Chapter Text
Worf wakes suddenly in the middle of the night.
As any half-decent Klingon would be, he’s immediately alert, scanning his quarters for any sign of what jolted him from sleep.
Nothing. No intruder, no call from the bridge, no mysterious alien light haunting the Enterprise. He’s alone in the darkness of his room, sitting up on his own hard bed.
And then he hears it. A disruption of the steady tide of background noise that’s always present in a starship.
A quiet, shaky breath. Then a wet sniffle.
The hair on Worf’s neck raises. He’s been around humans long enough to recognize the sound.
Alexander is crying.
Worf shuts his eyes and mutters a curse under his breath. Two minutes. He will give this two minutes to resolve itself, and if it does not, he will step in.
Only one minute and thirty-four seconds have passed when Alexander’s shaky breath catches on a sob, and Worf decides he’s heard enough. He rises swiftly from his bed, scrubbing a hand over his face, and makes the short trip to his son’s room.
“Alexander,” he rumbles, voice deepened with sleep. The boy turns away, burying his face in his pillow.
“Go away.”
“I will not.”
“Go away!”
Worf swallows a growl. “Alexander, I am trying to help.”
Alexander rolls over to glare at him through watery eyes. “You’re just gonna tell me not to cry ‘cause it’s dishonorable. I don’t care about honor! Leave me alone!”
Worf opens his mouth to snap back, but Counselor Troi’s disapproving face flashes through his head. He bites back his retort.
Alexander looks away, breathing shakily. Worf sighs and sits on the end of the bed. Soft. Squishy. Decidedly not fit for a proper Klingon.
“Tell me what is wrong.”
Alexander curls up again. “Nothing.”
“That is a—“ Worf stomps on the irritation flaring in his chest. Try again. “...Tell me what is wrong… please.”
A sniff. His son’s voice comes out choked.
“…I miss Mom.”
Worf stiffens, letting his gaze drift. It’s never fully dark in Alexander’s room. A moon-shaped lamp—a gift from Counselor Troi—casts a soft light that combats the shadows lurking in the corners.
“I see.”
Alexander scowls. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”
Was he this difficult as a child, or did he get this from K'Ehleyr? “No, I understand. It is reasonable for a child to miss his mother.”
Alexander grumbles something, then goes silent. Worf shifts uncomfortably.
“…Do you ever miss her?”
The question catches Worf off guard. “I… regret that I did not have much time with her. She was a remarkable woman.”
His son turns his face just enough to peek at him. “How did you meet her? She never told me.”
“Did she not?” Worf runs the story through his head, trying to create a child-appropriate version. “We met at a previous assignment on another starship. She caught my attention, and I hers. At first, we were at odds, but we found ourselves… compatible.”
Alexander wipes at his eyes. “What does that mean?”
This is where Worf needs to speak carefully. “It means we operated well together. She was the only crew member able to keep up with my calisthenics program, and I was the only one who was not threatened by her Klingon temper.”
“The Federation's alliance with the Klingon Empire was new then. Many officers were uneasy with having a Klingon in Starfleet. I did not have many colleagues who were willing to approach me, aside from her.” He pauses. “She was content to ignore her Klingon half. I was not. It made her strong.”
“…We were posted to different assignments shortly after. I did not see her again for six years.”
“And then?” Alexander asks, scooting closer to Worf.
“And then,” Worf sighs, the barest hint of amusement curling his lip, “she reappeared on the enterprise in a class 8 probe.”
His son giggles at the image. “I bet you were happy to see her.”
“On the contrary. We did not get along.”
Alexander’s eyes widen. “Really??”
“She was always a stubborn woman. We were ordered to work together to resolve a conflict. Our ideas differed, and she was unwilling to compromise.”
“Like you.”
Worf takes a deep breath. “Yes, like me.”
“And then I was born?”
“Yes.”
“Why weren’t you together?”
“Your mother wished to raise you as a human child, despite your biology, and so she did not tell me. We had no contact at all. If I had known…”
He doesn’t finish the thought. A ghost of a smile crosses Alexander’s face anyway. Worf turns away, feeling strangely exposed.
“Thanks for the story, Father.”
“Yes. Well.” Worf stands, clasping his hands behind his back. “Are you able to return to sleep?”
“Mhm,” Alexander yawns. “I feel better now.”
Worf nods. “Good. Children need sufficient sleep.”
His son sleepily pulls his blanket up to his shoulders. “‘Mkay. Good night, Father.”
“Good night, Alexander. I will see you in the morning.”