In the Wake of the Fire

By Trillgirl

Dax, Worf, and everyone else belong, unfortunately, to Paramount and not to me. What can I do to change that? This little piece is set right after "Change of Heart."

****

Jadzia lay in a haze of mingled voices and blurred images, searching. If she strained with all her might, she could pick out one or two specifics. Julian's voice, for one, his distinctive British accent giving orders or asking for a dermal regenerator. The hum of a tricorder, growing and fading as it passed over her body. And a dull, consistent pain in her abdomen. Still she continued to search the confusion around her, listening. Since she couldn't seem to open her eyes, she had to rely on her hearing to find the sound she longed to hear the most, the one voice that could pull her from this confused jumble of images and sounds, the one voice that could bring her back to reality.

When the voice didn't come, she began to grow desperate. Where was he? She strained with all her might to wave aside the clouds in her mind, but something inside her reached the rim and overflowed, sending her sprawling unwillingly back into darkness.

The darkness remained when Jadzia opened her eyes for real. A steady beep from a console somewhere nearby told her she was in the infirmary. No, not just the infirmary- the recovery room. What was she doing here? Had something happened? She began to sit up, and was instantly assaulted by a ripping claw of agony that reached up from within and tore viciously at her, beginning at her midsection and snaking all the way up to her eyes, blurring her vision and stealing her breath.

A yelp escaped her throat and the Trill collapsed back onto the biobed, her weakened muscles unable to support her. When the pain had reduced itself to a tolerable level, she forced her eyes to open again. Suddenly she remembered.

Jem'Hadar, entering the clearing…a glance, a confirming nod… then chaotic bursts of energy from both sides and a piercing agony that had never been entirely dulled by the painkillers that followed. Then she had weakened, and hated herself for it. She was slowing him down, becoming not an asset now but a hindrance, preventing him from doing the job that to him was his life. When she absolutely could go no further, she urged him to leave her and complete the mission himself, regardless of what happened to her.

It had been terrible to speak those words. She didn't want to send him away. She could see how much it hurt him to leave her lying there, helpless and alone. He'd known she had the phaser rifle, but that didn't make it all right. They were parmach'kai, sealed together as one soul as they walked the path of the warrior. The mission paled, its importance faded to a mere detail, the lives of the millions at stake became little more than a second thought.

The rest of the universe did not matter.

Only her, Jadzia, the other half of all that made him who he was and all he would be in the years ahead. What was this thing called duty? What right did it have to demand that he sacrifice his reason for breathing to save the life of the enemy?

She'd known, though. She'd known what horrible repercussions there could be, personal and otherwise, if he stayed with her and followed his heart. She might die if he didn't, that was true, but worse than that would be the dishonor of her parmach'kai. At that time they had thought it impossible to put personal life over duty. That they agreed on, so before they could change their minds, they parted.

A bittersweet kiss, and then her last sight of him, pushing away through the tangle of trees. He did not look back. She was glad he hadn't. She was glad he hadn't, even as the tears traced their paths down her dirt-smudged face and she gave in to the heartbreak that was their separation. Jadzia had slept restlessly on the jungle floor after he had gone, her dreams haunted with images of him, awful scenes of her parmach'kai being ripped to bits by some animal or ruthlessly slaughtered by a vengeful Jem'Hadar.

She should be out there at his side, not cowering under a tree trunk waiting for the slow death that was sure to come! But the distressing nightmares were soon over, replaced by an empty blackness she wasn't even aware had slipped over her.

The next thing she remembered was the jumble of voices and waking up here in the infirmary.

Where had those voices gone? She turned her head to the right, slowly testing her ability to move. Her muscles complied, but not without a violent protest. A light shone from around the corner- Julian's office. He must be finishing up a late-night project. The Trill twisted her head around the other way, and what she saw brought an instant smile, relieved and happy, to her lips. Worf was slumped in a chair next to the diagnostic console with his arms folded on his broad chest, asleep.

Jadzia lay still, drinking in his presence as she watched him. She wanted to run her fingers over his handsome face, touch every ridge on his forehead. Looking at those ridges, she wondered how anyone could ever find that particular Klingon facial feature intimidating when it was just so downright arousing.

"He hasn't left this room since you went into surgery."

A voice, lilting and British, caused her to ease her head stiffly around again. Julian Bashir leaned in the doorway, his lanky frame silhouetted by the light from his office. Jadzia smiled and gazed adoringly at her husband.

"Now you see why I love him?" she replied, surprised and a little dismayed when her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. Julian returned her smile.

"I do." Moving to her side, he inquired softly, "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better…." She was going to complain about her stiff neck when everything around her suddenly wavered, faded to black, then swam back to partial clarity, blurring the outlines of the young doctor's face.

"Hurts…so tired…." Jadzia felt Julian's hand press down on hers, gently but still firm enough to catch and hold her drifting attention.

"Don't worry, Jadzia, you'll be fine. I repaired the damage to your internal organs. Luckily the disruptor you were shot with wasn't on the highest setting. I should tell you, though, the blast hit pretty close to the symbiont's pouch. Dax may be a little confused for a while."

"I can handle it." Jadzia winced; her lips felt cracked and her throat seemed to be lined with sandpaper. "Is Worf all right?"

Julian nodded.

"Worf is fine."

The Trill smiled, then gasped as an unexpected bolt of pain shot through her stomach.

The doctor's forehead creased as he slipped back into professional mode. "You shouldn't talk anymore. Rest. You need it."

Jadzia thought that was one of the most tempting invitations she'd ever gotten.

"Julian, thank you for…" she started to say, but was asleep, a peaceful, natural sleep, before her lips could form a single word.

Jadzia! Worf bolted from his dream, the name of his beloved parmach'kai on his lips. When his eyes fixed on the exquisite vision of perfection, asleep on the biobed a few feet away, he felt as if his desire to live had been renewed by Kahless himself. The Klingon was instantly at her side, holding her hand in his own. Her skin was smooth and cool as always, and he could feel her pulse beating strongly under his thumb. That was Jadzia, forever strong, never allowing anything to force her to surrender.

Worf stroked her wrist gently with his thumb, not wanting to wake her but aching to scoop her into his arms and savor every inch of her, finding a comfortable hold and never letting go again. Even the polished smoothness of her fingernails against his palm filled him with wonder, another sign of her obvious femininity. Details like that blended into a world of pure bliss when he thought of how she was an eternal part of him, but at the same time he overlooked nothing about her.

At first he thought he had been too hopeful, that he had imagined the slight response against his hand. But then the slight pressure came again, and Jadzia's fingers tightened around his. Eagerly leaning forward, Worf clasped her hand tighter, trying to transfer his strength to her through their contact.

Be strong, Jadzia, he wanted to encourage her, but could not speak, only gaze at her as her eyelids twitched. Worf's massive heart leaped in his chest as the Trill's eyes opened drowsily, and he dove joyfully into the deep sapphire pools that were the windows to her soul.

"Hey…I know you."

Her words filled him with an inner light as the burden on his heart was lifted by the chains that bound it there. The perfect words to speak rose instantly to his lips.

"We have met."

Worf knew he'd said the right thing when Jadzia smiled beautifully.

"Oh," she sighed. "You're joking again. That's a good sign."

She swallowed audibly to moisten her dry throat. "Did you make the rendezvous?"

Oh, yes- the rendezvous. He did not tell her what Captain Sisko had told him hours before- that he would not be issued a formal reprimand, but was most likely banned forever from commanding a ship of his own. Instead he answered her with a simple "No."

Jadzia's forehead developed its own ridges as it creased with concern and confusion.

Worf clarified, "I could not leave you there. Not for the mission, not for Lasaran, not for anything else."

The legend of the first two Klingon hearts replayed itself in his head, almost as clearly as it had when he was in the tangled, damp jungle on Soukara.

Nothing could stand between two hearts that truly beat as one.

"Lasaran?" Jadzia repeated.

"Dead."

"Are you in trouble?" The Klingon could see that this worried her more than the fact that she had come terrifyingly close to dying on the mission. He didn't want her to be worried for him. The punishment meant nothing. It was a small price to pay for her life.

"I have been in trouble before," he reassured her.

"I'm sorry," she murmured sadly, her voice beginning to tremble. "I should have kept going."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," he said vehemently. "I do not regret what I did- and I would do it again." Jadzia's enchanting eyes glittered with the sudden tears that welled there.

"I know how much your career means to you."

"You come first. Before career, before duty, before anything." She shook her head disbelievingly and pressed her lips together briefly before admitting,

"I don't know what to say." Worf found he could joke again. He could do anything now.

"You could say, 'Thank you for saving my life.'" The Trill smiled, understanding, and played along.

"Thank you for saving my life."

"You could say, 'I would do the same for you, Worf.'"

She pretended to wrinkle her brow in deep concentration, and at that instant Worf loved her more than he ever had before.

"Well…I'd have to think about that. My career is very important to me, you know." The Klingon squeezed her hand, reaffirming their bond.

"And you could say, 'I love you.'"

The innocent playfulness left her face, to be replaced by a deep and honest adoration that emanated from the depths of her heart and enveloped his.

"I love you," Jadzia whispered fiercely. Worf smiled down at her, a peace settling over him.

"And I love you." He leaned forward, and she closed her eyes as his lips brushed her forehead. Closing his own eyes, he moved his lips lower and kissed her, softly at first, then more deeply. Jadzia's response was weak, but at his cherished touch she seemed to radiate beneath him, kissing back with a delicate passion that made him yearn for her to be well so he could show her how glad he was that she was alive.

When they at last parted, the Trill's hand rose to stroke the side of his face and she said softly,

"Worf, I really am so sorry. If it wasn't for me you'd still be able to get your own ship."

Worf lifted her hand and kissed the palm.

"I do not care about any ship. How could I possibly place a ship above you, my parmach'kai? Nothing else matters as much to me." The Klingon cupped the side of her face in one hand, and she closed her eyes, leaning into it.

Just then, Bashir came around the corner. The doctor started to advance into the room, then stopped and took a step back, uncomfortably realizing what a tender moment he had just interrupted.

"Excuse me…I just came to check on Jadzia." Worf straightened.

"She is awake."

"I can see that." Bashir came to the biobed and asked, "Are you feeling any better? You were sleeping for quite some time."

Jadzia nodded. "I'm okay. When can I go home?"

"I'm planning to keep you in the infirmary for two more days," he replied. "Normally I would let you leave whenever you thought you could, but you were in pretty bad condition when you got back from Soukara. I think I should keep an eye on you for a little longer."

"Oh, come on, Julian!"

"I wouldn't recommend it…"

"Please?"

"I'm sorry, Jadzia."

"How about if I stay overnight? Will that be enough?"

Bashir paused, thinking. He could tell how anxious she was to be with her husband again.

"Well…all right. But you're going to have to take it easy. No strenuous activities, no Klingon combat, no…" He stopped, remembering the bruises they had shown up with in the morning when they first became parmach'kai. "Well, you get the idea."

"I'll be good," Jadzia promised.

"I'm going to hold you to that." Bashir was almost out the door when he turned back. "Both of you."

Worf's face clouded over, annoyed at the joke, and he would have said something not entirely kind if Jadzia's gentle hand on his chest hadn't stopped him. As he looked down at her, distracted, the doctor made his escape. The Trill's hand tightened on his shirt and pulled him down to her. Her kiss was stronger now, more passionate, and he responded with eagerness of his own.

Worf slid his hand behind her head as the kiss deepened, and only with great effort could he bring himself to break away before he lost total control right there in the infirmary.

Jadzia felt wonderful as she stepped out onto the Promenade, leaning heavily on Worf. Her body still ached all over, that was for certain. But the look on Worf's face made it all worthwhile. Despite the throngs of people darting around them like the rushing current of a river, his expression told her she was the only one that he saw. The Klingon's arm clasped tightly around her back was all the support she needed, but she couldn't resist the urge to lean closer and rest her head on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. She chuckled.

"Worf, if you're going to ask me that every ten seconds, I'd rather go back to the infirmary!"

Major Kira looked out from the Security office as they passed and rushed out to greet them.

"Jadzia!" she said happily, hugging the Trill. "I said a prayer for you in the shrine when Worf brought you in. I'm so glad to see you're all right."

"Thanks, Nerys." Kira stepped back and clasped Jadzia's shoulder.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, but if one more person asks me that…."

"Sorry." Kira smiled sheepishly and fell into step beside the couple as they headed for the habitat ring.

"So, when did Julian say you could be back on duty?"

"Not for a week at least. I'm going to have to find some way to pass the time. Maybe play tongo with Quark or something." Jadzia paused and glanced quickly at Worf, a grin spreading across her face. "But if I lose any more of our latinum, I'll be sleeping on the couch at your place!" Kira laughed.

"Don't worry, it's always open. By the way, Julian ordered me a new holosuite program from Felix. It's the Petropian Hanging Gardens on Bajor in the springtime. Very relaxing. If you get restless, feel free to try it out."

"Thanks." The two women shared a smile, then Kira noticed the time.

"Well, I'm on duty. I'll try to stop by later."

"All right. See you then." Kira moved off, and Jadzia turned back to Worf as he helped her into the turbolift.

"I have a feeling we're going to be busy later. We have a lot of things to catch up on."

"Habitat ring," Worf instructed the turbolift. The doors slid shut and they began to move. "I don't think that is such a wise idea."

As much as he longed to follow through with her suggestion, he was afraid that their usual passionate romantic activity would hurt her.

"It's okay," Jadzia assured him, laying her head back on his shoulder. "I trust you."

Jadzia had weakened by the time they reached their quarters. She was almost ashamed to admit it, but she suspected she should have stayed in the infirmary as Julian wanted. She considered going back, but that would only cause Worf to worry further. It was obvious how concerned for her he was. His devotion touched her, but at times he could be a little overprotective. No, better to stay here and hold up as best she could. Like an odd three-legged creature, they made their way into the bedroom, where he eased her carefully onto the bed. The Trill lay back and sank into the heavy fur blanket with a sigh.

"It's good to be home."

Worf smiled down at her, and she suddenly noticed how tired he looked, how deep into his skull his dark eyes seemed to have sunken. She gestured for him to join her on the bed, and he did, lying so their sides were touching and he could slip his hand into hers. Jadzia nestled her head against his neck and closed her eyes and that was how they fell asleep.

Hours later, Jadzia began to drift back and forth between full sleep and a warm, disconnected, half-awake state. When she finally did open and focus her eyes, she was under the blanket, undressed. Stiffly rolling over, she saw Worf on the other side of the bed, asleep. A chill passed through her body as she watched his muscular chest rise and fall with every relaxed breath.

What an incredible feeling it was, to look at someone and know they were always going to be there for you, always there to back you up, always there to share your problems and your joys with. They could fix what was wrong, or even if they couldn't, it wouldn't seem so bad. She didn't even know how she knew. She just knew. Ever since the moment he'd walked into her life four years ago, she'd been able to see he was someone unique.

Dax had fallen in with countless Klingons in its lifetime but had met not one as strong as Worf. He'd had to live not one life but two, struggling to be accepted in a Human world while battling with the complications of his Klingon heritage. There weren't many non-Trills who could endure that feeling of being torn into pieces.

She smiled as she realized she had unconsciously begun to breathe in the same rhythmic pattern as her parmach'kai. Yet another example of how tightly their lives were interwoven, how much they depended on each other for happiness. If she was younger and more naïve, she might even have said that they were destined to be together.

The ancient symbiont inside her was too experienced to accept such a childish, lovestruck concept, but deep in her heart Jadzia secretly believed it was true, that all the gods in the heavens had collaborated from their forges to produce the molten, glowing union of their passion.

Almost of their own accord, her cool hands moved across the sheets and caressed the swell of his biceps. Alert even in sleep, he came instantly awake at her touch and sensed the need his wife had felt beginning to culminate inside her, the hunger for physical contact, as if to make sure this was real and they weren't both actually lying dead on Soukara's steamy, tangled surface, Jadzia in an ocean of drying blood and Worf with a phaser blast in his chest from Lasaran's smoking weapon.

He enfolded her into his arms, feeling his heart begin to pound.

"Jadzia," he reminded hoarsely, not wanting to say it, "You should not…" But he hardly even heard himself speak. He was too busy paying attention to the way she was kissing his neck and chest, in the same little pattern she'd discovered, the one that seemed to build his desire with every touch of her lips.

"Shh." Jadzia kissed higher up on his neck, slipping her arms around his back. "I want to thank you for saving my life."

Her teeth sank delicately into his earlobe. Worf shuddered at the unexpected sting. His skin was on fire from her touch. The tip of her nose rested against his, and their eyes met, and that pushed them both over the edge. All the tension and worry and heartache of the past few days came spilling out, and their kiss was desperate and hungry. Their lips met with bruising force, but the pain was a welcome thing, a sign that they were still alive and able to be together.

Finally they brought themselves to part, and Worf gazed at Jadzia, noticing the thin rivulet of blood trickling from the corner of her lip. Jadzia was aware of it, too, and touched her mouth gently. When her fingers came away stained, she stared at them, as if seeing them for the first time. Then her eyes flicked up to meet the Klingon's and she actually laughed, a smile lighting up her beautiful face like a beam of sun cast down from the heavens.

They embraced again, and everything seemed to fall perfectly into place, as if it had been planned. Moving together, muscles rippling sensuously, limbs intimately entwined, skin moist with perspiration. Their lips seemed to never part, each drawing the breath they needed to live from the other. And there was also pain.

Jadzia felt something in her shoulder rip brutally during a moment when Worf's complete, massive body weight bore down on the wrong place for a single instant. The height of their passion seemed to only accentuate the pain, every tiny tearing muscle fiber sending its own distinct message of discomfort to her brain simultaneously.

The Trill stifled a surprised yelp of agony by biting Worf's shoulder hard, but he was so frantically involved in their lovemaking he perceived it as nothing more than her reciprocation of the same. The Klingon's hands, demanding and not quite as gentle as they had been in the past, pulled her head to his for another long, soul-scorching kiss.

Nothing had ever seemed so wonderful or so completely right to the two of them at that moment. After that it was effortless, as it was between parmach'kai, always had been, and always would be.

In the aftermath of lovemaking, Jadzia and Worf would usually stay awake for a while, talking softly and reveling in the feeling of tired but satisfied warmth. But something was different tonight. Worf could sense tension coming from his wife, an emotion completely different from the ones she usually expressed while they nestled close under the covers. Jadzia was strangely quiet, and although she traced patterns on his chest with her fingertips as she normally did, the gesture seemed disconnected. Her eyes had a hollow, far-away look, as if she wasn't aware of his arms encircling her.

The Klingon said nothing at first, thinking she might just be feeling tired from the surgery. After a while, she let out a deep sigh, and her breath shuddered, as if she was on the verge of tears. Worf could keep silent no longer.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly. Jadzia looked at him for a brief moment, her eyes conveying the trouble she felt, the ache in her

shoulder dull compared to the one in her heart. She sighed. "I don't know." She let her head drop heavily on his chest and hugged him tightly. "I really don't know."

He kissed the top of her head and gently began to massage the back of her neck.

"Do you want to talk, Jadzia?" She didn't answer. "What have you been thinking about?"

He knew she felt safe and comfortable with him. If there were anyone she would tell her problems to, it would be him. Worf encouraged her, "There is obviously something on your mind."

"Life," she said slowly. "Death. Fate." R

ealizing she hadn't been that clear, the Trill continued, "I can't help thinking about all those people who could die…just because I got to live. It's not fair." Worf's hands ceased their circular motions.

"I see," he said after a long pause. "Because I allowed Lasaran to perish, the information about the Founders died with him."

Jadzia's head snapped up so fast she almost hit him in the chin.

"Oh, Worf, no," she gasped. "I'm not laying any blame on you at all!" She kissed him firmly. "Please don't take any of this the wrong way. I'm immensely grateful for what you did for me. No one has ever made a sacrifice like that for me before. Nothing has ever meant so much."

"Then what is it?"

Distressed, she rolled away and sat up, twisting the blanket around herself and drawing her knees up. Worf sat up too, and waited for her to speak. After a while, she did.

"They could die because of me, Worf. Just because I was wounded, because I needed to be rescued, because I was lucky enough to actually make it out of there alive." She faced him and dug her fingers into his leg. "Tell me what I did. What did I ever do to deserve life? My one life was spared, while all those others, all those other innocent lives, are in danger of being wasted at the hands of the Founders. How honorable is that, to be saved from the jaws of death just to thrust whole other worlds inside?"

The Trill's pained eyes were beginning to glisten with tears. "I know there's always the possibility that it could be a trick, that the information was false, just a lure so Lasaran could defect. And I hope more than anything it was. But still…one to one million…." She shook her head. "I don't know if I'd be willing to take that chance again, given a choice."

"Jadzia," Worf said, laying his hands on her bare shoulders, "you are not to blame. Any dishonor belongs to me."

She shook her head vehemently.

"Don't say that. This is about me." Jadzia's gaze locked with his. "It's so selfish, to have forced you to give up everything for me. You shouldn't have had to make that choice. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to the people who could be endangered by the Founders-"

Worf cut her off.

"Love is selfish, Jadzia, especially that which exists between parmach'kai. I could no sooner have changed what I did than cut off my own foot and leave it in the clearing on Soukara."

His voice lowered, and he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek and trace the line of spots on her neck. "You are a part of me. I did what I did to prove this, not only to you, but to everyone, to every living soul, that nothing else matters. Not even the fate of the entire universe resting in my hands would hold any importance unless you were the only one left in it." The Klingon intertwined her fingers securely in his own. "Let me tell you something, Jadzia. There never really was a person I could trust. My parents were killed when I was young. My foster parents were not even of my race. My own brother could not have been more of a stranger to me." He paused. "I lived my life alone. I was surrounded by people, yet there was no one who I could count on to have an understanding of me. Any attempt by one of them to involve themselves with me seemed like an intrusion, one that I automatically attempted to resist. You were different. You are special. You are able to see inside me in ways no one else ever has. I feel at ease baring my soul to you because I know you will not mistreat it. I could not have advanced this far and have had such an enriched life without you. That is why I put my entire being into making sure you know that I will never mistreat your soul."

He tipped her chin up with his fingers. "Your beautiful soul."

Jadzia didn't know she had been crying until Worf tenderly kissed the tears from her cheeks. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. She was unable to speak. Never had she heard a speech of that depth and sincerity before from the stoic Klingon who, in his own words, resented most emotional intrusions.

She wanted to respond, but couldn't find the words. Looking back through her hundreds of years, combing through Dax's eight lifetimes of memories and experiences, she was unable to find anything adequate enough to match her parmach'kai's declaration. Jadzia could do nothing but hug him, wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his neck, breathing in the strong, comforting scent of his dark skin and trying to make herself believe that a man like this could actually exist.

They eased down together onto the pillows, unwilling to part for even that brief instant. Worf pressed his lips against the top of her head and stroked her hair as she cried into his shoulder.

"I love you," she was finally able to say fiercely, her eyes aflame. "And there's one thing I do know. The legend is true. The story of the first two Klingon hearts from our wedding? If we stand together, and our love is strong enough, nothing can come between us. If things had been reversed, I wouldn't have been able to let you die either. No matter what would have happened to all those people, I wouldn't have given a damn one way or the other. You are my parmach'kai, Worf, and nothing is ever, ever going to separate us, not our jobs, not the war, not honor…" Her voice trailed off and dropped to a whisper before returning. "Not even death."

She kissed him then, hard and deep and with bruising passion, reawakening dormant aches and desires from earlier in the night.

When their lips finally tore apart, Jadzia drew in breath in a quick, sweet gasp and remained looking into his eyes, feeling as if she was gazing into a mirror and seeing part of her own emotions, her own pagh, her own soul. Again their lips met. This time it was soft and long and tender, almost careful compared to the first. The third kiss was the same, and the fourth.

The lovemaking that followed was gentle also, and so, so different. There was concentration this time, a shared focus, not the usual lusty abandon. The intimacy was almost unbearable. And this time when it was over, and Jadzia and Worf shared their last kiss of the night, a single tear dropped from the Klingon's eye, tracing its hot and salty path to its destiny, a tiny rivulet slipping along Jadzia's smooth skin.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ One Month Later ~ ~ ~ ~

"Jadzia, you should not have your feet on the console," Worf admonished for the third time in an hour. "You will damage the equipment."

"Oh, stop it." She brushed off his words and crossed her ankles, the slit sides of her light white dress falling away and providing an excellent view of her spotted, shapely legs. Her shoes lay on the floor beside the chair. She wiggled her bare toes at him, then focused her attention back on the PADD she held.

"Listen to this. 'Much of Casperia Prime's unique culture revolves around music and the arts, in addition to its famed beaches and resort hotels. A major focus at certain times of the year are festivals to celebrate the diversity in the music of many different races.'" She looked more closely. "This little chart here says that Klingon opera is the main event in the thirteenth month of the Casperian year. Jadzia leaned forward and tapped a sequence of runabout controls with her toe. "According to the runabout's database, the thirteenth month, Gan'tika, begins in three days. We're in luck."

"We have also arrived," Worf interrupted her.

"Finally!" With a whoop, she swung her feet off the console and sat up straight, already working the controls. "Scanning the south docking port for a place to land." The runabout slid smoothly through Casperia's atmosphere. Worf couldn't help but share Jadzia's grin as the blackness of space and the glittering stars were replaced by the clear blue expanse of the resort planet's sky.

"How about right here?"

Some coordinates appeared on Worf's panel, but the runabout was close enough now so that he was able to look right through the viewscreen and pilot manually, rather than relying on external sensors. The landing was perfect.

Jadzia came and sat in his lap, draping her arms around his neck as he powered down the runabout's systems. "No weather grid here. This gorgeous sky is the real thing."

"That is probably fortunate."

At first the Trill wasn't sure whether to laugh at his reference to their disastrous trip to Risa, but when Worf kissed her cheek she let out a chuckle.

"It's probably best if we just stop the comparisons right now. What do you say?" She wrinkled her nose playfully at him, her way of saying "if you're not undressed and in bed in the next ten seconds there's going to be trouble." But there would be plenty of time for that later.

Worf nodded.

"Agreed," he said. His wife stood, and he got to his feet. After retrieving their duffels from the storage compartments in the back of the tiny ship, they took their first steps onto Casperian soil. The salty breeze blew in from the ocean, carrying with it the cries of sea birds. Waves rippled not far off at the shore of a pristine beach, and everywhere there were people reclining on brightly colored blankets. Some had easels set up in front of them and were painting a line of swaying tropical trees. Clusters of small children laughed gleefully as they buried their companions' bodies in the pearly sand.

A voice, familiar yet strange, caught Jadzia's attention. Her parmach'kai heard it too, and together they looked towards the sound. No one was immediately visible in the crowd, but from off in the distance came the unmistakable melodies of Klingon opera. Worf listened carefully.

"Barak'kadan," he pronounced after a moment.

"Worf, I think that's Gor'vo'tra."

"It is not."

"Yes, it is."

"We will find out soon enough."

They began to walk towards the group of listeners, but a small, tan child struggling with an armful of bright conical flowers blocked their path. The boy was obviously a Casperia native, boasting three slight depressions on his forehead. He wore light brown slacks and no shirt, but a cloth band tied around his wrist identified him as a descendant of one of the planet's original founders.

Jadzia smiled down at him.

"Well, hello there."

"Welcome to Casperia," the child chirped, holding out two fluorescent pink flowers. "May your lives be full and redeeming."

He extended his hand, the back facing them, and waited. He would have been waiting a long time if Worf had had to respond, but Jadzia had researched the planet and knew the traditional greeting. She reached down and touched the back sides of the brown youngster's fingers with her own.

"Thank you."

She looked at Worf and was dismayed to see that he had remembered what she hoped he would not. The expression on his face said that his mind had converted the child's innocent salutation to "All that is ours is yours."

Fortunately, the boy turned and scurried off to greet new arrivals before anything could be said.

"Jadzia," Worf began, but Jadzia was suddenly reminded of a promise he had made to her not long ago. To anyone else it may have seemed frivolous, but at the time it was one of the most appropriate vows he could have made. The Trill slipped her hand into her parmach'kai's. He looked at her, and her eyes sparkled.

"Worf… smile."

~The End~

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