Emergency Dax Relief #2
"The Importance of Being Jadzia"
by Anna C. Bowling


	"Worf, there's somebody else."  
	The words landed on Worf's unsuspecting ears like dead weights, Jadzia's soft, gentle 
voice seeming at odds with the message.  He looked up from the statue of Khaless he had been 
contemplating, one she had presented to him only the week before.  "Who is it?  Do you wish me 
to make a challenge?"  He surprised himself with the calmness his words carried.  He felt no 
need to stand, no anger or blood boiling in his veins.  There was only the fact of what had 
happened, vague as it was to him at the moment, and what honour demanded.
	Jadzia ducked her head, her eyes unable to meet his.  "No," she told him in a tone that 
held equal shares of regret and embarassment.  "I don't want you to do that.  I know what Klingon 
law demands, but Worf, I..." she hesitated, forcing the truth past her own reluctant lips.  "I'm not 
Klingon."
	"No," he allowed, his gaze pinning her where she stood, shoulders drawn in, head 
bowed.  She looked as though she were defeated, standing there in the doorway to their quarters; 
even her uniform looked tired.  "You are not.  If you were truly a Klingon woman, I would have 
killed you for dishonouring me this way."  He knew without asking that her betrayal was complete; 
she would not meet his eyes, not defend herself, denounce her lover, or ask for vengeance.  "I 
will not do that, though."
	She nodded in recognition.  "Thank you," she managed, her voice trembling.  "Worf, I am 
sorry.  I am so sorry that I don't know what to say.  I didn't mean for things to go as far as they 
did.  It just happened, and now this is the only thing I know to do."
	Worf's eyes darted to the bag Jadzia had planted at her feet.  "You are leaving."
	Again, she inclined her head, her long dark brown ponytail falling over her right shoulder 
as her gaze travelled to the same point as Worf's.  "I'm leaving.  I've already put in for a transfer.  
My staying on here would be too awkward, all things considered.  Delur wants to..."
	Worf bit down on a Klingon curse.  "Delur?  The Trill scientist who has been assisting 
Doctor Bashir?  He is your lover?"
	Tears welled in Jadzia's eyes as she finally looked at Worf.  "Yes.  Oh, Worf, I didn't plan 
on any of this.  Please believe me.  Maybe none of this would have happened if the runabout 
hadn't had to make that emergency landing, if he and I hadn't spent all that time together in such 
close quarters.  It did, though.  I can't go back in time and fix things.  I can't pretend it never 
happened.  I know this has to hurt now, but in time..." her words broke off with an intake of breath 
as she watched Worf turn his back to her.
	He moved slowly, purposefully, his massive arms crossed in front of the chest she knew 
she would never again use as her pillow.  "Go.  You have said all that needs to be said."
	"I'd still like to be friends," Jadzia ventured, reaching a hand out to him, but letting it drop.  
He couldn't see it now, and were he to turn about, which she doubted, she knew he wouldn't 
touch her.  Ever again.  In any way.  "You'll always be important to me.  Curzon taught me to 
appre..."
	"I do not wish to discuss Curzon," Worf growled.  "I have asked you to leave.  Do so.  We 
will not speak again.  You will be as dead to me."
	She knew he spoke the truth.  "I'm sorry you feel things have to be that way.  I just 
wanted you to understand before I went."
	"There is nothing to understand," he replied, his voice cold and solid.  
	A moment of heavy silence followed until Jadzia spoke.  "No," she insisted, "there is."  
Without thinking about it, she crossed the distance between them, placing her hand on his 
shoulder, turning him to face her and feeling his muscles tense against her touch.  "Worf, we 
don't love each other.  That much, we both understand.  I'm sorry I came to that understanding 
this late.  Knowing Delur," she paused for a deep breath before continuing.  "Loving Delur just 
proves to me that you and I were a bad idea from the start."
	With the flat blade of the dak'tag he had been holding while contemplating the statue, 
Worf flicked Jadzia's arm away so that she no longer touched him.  He took a step backwards for 
good measure.  Her presence had become more than distasteful.  "Why did you pursue this 
relationship between us if you did not intend to honour it?"
	"I don't know," she admitted, her shoulders rising and falling in an unconscious shrug.  
"Maybe it was mostly physical.  Maybe it was the way Curzon loved Klingon culture so much.  
Sometimes I feel like there's three of us in here: Jadzia and Dax and Curzon.  I can't say it's any 
one thing.  I wish it were.  I wish I could say that when I lay in Delur's arms in the cave and 
listened to him talk about his sister's joining that I knew in my heart of hearts that everything 
crystallised.  That for the first time since I've been joined, I knew that Jadzia had the right to be a 
whole person, worthy of being a host.  That I am a Trill, and that it's good enough."  Her mouth 
quirked upward in an ironic smile at that.  "Maybe that's a part of it, but it's not the whole answer.
	"I'm sure I'm not the first sweet young thing whose knees have melted watching you 
move.  You're not the first one to melt me, either.  Dax has had so many lifetimes I don't think a 
whole library of diaries could hold an account of all the special people.  You are special to me; 
never forget that."
	Worf bared his teeth at her, not in preparation to recite an ancient poem this time, but 
instead to snarl.  "I am special enough to dishonour and betray?  To be held up as an object of 
ridicule?  I do not count that as a compliment."
	Jadzia sighed, a resigned, defeated sound.  "All I can say is that I'm sorry.  None of this is 
your fault, Worf.  You are a wonderful man, and someday there will be someone wonderful 
enough to really be your mate."
	The room fell silent again as Worf's mind rushed back through the long months --or were 
they years already?-- to the last time he had thought of such a thing.  There was no need for 
Jadzia to speak of Worf's true mate; in fact, she was not worthy to speak Deanna's name at this 
moment.  It had been months, years, since Worf had last beheld the one whose name sang in his 
blood as an ancient battle anthem, but still he could call to mind her image.  He still knew exactly 
how her long black curls wound about his fingers, how her lips tasted of chocolate, how her 
bottomless obsidian eyes could inspire Khaless himself to glory.  How she had been a prize 
precious enough leave until she could be completely his.  Or so he had thought.  There had been 
no formal leavetaking with her, only a turning away from worried eyes as he boarded his shuttle.
	Time.  She had wanted time.  No acceptance or refusal had met his question to her, but a 
request for time.  Had there been enough now?  How much, he had wanted to ask her?  How 
much time will be enough?  A day?  A month?  A decade?  So he had given it, waiting for her to 
declare herself, which had not happened.  Or had not happened yet.  He suddenly felt a stab of 
conscience.
	Jadzia's behaving as a Klingon woman had been exciting.  He could not deny that, but 
beyond the initial excitement, there was nothing of substance.  It was a battle with no victory 
afterwards.  There was no defeat either, only a return to sameness and too many silences like the 
one that filled every milimeter of space now.  Looking out of the viewport at the stars that 
surrounded the station, Worf felt more alone than he had when his house had been stripped of its 
honour.  It was much the same now.  A cuckolded Klingon man who did not slay his rival was little 
better than a neutered targ.  Slay his rival, or slay his mate: those were the options.  Worf knew 
he would carry out neither.  Jadzia had requested that he not kill her lover, and he would honour 
that request.  As for Jadzia herself, he was not capable of taking her life.  He was not entirely 
sure he could call it a life at all anymore.  In the eyes of the Klingons she had wanted so 
desperately to emulate, she would have no honour left.   To betray one's mate was among the 
vilest of crimes.
	"You will not see your Klingon friends again," he said at last.
	"No, I won't.  I'll miss them.  I always will, but Delur told me that there is always a time to 
put the past behind and move on.  To start over.  Tie up all the loose ends and really be who you 
were meant to be.  Even," she finished around a choking sob, "when it hurts."
	For a moment, Worf had the urge to say something that might comfort her, but the 
moment passed.  They were left with another of the sliences he had come to hate.  "Go," was all 
he knew to say.  He followed her gaze to his right arm.  She would expect him to put her away in 
the Klingon fashion, to strike her and revile her.  He felt only pity.  "You are not Klingon," he said 
with a gentleness that surprised them both.  "I will not subject you to a Klingon divorce.  We will 
dissolve our union in another way."
	Jadzia nodded, the tears beginning to slip down her cheeks.  "You are a man of honour, 
Worf.  Now more than ever."  She dashed the moisture away with the sleeve of her uniform and 
bent to retrieve her bag.  "I'll take care of things when Delur and I reach Trill.  We can do 
everything by subspace.  You wouldn't like the Trill proceedings.  With no symbiont to speak for 
you, things might get a little sticky."  Shouldering her bag, she let out a long breath.  "I guess 
that's it, then.  I have a few more goodbyes to say, so I'd better get going.  Thank you for 
understanding."
	Worf merely made a low, rumbling sound and turned again to face the stars.  He listened 
to Jadzia's leaving, her footsteps on the carpet she had insisted on installing, the hiss of the 
doors closing behind her.  She was gone.  He was alone, but no longer lonely.  Around one of 
those stars, one off in the distance, his real world waited for him.  One of sleek grey metal, with 
the legendary name Enterprise across her hull.  Inside the ship, there waited the true heart of his 
warrior's being.  
	"Deanna."  He whispered her name in the dim light of his quarters, his eyes fixed on the 
brightest star in the heavens.  "Deanna."  He set the knife down on a nearby table.  There was 
much to do before he could return to her, but he knew that his life could take no other path.