Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own any of the following characters, places, or events. Just the story.

Author's Note: Inspired by Alpha Flyer's lovely Voyager drabbles, this is a brief sketch of the little moments that defined the W/D relationship. From "The Way of the Warrior" to the end... May they live long and prosper.

One – The Way of the Warrior

"You used to be Curzon Dax," he says, turning piercing black eyes on her.

She grins and drops a curtsy. "That's right. And… I don't usually dress like this either," she adds, eyes sparkling. Because she can't help it.

"Curzon's name is an honored one among my people."

"Louk, a jeek CHIM-ta law." The words spill past her lips before she can censor them, and for a moment she is horrified. But the flustered look on his face is priceless, and his reply even better.

"I… suppose so."

Later, as she watches him in action, she is glad of what she said. She is a lot better-looking than Curzon. And so is Worf, son of Mogh, the only Klingon in Starfleet…

And if there's anything Jadzia Dax loves, it's a challenge.

Two – Sons of Mogh

"My outfit…?"

"I… I thought that… I mean, I assumed that you were…"

She can't help it; she loves it when he gets flustered. She bites her lip as he flounders and wonders if Klingons can blush. Because Worf is definitely blushing right now.

Her blue eyes dance as she turns and jaunts forward a step. "You thought I wore this… for you? Talk about overconfidence." Is that disappointment she sees in his gaze? Oh, but he fascinates her…

She heads for the door, because she knows she can't stay and keep her curiosity hidden much longer. Seven lifetimes of experience, and she still can't keep her heart from beating just a little bit faster when he walks into the room. Okay, a lot.

She stops. Pivots. "Worf." Raises her mangled bat'leth to his throat. "E-cha." And now she lets the grin break through, nice and slow and full of everything she wishes she could say.

"Movek," he admits, posture slumping. I am so stupid she can almost hear him groaning.

As they leave the holosuite to answer Odo's call, she can't help regretting that the moment had to end.

Three – Bar Association

The rod slides from her fingers, his skin brushing across hers as he takes it.

"It's a collection of my favorite Klingon operas." Because he's looking at her like she's crazy. His gaze drops to the rod. She seizes up, watching him, hoping…

"Think about it. You can lie in bed and pipe them through the Defiant's com system... as loud as you want." Why am I explaining myself? she wonders. She's never felt this awkward around someone. Never had to stumble through the silence with words. Her gifts always speak for themselves. So why not now?

He looks up at her with those midnight eyes, and her breath tangles somewhere between her throat and lungs. Stop it, Jadzia. You don't need this. But still…

"A very thoughtful gift."

She doesn't care that the words make her giddy. Some things you just can't change.

Four – To the Death

It was nothing, she tries to convince herself as she beams back aboard the Defiant grimy with death and exhaustion. She steps down from the platform on trembling limbs, and Benjamin nods. They head for the refreshers to clean themselves up. Right. Clean up. As if they can sluice these images from their minds as easily as gore from their clothes.

Her stomach heaves at the scent of blood clinging to her uniform and hair. She wants a shower so badly, to be clean, to rinse these horrors from her mind and body. Just to be done with it.

And the hand. Worf's hand on her back. Oh, she wishes she could forget it. For surely it was nothing. Surely…

But five days later, she hasn't forgotten.

Five – Looking for par'Mach in All the Wrong Places

He's obsessed with her. He won't stop talking about her. Thinking about her. Dreaming about her.

And it's killing her.

Grilka. She shudders, wishing she'd never heard the name. Grilka. The Klingon. The glorious one. It makes her sick.

But what really gets her is that she can't stop thinking about him.

Yes, she realizes. The day has finally come.

Jadzia Dax is jealous. Jealous… and in love.

Six – In Purgatory's Shadow

Oh, what have I done? she thinks, too horrified to cry. Too ashamed to shed tears.

The viewscreen seems to mock her as she watches it, staring as the beams of gold needle into the swirling blue nest of the wormhole like phaser beams into her heart. What have I done?

I've put my career before my heart, that's what. Worf. Worf, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Even though you'll never know—

Suddenly, the golden beams falter. And then they're dying, coughing frenzied sparks into the blackness of space, and the wormhole pinwheels open in a glorious explosion of blue and purple—and hope. Oh, hope, glorious hope.

"What happened?" Benjamin demands.

"Someone sabotaged the emitter array," O'Brien reports; dismayed, bewildered.

But all Jadzia can think as she stares at the intact wormhole is that the saboteur, whoever they are, just saved Worf's life. When she didn't have the courage to.

It is both the greatest and most awful realization of her eight lives.

Seven – Call to Arms

"Yes? Yes to what?"

"Yes, I will marry you." There are klaxons blaring, people swarming around them, lights flashing and airlocks rolling open and shut. Wounded and dead being carried past, the groans and shouts of battle clamoring around them. Not exactly the best time to accept a proposal that was never made.

"That's what you've wanted from the very beginning, isn't it?" She surprises herself by almost crying. Has he changed his mind?

But he smiles. "It is."

"Then as soon as this is over, we'll get married." A smile. One of hope. One of promise. "And if that doesn't give you a reason to survive, I don't know what will."

She takes his lips, and for a just moment they are alone. But then the chaos of death pulls them back, and they separate. All is business as they part. No tears, no lingering. Just the silence of their eyes.

She boards the Defiant with the taste of love on her lips.

Eight – Rocks and Shoals

"Worf, we may never see each other again."

When she'd said those words, she hadn't expected them to become possible so quickly. But… they are, and she is scared. She tries to hide it, but the shock and blood loss combined with the primitive surroundings took their toll on her, and now she's too weak to worry about a strong front. Julian notices and reassures her that the fear is natural.

Benjamin walks over, clothes in hand and a glimmer in his eyes. "Your jacket and pants are ready, Madame. Your boots and vest will take a little longer, so may I suggest browsing through the hotel gift shop while you wait?"

She smiles and watches him fold her pants, then jacket, and set them beside her. She swallows convulsively. "No, thank you. But I would like to lodge a complaint with the manager. This bed is hard as a rock." A wave of pain rolls through her and her voice catches on rock.

A grave smile. "I'll make note of that." He turns to Bashir. "What's the prognosis?" And there it is—the fear.

"Guarded, but good. The bleeding's stopped and I've repaired all the internal injuries. The damage to the symbiont is harder to diagnose, but with enough rest, I think they'll both make a full recovery."

"In other words, I'll be staring up at the cave ceiling for the rest of my stay."

"Lucky for you there's twenty-four hour room service," Benjamin grins, and she can't help but laugh.

She gasps as pain spasms through her middle. His hand finds hers.

"I'll get you out of here, old man," he says when she finally relaxes. He thumbs away her tears. "I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that one, Benjamin," she manages. He squeezes her hand for a moment longer, then leaves her to her thoughts.

She is afraid. Afraid for herself, because she doesn't know if she can make it. But she has to, because she promised. Worf is waiting for her.

And if that isn't reason enough to survive, she doesn't know what is.

Nine – Sons and Daughters

"After we exchange vows, you must remember to present your d'k tahg to General Martok as a formal request that he accept you into his house."

"But I don't want to join his house," she says, stuffing her brush into her bag.


"I don't want to get caught up in all those blood feuds. Every time a member of the House of Martok gets dishonored or killed, I'll have to drop whatever I'm doing and rush off on a quest for vengeance." She turns to face him. "It's boring, Worf."

"If you refuse, it will be a grave dishonor. Martok will never—"

Ignoring the ache in her stomach, she drops her bag and crawls across the bed to where he's standing. "Worf," she settles her hands on his shoulders. "I'm joking."

"Then... you will join our house?"

"Of course I will."

He sighs and it makes her smile. "I can see that our lives together will not be easy."

"True," she says, eyes dancing. "But they'll be fun."

One last kiss. Then she knows she really can't wait anymore, and breaks for the door. Someday they'll have forever. But for now, there's a war to be won.

Ten – You Are Cordially Invited

"Maybe you're on a spiritual journey, Worf. But I just want to get married. So why don't you go back to sweating and bleeding with your friends in the holosuite and when you're done, meet me in Benjamin's office and he'll perform the ceremony."

It is the wrong thing to say—she can tell by the way his lips jerk and his shoulders remain absolutely still after she finishes. Finishes breaking his heart.

"If that is your attitude… then maybe Sirella is right about you. There should be no wedding."

"That's fine with me!"

The words leave her in a rush of anger, but as soon as he's out of view and the door has closed, she crumbles, because she knows it's not fine. Not fine at all.

Eleven – Change of Heart

She surfaces with a flutter of her lids and looks around. The shadowed edges, the angular displays, the gray and green and red. Familiar. Home. And someone is with her.

"Hey… I know you…"

He smiles. "We have met."

"You're joking again. That must be a good sign." A beat. "Did you make the rendezvous?"

"No." What? "I could not leave you there. Not for Lasaran or the mission or anything else."

She struggles to breathe past the hitch in her throat. "Lasaran?"


So simple, so direct. Quiet, full of nothing but acceptance and… love. "Are you in trouble?"

"I have been in trouble before."

He's in trouble. Big trouble. "I'm so sorry. I should've kept going—"

"You have nothing to be sorry about."

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

His fingers tighten around hers as he leans closer, eyes gleaming and brilliant against hers. "You come first. Before my career, my duty—before everything. I do not regret what I did. And I would do it again."

She knows, right then, that she will spend the rest of her life remembering those words and the promise that they hold.

Twelve – Time's Orphan

"Go to sleep." He stands, breaking the moment and firming his shoulders as if he's about to charge into a battalion of Jem'Hadar. "I have work to do."

And then he's gone, the continued wails of Kirayoshi the only indication that he was ever there. She slumps and turns back to her pillow. But his words are there, banging around in her mind like Ferengi judgment drums, and sleep escapes her.

"You are judging my fitness to be a parent."

How could he have known that? She'd been so careful, so guarded in her observations. Just trying to appear normal, like she always was around him.

"Do not deny it, Jadzia. I can see it in your eyes."

Of course he could. He can see everything in her eyes. She sighs and yanks the blanket around her shoulders.

"I have proven myself a worthy husband to you, but you are not convinced that I would be a good father to your children."

"Who said anything about having children?" she mutters again. Who indeed? And he'd just looked at her, with those fathomless eyes that knew her, knew her right down to her toes.

Jadzia sighs and presses her nose into the pillow. He knows, and there's nothing she can do about it now. Except hope that he passes her test.

Thirteen – Tears of the Prophets

Benjamin and the others trickle through the airlock and onto the Defiant, leaving her alone. With him.

She doesn't want to say goodbye.

"I wish I was going with you." One hand is on her hip, the other tapping against her thigh. He looks at her and she can hardly breathe. How is it possible to love someone this much?

"You are," he whispers, placing a hand on his chest. "In here."

She melts. It's so cliché, but the hopeless romantic in her adores it. "I love it when you get romantic."

And then he's pulling her into his arms, taking her lips in the only goodbye they know to say. The one that promises return, and forever, and a house full of laughing, blue-eyed children who love to wrestle and do magic tricks and debate the merits of the mek'leth versus the bat'leth. And don't forget the Klingon operas.

There are tears pressing against her lids, but she refuses to let them out, because she knows he's coming back. She knows it.

As they part and he stoops through the gear-like doorway, she feels as if a giant hand is squeezing her chest of air. This isn't goodbye. Not forever. He'll come back.

But she misses him already.