Klingons did not stargaze, Klingons did not pout and Klingons definitely did not cry. And yet here he sat, crying, yet no tears were falling from his eyes. Klingon eyes could not cry, but Klingon hearts could. His body screamed for him to do something, something that should involve decapitating a certain Cardessian with his wife's bat'leth...his former wife's bat'leth.

A growl of grief wretched free from within him and startled the lover's couple a couple of yards away, but he paid them no heed. Nothing matter but the feelings boiling inside him. It should have humiliated him, to be so controlled by his feelings. He was Klingon after all and vengeance had to be served.

Or had it? Indescribable fury had taken possession of him as Jadzia's life had slipped away and for untold seconds he had been itching to trace down every single person ever to hurt her and to subject them to the kind of torture Klingons did best.

And that was exactly where the problem lay; untold seconds. Seconds. When K'Ehleyr had been murdered he had felt a similar rage, only much stronger and it had lasted so very much longer. Was he doing Jadzia injustice by not grieving for her the way he had grieved for K'Ehleyr? Did it mean he loved her less? True that he had never been -in- love with her, but she had attracted him and he had grown to love her deeply.

So why was it that he wasn't out there hunting Dukat and whoever stood in his way, but was instead sitting here, gazing at the stars and analyzing what he was feeling? Behavior, not becoming of a Klingon warrior. He tried to tell himself. The truth was that his opinions and beliefs had changed a long time ago. K'Ehleyr had set everything in motion by questioning his ways; the Klingon ways and then...

Then there had been Deanna Troi.

She was the reason for his downfall as a warrior. He tried to tell himself. In truth, he believed she had made him a better warrior; his sense of honor stronger than before. She had taught him that even a warrior need not shield himself from feelings, for feelings could be as powerful a weapon as a bat'leth. If it hadn't been for her, he would have been hunting down slimy Cardessians right now.

That didn't mean he wouldn't get his revenge at all, he just wouldn't do so now. Now was a time to grief, and yes, to cry without tears.

* * *

It was easy to find him, all she had to do upon disembarking was opening her senses and his strong flow of emotions pulled her to him. She wasn't sure if he would want to see her; she wasn't even sure she wanted to see him but she knew she had to.

Even with light-years between them she had sensed the anger and grief that had nearly overwhelmed him and whether she wanted to or not, she had to come; like a moth to a flame.

She ordered the turbolift to halt and sagged against the wall. For the first time since leaving the Enterprise by shuttle she was thinking clearly. She did not want to see him. There was too much emotional baggage still floating in her mind. A single tear rolled from her left eye as her memory took her back to their break up. In so far that it had been a break-up; basically they'd simply parted. There had been no talk, no flying furniture, not even an explanation. Worf had been reassigned to DS9 at his request and he hadn't even bothered to tell her.

And now she traveled half across the quadrant to hold his hand as he grieved for his wife? What was she thinking?! Damn her empathy. It really sucked being an empath when it came to relationships, or even more specific; break-ups. And even now that her mind told her to run, her heart wouldn't let her, and so she told the computer to continue.

* * *

Worf growled again, and again the couple near him jumped, this time however they decided to leave, much to the Klingon's pleasure. He knew very well that many humanoids found Klingons an intimidated species and he had to admit that on many occasions he enjoyed the sense of power it gave him. That wasn't why he was growling however. He was doing his best to remember his wife Jadzia, but all he could think of were the times when she embarrassed him, their fights and just about every other negative aspect of their relationship.

It wasn't long before his mind reminded him of the more pleasant times. He was deep in thought when he gradually became aware of someone familiar hovering a couple of meters behind him. A slight smile, the first genuine smile since his mate's death, made itself known, but he didn't turn around to welcome his visitor and instead allowed himself to drift away on memories again. There was no need to watch his back, for she would watch it for him. There was no need to speak, for she appreciated silence just as much as he did and most of all, there was no need to be guarded, for he could never hide anything from her.

* * *

Over fifteen minutes had passed since she had found him at one of the upper pylons of the station and still she kept her eyes fastened on a point just over his shoulder, knowing that if she'd be looking directly at him he would soon start to feel uncomfortable. With her eyes watching the wondrous colors of the wormhole as it opened and closed, her mind stayed focused on his. Every shift in his emotions, no matter how slight or insignificant registered in her mind and her heart fluttered as she realized how grateful he was for her mere presence.

When the strongest of emotions seemed to have dwindled down to acceptance she closed the short distance between them and after a moments of hesitation laid a small hand upon his shoulder, making sure there was but a companionable pressure upon his skin rather than an intrusion. Words were useless between them: after three years apart it was difficult to determine what was safe and what wasn't. She could tell him how sorry she was, but somehow that didn't seem right so she just stood and waited.

* * *

The gently touch on his shoulder sent currents of electricity running through his blood and it took him all his Klingon strength not to inhale sharply. He hadn't expected her to be there, hadn't dared to hope she would still talk to him. The way he'd left her had been less than honorable and he regretted it to this day. There was much he had to say and apologize for, but for now he was simply grateful that she had come.

Slowly he turned around, not opening his eyes until he knew he was facing her. She was still beautiful, her black eyes shining brightly with his pain and sorrow and the crystal clear teardrops they had produced lay on porcelain skin as if crafted and put there by Kahless himself. Her lips were colored in burgundy/purple, a color reminding him of blood. Looking down at her body he couldn't help but admire the way her dress --in the same color as her lips-- clung itself to her curves and he recognized the heavy necklace she wore as the one he had given to her on their last day together.