By Liz Logan

Worf looked from his blank canvas to the brightly colored one his wife\painted months ago. She had painted it the day before she died in

hopes of relaxing after a particularly bad day in Ops. She had come home crying after a fight with Sisko. The fight had been over something stupid; Worf didn't even remember what. Like always Jadzia had tried to get him to paint with her that day. She even gave him one of her good sets of paints and a fine brush to use. Jadzia said it helped her relax and that she hoped the same for him. Thinking back, Worf realized it had just been an excuse she'd made for them to spend more time together. He'd never given Jadzia a reason why he didn't want to paint; he just said no.

With a shaking hand Worf picked up the small brush. Memories of Jadzianearly overwhelmed him. He recalled the way she had painted; she tuned out everything except the object she had chosen to paint. She had always looked very thoughtful when she painted. Worf remembered thinking how beautiful he found her when she was in such a thoughtful state. He sighed and wished with all his soul he had taken the time to join her in her pastime just once.

Worf steadied his hand and dipped the tip of the brush into the thick paint. He plunged the brush into a cup of water and just as quickly pulled it out. Then he slowly lifted it to the fresh, white canvas.

A smudge of dark blue appeared in the middle of the canvas. Jadzia loved the color blue. Worf loved it when Jadzia wore blue; it always brought out her eyes wonderfully. He used the brush to spread the color into a long shape which sort of resembled a dress. He cleaned the blue off of the brush.

A dash of creamy peach formed a circle above the blue. Two long peach sticks poked out of the dress and grew fingers with the help of the brush.

Worf remembered Jadzia's hands. He thought of the delicate light touch that always sent chills down his back and made him smile. He cleaned the creamy peach off the brush.

A few dots of brown became thoughtful facial expressions and dark spots.

Carefully Worf painted a nose on the peach circle. Slowly he gave eyebrows and the outline of eyes to the blob of paint on the canvas. He placed a chair behind the figure and put two shoes near the bottom of the dress.

Finally he colored the right side of the circle with small brown spots.

Worf stopped a moment to look the painting over. He cleaned the brown off the brush.

A smidgen of red made lips. Worf gently stroked the canvas with his brush to form the lips. He remembered Jadzia's carefree smile. He loved the perfect smile with all his heart but never said so. Jadzia wanted him to smile more. Worf smiled briefly in memory of her wishes and his promise but the smile went away as he concentrated. He dipped the brush into a cup of water he had set to clean it. The red spread through the dirtied water from the brush's tip like blood from a wound. It reminded Worf of wounds from passionate nights with Jadzia. Slowly he took the brush out of the water and wiped away any remaining paint as carefully as he would wipe away the blood from a wound on his beloved.

A dab of blue made the irises of the eyes. Without bothering to clean the brush Worf dipped it into the black paint. He took the black paint to the canvas and gave Jadzia pupils. Worf quickly scrubbed the black away with his rag and scooped a touch of white onto the brush. He used the white to add a little twinkle into the eyes; it made them seem more realistic. He cleaned the colors off the brush and stepped back.

His wife stared at him with a slight smile on her face as she sat deep in thought. The painting was far from perfect; he had drawn with a shaky hand causing Jadzia to look like a blurry photograph, but the picture was drawn from the memory of their love.

He understood now another reason why she wanted him to paint. Jadzia always told him it helped relax her; only once did she say how it cleared her mind so she could remember the good times and things. He walked over to the wall and took a photograph of Jadzia in a blue dress down. Worf grabbed his own painting and hung it up to dry and stay. He walked over to the replicator and cast a glance at the picture on the wall. Jadzia smiled back at him.

"Computer," Worf said, "One medium-sized white canvas,"