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It was quiet when it happened.
There were few people in Quark’s—no one felt much like drinking when their friends were off in battle. The promenade was rather quiet too, save for the mumbled prayers and well wishes for the safe journey and return of the station inhabitants' friends and colleagues (and perhaps, most importantly, the return of the Emissary).
You’d been wandering for a while, being one of the few Starfleet officers assigned to stay on board the station rather than accompany the Defiant on its mission into the Chin’toka system, and currently off-duty meant you had a lot of free time on your hands.
You didn’t know why you found your path leading you to the Bajoran shrine. Perhaps it was the lingering hope in the air after the culmination of the gratitude festival. The shrine wasn’t a place you’d ever visited before—though Major Kira had invited you on multiple occasions. ‘The prophets will welcome you,’ she’d said. ‘And I’d greatly enjoy your company.’
You’re not sure why you’d never taken her up on the offer. It was a shame she wasn’t here. You’re certain she’d be overjoyed at the fact you were willing to enter the shrine now, if only to see what it’s like.
The inside looked much like the Major had described, though there were a few things she hadn’t told you about that you assumed were temporary installments for the gratitude festival.
It’s then that you spot the figure near the celestial orb that is housed there. You are about to apologize and turn away when you realize that they are not in a position of prayer. Cautiously, you approach—but once you see just who the figure is, your pace quickens, as does your heartbeat.
Your dear friend Jadzia is lying on the ground only semi-conscious, and though there is no visible wound, you can tell that she is badly injured. Gently, you lay your hand against her shoulder, to reassure her if you can. Your other hand frantically taps at your combadge—you miss it twice before you're able to activate it.
“L/n to Infirmary.” Your voice is as shaky as Jadzia’s breathing. “Medical emergency in the Bajoran shrine. Hurry!”
The moment Jadzia’s eyes open slightly, her questioning gaze momentarily falling upon your hair before flickering down to your face, your panic shifts from a level ten to a nine. “Hey,” you whisper, hand moving to hold hers, to reassure her that she is not alone.
“You changed your hair,” she says, each word causing a twitch in her brow as she tries to school her expression.
“What?” A disbelieving laugh sneaks past your lips. “Yeah I did. Do you like it?”
She makes a small noise of acknowledgement. “Suits you,”
“Jadzia, what—?”
The medical team arrives before you can finish your inquiry. Jadzia is moved onto the emergency biobed and whisked away from your side in a matter of minutes. You follow at a distance, waiting outside as she is wheeled into the infirmary.
—
It’s not long after that that Odo arrives, informing you that the Defiant is on its way back to the station, and asking you a barrage of questions that you unfortunately do not have the answer to.
Quark is the next to show up, standing in the space beside you and Odo.
“I just heard,” he says, sounding out of breath. It makes you wonder if he ran across the station. “How is she?”
You eye the door warily. “I don’t know.”
—
The bridge crew of the Defiant are the next to join the impromptu waiting room, Worf and Captain Sisko leading the pack.
Dr. Bashir exits the room then, informing you all of the news, and allowing Worf and the Captain to step in to say their goodbyes.
The doctor’s words echo in your head. ‘I was able to save the symbiont, but there was nothing I could do for Jadzia. I’m sorry.’
You can’t help but think about it. What if you hadn’t dallyed on the promenade like you did? What if you’d gotten there sooner? Would she have had a better chance?
“It’s not your fault.”
You turn your head to your right to see Quark looking at you like he can read your thoughts.“What?”
“It’s not your fault.” He repeats. “If it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have found her when we did. We could’ve lost them both.”
You nod slowly, though his words do little to comfort you.
—
A few weeks later, you are sitting in the quiet of your quarters, flipping through the pages of an old earth book Jadzia had gifted to you. Though your eyes skim the pages, the words are not being processed, for you are too caught up in the fond memories of your friend, and the sadness of realizing that you are still waiting for her to pop around the corner for a chat on the way to your shift, and for her to join you in the replimat for lunch.
You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice the door chime until it happens a second time. You hurriedly rise and move towards the door, pressing the keypad. It opens, revealing Worf on the other side.
“Lieutenant,” he greets with a nod.
“Commander.”
“You and my wife were great friends.” He says. “I believe she would want you to have this.”
With great gentleness for a Klingon, he lays one of Jadzia’s beaded hairclips in your palm.
You try to protest, but he stops you with a slight shake of his head.
“It would be an honour to her memory.”
“Alright,” you acquiesce, holding the hairclip closer to you now. “Thank you.”
He departs the same way he entered, with a nod.
You stare at the clip for a while in silence. Eventually, you find your way over to your mirror and begin styling your hair the same way you’d done it the last time Jadzia saw you.
When you add the clip to your hair, you can’t help but smile.