hums, reaching for the cabinet above her to take out the bowls. Nerys would offer, but last time she tried she got swatted away for her efforts. Neither Keiko nor Miles like it when she exerts herself too much, something Nerys doesn’t agree with but has given up fighting too hard — when she’s in their quarters, at least.
“Miles can’t stand her,” Keiko says into the silence, voice contemplative. “My mother, I mean. We used to fight about it all the time. Shocking, I know.”
Nerys laughs. She can picture it so clearly: the two of them bickering at the transporter station on the way to visit Molly’s grandmother, then ducking into the kitchen at Molly’s grandmother’s house to continue the argument.
“But then one day I realized — he hates my mother because he loves me,” Keiko continues, an almost dreamlike quality to her voice. She’s looking in Nerys’ direction, but not at Nerys herself. “He hates her for me, because he knows I won’t.”
Nerys’ laughter fades.
She doesn’t know what to say to that: the concept is foreign to her. She has no idea what it’s like to navigate family relationships as an adult. All she has left of her family are memories: some harder to touch than others, but all firmly in the past.
Even her romantic relationships have never been anything like what Keiko described; it’s hard to imagine herself in Keiko’s place, trusting someone to hold something as personal as her own anger. Nerys isn’t used to trusting anyone but herself.
“That sounds nice,” she says. The word is too weak for what she really means, too revealing to say aloud even to Keiko: that it sounds safe. Something squirms in Nerys’ stomach at the thought, too foreign for her to understand what it means. “He cares about you.”
“He does,” Keiko agrees. “Don’t repeat what I said to him, though. He hates talking about my mother.”
“Sure,” Nerys says with another laugh. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“What secret?”
The two women turn in unison to find Molly in the kitchen entryway, a curious expression on her face. Nerys laughs even harder, reaching to pinch at her cheek. Molly swats her away, ducking backwards with a giggle.
“A secret secret,” Nerys says solemnly before Keiko has time to answer. “We’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“You should tell me now,” Molly protests, her giggles having given way to a serious, self-important expression.
“And you should clean your hands before dinner,” Keiko interrupts, looking up from the plates to give Molly a mock-serious glare. Molly opens her mouth to argue, but before she can get the words out Nerys has pushed herself up from her chair, the movement a lot less smooth than she’d like.
“I haven’t cleaned my hands either, can you believe that?” she says loudly, earning a grateful look from Keiko in the process. “I bet you’re better than me at it, Molly.”
“At washing my hands?” Molly’s nose wrinkles in disbelief, obviously not convinced, but when Nerys starts walking towards the bathroom she falls into step beside her.
“You were better at folding paper,” Nerys points out. “You had to teach me, remember?”
“I guess,” Molly says doubtfully. She follows Nerys into the bathroom, though, and sticks her small hands under the sonic spray alongside Nerys’ bigger ones. “You have to hold them for twenty seconds or they don’t get clean,” she informs Nerys, her desire to share information apparently stronger than her suspicions regarding Nerys’ true motives. “Daddy told me.”
“Well, your daddy’s a smart man,” Nerys says, turning her hands palm up. Molly follows suit, spreading her fingers as wide as they’ll go. “So I guess we’d better listen to him, huh?”
It’s not until they’re seated at the table that Keiko takes in Molly’s appearance properly, mouth pinching at the sight of her ruined braids.
“Baby, your hair….” she sighs, sounding exhausted. “I’ll fix it after dinner, okay?”
Molly’s chin juts out immediately, clearly not enthused about the idea.
“I can do it,” Nerys offers before she can say anything, cutting off Molly’s belligerence before it can escalate. Molly pauses, considering, eyes flicking over to her mother to check if it’s okay.
“Are you sure?” Keiko jumps in before Molly can agree, expression caught somewhere in between desperation and guilt. “I don’t want to — ”
“Sure,” Nerys says easily. “I used to have long hair, I know how.”
“You did?” Molly’s forgotten her sulk entirely, now, spoon dangling in a loose grip as she leans in towards Nerys.
“Sure,” Nerys laughs.
“Do you have a picture?”
“Not a good one,” Nerys says frankly. There’s only her old ID photo, as far as she knows, and it’s not the kind of photo Molly’s probably imagining: not a hint of a smile, just huge eyes in a sullen, starved face.
“Oh.” Molly turns back to her dinner, disappointed.
“Molly,” Keiko starts, sounding exasperated, but Nerys shakes her head.
“It’s fine,” she says, still smiling. “She’s just curious, that’s all.”
“She’s definitely that,” Keiko agrees, finally cracking a smile as Molly digs out something with her spoon — Nerys doesn’t recognize any of the vegetables Keiko cooked, and the sauce they’re buried in makes them even harder to identify. “If she ever pushes too far, just let me know, okay?”
Nerys can’t imagine anything Molly might do that she’d think was ‘too far,’ but she nods at Keiko in what she hopes is a reassuring manner.
“This is good,” she says, to change the subject, nodding at the plate in front of her. “What’s it called?”
“Curry,” Molly interrupts loudly, straightening in her seat. “Mommy makes it the best.”
“I think so too,” Nerys agrees, although she’s obviously never tried it before and thus can’t make the comparison properly. Molly clearly doesn’t notice this discrepancy, beaming up at Nerys with her mouth full.
//
Keiko refuses Nerys’ offer to help clear the table after dinner, just like she does every night, so Nerys takes Molly out to the living room and has her locate a hairbrush before she sits her sideways on the couch. Nerys settles behind her, wedged in as best she can, and gets to work tugging the bands holding what’s left of her braids in place.
“Do you sleep with it like this?” she asks quietly as she works the brush through Molly’s long, dark hair, starting at the bottom so it won’t hurt. She always used to rush it when she brushed her own hair — jerking the brush through until her eyes watered, no patience for taking the time to work out the tangles properly. Now she does it right, slow and careful, so Molly won’t wince or jerk away.
“Yes,” Molly says, obviously knowing better than to nod her head in response. She must do this a lot, Nerys thinks. Keiko always likes her hair to look neat.
“I’ll do something simple, then,” Nerys says. “So it won’t bother you.”
“Okay,” Molly agrees, obviously starstruck enough to agree with whatever Nerys suggests. Nerys smiles down at her, charmed, as she parts her hair down the middle and starts to braid.
Keiko comes in from the kitchen before Nerys has finished, leaning her head against the doorjamb to watch.
“You’re good at that,” she says quietly as Nerys works, layering strands over one another in a familiar pattern, still being careful not to tug at Molly’s delicate scalp.
“Did your mommy teach you?” Molly asks. “Mommy sometimes teaches me. I practice on my dolls.”
Nerys doesn’t want to see whatever pained expression has no doubt crossed Keiko’s face, so she focuses on Molly’s final braid as she speaks.
“No,” she says, holding out her hand for the last of the hair ties Molly’s been keeping safe in her lap. Molly hands back a purple one, decorated with shimmering beads. “My friend did. Just like you showed me how to fold paper, remember?”
“It was fun!” Molly chirps, oblivious, and Nerys grins at the back of her head.
“It sure was,” she agrees, tying the braid and tapping Molly’s shoulder: all finished. Molly’s whole face lights up, bright, and Nerys thinks she would — will — do anything to keep her smiling like that.
“Maybe tomorrow you can teach me something new.”