Something In Common

By Seema

This story takes place during "Tears of the Prophets," somewhere between the time Sisko makes his little speech to Jadzia's coffin and the time he leaves the station.

Characters and places belong to Paramount. I wouldn't dream of keeping them for myself. No profit intended.


The room has nearly cleared out.

There are a few people still lingering, their voices hushed and their eyes averted.

I know, just like me, they are trying to ignore the reason for this get-together (if you can call it that) and that if they turn away, they won't see the most obvious reason for our presence.

I have touched the coffin several times, running my fingers over the smooth finish, and still I cannot believe it. My fingers brush the blue United Federation of Planets flag. It's an honor, they tell us, to have this flag over one's coffin.

I wonder if Jadzia would think it's an honor.

Kira is still here, her arm intertwined with Odo's. Their voices are low, barely carrying, and then, with a quick glance towards the coffin, they leave. I think about following them, but there is something still left to be done.

I turn to face the furthest corner in the room, the one farthest from the coffin.

"Commander," my voice carries.

Worf turns to face me.


I cover the distance between us in ten easy strides. I have never found it easy to strike up a conversation with Worf and in the early days of their relationship, I often wondered what it was that Jadzia and Worf spoke of. Even when I joined them for dinner, I found the conversation to be stilted, mostly coming from Jadzia with Worf listening, wearing that penetrating stare of his.

"I am deeply sorry for your loss, Commander," I tell him. Worf's jaw tightens. He acknowledges my sympathy with a slight nod. "Have you made arrangements for burial?"

"I will take her to Qo'Nos," Worf says quietly. "She will be buried honorably as benefits a member of the House of Martok."

"Of course," I reply. "Take all the time you need."

"Thank you."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No, I will manage," he bristles at the insinuation that he might not be able to handle this arduous task.

I sigh, "This isn't easy for me, Worf. Jadzia was my friend."

He stiffens and not for the first time, I feel that Worf may have felt jealousy over Jadzia's friendships with others. However, the truth remains: no matter how much time Jadzia spent with others, it was Worf she came home to and Worf she loved.

Worf's shoulders bend slightly and I can, for the first time in my life, identify with the Klingon.

"I am concerned about you," I say it bluntly.

"You have no reason to feel concern."

"Seven years ago I lost my wife," I say. "I know what it feels like."

"I will handle it."

I sigh, "Jadzia would not want you handle anything alone."

For the first time since Jadzia died, Worf offers up a semblance of a smile.

"No," he admits. "That is a conversation we had many times. She felt the need to share so often and I wanted to keep things to myself. It was one of the many differences we had."

"She loved you," I feel the need to reaffirm this sentiment for Worf. He glances at me.

"I know," he says. "I never doubted that."

I look back over my shoulder, my eyes resting on that sleek, torpedo-shaped coffin. Worf leaves my side and walks over to the coffin. He rests both hands gently on the smooth surface. His shoulders shake. I stay put, knowing that Worf would not appreciate me at his side at this moment.

I am transported back to that terrible moment when I had to say good-bye to Jennifer. I can still feel that emotion welling up inside of me even after all these years. There is a pain that never goes away and I wonder if Worf realizes that.

Jennifer's loss has taught me that pain does not heal with time; time only teaches us how to live with the pain of loss.

Klingons though accept death far easier than we humans do so Worf's genetics may help temper the pain. Worf caresses the coffin lovingly. I wonder what he is thinking. I wonder if he will replay these last moments with Jadzia in his head, over and over, much as I relive mine with Jennifer.

Jadzia's coffin is a tangible sign of my failure here at Deep Space Nine. Her death, in my mind, extinguished the light of the Prophets, forcing me for the first time in six years to walk a darkened path.

I fear facing Kai Winn and Major Kira, knowing that somehow I must be diminished in their eyes. I cannot contemplate making a decision, whether personal or otherwise, without asking Jadzia for advice.

I cannot imagine this new life without the Prophets and without Jadzia. This certainty runs deep inside of me and I know I cannot stay,

"I'm leaving Deep Space Nine," I say, breaking the silence that reigns between Worf and myself. "I'm going home."

Worf, his back still to me, nods.

"I understand."

His voice is flat and devoid of curiosity. I do not blame him; I do not care where I go either.

"Kira is in charge. You are her first officer."

"Of course."

I walk to his side, "You know, Worf, I envy you."

He looks at me questioningly.

"I was not with Jennifer when she died," I tell him. "She was already dead when I reached her side. There were so many things I wanted to say to her and it was too late. You told Jadzia everything you needed to say to her."

"It was not enough," he says harshly. "It was not supposed to be like this."

I can feel his anger rush over me, engulfing me much like an ocean swallows a wave.

"We intended to grow older together," he says so softly I have to strain to hear the words. His words resonate inside of me; I had told my father the very same thing on the day of Jennifer's funeral.

"I know what it's like, Commander," I say in a tone harsher than I originally intended. "If you need help, don't hesitate to ask. That's an order."

"Understood," he responds stiffly.

I take a deep breath, "Take her home, Worf. Spend as much time on Qo'Nos as you need."

"Thank you."

"I will not be here when you return."


"But that doesn't mean I won't be there for you if you need me."

"Of course."

We face each other uneasily. I know that Worf will not call on me and that this one thing we have in common is the one thing we cannot share with each other.

I extend my hand and he takes it.

"Thank you," he tells me.

"You're welcome."

With a deep breath, I turn and leave.

I have much to do before saying good-bye to Deep Space Nine.


This story is dedicated to Karen. I know things are difficult right now but you'll make it, just take it one day at a time. We are here for you.

~The End~

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