You Can't Choose Your Family
Summary: Written to the prompt: "This isn't going to be a typical best man speech."
Characters: Voyager crew
Disclaimer: Characters are Paramount’s. No infringement intended.
“Is that a tear in your eye, Harry?”
“Shut up, Tom,” his friend muttered. “They just look so happy. And after all these years, I think they deserve it.”
“Years is right,” Tom snorted. “He deserves a medal for waiting so long for her.”
B’Elanna thumped into her seat, nearly spilling her drink. “Damn, the captain looks stunning,” she slurred.
“Are you drunk?” hissed Harry.
Tom rescued a dangerously listing glass. “Honey, maybe you should lay off the Romulan ale. The speeches are about to start.”
“I better get up there,” she exclaimed, grabbing a holocamera. “Chakotay would never forgive me if I screwed this up.”
Her husband and friend watched apprehensively as she weaved her way toward the centre table. “Well, this isn’t going to be a typical best man speech,” Tom mumbled.
The celebrant stood and tapped her glass and the room fell quiet. She nodded to the best man, who stood with a nervous clearing of the throat.
“It’s been an honour to stand up at the wedding of two people I consider my close friends –” The best man broke off, blinking, as a holocamera flashed repeatedly.
“Oh, hell, B’Elanna,” Tom muttered as his wife stumbled and righted herself.
“– and family. Especially as most of us thought we’d never see the day.”
The bride, the groom, the celebrant and half of the guests turned to glare.
“After all,” the best man stammered, withering under the force of their combined disapproval, “it’s not every day you stand up next to the man who’s marrying your ex-girlfriend …”
The entire room groaned, and Tom thunked his head onto folded arms. “B’Elanna wasn’t kidding about Chakotay being a dismal public speaker.”
B’Elanna raised the camera again, gleefully firing off a few more shots of Chakotay’s deer-in-the-headlights expression.
“Why did the Doc ask him to be best man, anyway?” Harry wondered.
“Because Seven wanted him in the wedding party and Chakotay refused to be her maid of honour,” shrugged Tom.
“… er, anyway, congratulations, Seven and um, Joe,” Chakotay finished weakly as the celebrant reached across the table to pluck the champagne out of his hand.
“Thank you, Commander,” she said in icy tones, then turned back to the happy couple, raising her glass. “Well, everyone, what are you waiting for? To Seven and the Doc- uh, Joe!”
“To Seven and Joe!” the guests echoed enthusiastically.
B’Elanna chugged the glass of champagne in one hand while trying to aim her holocamera with the other, caught her heel in the hem of her dress and stumbled into the centre table, knocking her head on the way down.
“Is there a medic in the house?” Doctor Joe called sarcastically.
“Worst wedding ever,” Tom groaned as he grabbed a medkit and went to rescue his wife.
“Chakotay,” he heard the celebrant hiss as he flipped open his tricorder, “I swear to God, if you’re thinking about giving the traditional groom’s speech next week, our wedding is off.”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Tom offered as he pressed a detox hypospray to his wife’s neck, “as you can see, Chakotay chose a much better candidate for best man than the Doc did. Just keep her away from the Romulan ale ...”