The BLTS Archive - The Guest
by Unzadi (unzadi@aol.com)

---

Author's Note and Disclaimer:  This is for Liz Ann and E, true
Klingon('s) women both. Sorry for the delay.

Paramount may own Star Trek, but it owns neither my mind nor yours, so
imaginations full steam ahead.  This story is the sequel to "Friendly
Advice," so it would make a heck of a lot more sense to read that one
first.

Riker relatives unfamiliar to the casual reader were first introduced
in First Light en Masse fanzine, in the Tapestry Saga by myself and E.
Catherine Tobler. Watch out for rogue cameos as you go.   Qapla!

---

There weren't many people gathered in the holosuite.  It was small,
for one thing, and for the other, not many had responded to the
hastily issued invitations.  Neither of the principal participants had
family present, a point which was not lost on anyone who had come.
Even with the seats Quark had sold for the altruistic purpose, he
insisted, of plumping the ranks of guests, the suite looked
underpopulated.  Although there were several different races of
sentient beings, as well as a few pets present, it was noticed by all
that there was one, and only one Trill.

She stood near the front of the room, pacing, the wide, too-cheerful
smile on her face masking the unease she felt inside.  Occasionally,
she would spare a glance for the door to the holosuite, or maybe into
the mist that cloaked the corners of the room.  In an undisguised
gesture of nervousness, she smoothed down the skirt of her dress
uniform.  There were too many things to factor into this day without
having to wear a new style of dress uniform for the first time.  At
the third such adjustment in the span of five minutes, a dignified
dark-skinned man placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Cold feet, Old Man?"

Jadzia blinked.  "Trills always have cold feet," she blurted out.
"It's perfectly normal."

Sisko threw back his smooth-shaven head and laughed.  "I was referring
to bridal nerves."

Nodding, Jadzia smoothed her uniform again.  "I know that.  I've had
several weddings, Benjamin.  This isn't anything new."  Even as she
said it, Jadzia knew she was lying.

"First Klingon is always the hardest," Sisko observed wryly, stroking
his freshly-trimmed goatee.  "Not to mention the fact that this is the
first wedding  of my officers I'll be performing.    Being bridegroom
was nerve-wracking enough for me."

Dusting an imaginary speck of dust from her left shoulder, Jadzia 
nodded again. "I know.  When Tobin got married..."

"Excuse me for interrupting, but Tobin got married?  You never told me
that."

Jadzia smiled, prompted by Dax's memory of the old host.  "Her name 
was Liesel. A human woman.  They were very happy, but she ended up 
doing most of the talking for him, which was just fine by both of 
them.  They were very happy."

"You just said that," Sisko reminded her, with a gentle touch on her
arm. "Your uniform is fine.  You look wonderful.  You look beautiful,"
he added, dark-chocolate eyes sweeping over her.  "I only wish you
looked a little happier."

Jadzia looked around the holosuite, evading Sisko's gaze.  "I am
happy," she insisted.  "Don't tell me you were perfectly calm before
you married Jennifer, because I know for a fact you weren't."

Sisko shook his head.  "No, I wasn't.  As I recall, I was a nervous
wreck, and my father had to tell me that I had my dress tunic on
backwards."

"It was your communicator, and it was upside down.  I don't see the
O'Briens."

"They couldn't come."

Jadzia's red-lipped mouth drooped into a frown.  "You mean they
wouldn't come. I understand," she sighed, "but I wish they'd
reconsider.  Miles and Keiko are friends.  They should be here.  Is
Julian coming?"

Sisko pointed a tapered finger.  "Right over there.  Next to the new 
Dabo girl. I don't think I caught her name yet."

"Zilann," Jadzia supplied.  "I'll bet you're feeling grateful that
Julian saw her first, and not Jake."

Rich, deep laughter bubbled from Sisko's throat.  "I am feeling very
grateful, but have you looked over by the door?"

Jadzia looke where Sisko indicated, and saw Jake, a young man now, no
longer the child she'd always seen him as, his head close to that of a
lovely young copper-haired Bajoran lady.  "Could that be anything
serious?  They seem to be getting along well."

Sisko crossed his arms in front of his chest.  "I don't know.  That's
between Jake and Ressa.  She's a student of poetry at the University
of Bajor."

"So it's a professional relationship?"

He had to consider that.  "Maybe that's how it's starting.  She likes
Jake's stories.  He likes her poems, and considering that they come
from two completely different cultures, that's not too bad.  She might
come for Kwanzaa this year.  Jake already asked if he can invite her."

"An invitation for Kwanzaa?  It does sound serious.  I hope she's good
to him...oh, look!  Rom and Leeta."  She sighed.  "They look happy.
Guess marriage agrees with them."

Craning his neck to see the new arrivals, arm in newlywed arm, Sisko
made a husky murmur of agreement.  "There's nothing like being married
to the right person."

Jadzia drew her brows together, causing the rows of spots on either
side of her face to arch.  "Are you implying that I'm marrying the
wrong person?  Benjamin, you know Worf and I have  to get married.
Klingon custom clearly states that a physical relationship
requires..."

"Don't quote Klingon law to me, Old Man.  I don't care about Klingon
law.  I care about Worf.  More importantly, I care about you."  He
cast a quick glance at the half-dozen or so Klingons who sat stoically
in the front row of seats. "There's still time to think about this."

---

Deanna knew that the sight of a Ferengi in a Starfleet Academy uniform
was mildly unsettling to Will Riker, but that didn't change the fact
that she was the one squeezing his hand for support.  She knew also
that the pressure from her grip was likely causing his wedding band to
cut into his flesh.  She desperately needed a friend though, so she
kept her hand right where it was, knowing he would understand.

"Here we are, ma'am, sir," Cadet Nog informed the two officers as they
reached the holosuite.  "May I escort you to your seats?"

"That would be nice," Deanna answered, following the diminutive cadet.
She wasn't quite sure what she should have been expecting; the Klingon
Great Hall, the Baths of Trill, or something in between.  What she saw
struck her as merely odd.  With the mist that swirled around the
perimeter of the room, it was difficult to make out the details, but
she couldn't shake the feeling that someone had decided to decorate
the suite like the inside of a cave.  They had only partially
succeeded.

Riker leaned down to whisper in her ear, "These colours are horrible.
It looks like they were planning to host a funeral here, but called it
on account of fog."

She had to laugh at that.  "You sound like Sarah.  You wish she could
be here," Deanna said softly, voicing his concern for him.

Riker nodded.  " The Bonney  wasn't close enough for her to come.
Seems like that was a common excuse."  Most of the seats, he noticed,
were empty, particularly on the bride's side.  Only a few people
filled those chairs, station personnel by the looks of them, with a
spattering of unfamiliar aliens, ticket chips clutched firmly in
hands, paws, claws or tentacles to spice up the mix.  Miles and Keiko
O'Brien were conspicuous by their absence, which he had expected.  He
remembered that the slender, attractive Bajoran woman with the cropped
auburn hair was Major Kira Nerys, the station's first officer.  She
was looking at him strangely, for some reason.

"Thomas."  Deanna's voice cut into Riker's thoughts.

"What?"  Riker turned back to Deanna.

"I think she might be thinking about Thomas," Deanna clarified, gently
tugging Riker towards their seats.  Nog had departed upon sighting
another set of guests.  Although Ferengi emotions were unreadable to
her, Deanna could still tell, by his eager expression and
parade-perfect carriage, that it was extremely important to the young
man that he perform his ushering duties perfectly.  "Are you going to
try and visit him while you're here?  We're not that far from
Cardassia Prime."

Riker allowed Deanna to precede him down the row of seats.  "I haven't 
decided. Might be awkward.  Who knows; they might let the wrong one 
of us go," he said, trying to lighten the mood for both of them. 
"Then where would we all be?  I'm not all that familiar with the 
rules for visiting Cardassian labour camps, and I don't want to 
become familiar with the rules for living in one."  He made an 
exaggerated shudder.  "Sarah is never going to believe me when I tell 
her somebody actually chose these colours."

Deanna looked around the small holosuite.  Riker was right; the
colours were horrible, all blacks and greys, combining with the grey
mist to make the small holosuite seem even smaller.  She wondered if
Worf had chosen those, or if that were the impression Jadzia Dax had
of his preferences.  Had anybody bothered to ask Deanna, she would
have been able to tell them of Worf's preference for dark reds and
purples when it came to festive occasions.  Nobody had asked her,
though, hadn't asked her anything except for her presence.

She still didn't know why she had been invited to this wedding, except
that the rest of the Enterprise senior staff had been asked.  Surely,
having her name on the list had been an oversight.  It had wrenched at
her when she had first seen the invitation, a pain like no weapon's
injury could ever inflict knifing through her.  Some of the pain,
naturally, came from the fact that Worf had chosen to marry someone
other than her.  More of it, though, came from the realisation that he
had not told her himself, privately, as she had thought he might.  Did
she, did their time together, the family they'd started to forge, mean
that little to him?  Did he hate her now?

The trained therapist in her had reasoned, after talking with Riker in
the mess hall, that having her name on the guest list might indicate
that Worf wasn't too sure about this marriage. He might have,
subconsciously, asked her there so that she could stop it.  That was
exactly what she intended to do.  If, that was, she didn't turn tail
and run, which was starting to sound pretty good about now.  The fact
that six shaggy Klingon heads were turned in her direction didn't help
matters.  They looked at her, then looked at the Trill woman who stood
at the front of the room with Captain Sisko.  One of the Klingons
snorted.

"Is that her?" Deanna asked Riker in a whisper.  He nodded.  She'd
hoped for someone different.  Fatter, maybe, or older,  or not as
pretty.  Jadzia Dax was absolutely lovely.  Why did her former lovers
always have to find beautiful women after they were done with her? Not
that she would have felt better if they married ugly women, but it was
the principle of the thing.  Although not many knew it, Deanna did
have her moments of insecurity.  This was one of them.

The Klingons' heads swivelled from Deanna to Jadzia and back again, a
loud roar of raucous laughter filling the small space.  She was sure
she'd seen one of them make a questionable gesture, but couldn't tell
in whose direction.  Not, of course, that she wanted to find out.
There was already more than enough to deal with as it was.

She hadn't expected the Klingons to be there.  Their burst of laughter
was the one bit of merriment Deanna could detect in these pre-wedding
moments, if she didn't count the strong romantic and erotic feelings
emanating from a giggly young Bajoran woman on the arm of an insanely
grinning Ferengi male.  Those weren't exactly for sharing.

Deanna's fingers slipped away from Riker's hand as the strains of a
Klingon opera began to play.  Akor and Melotha, she recognised.  She
had listened to it with Worf many times, all the way through, until
she was able to hum it during her morning bath with only her soap for
an audience. Occasionally, she would even dare to sing a stanza or two
as she rinsed off the scented bubbles.

Worf had been trying to give Alexander an appreciation for Klingon
opera, but hadn't been successful.  Not with Alexander, anyway.  The
boy still preferred jazz, with a smattering of classical Terran music
thrown in.  Deanna had come to find the deep, resounding notes of the
great Klingon operas strike a familiar chord in her.  The operas, she
had discovered, were one place where the intense Klingon emotions were
given free reign.  She worried her lower lip and gripped Riker's hand
tighter.  Her arms used to be another place where Klingon emotions
knew no restraint.  Whatever had happened to that?

Her heart pounded like a bass drum as a portion of the mist cleared,
framing Worf.  He looked to her, as he always did, strong and wild and
beautiful, garbed in traditional Klingon attire.  That puzzled her.
Worf's preference, she had thought, would have been to wear his
Starfleet uniform, as the officiant was a Starfleet captain.  Maybe
Jadzia had requested it, she thought, her eyes darting immediately to
the young Trill woman's face.

Jadzia had broken into a smile when Worf had appeared, a wide smile of
delight that stopped the pacing.  She reached her hand out to beckon
him, frowning when he headed for the second row of seats instead.

---

Worf strode directly to the seats of the only Enterprise crewmates who
were in attendance.  He had expected that few would be able to accept
the invitation, due to the Enterprise's current mission. He had not
issued an invitation  to Deanna, not wishing to cause her any
discomfort.  Apparently, someone had revised his list of preferred
guests.  Seeing her, seated next to a man he had once counted as his
closest friend, was too much to bear.

His fist, covered in metal mail, shot out, connecting with Riker's
bearded jaw. "Ha'DIbaH!  Animal!  Defend yourself!"  He yanked the
stunned human to his feet, turning to the row of Klingons across the
aisle.  "Somebody give this...person a weapon." He spat on the ground
in front of Riker, turning away from the man.  "Deanna, step away from
him," he added more gently, his eyes meeting hers.  "I do not wish for
you to be injured.  My fight is with Commander Riker, not you."

In the blink of an eye, both Sisko and Jadzia were there, blocking the
way of several Klingons who were all too ready to provide Riker with
the requested weapon.  The ensuing fight would be far more
entertaining than the boring proceedings they had come to expect.

"What's going on here?" Sisko demanded, planting a strong arm on
Worf's shoulder to pull him away.  "Commander Riker, are you all
right?"

Riker rubbed gingerly at the place where Worf's fist had made contact.
The two of them had sparred together often during their days on the
Enterprise, and Riker had taken many blows from Worf then.  Those,
however, had been far removed from the blow he had just received.
There was nothing friendly in this one.  He probed at a loosened tooth
with his tongue, and nodded, looking at Worf in mute appeal.  "I'd
like to know what's going on myself."

"This man," Worf accused, jabbing a pointing finger at Riker, "has a
wife, but he brings his lover here.  He dishonours both women!"

A collective grumble of outrage came from the Klingons, who pressed
closer.

Deanna, her hands on Riker's shoulders, shot a furious glance at Worf.
"That's not true!"

"Which is not true?" one of burliest of the Klingons asked, taking a
wicked-looking *dak'tag* knife from his clothing and tossing it at
Riker's feet.  "That you have no wife, or that you did not bring your
lover here?  Deny the falsehoods if you can!"

Riker tried to speak, but for some reason that probably had a lot to
do with Worf, found it impossible.  Instead, he kicked the knife away,
shaking his head.  That action, he decided as soon as he began to
move, had been a mistake. The pain shooting through his jaw blocked
out any reason he tried to focus on. There were no words to put to the
questions he had. The shock was greater than the pain.

"Stop it!" Deanna rose to her feet as soon as Bashir reached Riker's
side. Picking up the knife by the blade and thrusting it back into the
tall Klingon's hand, she glared at Worf.  "How dare you!  Will didn't
do anything to you, and he certainly didn't do anything dishonourable
to me!  Why don't you try asking some questions instead of assuming
you know everything?"  Full of fury and out of words, she pushed Worf
square in the center of his chest.  The impact was hard enough to make
him take a step backward.  "Apologise!"

"Ah, if nobody needs either one of us," Bashir ventured, his voice
carefully calm, as if he knew that even the wrong tone of voice could
ignite the tinderbox that the aborted wedding had turned into.  "I'm
escorting the commander to the Infirmary for treatment.  Don't give me
any new patients." Riker clapped Bashir on the shoulder as the younger
man led him to the door.. There was a heavy silence to the room after
the doors closed behind them.

Quark, elbowing his way through the small crowd, clapped his hands for
attention. "Ladies, gentlemen, and...other beings.  I'm afraid there's
been a slight change in plans.  The wedding ceremony will be postponed
indefinitely, but seeing as how there was quite a spectacle, we will
consider the transaction val..."

He didn't get to finish before Sisko's hand closed over his mouth,
cutting off his speech. "Everybody out.  Except," he qualified, "for
Worf, Jadzia and..." He looked at Deanna.

"Counsellor Deanna Troi," she supplied, instinctively offering him a
hand.

Sisko took her hand, releasing Quark.  The Ferengi took off for the
door, pulling Rom away from a shocked Leeta as he left.  "Captain
Benjamin Sisko. This is Commander Jadzia Dax, and I believe you know
Commander Worf."

The Klingons, remaining where they were, gave a quiet growl of
anticipation.

"Come on, you guys," Kira interjected, waving her hand in a circular
motion towards the door.  "When the captain says 'everybody out,' that
includes you. Free blood wine at Quark's.  All you can drink."

"Go ahead," Jadzia instructed with a sad smile.  "As he'll likely
inform me, it's all paid for anyway.  Quark never gives refunds.  I'll
be along soon." She nodded at the Klingons, who muttered among
themselves for a moment before taking her advice.  They tromped out
the door, speaking loudly in Klingon. Jadzia could make out Deanna's
name in their conversation.

When the Klingons had finally filed out, the last guests to leave,
Kira hesitated by the open doors.  "Should I get out of here, or
should I stay?" She looked pointedly at Jadzia.

"Stay."  Jadzia's voice was soft and quiet.

Sisko, who had moved behind her, took her hand in a show of silent
support. "Why don't we all take a seat and discuss this like rational
adults?  We can all do that, can't we?"

Deanna took five chairs, arranging them in a circle.  For a fleeting
second, she felt as though she were setting up the group session she
would have been facilitating, had she remained on the Enterprise
instead of coming to the station.  "I'd like to think I can," she
said, glaring at Worf.

"I will...restrain myself," he promised, pacing behind the chair
instead of taking his seat like the rest of them.  He had never
thought this moment would happen, with both of the women he was
connected to, in the same room, and both obviously upset with him.

That, though, was where the similarities ended.  Deanna's dark eyes
flickered with fiery anger, whereas Jadzia's only pooled with tears.
Despite the Klingon betrothal necklace she wore, the tears only served
to remind Worf of exactly how non-Klingon she truly was.  Not once had
she objected to what had happened, nor had she challenged the woman
who had defended the man Worf struck down.  A Klingon woman would have
knocked Deanna to the ground the second she had touched the fallen
Riker.  Worf felt more than a flicker of anger rise up inside him at
the thought of Jadzia harming Deanna.  Were things to come to that, he
would not allow one blow to be struck.

"Sit down, Mr Worf," Sisko ordered, pushing the chair out for
emphasis.  "We're here to talk, not to wear holes in the floor.  He
waited for Worf to lower his bulky frame into the straight-backed
chair before continuing.  "You realise we have a whole holosuite full
of witnesses who saw you assault Commander Riker. I'll be leaving that
investigation up to Mr Odo.  Right now, I want to know what happened.
What I saw," he paused, glancing at the turned-over chair Riker had
occupied.  "Was you come out and hit a man who had no argument with
you."

Worf and Deanna merely glared at each other, Jadzia forgotten for the
moment.

"You are aware that Commander Riker has a wife now?" Worf asked, his
voice as pointed as the ceremonial dagger tucked inside his sash.

Deanna rolled her eyes.  "Of course I know.  I also know that you were
about a minute away from having one yourself."

Worf knit his brows together and made a low grumble deep in his
throat, not looking at either woman.  "I did not take you as the sort
to be a willing partner in adultery."

"I'm not," Deanna said, her eyes nearly boring holes in Worf's
forehead.  "Will is not my lover.  We're good friends, as we've always
been, but that is all."

"We had decided..." Worf started to speak, but reminded himself of a
more important point.  "How did you receive an invitation to this
wedding?  I did not send one."

Kira cleared her throat.  "Good question."

Three pairs of eyes slid to Jadzia, who shifted uncomfortably in her
chair.  "I did.  I thought you'd want all of your friends from the
Enterprise here.  At least, they should have been asked.  I thought
you'd like that," she restated, her voice dropping to a quiet,
childlike tone.

"That's a reasonable assumption," Sisko allowed.  "Is there a reason
you didn't want Counsellor Troi to attend?"  His eyes pinned Worf's.

"Counsellor Troi," Worf admitted, "and I were romantically involved on
the Enterprise."


---

"Whenever Worf mentioned your name before," Bashir ventured, fiddling
with the slender wand he was using to poke around in Riker's mouth,
"he seemed to regard you as a friend."

Riker winced as Bashir hit a tender spot.  "Deffa bhefooye kamir."

Bashir removed the wand, and made an adjustment.  "I'm sorry,
Commander.  I didn't quite get that."

"I said," Riker clarified, poking at the no-longer loose tooth with 
his tongue. "That Worf and I were friends before he came here." 
Seeing Bashir's hand coming near him with that instrument of torture 
again, he grasped the doctor's wrist, guiding it down to the surface 
of the examination table.  "Everything feels pretty firm.  Why don't 
you just take your final readings?  I'd like to see how Deanna is 
doing."

Setting the dental wand aside, Bashir picked up his tricorder. "You'll
do," he pronounced, after a cursory reading.  "But I'd recommend soft
foods for a couple of days.  Nothing Cardassian or Klingon."

"That," Riker assured him, "is not a problem.  I've lost my taste for
the stuff recently."  Sliding off the table, he walked into the
washroom, taking a small cloth and wetting it. Peering into the
mirror, he wiped the blood from his mouth and beard.  He noticed that
Bashir was still standing behind him.  "Tell me, Doctor," he ventured,
"are you and Worf friends?"

Bashir considered.  "We're not enemies.  Actually, I'm closer to
Jadzia. Commander Worf hasn't made his social life any sort of
priority.  He has quarters on the Defiant rather than the station, and
spends his time either with Jadzia or alone.  Aside from a few
infrequent evenings in Quark's, I'm afraid we haven't really had the
pleasure."

"Sounds about right," Riker mused, coming out of the washroom.  "Has
he ever mentioned Deanna?"

"Ah, no, he hasn't," Bashir supplied.  "Should he have?"

Riker pretended to examine an assortment of test tubes on one of the
Infirmary shelves. "Probably.  They were close.  Very close.
Everything was fine until after the destruction of the D. Worf went
one way, and Deanna went another.  It upset her."

Bashir swallowed and drew himself up to his full height, which was
considerably less than Riker's.  "Pardon me for seeming rude, sir, but
I do have to ask if Commander Worf was correct in his accusation."

"What accusation?  All I remember is a huge Klingon fist rearranging
my teeth."

"Is Deanna Troi your lover?"

Riker's eyes widened, and he shook his head.  "No.  She hasn't been
for far longer than either of us care to admit to. About..." his voice
trailed off as he tried to remember.  He could see in his reflection
that there was a noticeable threading of silver in his beard, right
where he'd been stroking it. He took in a deep breath.  "Fifteen years
or so.  Maybe more.  We're friends. That's why I came with her.  She
wanted to...it's for Deanna to say why she came, but it wasn't
anything to do with me.  Far from it.  I love my wife, and I wouldn't
do anything to hurt her.  Not after all the hell we had to go through
to find each other."

Resting the base of his spine against the edge of the diagnostic bed,
Bashir regarded Riker warily.  "You'd best be telling the truth.  You
know I consider Sarah a friend."

"I know," Riker answered, forcing a grin.  "I never lie to doctors.
You have access to drugs.  Sarah sends her best, by the way.  She
couldn't get leave."

"Too bad," Bashir said, answering Riker's grin with his own.  "I would
have loved to have had the both of you for tea.  Maybe later?"

Riker nodded.  "Later would be nice.  I'll let her know.  Right now,
I'd like to find out what's going on with Worf.  The whole wedding
thing came as a surprise.  How long has he been involved with Jadzia
Dax?"

Bashir ran a hand through his hair, looking suddenly tired.  "Maybe
this is a story best told over a raktajino."

"I thought you said no Klingon food," Riker countered.

"Beverages don't count.  On second thought, maybe something even
stronger would be appropriate."  He draped a companionable arm about
Riker's shoulder.   "Have you ever had something called stout?"

---

Quark looked miserably around the bar.  It was packed, to be sure,
full of wedding guests, tourists and the various station personnel who
would have been there anyway.  Had he been charging by the head, he
might have turned a tidy profit. Instead, he could only watch as the
ever-growing throng, attracted by the scandal of the
wedding-that-wasn't, devoured the prepaid wedding feast.  The fact
that there had been no wedding didn't change the fact that his
per-head monies were rapidly dwindling.

The actual blood wine was long gone, thanks to the six Klingons who
had insisted that Kira had given them Carte Blanche.  Whatever that
was.  All Quark knew was that he didn't like pain.  If the groom at a
Klingon wedding was allowed to punch the guests, he didn't want to
take any chances on what the guests were allowed to do.  Remembering
his own brief marriage to Grilka, he supposed pain was an integral
part of the Klingon proceedings.  He just wished someone had warned
him about the poverty part of it.

He had stopped counting heads long ago, about when the Klingons had
begun staging their own impromptu opera, which seemed to require
several bottles of Romulan ale, and the destruction of a piece of
furniture on the average of every five minutes.  There was still a
fair amount of food left, but the gagh was dying, and the large
wedding cake Captain Sisko had ordered from his father's restaurant on
Earth was untouched.

Quark, himself, had been in favour of either serving the thing, or
selling pieces of it.  His sister-in-law, Leeta, though, had adamantly
refused both options, insisting that it was for the bridal couple, and
no others, to cut. It reminded her of the cake Sisko had provided for
her own wedding to Rom, at a reception held after the Dominion threat
was past.   Either way, the confection was still hideously ugly, four
tiers high, sparkling with white sugar and festooned with yellow icing
roses.  On top of the cake was something he was hard-pressed to
identify, but which Jake had said his grandfather insisted upon.  Some
human marriage ritual, he was sure.

What the purpose of the little people in front of the huge rings was
remained a mystery.  Were the guests supposed to wish the newlyweds
much jewellry? Anyway, it didn't matter to him. The rings weren't real
gold; he'd checked. All the stupid thing was doing at the moment was
sitting there, dropping sugar all over his largest table, and
beginning to melt from the heat of the fire pit the Klingons had
constructed nearby.

Thanks to Major Kira's promise that they could help themselves to free
blood wine, the Klingons had been steadily drinking their way through
Quark's stock. Not stopping at the single beverage Kira had suggested,
they had proceeded on to drain the punchbowl and use it to create
their fire pit.  Flames -- actual flames,  for profit's sake --
sparked dangerously high, causing Quark to fear for whatever he had
left.

At a table to the side, in a relatively safe corner, Jake Sisko and
his date sat, padds in hands, both taking notes.  If nothing else,
Quark consoled himself, he could at least recoup some of his losses if
he could get the writers to come up with a holosuite programme based
on the day's chaotic events.  Jake had, after all, been coming up with
some of the more popular programmes for the past year, so it shouldn't
be too much of a stretch.  Quark started off for Jake's table, ready
to offer the young man a generous twenty percent of the profits from
such a programme...after taxes, of course, when his attention was
diverted by a resounding crash.

---

"You were what with her?"  Jadzia's voice screeched as she jumped out
of her chair.

Immediately, both Kira and Deanna had a hand on the Trill's shoulder,
guiding her back down.  "I understand you're upset," Deanna soothed,
at the same time biting down on the inside of her lower lip and
suppressing a strong urge to pummel Worf senseless.  "Finding out that
someone you trust has withheld important information can be very
distressing."

Jadzia slapped Deanna's hand away.  "Spare me the psycho-babble!"

"Psycho-babble?"  Worf looked perplexed.

"It means this isn't a counselling session," Jadzia explained, her
voice softening to take on a hurt-little-girl quality.  "Why didn't
you ever tell me about her?"

Sisko faked a cough.  "I don't think that a counselling session would
be such a bad idea,  actually.  Too bad we don't have a regular
counsellor on staff for the station."

"I remember seeing a group of vedeks in the replimat this morning,"
Kira offered.  "I'll go see if I can find one."

Sisko's teeth showed in brilliant white relief against the black of
his goatee. "That's the best idea I've heard all day," he agreed as
Kira rose and made her way to the door, weaving around overturned
chairs and surprise puddles from the paying guests' pets.  "That
still," he clarified, fixing both Worf and Dax with a steely glare,
"doesn't get you off the hook. Saying that what happened here upset
the station's routine is a gross understatement."

There was a moment of tense silence after that.  Deanna could feel
Sisko's impatience as well as Jadzia's confusion.  As for Worf, he was
trying his best to remain calm and stoic, but Deanna knew the man well
enough to know that there was a storm going on behind those bottomless
brown eyes of his.  By the slope of his shoulders, she could tell that
he was ashamed of himself, mulling over what he could have done to
avoid this situation.  There had to be an honourable solution, she was
sure, but at the moment it was escaping her. Nervously, she glanced at
the chair Kira had vacated, and wondered how much longer it would be
before the woman would return with one or more vedeks.  This
particular group session was going to need all the help it could get.

---

"By the Prophets!"  Kira swore at the sight that greeted her eyes at
Quark's. Not only were the Klingons hefting amazingly large bottles of
drink, but they seemed to have converted the entire bar into a
makeshift opera hall, complete with fire pit.  Two of them were
dragging Garak along the corridor toward the bar, the Cardassian
tailor at the end of his protests.

"Costumes," he sighed as they passed Kira.  "They need costumes."

Kira raked an impatient hand through her close-cropped hair, causing
it to stand on end. For some reason, the Klingons thought this was
hilarious, and commenced another round of table-smashing.  Expecting
Quark's vociferous protests, Kira wasn't at all surprised when she
felt him tugging at the leg of her uniform.

She dropped into a crouch, and peered under one of the tables.  Quark
immediately darted out a hand to pull her to safety.

"Where is Odo?" he hissed, small eyes darting furtively around what
remained of his once-fine establishment.  "I've been trying to find
him, ever since they," he indicated the Klingons, one of whom Garak
was now fitting with what looked like a copy of Sisko's uniform,
"cleared off a whole shelf of my best bottles to make room for the
stage."

Tucking her feet in just as a large, round yellow fruit rolled by,
Kira shook her head.  "I haven't seen him all morning.  I thought he
was on security detail for the wedding."

"Obviously, he isn't doing a very good job," Quark objected, grabbing
the fruit before it was completely out of his reach.  "Get any food
that comes our way," he instructed.  "I have a feeling we're going to
be here for a while."

Kira kept her eyes on the mayhem around them.  "I'm looking for a
vedek," she informed the Ferengi, who had begun to peel the fruit and
slurp it noisily, without offering her any.  "Any vedek.  I'd even
take Kai Winn if I could find her.  Do you know Worf already had a
girlfriend when he came here?"

Quark slurped his fruit and nodded.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

He discarded half the peel, shoving it outside the confines of their
shelter. "Nobody asked.  I would have been happy to share the
information, for a small fee."  His voice broke off as he noticed the
latest act in the Klingons' opus of destruction.  "Nooooooooooo!  Not
Uncle Rugi's pretzel cart!  It's not paid for yet!"  Thrusting the
half-eaten and completely sticky fruit into Kira's hand, Quark rushed
out from under the table just in time to see the cart , a flustered
Leeta atop it, draped in an improvised Starfleet uniform and long
black wig, being placed on top of the bar.

Surrounded by cheering Klingons and other aliens, the cart careened
wildly along the bar, pretzels flying everywhere, Leeta hanging on for
dear life.  Rom ran alongside the bar, calling out encouragements to
his wife, and batting ineffectively at the Klingons with a scrap of
fabric that looked suspiciously like.... Quark felt for the tails of
his new coat, only to find them missing.

"That does it!"  Quark shrieked, his eyes going suddenly, unnaturally
wide. Having reached the end of the bar, the Klingons had begun to
turn the cart around for a return trip, and had discovered the soda
compartment.  With every shaken can they opened, spraying precious
soda all over the bar and its occupants, not to mention Leeta, Quark
could feel the bars of latinum slipping out of his own stores.  Uncle
Rugi was his best supplier of Earth beverages, but they didn't come
cheap, not even for relatives.  Just because the root beer hadn't
sold, that didn't mean all Earth beverages would mean a loss.  "Not
the Diet Coke!"

Quark launched himself at the pretzel cart, dodging the cheese-cup
missiles that seemed to be trained on him.  Even if someone hadn't
managed to separate him from his coattails, the cheese-food stains
alone were going to render his jacket unwearable.

With Quark's added weight, the cart cleared the bar, becoming airborne
until it landed with a great thump next to the punchbowl-turned-fire
pit.   Propelled by the impact, sparks from the fire flew onto the
wedding cake, causing the stench of burning sugar to fill the
Promenade.

Quark heard Leeta's breath catch in horror as the miniature couple
decorating the cake went up in flames which quickly engulfed the
entire confection.  The logical progression of disaster raced through
Quark's mind. Flames...alcohol...

Emitting a sound nobody present knew Ferengis could make, Quark raced
to the flaming cake, snatched it up and ran pell-mell for the railing.
Hefting the burning dessert over his head, he tossed it over the
railing, then turned to face the wildly applauding Klingons.

---

"You're drunk," Keiko accused the two men standing in the doorway of
the O'Brien quarters.

"Naah," Riker contested, leaning heavily on the doorframe.  "Are you
drunk, Julie?"

Bashir shook his head, a broad grin dominating his face.  "Not at all,
but thank you for asking.  That was highly considerate of you."

Keiko sighed heavily, the sound full of resignation.  "MIles, your
friends are here!  No, Molly, stay in your room."  She pressed
Kirayoshi's face into her shoulder, wrinkling her own nose at the
smell of the men, as well as her son's diaper.

"That," Bashir announced triumphantly, pointing at Kirayoshi, "is the
baby."

Riker nodded his head in slow agreement.  "That's a baby, all right.
You're a goooood doctor, Julie."

"Sit down, both of you," Keiko commanded, shooing them towards the
couch. "Miles!  I said your friends are here!  I think you really want
to see them. Now."

"Bring the costumes," Bashir added, his lopsided grin growing even
broader. "We're off to the holosuites!"

Keiko groaned and took Kirayoshi into Molly's room.  She should have
gone to the wedding, she told herself, requesting a fresh diaper and
some talcum powder from the replicator. At least the wedding would
have been quiet.

---

"Don't ask," Kira instructed Sisko as she re-entered the holosuite, a
frosting-covered young woman next to her.  "This is Vedek Ejenni.  I,
ah, encountered her on the Promenade and covninced her to help us out
here."  Kira paused to remove a yellow frosting rosette, singed to
black around the edges, from Ejenni's shoulder.  "The cake is gone,"
she explained, before launching into the introductions.

"Pity," Sisko lamented, rising to greet the vedek.  "We may need some
food if we're going to be here much longer.  Thank you for coming,
Vedek.  I assume Major Kira filled you in on the situation."

Ejenni inclined her head gracefully, despite the odd batches of cake
and frosting that still clung to her head covering.  "It is a problem
of a romantic nature, is it not?"  She looked from Jadzia to Deanna,
then to Worf. "Somewhat," Deanna allowed.  Vedek Ejenni, despite her
youth, radiated a strong serenity that she found immediately calming.
The scent of the cake, though, only made her hungry.  She'd been too
nervous to eat anything that morning, and was now paying the price.
Her stomach grumbled in quiet protest. "I received an invitation
to..."

"But I did not inv..." Worf cut in, being in turn cut off by Jadzia.

"I sent it, because I thought..."

Ejenni clapped her hands, calling them all to be quiet.  "Now," she
said, brushing a scrap of singed tulle from her shoulder, and settling
into a chair Kira held out for her, "I would like to hear what the
Emissary saw here."  She turned calm bright eyes to Sisko.  "Nobody
speak until he has finished."

Sisko cleared his throat, trying to find his way back to what had
happened before the wedding exploded into a fistfight and Klingon
opera.  "We were ready to begin the wedding," he said, gesturing to
Jadzia and then to Worf.  "I was talking with Jadzia, asking if she
was having a change of heart at the last minute."

Despite Ejenni's command that there be no interruptions, Jadzia shook
her head forcefully, causing her ponytail to whip back and forth
behind her, slapping Worf and Sisko on the cheeks.   Kira couldn't
suppress a quiet snicker at the incongruously comical sight.
Immediately contrite, she kept her eyes on the floor.

"Nog; he's a Starfleet cadet, and also Rom's son," he explained for
Ejenni's benefit, "was seating the guests.  Counsellor Troi came in
along with Commander Riker -- I believe he is in the infirmary with Dr
Bashir -- and sat down.  When Worf came out, he walked right up to the
commander and punched him in the jaw."

Vedek Ejenni inclined her head once towards the Emissary.  "I see.
Why?" she asked, looking pointedly at Worf.

 Worf shifted in his seat.  He did not like having so many questions
asked of him, but this woman posed a logical one.  "I believed that he
had dishonoured Deanna."

"Did he?"  Ejenni turned to Deanna.

Deanna brushed a stray wisp of hair away from her face.  "No.  He
didn't.  It's true that Will is married, but we're still friends.  He
came with me to the wedding because I needed support.  A friend's
support," she emphasised, her eyes finding and fixing Worf's with the
intensity of her emotion.

"Why did you need this support, child?" Ejenni asked.

---

"Just where do you think you're going?" Quark challenged the three
oddly-dressed men who had barged into what was left of his bar.

"Culloden," O'Brien said rather sheepishly, tucking his bagpipe under
one arm. "But I think we're already there."

Bashir looked around, feeling as though he were in the eye of a
hurricane. Leeta, long black wig askew, was perched on top of the bar,
Rom patting her hand as she buried her head in his shoulder.  Over his
wife's head, the Ferengi was glaring at a group of half-dozen Klingons
who were roasting some sort of meat over flames sprouting from the
punchbowl.  Interspersed with their mutterings of appreciation for the
food were off-key snatches of music, which sounded oddly like
"Deee-aaaaahhh-nuhhh," after which they would throw their heads back,
laugh heartily, and shove the entire chunk of meat down their throats,
and start the whole sequence all over again.  "Any casualties?" he
asked, taking a medical tricorder out from under his sporran, which
sat slightly askew.

"Not yet," Quark said, waving away Bashir's offer.  "Put that thing
away.  We don't want to make them nervous," he elaborated, wagging his
head in the direction of the Klingons.  He squinted at the tall,
shaggily bearded man wrapped in a green-and-black plaid.  "You are not
playing Dabo in my establishment," he insisted, pointing a blue-nailed
finger in Riker's direction. "I'd like to have at least some of my
investments still intact at the end of the day, if that's all right
with the universe."  He rolled his eyes as the Klingons raised crushed
cans over their head and began a chant Quark had quickly learned to
dread.

"Hi-C!  Hi-C!"

Quark lowered his head into his hands and shuddered.  "Did they have
to find the citrus cooler?  It's too late for me," he warned the men,
gesturing dramatically to the door of his best holosuite.  "Save
yourselves."

O'Brien looked from the Klingons to Quark, and then at the door.  Food
covered most of the flat surfaces, both horizontal and vertical,
several unidentifiable items hanging from the railing overlooking the
lower level.  The bar itself was going to be a logistical nightmare
when Quark asked him to fix it, which O'Brien knew the Ferengi would
do in less than a minute.  Making sure the bagpipe was secured under
his arm, he planted one hand on Bashir's shoulder, the other on
Riker's, and bulldozed his way through an advancing group of
cake-covered Bajorans who looked anything but peaceful.  The battle of
Culloden had to be safer than this.

Just before the door closed behind them, Riker looked back at the mess
that made Wolf 359 look like a little girls' tea party.  The Klingons
were finishing up the intermission in their opera, picking Leeta up by
the waist and hoisting her up on their shoulders to parade her about
the Promenade.  Rom sighed deeply, shaking his head as he began his
pursuit of his wife, but was pushed aside by an elderly Bajoran vedek
with a gob of singed frosting decorated with specks of gold-coloured
plastic matted into his earring.  Quark gave a little shriek, and
quicker than quick, dodged in between the closing holosuite doors.

"Interior lock!"  Quark grabbed Bashir's fallen plaid bonnet and
slapped it on his head, where it sat in lopsided splendour.  "So,
gentlemen," he asked, rubbing his hands together, "what sort of game
are we playing here?"

---

"Excuse me for interrupting, but I'm looking for my husband."  The
petite blonde woman in the Starfleet uniform glided in, looking back
over her shoulder as the door closed on the chaos of Quark's behind
her.  "I was told he was in one of these holosuites."

Jadzia stood, and placed her hands on her hips, letting out a huff of
pique. "Well, you can just forget the wedding now, ridge-boy!  I am
not, and I repeat, not going to be anybody's number two wife.  A
secret girlfriend is one thing, but an actual wife?"  She shook all
over, turning an extremely unflattering shade of fuschia while a vein
throbbed behind the spots at her right temple.

Worf, Deanna, Ejenni and Sisko rose to their feet as well, though in a
far more controlled manner.   Sisko placed a hand on Jadzia's shoulder
and spun her about to face the woman.  "It's good to see you again,
Sarah.  I'm not going to try to explain things, but the last time I
saw Will, he and Dr Bashir were headed for the infirmary."

Sarah cocked her head, taking in the strange sight of four extremely
nervous people and a serene, but cake-covered vedek gathered together
in a room that had actually managed to make black and grey clash.  "I
know," she answered, her cultured British voice the calmest thing in
the room.  "They sent me to the O'Brien quarters, and Keiko sent me
here.  Can you believe how Molly's grown?"

Sisko shook his head, ignoring Dax's little noise of frustration. "No,
I can't.  Did you see the baby?"

"Lovely boy.  That couldn't have been Jake in bar, could it?  He was
just a boy the last time I..."

Jadzia made a "time out" signal with her hands, then, when it didn't
do any good, stepped between Sisko and Sarah, waving her arms. "Hello? 
Anybody remember me?  The one who was going to be getting married
before the whole universe went blooey?"

Sarah turned from Sisko and fixed intense violet eyes on the Trill
woman with the Klingon betrothal necklace on backwards.  "Ducks, isn't
it?  That's quite a coincidence actually, because my brother calls
his..."

Worf gulped, beads of sweat beginning to drip down his ridge.
"Danielle is here? Computer, security lock on..."

"Belay that order," Jadzia snapped.  "Who's Danielle?  Another wife?"
She whirled again to face Sarah.  "And the name is Dax, Blondie."

"That's Captain Blondie to you, Commander.  Benno, I understand that
your officer is upset over the current situation, whatever it is, but
you might wish to have a word with her about respect for those of
superior rank."  Sarah took a deep breath and smoothed her uniform
skirt.  "Danielle is Worf's ex-girlfriend, actually," she put in
helpfully,  "also Willie's sister, but I shouldn't worry about her.
She's married to one of my brothers, and quite happily, I might add.
She did send her regards."

Worf looked visibly relieved as he sank down into his chair, springing
right back up again as he remembered that both women and superior
officers were still standing.  Most of the women were  superior
officers, at that.  "Then she is not here?"

"No," Sarah assured him, peering over his shoulder at a flower
arrangement that didn't look quite right.  "She's not here, so you're
safe on that account."

Deanna looked at Worf.  "Have you been carrying on with her, too?"

"Who?"

"Danielle!"  Deanna directed an exasperated breath up at her bangs.
"You were seeing her right before we..."

Sisko cleared his throat.  "Has anybody seen Major Kira?  Please,
please, please don't tell me she fell into the mirror universe again.
I flat out refuse to deal with that today."

There was the sound of rushing water from a source he couldn't
identify, and Kira stepped out of a rather wobbly-looking wall.
Shaking water droplets from her fingers, she wiped her hands on the
leg of her uniform.  "Somebody tell Quark he's out of towels in the
women's head."  She blinked in surprise at the woman who hadn't been
there a few minutes before.  "Sarah?"

"Nerys, you're looking lovely.  Have you heard from Tommy lately?"

Kira shook her head.  "No, but you know the strangest thing?  I think
I just might be able to..."

Jadzia put two fingers between her lips and whistled.  "Can we please
just get things straight here before you all have the time of your
lives at my ex-reception?"  She cast hopeful eyes at Ejenni.  "What do
we do now?"

Ejenni smoothed a loose strand of Jadzia's hair back behind her ear.
"It's always best to be direct, child.  Ask your questions."

"Okay," Jadzia began, pointing to a far corner of the room.  "Everybody
who's never had a thing for Worf go stand over there."

Sarah, Ejenni and Sisko trooped over to the place Jadzia had
indicated.

Kira raised her hand.  "Does ogling count?"

Jadzia considered the question for a moment.  "How serious ogling?"

"Not very.  Bariel was right there."

"Okay, you're with them."  She waited for Kira to join the others.
"Now, everybody who *has* had a thing with Worf, next to me."

There was a laboured sigh from a pot of flowers on the altar before
the outline blurred, turning into Odo.  "Just so there's no
confusion," he drawled, striding over to the non-Worf group.

---

"And dinna ye ivver coom back again, ye bloody sassenachs," the
sword-slinging holofigure shouted, chasing Bashir, O'Brien and Riker
out of the holosuite, Quark right behind them, clutching onto the
plaid bonnet with white-knuckled fingers.  "Ye'll be keeping yer
bloody troll with ye, too, or t'won't go well at all fer the lot of
ye!"

O'Brien glared at Bashir.  "I told you to keep your mouth shut when he
showed up," he said, wiping the sweat from his damp curls, using the
remnants of his sporran.  The sword-slinging Highlander had severed it
from the rest of O'Brien's costume just before he'd shown the men the
way out..

Bashir looked affronted.  "Me?  Who's the one who mentioned his wife
holds a British title?"  All eyes swung to Riker.

"I thought it would help," he insisted stubbornly, re-draping his
plaid so that it covered the gaping tear down the front of his shirt.
"I was trying to reason with him.  Anyway, we were doing fine until
somebody," he looked pointedly at Quark, "stopped hiding under the
bridge."

"Well, what would you  have done?  The man did specifically say that
he'd give a king's ransom for a decent drink.  I just so happened to
have a flask of exceptionally fine tulaberry wine on my person, and
thought I'd help a fellow traveller in distress."

O'Brien snorted, throwing his sporran down on the table, where it
landed on top of an extremely interestingly-shaped pretzel.  He cast a
quick look around the room to make sure Molly wasn't around.  There
were several years, maybe decades to go before she was old enough to
see such a pretzel.  "Did you ever stop to think that all he had to
offer was holographic money?"

Quark drew himself up indignantly, slapping the plaid bonnet back on
his head. "Well, we were in a holographic environment, weren't we?  I
should think that holographic currency would be the perfect coin of
the realm."

"I don't suppose there's any tea left," Bashir mused aloud, watching
with amusement as the Klingons succeeded in coaxing a scantily-clad
dabo girl out from her hiding place in one of the cabinets.  So, he
thought, that's where Zilann got to...  Crowing their victory, the
Klingons immediately began sticking their thumbs in a dish of yamok
sauce, which they had decided perfectly complimented the pretzels, and
applying the sticky stuff in a series of thumbprints down along her
temples.  "Looks like they've found their Jadzia," he observed, hiding
a smile behind his fist as he faked a cough.

Riker plucked a sprig of heather out of his beard, staring at the
plant that shouldn't have still existed.  "Explain this," he insisted,
dangling the flower in front of Quark's nose.

"Ah, that would be because I was using that particular holosuite to
double for an experimental hydroponics lab.  For Mrs O'Brien's
birthday," he elaborated, jerking his head back toward the door.
"Besides, he won't let me uproot them."

"Why don't you just terminate the character?" Riker asked, rooting
around for any stray plant life he might have brought with him.  Some
things were just impossible to explain to one's wife.  Taking the old
girlfriend to somebody's wedding was one thing, but fauna in the
underwear was another thing altogether...

Quark looked to Bashir.  "You tell him."

"Oh, no," the doctor countered, pointing an accusing finger at
O'Brien.  "It's your programme, and your wife who wanted the
hydroponics lab."

O'Brien looked hopefully at the Klingons.  If there was any chance
they needed another player for their opera, he would gladly volunteer,
no matter what the role, rather than confess this problem he couldn't
solve.  He had no such luck, as the Klingons seemed perfectly happy to
coach their new Dax in her role, which seemed to involve a lot of
crying and running around in circles, pulling at the roots of her
hair.  He sighed heavily, and raked a hand through his own hair,
coming up with a king-sized thistle.  "I've tried to delete him," he
confessed, lobbing the thistle at Bashir, "but he just keeps coming
back.  No matter what programme I use, he's still there.  Worse than
the bloody Jem'Hadar," he grumbled.

"Or Borg," Riker cut in.  "Remember the Borg, Chief?  Now, there was a
battle!"

O'Brien nodded.  "That it was, sir, and we didn't have to worry about
trolls popping out from under bridges, either."  He glared at Quark.
"Why'd you keep that suite open, anyway?"

"I had the other one reserved for the wedding," the Ferengi explained,
letting out a little squeak as he instinctively lurched forward in
defence of his last remaining store of oversalted nuts.  "And we can't
forget the honeymoon suite," he tossed back over his shoulder,
grabbing the box of nuts from a salivating Klingon.  As far as he
could tell, he'd already been stripped bare of supplies by the
Klingons, who still looked restless enough to be a problem.  Even if
it cost him a fortune, if they could remember they'd had a good time
at Quark's, they just might come back when they were in a better, not
to mention more generous mood.  "Better call Moogie," he muttered,
passing the pretzel cart on his way to the back room.  He didn't want
to know where they'd gotten the revolving platform, but he was pretty
sure this meant he needed a new dabo wheel.

As the Klingons' voices reached a reverberating pitch, the door to the
wedding holosuite slid open, sticking just a little due to the coating
of yamok sauce on its exterior.  Filing out in a neat line, Sarah,
Kira, Odo and Ejenni surveyed the damage.

---

Worf and Deanna both looked at the floor, Jadzia standing between
them.  With everyone else gone, the room echoed with silence, the
stray peep from a pet lost in the shufffle, not to mention the
overturned chairs, occasionally breaking into the quiet.

Jadzia cleared her throat.  "Well?"

"I am sorry," Worf ventured, his eyes still glued to Jadzia's boot. It
was less intimidating than the fury in her eyes.

"Not you," she snapped.  "I mean your Betazoid Betty over here."

Sisko placed a warning hand on Jadzia's shoulder.  "Old man, that's
not helping anything.  Let's keep this adult."

"That would be advisable," Deanna agreed, her voice frosty.  "It's
been a long day."

Jadzia nodded, taking her first good look at Deanna.  The Betazoid
woman was indeed beautiful, long dark curls gathered loosely at the
back of her head, straight and proud posture softened only a little
bit by weariness, and wide dark eyes that seemed as depthless as a
Bajoran orb.  One host ago, Dax would have been falling all over
himself to make her acquaintance.  It wasn't that hard a stretch to
see what Worf had seen in her.

No, Jadzia corrected herself, watching the air between Worf and Deanna
as though she could see the sparks between them, he still saw it.
There was undeniable passion there, in the way his full lips curved
back from his teeth, trembling slightly.  Despite the fact that there
were two other people in the room, she knew Worf, at this moment, saw
only Deanna, drinking in the sight of her as though she were returned
from the dead.

He had never looked at Jadzia like that.  Not once.  Not when they had
fought together, defending each other in the heat of battle with
valour that would have put Kahless himself to shame.  Not when they
had lain together in the night, bodies entwined in a dance of pure
physicality but still remained as emotionally distant from each other
as if one of them had been in the Delta quadrant.  Neither, Jadzia
realised, pulling the band from her hair and shaking the silky
straight mass loose about her shoulders, had she looked that way at
him.

With a sad smile, she lifted the betrothal necklace over her head,
wincing as the sharp links pulled a few strands of hair from her
scalp, and handed it back to Worf.  "You're free," she whispered, as
their eyes met in understanding. "You will be remembered with honour."

Worf stared down at the necklace in his hand and nodded.  "As will
you."

Jadzia heaved a heavy sigh and ran a hand through the full length of
her hair. "Benjamin, I think I'd like to go now.  Somebody should let
the guests know what's not going on."

Sisko slipped an arm about Jadzia's waist as he guided her to the
door.  His hand rested on the curve of her hip, which filled his palm
perfectly.  "How about a little time in the other holosuite, Old Man?
Your choice of programme."

Jadzia sniffled and smiled at him. "I think I'd like that.  I think
I'd like that a lot, as a matter of fact.  Chief O'Brien has been
wanting me to try his battle of Culloden programme for a while now."

"Sounds good to me," Sisko agreed in velvety tones.  "As for you two,"
he instructed Worf and Deanna, "you're not to leave this holosuite
until you've come to an understanding.  That's an order," he added,
with a wink he knew Deanna would catch.

---

"Hello, handsome.  Nice kilt."

Although his eyes were covered by a pair of small, soft hands, Riker
would know that voice anywhere.  He reached behind him and pulled
Sarah into his lap, kissing her soundly.  "I thought you couldn't get
away."

"One of the perks of being Captain," she told him with a saucy smile,
plucking a blade of straw from his beard, and brushing it across her
own lips, "is being able to let your first officer take charge of the
ship once in a while."

"Can't argue with that," he agreed, as Bashir and O'Brien quickly
vacated their seats.  "Any news on in there?"  He nodded in the
direction of the wedding holosuite.

Sarah snaked her hand under the hem of Riker's kilt, to rest on his
knee.  "I think things are getting settled.  What's up with the
Klingons?"

"They're producing an opera," Quark answered before Riker could open 
his mouth. "If my..." he paused to shudder, "mother can get here 
before the Nagus's next visit, I just might be able to fix the damage 
and still come out just a little bit ahead.  Now, if this fine 
establishment had the endorsement of two such fine people as the hero 
of Wolf 359 and an actual member of Terran royalty..."

"Nobility," Sarah corrected him automatically; she hadn't been
listening to anything the little man had said, but some things were
too important to ignore.

Quark shook his head and left the human couple alone.  "Customers," he
said, rushing up to meet Dax and Sisko, his mind whirling.  They'd
been in the wedding suite during the whole fiasco, and didn't have to
know that the Klingons had already consumed everything remotely
palatable, as well as a few things that weren't.  If he could just get
them to order a large meal and then set off a red alert, things would
be well on their way to improving.  Not only would the two officers
have paid in advance, but the red alert would get everyone out so he
could clean up and take inventory of what was left.

"Quark, my good man," Sisko greeted him, "the Commander and I are
interested in a little holosuite time.  O'Brien's Battle of Culloden
programme."

Sisko's words caused the Ferengi's face to light up like the glow from
a storehouse full of latinum in direct sunlight.  Of course!  It was
the perfect solution to all his problems.  "Well, you know," Quark
pretended to consider, rubbing his fingers together, "There's just the
honeymoon suite, but you wouldn't be interested in that."

Sisko thought he head Dax say something as she slipped her arm about 
his waist. "Maybe later.  I wouldn't change the programme just yet, 
if I were you, though.  You might find another pair of customers 
who'd jump at the chance." He inclined his head in the direction of 
the table where Riker was presently unwinding his wife's long pale 
hair from its figure-eight chignon.

"I see what you mean," Quark answered, making a mental note to offer
the couple the use of the suite.  Of course, it was already paid for,
but it had been paid for Worf and Dax's wedding, and the Rikers would
most assuredly want some very expensive modifications.  At the very
least, they'd want to get rid of the bat'leths and armour.  "I'll get
right on it.  You know," he continued, rubbing his chin, "I just might
be able to offer you a most reasonable discount if you don't mind
entering the Battle," he raised his voice to a loud enough level to
make the last word heard over the noise, "of Culloden in a programme
that's already running. Those gentlemen," he nodded in the direction
of Bashir and O'Brien, who were picking their way over the
debris-laden floor, looking for a safe way out, "left without
terminating their programme, so it's on their bill. You may as well
use it," he offered with rare generosity, patting Jadzia's hand. "With
everything else that's gone on today, why worry about paying for your
holosuite time?"

Jadzia's old smile made a reappearance.  "Thank you, Quark.  That's
actually... nice of you," she said, not quite believing it herself. "I
don't suppose you'll be wanting this back?"  She withdrew a slim
programme rod from the folds of her dress uniform and extended it to
Quark.

The Ferengi grabbed it so fast that his nails scratched the palm of
her hand. "Enjoy yourselves," he instructed as he skittered off to the
table where Riker and Sarah sat.  "Excuse me," he interrupted, when
they finally came up for air, "but I've just this minute come into
posession of a very interesting programme that two people of your, ah,
calibre, might find use for.  It was originally intended for a
honeymoon couple, but they've made other plans."  He coughed and
turned in the direction of the now-open holosuite door, where all
could plainly see Jadzia and Sisko leading a procession of Klingons
into Culloden.

"Come on, boys," Jadzia called out, taking O'Brien's bagpipe as she
passed him, "the more the merrier."  The invitation had only served to
enhance the Klingons' already high spirits, as they whirled the
pretzel cart about and headed for the promise of battle.  By this time
Leeta's face had frozen into a mask of reluctant resignation, but Rom
had renewed his campaign, and scrambled up to join her atop the cart.
Encircling her waist with one hand, he used the other arm to hang on
tight to the pole of the red-and-white striped umbrella one of the
Klingons had unfurled.

Riker looked at the crystalline rod Quark was turning end over end,
and then at his wife.  "Your call."

Sarah reached a manicured hand out and plucked the rod away from
Quark.  "See to it we're not disturbed, and there might be a handsome
gratuity for you."

As Quark backed away from their table, Riker scooped Sarah's light
form into his arms.  "I have only one question.  If I'm here, and
you're here, then who's watching the girls?"

Sarah tapped one dangling foot against his thigh.  "Chelly and Ella,
of course."

"You left our children with Charlie and Danielle?  Your brother and my 
sister?" He heaved a dramatic sigh, but kept walking toward the 
honeymoon suite.  "All right, but you're responsible for any new 
words they've learned when we get them back."  As they passed the 
wedding suite, Riker only hoped that things were going as well inside 
as outside.

---

"Well?" Deanna clasped her hands behind her back and took a step
forward. "We're alone at last."

Worf kept his eyes downcast, unable yet to face her.  "I will, of
course, apologise to Commander Riker for assaulting him."

"That would be nice," Deanna agreed, drinking in the sight of the man
she had longed for, despaired of, and sometimes wanted to kill over
the past year.  "If it will help make you feel better, I don't think
he'll be pressing any charges."

Worf grunted.  "He had that right.  I behaved dishonourably."

"Why do you say that?"  Deanna took in Worf's stooping posture,
feeling his anguish as deeply as though it were her own.

"Commander Riker has always been a friend to me.  I should not have
suspended my trust in him.  He is a man I greatly admire, but cannot
emulate."

That struck Deanna as odd, the attunement with Worf's emotions she had
begun to reestablish shaking.  "Emulate?"

Finally, Worf met her eyes, his pupils wide and remorseful.  "Once
having been your lover, he is now as a brother to you.  That is
something I could never accept.  It is why I never initiated physical
relationship in all the time that I had known you."  He paused,
debating whether or not he should continue. "According to my customs,
if not yours, a physical relationship requires a permanent mating.  I
recall how distraught you were at the marriage your mother had planned
for you."

Deanna searched Worf's face for signs of an impending collapse.  In a
non-Klingon, there would be rivers of tears by now, but his bottomless
eyes remained clear.  "But you would have married Jadzia."

"You prevented that."

"Are you saying that if I hadn't come, you would have gone through
with the wedding?"

Worf squared his shoulders and mumbled something Deanna didn't hear.
"It is Klingon custom."

She tilted her head to one side, noting the grim set of Worf's brows.
It was the same expression he wore when in physical pain, but not
wanting to reveal that fact.  She knew without words that his recent
actions tore at him like a slashing wound from an enemy blade. Closing
the distance between them with slow, sure steps, she placed a finger
across his full lips.  "Forgive yourself. It is over now.  All of it
is over.  What matters is now."

He took her hand from his lips, allowing her fingers to entwine with
his.  She fit him like a chainmail glove made by a master armourer,
covering , protecting, healing with a single touch.  "Deanna, I could
not possess you once and then watch you go to another man.  Even," he
elaborated, thinking of Riker, "if he were a friend.  When it comes to
you, I must have all or nothing.  If you think you may want to leave
me someday, walk away from me now and never look back.  It is the one
thing I will ask of you."

Deanna released his hand, snaking her arms up about his neck. Reaching
for his hair tie, she unwound it slowly, taking her time with each
turn, until the thong dangled from her fingers and dropped to the
floor.  Pressing her lips to his, she was reminded of how she had
often thought the lovely dark hue of his skin was like the richest of
dark chocolate, but far more delicious.  She leaned into his embrace,
feeling his strong, weathered hands conform to her body, one settling
about her waist, and the other cupping her bottom.  He was warm,
strong, shoring her up when she had thought this day would bring about
the collapse of what she had prayed for countless cold and lonely
nights.

He pulled away.  "You are trembling," he observed, his eyes scanning
her beloved features for signs of distress.  At the sight of the
single tear that began its silvery trail down her cheek, he brushed it
with his thumb.  "I have hurt you?"

"No, Worf, no, you haven't.  It's only..."  She broke off her words,
not knowing how to express the intensity of their combined emotion.
All the longing, the passion, the controlled desire both had
suppressed over far longer than they cared to think of had been
channelled through that one kiss, the promise of yet more hanging
between them like a tantalising treat.  "I thought I would see you
marry someone else today.  Will talked me into coming here, and I
almost didn't."

Worf swallowed something in Klingon, pulling Deanna to him.  "Know
that I desire only you," he insisted, "Now and always.  I will be your
husband, Deanna, and you will be my wife. Nothing will part us, if you
will still have me."

Smiling up at him, all Deanna could do was nod her head once before
pressing it into the rough fabric of his robe.  It was real, Worf was
real, and he desired her, only her.  Just as she desired only him.
Running her fingers across the dull metal of his sash, she blinked the
moist tears from her lashes.  "I will always have you, Azuna."

"I do not understand that word."

"It's a Betazoid word," she explained, standing on tiptoe so that her
lips touched against his.  "And you should get used to hearing it very
frequently. It means last one," she confided, the words sliding into
the kiss that marked the beginning of their life together.  "You are
my last one."

---

The End