Chapter Text
“C’mon Worf. Just the first line of the poem.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“ No .”
Riker leaned back, groaning. “You are so stubborn, has anyone told you that?”
“Multiple times.”
“Well then.” He stood up, before grabbing his food to be taken to the restaurant’s dispenser. “You done? I want to look around the shops on the Promenade.”
Worf waved his hand. “You go on without me. I do not have an interest in any of the shops.”
Riker rolled his eyes. Worf never had an interest in any of the shops (except for the restaurant run by Yaro’gH, who, to be fair, made excellent gagh ), and any attempt to drag Worf along on his window shopping during the Enterprise’s visits to Deep Space 9 were always made in vain. He was still wondering whether all Klingons had a distaste for window shopping, or if that was just a Worf thing, since he had a particular disdain for some things that other Klingons found decent or even exciting. Nevertheless, on their second day at DS9, the Enterprise had been informed of a mission that would keep them away for at least two Earth months, and Riker wanted to spend as much time with Worf as possible.
“Aren’t you being a bit clingy?” Deanna asked, when Riker told her of this conundrum. “I mean, you see him every time we come back to DS9. When we visit, you’re practically joined at the hip.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so. It’s not often I get to see him.”
“You talk with him over subspace and send him messages.”
“But it’s not the same.” He sighed. “It just seems like we never have enough time, you know? The only time we see each other is my off time at DS9, and it’s gotten worse with the war. Plus, we’re leaving in a couple days for the front lines on a mission, and that’ll keep us away for two months.” His hands ran through his hair as he said, “I don’t want to come off as clingy, but I really wish we could have more time together.”
“Hmm.” She got that look that meant the gears in her head were turning. “Why don’t you go on a vacation together?”
Riker nearly spit out his drink. “A vacation ?” The concept seemed so foreign to Worf and his personality. While he enjoyed spending his leave on Risa and other planets in search of relaxation and pleasure, Worf was always working on one assignment or another. He usually never took a break, unless it was for eating, or for his family, or unless his captain told him to. “Have you met Worf? The man literally doesn’t stop working.”
She smiled. “You’d be surprised. He can be persuaded to have some fun. We recently spent some time in the holodeck together. He got really into it.”
“Worf? In the holodeck ?”
“You heard me.”
He shook his head and laughed. “No way.” An image of Worf as a cowboy popped into his head, which made him laugh even more. It was incredibly ridiculous and yet . . . it fit. “In all seriousness, a vacation does sound nice. I don’t know where we’d go though.” Several vacation spots ran through his head, including Betazed Prime, Vorax II, and of course, Risa. None of those seemed like places Worf would go willingly, or places he would vacation at, although maybe he’d be pleasantly surprised.
Deanna walked over to the computer in her quarters and pulled up a map of the Alpha Quadrant. “Well, there’s always Risa.”
Riker laughed. “Worf is not a Risa guy.”
She laughed as well. “You’re probably right. Based on tourist accounts and reviews,” she said as she brought up the reviews and lists, “it seems like Pelius V is a good place to go if you want to sightsee . . . if you want fun activities, Bolius has a festival of sorts celebrating its solstice . . . Betazed’s moons have . . . oh, there’s cocoa tasting on Vulcan . . .”
He scanned through the lists and reviews, including a very nasty one for Qo’noS which he suspected was a joke, although it could very well be true, and a clear advertising attempt to try and attract people to Irudis IV, which was notorious for its volcanic activity and noxious atmosphere. Despite the abundant list of.planets, moons, attractions, and famous landmarks, nothing really stood out enough for him to actually go there (although he was actually thinking about bringing Worf to the Reijal Caves on Bajor).
“I’m not sure . . .” He kept scrolling, determined to find something that the both of them would enjoy. Although he didn’t know what Worf liked to do on vacation, he knew that he liked fighting, analyzing weapons, critiquing food extremely politely (as he discovered whenever it was his turn to cook), and listening to Klingon opera, so maybe that would guide him. Really, he didn’t mind doing anything Worf wanted to do. Perhaps it was his easygoing nature, or his open mind, or the fact that he was basically left to his own devices at the age of 15,but he was willing to try anything and everything that was available to him. Whatever interested Worf interested him, and that scared him a little, not having anything in mind. “Maybe I’ll take him to the opening of Wrath of the Gods on Lirigan . . . their theater is featuring famous operas and musicals from all around the galaxy.”
“Do you think he’ll enjoy that?”
“He should, that opera was on the list of ones he likes. Jadzia sent me the list herself.” A sigh of frustration escaped his lips.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what to do. I feel like I should have my own opinions on what we should do, but I don’t. I’m not particularly attached to any idea that’s been brought up, except for maybe the Reijal Caves, or Risa, but I don’t think he’d enjoy that, and I want a place we can both enjoy.”
Deanna placed a hand on his shoulder. “Will, it’s fine. There are plenty of options you can both explore.” She paused. “Maybe you should talk with Worf about this. After all, he’s the one you’re going on vacation with.”
“You’re probably right,” he said, plopping himself down on a nearby chair. “I’ll ask him when his shift is over. In the meantime, why don’t we play a little chess?”
She smiled. “You’re on.”
~*~
“A vacation?” Worf clearly had not anticipated Riker’s evening visit, but he anticipated Riker’s suggestion even less.
“Yep!”
“Is there a reason?”
Riker shrugged. “Does there have to be?”
“No, but . . .” Usually everything had a reason, even if it wasn’t obvious (although he learned it was not always a good idea to ask for said reason). The reason wasn’t necessary in this instance, but he was still curious why. “I am curious to know why.”
“I think it would just be nice to get away from all this,” he replied, gesturing at nothing in particular.
Worf had to agree; the Dominion War was reaching its second year, which did not seem like a long time, but when one was fighting a war, two years seemed like two centuries. Worse, it felt almost routine to wake up and hear of new casualties on the front lines. Even if Klingons dreamed of dying with honor on the battlefield, that feeling of numbness and anticipation was one Worf hoped he would not feel for the rest of his life. He did not want peace with the Dominion, but he was starting to see why some did. The death toll was high, with millions being wounded, captured, or killed. It was tiring to check the casualty list every week for names that one knew, and flinching whenever one saw a name they recognized, even if it was a friend of a friend. He couldn’t even begin to list the names, loyal soldiers of the Empire that died defending it. Soldiers that would never go home, soldiers that would be forever honored.
Worf was beginning to get tired of hearing of good men and women dying, despite Klingon culture. He was starting to get tired of fighting the Dominion. How easy it would be to drop his responsibilities and forget for a moment the realities of war. “Yes . . .”
“But?”
“But we still must do our duties.”
He watched Riker’s face intently, wondering what he would say. Riker was not one to shirk his responsibilities, despite what he wanted to do, but maybe the war had changed that. He was never good at reading people, anyways.
After a long pause, Riker sighed and nodded. “You’re right, but . . . I really want to spend some time together. I know it’s common in relationships between Starfleet officers to spend months apart, but we haven’t had time to ourselves for so long.” He walked over to the window. “It’s been two years. Two years since we’ve had any chance to slow down and catch up.” Turning around, he held out his hands. “I just want that chance.”
Watching Riker, he slowly moved towards him and tentatively reached out a hand, which he grabbed. What he said made sense; now that Worf was working on Deep Space 9, they spent most of their time chatting through subspace. He would not admit it to anyone, but he had begun missing the touch of the Commander. Whenever they were together, he’d secretly grasp Riker’s hand, or brush it gently. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but he was not going to say he was “touch-starved,” because he was not, whatever his friends might say.
“Will,” he said, firmly grasping his hands, “we will get away. When this war is over, I will ask Captain Sisko for some leave, and you will ask Captain Picard for the same, and then we will leave for a vacation.”
“To where?” Riker asked.
“I do not know,” he admitted. “I was thinking–”
“Not Minsk,” interrupted Riker, although he was smiling. “I think I’ve had enough of Minsk for the time being. But if I’m being honest, anywhere is fine with me if it’s fine with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very.” He gently brushed his hand against Worf’s cheek, a sensation he had discovered was very pleasing. “I think we can leave the details until after the war.”
Worf nodded. “But we will get away. I will promise you that. And–”
“And a Klingon warrior never breaks a promise. Of course.” He pressed a kiss to Worf’s forehead and placed his hands on the latter’s shoulder.
“Now, what do you say we go to the Promenade for some shopping?” he asked, eliciting an almost audible grumble from Worf. Nevertheless, he had been eyeing a bat’leth for Alexander from Wyvere’s Weapons Ware, so he decided to indulge Riker for the next hour or so. Perhaps shopping would not be that bad . . .
~*~
Worf woke up to a different atmosphere on the day that the Enterprise was leaving. A couple of days ago, everyone seemed more relaxed, or at least, not as tense. There were more people in Quark’s, more people milling about on the Promenade, and no one was snapped at in Ops. Today, however, less people were engaged in recreational activities, and more engaged in preparing themselves for war. He reminded himself that they still were in a war, one that had to be won.
He and Alexander were due to board the Rotarran four hours after the Enterprise, which was departing at 0900 hours. It was currently 0600, later than he normally would have woken up. Groaning, he pushed himself out of bed.
“You’re worried about him,” Jadzia said when he barely touched his breakfast.
“I am not–” He shook his head. “I should not worry. Commander Riker is a capable officer, with years of expertise. He can handle himself. There is nothing to gain by worrying.”
“Worf, it’s normal,” she replied. “It’s normal to worry about someone you care about. Obviously worrying isn’t exactly the most productive thing to do, but then, since when were we always 100% productive?”
He did not reply, but nodded in agreement. Still, he tried to push away those feelings of worry. He could not preoccupy himself with Riker. He had duties to do. There was still work to be done aboard the station, and soon, General Martok would rely on him to help guide the Rotarran to victory. He could not be caught worrying .
Still, it seemed that his worry was obvious, because his crewmates and friends were offering support. Even Quark offered a free drink of bloodwine, which he rejected because he could not get drunk on this crucial day, and also Quark had a supply of bloodwine from a very bad year: 2286. (A horrible year for liquor in general. He had heard that the Romulan ale from that year was also unpleasant. In any case, the bloodwine from 2286 was too sour and too weak.) He kept reassuring them that he was fine, and although he appreciated their concern, he did not need their reassurance.
He did not worry. He could not worry.
Finally it was 0900, and he went to the docking bay to see Riker off.
“See you soon. Yes, I will play that game of poker with you eventually. Best of luck to you too.” He turned around and saw Worf and Alexander. “Come to see me off?”
“Yeah,” Alexander said. “When will you be back?”
Riker shrugged. “Two months, maybe longer. It all depends on how this war goes.”
“I hope it goes well.”
“Me too. Don’t forget what I’ve taught you. Listen for that note and focus on it.” Worf rolled his eyes. Riker had been teaching Alexander to play the trombone, which had led to some interesting noises coming from his quarters on the Defiant. Despite this, he had to admit that he felt happy that Alexander was pursuing other courses of interest. He had to remind himself that being a warrior was not the end all be all of Klingon life.
Turning to Worf, he gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Well, here’s to seeing each other soon, hopefully.” His expression suddenly turned serious as he grabbed Worf by the arm. “Promise me you’ll stay safe, Worf. No heroic stunts, no dying like a Klingon, nothing like that. Just come home.”
“I–”
“Promise me that, Worf. At least try to stay out of unnecessary trouble.”
“I . . . cannot make any promises to stay out of trouble. But,” he added, upon seeing Riker’s face, “I will try.”
“That’s all I ask for.” As he made to board, Worf grabbed him.
“You must also come home safe,” he said in a low voice. “If I am to stay out of trouble, then you must too.”
Riker nodded. “I will. I will try, I promise.”
Worf released his arm, before watching Riker walk onto the Enterprise and disappear down the corridor.
As they walked back to the Promenade, Alexander looked at Worf. “Will he be alright, Father?”
Worf could not find an answer, only responding. “I am sure he will.” He had to be.