2384
"Shh, Daddy's got you. Daddy's got you. I'm here…you'll be all right. Shh…"
Her father's words, ten years old, echoed through Molly's mind as she hunched on the beach, shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. As she sat there, arms clasping her legs to her chest, forehead pressing against her knees, and tears soaking through the fabric of her pants, Molly felt eight years old again.
Yes, she had changed—a lot—in ten years. She'd grown taller, filled out, cut her hair from waist-length to shoulder-length, entered Starfleet Academy, and, along the way, gained a decade's worth of laughter, lessons, and pain. In a dozen different ways, Molly O'Brien was no longer a child. But in these…the darkest hours of her childhood she'd never allowed herself to relive, Molly was still a little girl.
Now, a decade too late, Molly let it all out. As her tears poured out, so did the memories; they unwound and sprang forth, at last loosed from their dungeon of careful ignorance. Memory after memory surged out of the stale hole, piling on top of each other in a seemingly endless cascade.
She remembered the memorial service; the tears mingled with the smiles, the flashes of laughter intermixed with choked remembrances of Jadzia Dax, a flame of vitality and mainstay of fun times in the lives of all who knew her.
She remembered the trembling, but somehow resolute, timbre of her father's voice as he recounted his fondest memories of Jadzia, his recollections of a dedicated officer, fun-loving spirit, and loyal friend.
She remembered the way her mother had squeezed her hand when she rose to speak, to offer a final goodbye to her daughter's mentor and her own close friend.
She remembered the tears slipping down Aunt Nerys's cheeks as she recounted the admiration and respect she, as Major Kira, had held for Lieutenant Commander Dax, but more importantly, the sisterhood she, as simply Nerys, had shared with Jadzia.
She remembered Worf and Captain Sisko's unquestioned silence; the pain shuddering across their faces had been answer enough.
She remembered Dr. Bashir's strangled apology to Jadzia, to all of them, for his failure to save their precious friend.
She remembered them all—Quark, Jake, Rom, Nog, Leeta, Odo, a dozen others—and their memorials, their tributes to someone whose loss they knew they'd never fully comprehend.
Molly remembered. And through it all, she grieved.
Some time later, when the moment's tears were spent, Molly unfolded herself and smoothed her feet down the sand. She felt lighter, less desolate, than an hour before. Unlocking her memories of Jadzia's death had been painful—agonizingly so, but…it had been a healthy pain. A pain that signaled the birth of healing. Molly knew she still had a long way to go; healing didn't happen overnight. But she'd taken the first—the hardest—step.
Molly sighed and dug her toes into the sand, past the sun-warmed surface and into the cool of the lower layers. She gazed out at the Bridge, taken to a new level of brilliance by the westward-moving sun. Her fingers played over the replicated straps of her sandals, coming to rest on the fabric of her satchel.
The satchel.
Molly closed her eyes, knowing what she must do next. Knowing that it wouldn't be easy. But nothing about this day had been easy. Swallowing, she lifted the satchel onto her lap.
She didn't open her eyes until she'd set it onto her legs and returned her fingers to the sand. Even then, she just sat, staring at the navy fabric, searching for the courage to open it.
At last, she lifted her hand once more and slipped it into the bag. Her fingers brushed the cool casing of a Starfleet-issue padd, and she had to fight the urge to do homework. Instead, she dug deeper, searching for it. Knowing that, eventually, she'd have to pick it up, hold it, feel it, and open it. Finding it, she pulled it free of its cloth cave.
The box's wood was silky against her fingertips, smooth from months of old-style sanding and nine years of handling. It fit snugly in her palm, no longer too large for her child's hand to grasp. At that moment, it seemed as if the box had shrunk, and Molly hadn't grown at all. The warmth of the grain against her palm, the tang of salt nipping her lungs, the crash of the waves upon the sand—they twined together into a rope that pulled Molly into the past, to the day her father had taken her to the holo-beach and given her the box.
"Here, Molly, I've got something for you."
"What is it, Daddy? What?"
The velvety touch of the box slid into her nine-year-old fingers, warmed by the strong, gentle grip of her father's hand. A delighted smile splashed onto her face, her fingers exploring the chestnut treasure.
"A box!" she cried.
"Yeah, Mol, a treasure box. To put all your special things in."
The memory faded, and Molly's smile along with it. So many objects had nestled under that box's lid those first few years. But as she'd grown older, their excitement had faded, and into the trash receptacle they'd gone.
Molly lifted the lid to reveal the item on top. So many things come and gone. But only one object, one treasure, had found its way into that box the first day and never found its way out.
Jadzia's hairclip.
Molly blinked back a rush of tears at the sight of the rounded edges and gold plating. Seeing it brought back so many memories—happy memories that made her smile, despite her stinging eyes.
She let her mind wander back to the day Jadzia had first come over. She'd been six years old, and Zia had never come to her quarters to play before. Molly had been over to Zia's quarters, and they'd played together lots of times on the holo-beach, but never at Molly's quarters. She smiled as she recalled her bouncy, little-girl excitement leading up to that night.
Then, with a swirl of warmth, Molly remembered how Jadzia had played with her hair, talking with her while twisting it into fancy braids, just like the princesses in her bedtime stories…
"There, Princess Molly, how does that look?" Jadzia, from her place on the O'Briens' floor, held up a mirror.
Molly stretched her arms out as flat as they would go and tilted the mirror this way and that, craning to see her princess braids. She felt Zia's eyes watching her, and knew without looking that she wore her special, soft-eyed smile. It gave Molly's tummy a happy tickle to know that.
"Very nice, 'mander Hairdresser. I 'mend you for a job well done," Molly pronounced solemnly. Very 'propriately for a princess. She'd been practicing extra hard, too.
"Why, thank you, Princess Molly!" Zia laughed, tucking the mirror away. "What shall we do now?"
Molly frowned and thought. She even felt her forehead wrinkle, and that only happened when she thought very hard. "How 'bout we color?"
Zia nodded firmly and climbed to her knees. "Yes, ma'am," she said, saluting sharply. "Lead the way."
Molly giggled and ran to the table, where Mommy had left coloring paper and Molly's favorite crayons.
"You're 'specially lucky, 'mander Hairdresser—these are Bolian crayons!"
"Oh, my," Zia said, her eyes getting round. "I've never colored with Bolian crayons before."
Molly unsealed her crayon box and pulled out a handful of colored sticks. "Here, pick your favorite color. But only one at a time. Gotta be careful, 'kay?"
For a while, they chattered about Golana, the holo-beach, the wormhole's pretty blue color, Dr. Bashir's darts game, and a dozen other things princesses and their commander hairdressers talked about.
They'd been coloring for nearly half and hour when Zia lifted her paper, showing it to Molly. "What do you think?"
Molly tilted her head, trying to make sense of what she saw. "What is it?"
Zia made a face, as if to say, 'Don't you know?' Then, she said, "It's Worf. Can't you see?"
Molly's frown deepened, but she soon burst into giggles. "Silly Zia! That's not Worf!"
"No? Then who is it?" Zia asked. But then she started laughing too, and they ended up in a tickle fight.
When at last they settled down, it was Molly's bedtime, and Zia, after helping her into her PJs, read her a bedtime story (but not Rumpelstiltskin, 'cause he still scared her from a long time ago, when he'd come to visit). Then, she gave her a goodnight kiss and turned to leave.
"Zia?" Molly called, not moving from her pillow.
Jadzia turned to look back, a smile shining in her pretty blue eyes. "Yes?"
"What do you look like with your hair down, like a princess?"
Then Molly remembered how Jadzia had unclipped her hair, and the little gasp that had left her lips when she'd seen the Trill standing with her hair down. So pretty, with her dark tresses spilling over her shoulders, delicate spots framing dancing eyes.
She remembered the way she'd always played with Jadzia's hair after that, every time she came to visit. One of those times had been the day Jadzia gave her the gold hairclip, right before she started wearing the silver one. Back then, Molly had wanted to be just like Zia when she grew up. Tall and pretty, always smiling, always a friend, and never ignoring the forgotten.
Molly sighed at the memories, letting them wash over her with their special, healing warmth.
She remembered all the times Zia had taken her to the holo-beach, how she'd taught her how to build sandcastles like they did on Trill and showed her all the good places to find shells (even though Molly couldn't take them back to her quarters).
She remembered the time they'd found a live starfish washed up on the sand and the gentleness in Zia's hands as she'd tossed it back into the sea, explaining that it would dry out and die if they left it in the hot sun.
She sat there and remembered all the smiles and laughter, and every game and fun time they'd shared.
Molly sniffed and swiped a tear from her cheek. Jadzia had been special, her best friend. They'd done so much together. And now…Molly bit her lip. Now all she had left were memories. Bits of happiness scattered throughout an ocean of hurt.
And yet…Molly smiled. What happy memories they were! Why had she kept them buried inside her for so long? Why not relive them every day, in celebration of Jadzia's life, rather than locked away inside her, as if the vibrant woman had never lived?
The realization of what she'd done for ten years hit Molly fully, and she felt ashamed. Granted, a little girl could hardly understand why certain parts of her felt better when ignored, but a teenager? A young woman?
Her head drooped along with her shoulders, her eyes falling once more to the golden hairclip. She couldn't stop her fingers as they rose and dipped into the box, hovered over the clip, and finally picked it up.
For a while, Molly just sat there, a faint smile on her lips, letting her fingers play across the clip's cool metal contours. Then, with movements as familiar to her as breathing, she gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and snapped the clip into place.
A strange peace flooded Molly's body at the action. A peace that told her she was ready to continue with the memories.
Again, her fingers dipped into the box, this time withdrawing a small, elegantly wrought frame. Turning it over, Molly gazed down at the holo-image held within.
Two faces stared back at her, wreathed in the blue of the sky. One young with a laughing smile; the other older with twin columns of spots framing her shining eyes. Molly's heart ached with the memories.
"Zia…I've missed you."
She couldn't have held the words in any more than she could have stopped her heart from beating.
"It's been a long time since you left; a lot of things have happened. We moved to Earth when I turned nine. Seems like a lot of people were leaving the station then. But it was a long time ago, and I can't remember very well. I do remember you, though. How could I not? You were my best friend." Molly uttered a gentle laugh. "My 'mander Hairdresser, right?
"Guess I haven't had much time for playing princess, lately. Starfleet's not very big on dress-up. Not that I wanted to. It wasn't the same without you. Mom made a good hairdresser, but she was never a Commander Hairdresser, you know?"
Molly sighed.
"I can't believe it's been ten years since you died. Ten years. I've grown up a lot since then. So has Yoshi. He's so big—you wouldn't even recognize him. He's gotten pretty good at Parisees Squares. Dad keeps bragging that he'll make a career out of it, make the O'Brien name famous. Hmm." Molly smiled. "I'd say he's done a pretty good job of that himself.
"Like I said, a lot's happened since you died. The war finally ended, and Captain Sisko went to live with the aliens in the wormhole for the longest time—almost a year. They sent him back just in time for his daughter's birth.
"He married Kasidy Yates; I forgot to tell you that. That probably made you smile, didn't it? I remember Dad saying you liked her a lot. I can see why. She's so sweet, and really a wonderful mother, from what I've seen when we've visited them on Bajor.
"They named her Rachel Jadzia, after you. Their daughter, I mean. Rachel Jadzia Sisko. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think? She looks just like Kasidy, but she has Captain Sisko's eyes. They would've named you godmother, but…Well, I guess you know what happened."
Molly looked out at the ocean and drew a shaky breath. "It was hard, Jadzia. Especially when Ezri came on the station. Just when I'd started accepting that you—Dax—weren't around anymore, this new Trill showed up and everyone started calling her Dax. I was so confused. Daddy tried to explain it to me, but I couldn't understand the concept of Trill hosts and symbionts. All I knew was there was this woman named Dax walking around the station, and she wasn't you.
"You couldn't be more different, actually. She was short—shorter than I am now—and you were tall. She had hair cut like a boy's, and yours was always long and pretty, like a princess's. She could barely finish a sentence, and you always knew what to say. She was always worried, or apologizing, when I was around her, and you were busy playing with my hair or coloring pictures with me and making me laugh. About the only thing you had in common were your eyes—they were the same brilliant shade of blue. And I couldn't stand to look at them."
Molly ducked her head and laughed humorlessly. "It hurt too much. So I tried to stay away from her as much as I could. It was like she reminded me of you, but in all the wrong ways, you know? I mean, she had your eyes, and the spots, and the same color hair. And the name Dax. But her eyes didn't smile like yours did; they just seemed kind of afraid at first. And then, when she'd been on DS9 for a few months, they started laughing. But they never smiled. And her spots were lighter, and her hair was short. And she wasn't Zia. She was Ezri."
Molly fell silent, studying the picture in her hands. Jadzia and six-year-old Molly smiled back at her, their laughter frozen in time. The soothing crash of waves upon the sand surrounded her, offering a blanket of comfort to her troubled heart. When she was ready, she continued.
"And because of that…because she was Ezri Dax, and not Zia…I stayed away from her. It's been nine years since I last saw her, in fact. I have no idea where she is now, or what she's doing. If she's married.
"You would have liked her, I think. I just told you all the bad things about her, the things I didn't like. She was really quite kind and funny, and laughed a lot. I just couldn't get past the fact that she had your name, but wasn't you. Your eyes, but not your smile. So I…tried to forget Dax. I gathered every memory I had of you and locked them all up tight, where they couldn't slip out and make me cry.
"But now I realize that I could never forget you, Zia. You meant—mean—too much to me, made too much of an impact on my life for your memory to die. I guess that's what today is all about—letting everything out and working through my pain. Spending time remembering you. Celebrating you. Thanking you." Making up for the last decade.
Silence. The breeze strengthened, pouring over Molly's upturned face and drying the remnants of her tears. She felt something akin to that breeze ripple over her heart, like clear spring water tumbling over a sun-baked rock.
Was this what remembering felt like?
Molly was certain it was.
Her eyes lilted closed, and she clasped her knees to her chest. The gentle breeze continued to flow across her face, and the remembrance to purl against her heart.
"Jadzia loved the beach."
The voice that sounded behind her came straight from her childhood, and for a moment Molly thought she'd imagined it. Surely it wasn't…it couldn't possibly be—she turned around.
"Worf!" she cried, exploding from the sand. How could—why was—what brought—? The questions came so fast that she couldn't lock onto any of them long enough to complete them.
She ran to the Klingon, and, before she could think better of it, threw her arms around his burly form. Several moments too late, she realized her faux pas and hastily drew back. But something stopped her. Physically.
Startled, Molly looked down and realized that Worf was actually returning her hug. Awkwardly, a bit sheepishly (if Klingons could feel sheepish), but still returning it. Something warm and happy washed over Molly, and she rested her head on the Klingon's chest once more.
At last she drew back, her questions too impatient to wait. "What are you doing here?" she asked, not giving a thought to her potential rudeness. She returned to her spot on the sand, and Worf followed her. "I thought you were living on Qo'noS. Permanently."
"I am," he replied, and fell silent for a long minute. Molly remained quiet and took the time to study him.
He hadn't changed much in ten years—other than seeming shorter than she remembered, and much less intimidating (these observations she attributed solely to the changes in herself). He looked maybe a few years older, with hints of gray at his temples, but outwardly the years had been kind to him. He still wore his hair long, and tied back in an unKlingon-like display of restraint, and he carried himself much the same way. That is, he remained stiff and slightly hesitant, as if always on guard for something bad to happen.
Molly's nine-year-old mind hadn't known enough to put these impressions into words, but her memories told her that Worf hadn't changed since she saw him on Qo'noS five years earlier, or even since he and her father had parted ways nine years ago.
They reached Molly's belongings on the sand and halted their walk, both gazing at the sparkling turquoise waters. Molly crossed her arms and waited, even though her curiosity begged her to prod Worf for details.
Why was he here? What had brought him all the way from Qo'noS? Was it like he'd hinted, because of Jadzia, because she'd loved the beach so much? But why this beach? Was he on some sort of remembrance journey for her? Or was he here on business, as the Federation Ambassador to the Empire? The questions paraded before her ad infinitum, and she struggled not to fidget. She dug her toes into the sand and gave herself a lecture, complete with mental finger-shaking and death glares.
Worf will talk when he's ready. Give him space. Let him breathe. Let him remember. He's probably going through what you are—remembering Jadzia and hurting from her loss. And if so, he's in even greater pain than you are, because he was her husband. He knew her better than anyone, except for maybe Captain Sisko. Try to understand where he's coming from.
"Your father said you would be down here."
Molly resisted the urge to let her jaw drop. Definitely not what I was expecting.
"Why'd you want to know?" she asked as casually as she could. "I figure you'd want to spend time catching up with him rather than me. I was only a girl on Deep Space 9."
"He did not know her like you did."
Molly suddenly felt as if her lungs had been exposed to a vacuum. "Wh-what do you mean?" she stammered.
Worf turned to look at her, his brown eyes solemn but penetrating. That was another thing she remembered about Worf: his eyes. "It has been ten years; I needed to find someone who understood."
Molly let the words sink in before she nodded, slowly. Yes, she was beginning to understand.
"Why not Captain Sisko? He was closer to her than any of us. Except you."
Silence. Then, a deep breath: "Captain Sisko will always be that—my captain. It would not feel…right…talking to him in this way. I admire him as my superior officer, and respect him as an honorable man, but that is all. He would understand, of that I have no doubt. He…proved that to me once, shortly before…" his voice trailed away; still, Molly heard what he left unsaid.
Worf squared his shoulders and continued. "But I would gain nothing from it, save discomfort."
Molly blinked, trying to see the logic in it. But this is a Klingon, not a Vulcan, she reminded herself.
"Major Kira, then?"
Worf shook his head. "Odo has returned from the Great Link. I do not wish to disturb their reunion."
"So you came to me."
"Yes."
Molly felt at a loss. What was she supposed to say? What was Worf seeking in her, an eighteen-year-old cadet just now embracing healing herself? What could she possibly offer to a grieving widower? He was more than twenty-five years her senior. How could she help him?
She stared out at the ocean, as if its rolling waves would bring her the answers she sought.
"Jadzia's hairclip."
Molly glanced up at Worf and blinked. "Pardon?"
"You are wearing Jadzia's hairclip, are you not?"
"Oh." Oh. "Yes. I am. She…gave it to me for my eighth birthday. So we could match. Mine was gold, and hers was—"
"—silver," Worf finished softly. "Yes. I remember it well. She started wearing it on the mission to destroy the ketracel-white facility in Cardassian space. I did not see it until several weeks later, when the Rotarran rescued her group from a planet nearby. She…wore it until the end."
The end. As if Jadzia's life had been a mere story, something to be recounted around the dinner table or told to a child as a bedtime tale. Still, Molly understood Worf's choice of words. They numbed at least some of the pain.
An idea struck her, and Molly turned to her belongings. "Here," she said simply, and held out the holo-image.
Almost reverently, Worf reached out and took the frame, gazing into it intently. Tears nipped at Molly's eyes, and she fought to swallow past the lump in her throat.
"That was a birthday present from Mom, when I turned seven. I've kept it in my box all these years because it hurt too much to look at it. But I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. Just like the hairclip."
Worf nodded, still lost in the picture. "You were on the holo-beach." It was more statement than question, but Molly answered anyway.
"Yes. Quark called it Molly-O's beach. It was my favorite place to play."
Worf blinked and returned the frame to Molly. To her, it seemed as if the Klingon had just surfaced from a deep pool. A familiar pool. "She spoke often of it," he said, voice soft. "I believe it was one of her favorite places to go."
"Really?"
"Yes. She always loved playing with you and Yoshi. She could not get enough of you. In a way…you gave her something she never had the chance to have herself."
The stinging returned, and Molly blinked furiously. But in her heart, an impossible lightness rose, dancing inside her like a flame.
"She always wanted children."
Worf's broken words were almost too much; even with her happiness, Molly felt the crushing weight of life's unfairness, felt helpless against it. She always wanted children. She glanced down at the picture in her hand, down at those laughing blue eyes.
Suddenly, she knew what to do. How she could comfort Worf.
Slowly, Molly slid her arm around his back until it reached his other side, so that she stood close enough to him to rest her head on his muscled shoulder. Then she stood there, leaning slightly into him, and watched the sun sink slowly into the ocean. Gradually, Worf's stiff limbs loosened, relaxing into Molly's half-embrace and drawing comfort from her sprite-like presence.
It was the most wonderful, peaceful feeling Molly had ever felt.
It wasn't until the sun's rim had sunk below the horizon, leaving behind a stunning canvas of magenta, purple, and gold streaked across the sky, that Molly's hold loosened and Worf moved away from her.
"I still miss her. Now more than ever, I realize," Molly admitted, her voice low and wistful against the evening breeze. "But coming here…and reliving the memories…it makes me realize that she's not really gone, you know? She's still there in our hearts, laughing and smiling and living. As long as we remember her…she's alive."
Worf's chin rose, a black projection against the fiery sunset. "Yes," he said, slowly.
Silence.
Then, "Every sun that rises must set, and for every glorious sunrise, there is always a dying sunset. But I have found…through many years…that the sunsets are what I remember most. A sun may be magnificent in its rise, ablaze with yellows and golds and all the shades in between, but its beauty soon fades into the weariness of everyday life.
"It is the setting, the death, of the sun that clothes the skies with glory and, as it draws its final breath, scatters reds, purples, pinks, and golds across their splendor. And in doing so, it burns an image onto one's heart that will never, no matter the darkness following, fade away."
Molly felt the tears in her eyes, and the smile on her lips as she listened to Worf's hushed words, tinged with the precious beauty of sorrow.
"Yes," she whispered happily, just as twin diamonds dropped to her cheeks and glistened in the waning sunlight. "Yes."