NOTE:  This is a shameless re-working of my old Vortex premise, bringing it closer (for now) to what has happened in the TV series.  I hope it'll be a summer diversion, while the re-runs spool on.  In the fall, I have no doubt that something in the series will happen that will render the whole thing moot.  :)  This story would, of course, take place before "A Call to Arms".  The usual disclaimers apply.

      She watched through the viewport, as they drew closer to DS9.  What she expected to find there, she did not know; but she hoped peace of mind would be part of it.  At seventeen, she had enough insight to know that harboring this much resentment and anger wasn't good for a person.  Just how she would get rid of it, though, was a mystery.  She suspected it might actually be genetic.
  Her name was Drusilla Cavanaugh.  Her mother was a regular little photon torpedo of an Irish woman (with Welsh underpinnings); but that wasn't where Dru suspected all her anger and aggression came from (though it did explain a fair bit).  There were... paternal influences.  It was these influences, that brought her to DS9.  Dru had never met her father; and now that she was old enough to travel on her own, she planned to change that.
     Bored with the laborious docking procedures, Dru resumed her seat (between an Andorian with leering eyes, and a fellow Terran with a no-nonsense scowl) and took out her datapadd.  She always had it with her; tweaking old files, and creating new ones.  Dru liked to organize her thoughts in the form of verse.  Sometimes, she even liked to change situations through fiction, that she no way could change in real life.  In one of her stories, she met her father and brutally killed him for abandoning her and her mother.  In another, there was a moment of revelation, and a tearful reunion.  None of this, had she actually shown to anyone.  She knew she had a dreadfully dramatic bent, that others would no doubt interpret as corny and over-blown.  The only thing worse than the stories she wrote, were the ones she loved to read:  books filled with seedy private detectives who smoked incessantly and had "broads" on the side, or brawny apocalyptic assassins with weapons hidden on every inch of their impossibly buffed-out bodies and a sensitive affection toward children and puppies.  She knew these stories were considered literary trash, but she loved them just the same.  Again, it was no doubt genetic.
     Head bowed over datapadd, totally absorbed in what she was doing, she completely missed the first announcement.  It wasn't until the noise level became a dull roar and the Andorian began to poke at her, that she looked up.  Graciously, she released the yowling Andorian's hand, which she'd snatched in annoyance.  Time to disembark, and enter phase two of her journey.  Getting in line, she patiently followed the crowd of passengers through the airlock.  This moment had been a long time coming, and she wasn't about to rush it.
     At the Point of Entry, a dull clerk marked off a manifest and accounted for each person stepping off the transport.  When Dru stood before him and announced her name, he kept looking from her, to his datapadd, and back again.
     "There must be some mistake."  he said.  "The manifest lists you as Terran."
     "No mistake."  she assured him.  "I was born and raised on Earth."
     "Yeah, but..."  he shrugged helplessly.  "the racial category under Terran, is human."
     "Not true.  There is a subcategory for other.  I'm other."
     "So you're mixed."
     "I prefer multi-racial."
     "Well,"  he hemmed and hawed, "for security purposes, we have to list the components of your background specifically."
     "Security?"  She knew this was coming, but pretended to be perplexed.   "I never met my father, and have never known any environment but Earth.  My loyalties are completely Terran."
     "Still..."  the clerk squirmed a bit.
     Dru leaned in, with a slightly unpleasant smile.  "Other."  she insisted, then looked on his datapadd.  "There it is, right there.  See?"
     "I'd have to ask my superior..."
     "Whatever."  she shrugged.  "Take blood, if you like.  However, I will be filing racial discrimination charges."
     "By Latinum's shine!"  an impatient Ferengi scowled.  "You can see what she is!  Just mark it off, and keep the line moving!"
     The clerk still teetered on the line between political correctness, security, and tact.  Racial discrimination charges could be a real career crimper, but so could a security violation.  Good manners demanded that one not judge another by their looks, but good soldiering demanded that one keep one's eyes open, and interpret what they see.  It was a knotty problem.  In the end, though, he marked off "other", and moved the line.  Dru, herself, had enough tact to not smirk until she was out of the clerk's sight.
     It was time to go to the next phase of her mission.  Wending her way to the place called the Promenade, she began to ask around.  Most of those milling about, though, were like her: relatively newcomers, and unfamiliar with the regular occupants of the place.  She was about to enter a shop and ask a clerk, when she spotted a long, lanky, dark skinned human sitting in a corner.  He had a datapadd, and was scrutinizing it with the kind of intensity she knew all too well.  He must have sensed her watching him, because he suddenly looked up.  After a moment of discomfort, he carefully set the datapadd down and asked "Can I help you?"
     "I don't know."  she answered.  "Do you live here?"
     "Yes,"  he answered cautiously, and shifted in his seat.
     To set him at ease, Dru sat down in the chair opposite him.  "I'm looking for someone who works here."
     "Oh?"  This didn't put him at ease.  In fact, Dru could almost hear the alarm bells going off in his head.
     "I'm not an assassin, or anything."  she smiled.  "I'm..."  she looked around, and her eyes came to rest on the datapadd.  "I'm a writer.  I'm here to do an interview.  Dru Cavanaugh."  She held out her hand.
     "Jake Sisko."  he answered, and shook her hand.  "A writer?  What news service?"
     Wheels turned inside Dru's head.  "Jake Sisko?  The Jake Sisko?  The one who writes for the Federation News feed?"
     He couldn't help but be flattered.  "That's me."  he smiled.  "Are you a writer for the feed?"
     She shook her head.  "Still trying to break in.  I'm hoping to get a good interview, to pave my way."
     "You're not here to interview me, are you?"  he asked in a way that showed he actually wouldn't mind.
     "No,"  she smiled again.  "I'm looking for the Klingon.  Worf."
     "Ah."  Jake nodded, only a little disappointed.  "I can introduce you, if you like."
     "Would you?  Wow; that would be great!  Maybe I have a better chance of talking to him, if you're along to lend some clout."
     "I don't know how much "clout" I have,"  he demurred, grinning broadly.  "but he is a friend of the family.  Come on."  Unbending his long frame, he pulled himself out of the corner and stood to one side.  Once Dru stood, he led the way.  "So."  he began, making small talk as they walked.  "You're part Klingon, aren't you?"
     Dru couldn't help but laugh.  When that drew a curious look, she explained.  "Most people either try to ignore it like it's a deformity, or use it as an accusation.  I love the way you just came out with it, like you were commenting on the weather, or something."
     "I didn't mean to offend-"
     "You didn't."
     "I just- I guess I'm used to... diversity.  I didn't think it was such a big deal."
     "It is, to some people."  Her laughter had evaporated, and her smile reduced to a shadow.  "Depending on the political climate, it can be a very big deal."  She glanced away.  "Before the current treaty, there were some rough times back home.  My mother had to take me out of school, and hire a private tutor."
     "That's so unfair."  he observed.  "Your father's Klingon?"
     "That's the ongoing theory."  She smiled again, when she saw his confusion.  "I never actually met him.  He and mom were sort of a flash in the pan, and then he moved on to bigger and better things.  They met on some outpost, two treaty's ago.  When mom found out she was pregnant, she moved back to my grandmother's place, on Earth."  She shrugged.  "I guess no place would have been perfect, but..."
     "It was rough."  he concluded, and she nodded.  "So that's your angle?"
     "Huh?"
     "For the interview.  A Klingon, raised among humans, having to ride the waves of political storms?"
     Dru had forgotten about her alibi.  "Something like that."  she said, unconvincingly.  "Are we almost there?"
     He nodded.  "Write what you know."  he quoted.  "Here we are."  He stood to the side of a door marked "Starfleet Security".  "Want me to go first?"  he asked.
     "Yeah, thanks."  she nodded.  Standing aside, she waited.  Her stomach was feeling a little queasy, but her determination over rode it.  She'd come this far...
     The door opened to a room filled with people seated at computer terminals.  Most of them were busily typing away, filing reports or some such.  At the other end of the room, was a desk slightly raised on a dais.  There, Worf was scrolling through fresh data from some Klingon patrols.  The new spirit of cooperation was really paying off, and he wanted to take advantage of it.  Movement caught his attention, and he saw Jake Sisko leading someone into the room.  She was tall, with the kind of diminished brow ridges only half-breeds had.  Her hair was long, and the color of bronze.  She wore loose civilian clothes that did nothing to hide the fact that she was in relatively good shape, but she had the kind of slight slouch that happens when one is constantly surrounded by people shorter than one's self.  Worf had worked most his life to avoid that slouch, so he knew where it came from.  This person had, no doubt, been raised among humans.  He carefully folded down his monitor into the recess in his desk, and turned his full attention to the visitors.
     "Worf, son of Mogh?"  she asked.
     "I am of the House of Martok, now."  he amended.  "To whom am I speaking?"
     Rather than answer, she pulled out a datapadd, punched something up, and laid it before him on the desk.
     Used to introductions like this, Worf took the datapadd and began to read.  He expected some kind of security credentials, or  perhaps a letter of introduction; though from one so young, it would have raised some doubts.  What he saw, however, was a notarized document; followed by medical data.  He began to read.  Slowly, his eyes widened.  He began to glance up at the girl before him, then return to read more.  Finally, he set down the datapadd and shoved it back across his desk.  "I am afraid I can not help you."  he said.
     Dru hadn't expected this reaction.  "What?"  she asked, breathlessly.
     "You could at least talk to her."  Jake tried to intercede, and got a dirty look for his troubles.
     "I no longer have any affiliations with that House,"  Worf explained coldly, "as I have stated."
     Dru almost felt like she needed to sit down.  "C-can't you even tell me where to find him?"  she asked.
     "No."
     "Why not?"
     "Because-"  Worf blurted, then modified his tone.  He never thought he would be required to tell this lie, and never under such circumstances.  "Because, your father is dead."
     "What?"  she whispered, in a hiss that took all the air right out of her lungs.  Now, she really did have to sit down.  In absence of a chair, though, the floor had to do.
     "Father?"  Jake asked, confused.  "I don't get it."  He saw Dru go down, so knelt beside her.  "Are you all right?  What's this stuff about your father?"
     "Dead."  She repeated, ignoring him.  "How?"
     Worf stood and moved around the desk, leaning down and offering his hand.  It was the least he could do.  She took his hand, and let him help her up.  "Suicide."  he answered her.  "He could no longer live with his dishonor."
     Dru laughed at the irony of it.  "The son of a bitch never knew the half of it!"  she said bitterly, then suddenly looked at Worf suspiciously.  "How do you know this?"
     He glanced around.  "Jake?"  he dropped a hint.
     Jake caught on.  "You don't look so good."  he told Dru.  "Sure you'll be OK?"
     "I doubt it,"  she scoffed, but added "I'll meet you back at that place we were; OK?"
     "The promenade."  he nodded.  "By Quarks'.  I'll wait there."  Still doubtful, he turned away reluctantly and walked away.
     Worf guided Dru to the break area, which was nearly deserted.  A quick glower, and it soon got the rest of the way deserted.  He led her to a chair, then took one for himself.  "I know,"  he explained, "because I was there.  The ritual is called Hegh'bat.  The individual calls upon a relative or trusted friend to bring the ceremonial knife, which is then plunged into-"
     "Enough."  she cut him off sharply.  She'd recovered from her shock, but not her bitterness.  "In other words, you helped him kill himself."
     "It is not a dishonorable death."  he added, in an attempt at comfort.
     "Oh, no; we couldn't have that."  she scoffed.  "Populate the galaxy with abandoned bastards all you like, but at least have an honorable death."
     Worf bristled at this, but gave her the benefit of the doubt.  It was entirely possible she didn't even know of Alexander, much less the circumstances surrounding his birth.  "I am quite certain he knew nothing of you."
     "He didn't make an effort to find out, either!"  she blurted angrily, then turned away.  "Defunct or not, the House of Mogh owes me!"  She looked over her shoulder at him.  "You owe me!  Changing houses doesn't change the fact that I'm your brother's daughter.  We share the same blood;"  she smiled nastily, "even if mine is slightly tainted with human blood."
     Worf gathered himself up.  "Are you attempting to quote Klingon law to me?"  he demanded.
     "Screw Klingon law!"  she straightened up.  "I want what's right!"
     "What would you have me do?"  he cried.
     Stubborn to the core, she folded her arms across her chest.  "The whole reason I left Earth, was to meet my father.  For good or ill, I deserve that chance."
     "But your father is dead!"  Worf leaned forward, getting angry.  "Do you accuse me of lying?"  As soon as the words were out, he felt a cold thrill run through his belly.  How could she suspect...?
     "The eldest male of the House survives."  she barked, then sat back to wait.
     He stared at her; first in confusion, then in disbelief.  She could not mean-
     She returned his stare, angry and stubborn.
     "You should go back to Earth."
     "I don't want to go back."
     He grimaced angrily.  "If you wish to assume a place in the family, you must respect my decisions.  And what I decide, is that you return to Earth."
     "Aren't you going to formally adopt me?"  she asked, enjoying his discomfort.
     "Of course.  I will send the documentation."
     "But... don't you have to present me to this new House?"
     "A formality.  You needn't be actually present, since you come under my protection."
     "You'd let me go back, representing you and the House of Martok, without even bothering to ensure I've had a proper education?  I wonder how Martok would feel about that?"
     "Do not presume to question me!"  he exploded, but she obviously knew it wasn't full-blown anger.  She just sat there, with the merest hint of a smirk on her face.  Getting angrier (more due to the "rock/hard place" aspect of the situation, than her behavior), he turned away.  "Your education obviously leaves much to be desired."
     "Fix it."  she shrugged.
     "It is not that easy!"  he blurted, then narrowed his eyes and peered at her.  "And I have no doubt you would object to my methods."
     "So you're saying a spoiled brat who spent all their life among humans, couldn't possibly become a proper Klingon?"
     "Yes."  he blurted, without thinking.
     "Hmm."  she looked him up and down.  "OK."  she concluded, and stood up.  "Guess you made your point."  Turning, she started to go.
     Worf sputtered for a moment, catching the full impact of her implication.  "Sit down!"  he commanded.  Squirming, he began to feel as though no matter what he did from here on out, he was going to regret it.
     Smiling over her victory, Dru resumed her seat.  "I came here expecting to find my father.  I have every intention of doing so; one way, or the other."
     "Be careful what you wish for, Daughter of Kurn."  he used her title.  This obviously pleased her.  "If I promise to teach you the things you should know, do you promise to go home when I am through?"
     "Sure."  she answered, a tad too easily.
     "Home to Earth?"  He refused to be caught out again.
     She shrugged.  "Home is where the heart is.  Right?"
     He started to say something, then clamped his mouth shut.  No doubt, this girl would be asking for her mother inside a week.  If she lasted a week, she certainly wouldn't last two.  And if she lasted two... He preferred not to think that far out.  "I doubt either one of us is qualified to expound upon matters of the heart."  he answered, standing.  "Come; we will have to arrange for living quarters."
     "I can't stay with you?"
     "You do not know me."  Now, it was his turn to give out a nasty smile.  "For all you know, the very worst rumors you have heard about Klingons, are entirely true."  He chuckled at her reaction, gratified his statement had the effect he had intended it to.

********

     A small but comfortable room was rented, until Worf could get Dru registered with Star Fleet as his dependant and apply for larger quarters.  He hoped the move to new quarters would prove unnecessary, but with this one, it would not hurt to be prepared.  He briefed her on his duty hours, outlining the time he would be able to spend with her and charging her to conduct herself with dignity in his absence.  She promised to "keep her nose clean", as she inspected her temporary room.
     "You will need money for food."  he said.  "I assume you have sufficient clothing in the backpack you carry?"
     "I have my own money."  she said sharply.  "And I'm perfectly capable of clothing myself."
     "The House of Martok is an honorable one.  You will not shame it by eating scraps and wearing rags.  Show me what clothes and money you have brought."
     "Underclothes, too?"  she taunted, and received a cold stare.  Rather than try another approach, she dumped her knapsack out on the bed.  Not a lot fell out.  A few changes of underwear, two shirts, a pair of pants with worn knees, a portrait cube, some data cubes, hair ties, a brush, a smooth pebble, hand carved wooden jewelry, and a clear rubber "u" shaped object.
     "What is that?"  he asked suspiciously, pointing at the last.
     "A bit."
     "A bit of what?"
     "No,"  she giggled, "a bit.  I wear it at night.  I tend to grind my teeth, when I sleep."
     Worf felt ready to begin grinding his own, right now.  A thought occurred to him.  "Show me your teeth."
     Dru set her teeth together and peeled back her lips.
     Worf shuddered.  They were white, straight, and filed to almost bovine flatness.  "You will be laughed right off of Qonos, with such teeth.  We will have to see what can be done."
     "What's wrong with my teeth?"
     He walked her over to a mirror.  "Growl.  Show your teeth."
     Dru stared at her reflection, then gave her fiercest growl.  "Like that?"
     Worf let his comments fade unspoken.  "Now, watch me."  He bared his fangs, and gave a fair-to-middlin growl.
     "I think I see your point."  she said, admiration in her voice.  "Only an idiot would mess with those teeth."
     "And you are likely to meet many idiots."  he advised.  "But we will worry about the teeth, later.  For now, you must purchase some decent clothing.  I will speak to the tailor named Garak, and instruct him to place all expenses on my account.  And-"  he added, once she began to look too happy, "I will instruct him as to what kinds of clothing to make, and how much to spend.  I will also instruct Quark to allot you three meals a day, and make some specifications as to your diet."  He examined the mess on the bed.  "What is that?"  he pointed at the portrait cube.
     Dru picked up the cube, and activated the device.  Suddenly, there was a tiny woman with flaming hair, her hair and lace shawl whipped by the wind, smiling and blowing a kiss.  Her face, small as it was, looked full of joy and at one with the weather.  "My mother."  Dru whispered, a slight catch in her voice.
     Worf nodded.  It would not be long, indeed, before this one became too homesick to stay.  "She is very beautiful, and seems of considerable spirit.  I can see why my brother was attracted to her."
     "She's very brave."  Dru agreed, watching the woman blow her a kiss, over and over.  "She did what she could, to make things easier for me, but..."  Turning off the device, she turned her wide eyes on Worf.  "She endured a lot, for me."
     "Then why did you run away from her?"
     She laughed.  "I was running to something, not away from something.  She tried to convince me to stay home, but I had my mind made up."
     "You defied her?"  he asked, as if to chide her.
     "Nah."  She placed the portrait device on the small dresser.  "Her last words to me were "Well then, have yerself one helluvan adventure."  Hey; don't you have to go back to work, or something?"
     He nodded, a bit preoccupied.  "Make an effort to stay out of trouble."  he warned.
     "How much trouble could I get into?"  she scoffed.  "I just got here.  Besides; I'm just a kid."
     "Yes."  he mused, then left.

*********

     Jake was on his second cup of tea, when Dru finally made it.  "Well?"  he asked, standing up.  She got herself some juice with her dwindling supply of latinum strips, and sat with him.  By the time her glass was empty, she'd told him everything that had happened after he left her with Worf.
     "You're... not a writer."  he concluded.
     "Not a serious one."  she shrugged.  "I play around with it.  Fanaticizing, really."
     "Oh?  Do you have anything you could show me?"
     "No."  she said, embarrassed.  "I'd rather not.  I mean... you're a real writer."
     "Well,"  he blushed slightly, "I kinda started out the same way.  Just playing around with it.  I got lucky, really.  I think the only reason the News Service made me a correspondent, is because of my father.  You know; inside stuff."
     "Do you write other things?  Besides news, I mean."
     "Oh, sure."
     "Anything I can read?"
     Jake was torn.  He'd just met this girl, and... his stories were kind of personal... But above all, he was a writer; and thus, could not resist a potential fan.  "Lemme have your padd.  I'll load a few short stories of mine."
     "Great."  She smiled, and handed it over.  It was intoxicating, talking to a human who didn't look at her as if she'd murdered his mother, or sprouted an extra head.  She kind of hated herself for this feeling.  After all; why did she need humans to approve of her?  And she knew she certainly wouldn't go to lengths to secure that approval.  But when it was just offered up, with no strings attached...  <<That's called being friendly, you idiot.>> she thought, and got a hold of herself.  "Anyway,"  she accepted her datapadd back when he was through, "Worf wants to pay my way."
     "And you don't want him to."
     "Of course not."  She shrugged.  "I don't want to feel like I owe him anything."
     "But didn't you just say he owes you?"
     "Sure."
     "Ah."  Jake nodded.  "So you want to keep it that way."
     She gave him a side-long glance.  "What?"
     "Well-"  he spread his hands out, palms up.  "what's the point of convincing him he owes you, if you won't let him pay on his debt?  Unless, of course, your whole reason for being here isn't about reclaiming your bloodline."
     "Why else would I be here?"  she asked, suspicious.
     "To get revenge on someone, for what your father did.  I mean, if you can't get back at your father, I guess his brother would be the next best thing."
     Dru felt a slow burn coming on.  "What the hell do you know about it?" she said quietly.
     "Nothing.  I'm just trying to understand-"
     "You can't!" she cut him off, then was cut off, herself.
     "Cavanaugh!"  Worf barked angrily, approaching the table.
     A little angry, a little ashamed, and a little self-righteous, Jake excused himself and made a hasty escape.
     "What?"  Dru demanded, as Worf came and stood over her.
     "Did you bully the immigration clerk into marking you down as Other?"
     "Bully is such a subjective term."  she groused, preparing for the inevitable.  She knew that stuff would come back to haunt her.
     "He was only doing his job!"
     "Oh?  So it's his job to ensure prejudice and discrimination based on race?"  she mocked.  "And here I was, blaming Terran society!"
     "Silence!"  Worf glanced around, then slipped into a seat.  "If you wish to be accepted as Klingon, you must be proud of the fact!  You must not hide your heritage behind loopholes.  Either be Klingon for all to see, despite whatever hardship it may bring, or do not bother being Klingon at all!"
     "I am Klingon, whether I want to be, or not.  And I'm human, too.  Should I just ignore that fact?"
     "You must choose."
     "Why?"
     "Because you can not be both!"
     "But I am both!"  she pounded the table with her fist, then leaned in close.  "Tell me,"  she lowered her voice.  "what kind of Klingon would I be, if I denied the existence of the woman who gave me life?  What little by-law says there are circumstances where it's good to dishonor your own mother?"
     Worf pressed his lips together, in frustration.
     "Do you know"  she went on, "what it was like for us, during the Klingon aggression?  She had to watch me come home from school bloody and bruised; more times than not, from adults who jumped me.  She finally had to hire a tutor, and even that didn't come easy.  People spat on her.  People threw rocks at her.  And all the while, she never attempted to hide me away, except for my protection.  She never denied me.  Not once.  She even held her head high and told anyone who would listen, that she was proud of me."  Sitting back, she relaxed a little.  "So now you want me to slap her in the face, and pretend she was never there?"
     He stared at her for a moment.  "It was difficult for me, as well."  he said, remembering many tense moments on DS9.  He wondered what Alexander had gone through; knowing his son would hide his troubles away in an attempt to be brave.  "In such times, one must stand fast by one's beliefs, and never allow the winds of adversity bend you."
     "Exactly what I intend to do."  she said evenly, pausing so he could take this in.  "Until there is a category that respects both sides of my heritage,  I am "other".  I'm not hiding behind a loophole, I'm standing against the wind."
     He thought it over, then nodded.  "You obviously believe strongly in this."
     "Not entirely by choice."  she admitted.  "It was kinda foisted on me."
     Again, he nodded.  This, he could certainly understand.  "For now, it is "other".  I will see what I can do about putting in a new category for half Klingons."
     "I think "multi-racial" would do.  Besides; you say "half Klingon" like you mean I'm not quite up to standard."
     "That is not what I meant."
     "Well, it's what I heard.  You might want to work on that."
     "Do you presume to instruct me?"  he asked, incredulous.
     "Do you  presume to imply you know everything?" she asked, with a smirk.
     He frowned, standing.  "I will not ask you to give up your human heritage.  Do not ask me to give up the respect you owe me, as your elder.  Blood is inherited, but honor is not.  If you wish a prominent place in the family, you must earn it, every day.  If you do not care about such things, then it would be best if you booked passage back to Earth as soon as possible."
     Dru stood, ready with a smart comment, but held back.  Maybe Jake was right.  Maybe the whole reason she came here was to throw her situation into someone's face and make him suffer.  If this was all, then she really was wasting her time.  In the end, the lion's share of suffering would only go to her.  After all, it was she who had left her home and spent all of her money to get here.  If she didn't get her money's worth of anything more than petty revenge, she'd be the biggest idiot of all.  "You're right."  she finally said, lowering her eyes.
     "You are leaving?"  he asked, half hopeful and half disappointed.  He hadn't expected it to be that easy!
     "Of course not."  she answered, looking back up at him.  "I just mean I can't expect to make my own rules; especially when I don't know what I'm talking about."  She shrugged.  "I may end up going home in the end, but I don't plan to go empty handed.  I'm staying.  Hey- what do I call you?"
     Worf scowled.  He was bothered by the fact that she chose to stay, but even more bothered by the way he felt when he saw strength and defiance back in her eyes.  How could he possibly have even the smallest amount of pride in this loud-mouthed half-breed?  "Do not call my attention with "Hey", and for now you may call me "Elder".  I can see that proper etiquette will be one of our first lessons."
     She smiled.  "OK, Elder.  Well, I'm done in.  If we're finished here, I think I'll go catch some sleep."
     "Please do."  At least she could not cause any trouble, while she was unconscious.  He started to turn away, then stopped; putting his hand on her shoulder.  "Do not ask me why,"  he said, "but I admit I hope you do not disappoint me."
     "Yeah."  she looked at him strangely.  "Me, too."

*******

     Nog was embraced in the blissful arms of slumber.  It was a state most cadets longed for, and guarded jealously.  So when the door sounded at an ungodly hour, he was more than bothered by it; he was ready to make a court case out of it.  His attitude improved when he answered the door (knowing Jake slept like a rock and would never even hear it) and saw a tall, proud, female standing there.  After all, if you're going to have to sacrifice sleep...
     "Is Jake here?"  she asked, plunging Nog back into the depths of severe pissed-offedness.
     "Wait here."  he commanded, gruffly.  "I'll get him."  I'll get him, all right!  Trying not to stomp, he went to Jake's bed and began to pinch his room mate.
     "Ow!  Cut it out!"  Jake protested, rolling off the bed.
     "There's a girl here for you!"  Nog accused.
     "Really?"  Jake sat up, rubbing his head.  "Which one?"
     "How should I know?  I have more important things to do, than keep up with your love life;"  he leaned in for emphasis, "like sleep!"
     "Wha?  What time is it?"
     "I don't know, and I don't intend to look.  It'll only depress me.  Now will you get out there and get rid of her?"
     "Sure."  Jake grunted, getting to his feet.  He looked around and pulled some reasonably clean clothes off the pile on the dresser.  "I'll be out there in a minute."
     "I'm going back to bed."  Nog warned.  "If I hear any noise,-"
     "I'm going, I'm going!"  Fastening his pants and grabbing a pair of shoes, Jake scurried out to the door.  He finished dressing, just before going out.  "Dru?"  he asked, surprised to see her.  "What's wrong?"
     "I'm sorry."  she whispered in a small voice.
     He could tell she was struggling with something, the way her jaw muscles kept clenching and her throat kept swallowing.  "Oh- you mean this afternoon?  Don't worry about it.  I was kind of being a jerk."
     "No.  The stories.  I read the one about your mother."
     Jake felt an "oh shit" chill go through his stomach.  He'd forgotten that he'd copied that one into another file folder, and changed the name.  He knew he should have checked the files, before just giving her the whole batch!  "Oh.  Look; that's not one I like to show people.  It's kinda personal."
     "You're a terrific writer."
     "Nah.  That's not even one of my best ones."  He leaned against the wall, getting comfortable.  "Did you get the chance to read any of the others?"
     "I couldn't sleep, after reading that.  I just had to talk to you about it."  she said, ignoring his question.  "I don't know what I'd do, if something like that happened to me.  Geez; I'm sorry I said those things to you!  I had no idea."
    "It's OK."  he said, patting her arm briefly.  "I know things haven't exactly been easy for you."
     "You do know.  Almost exactly."  Suddenly, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.  "Thanks for trusting me with your stories."
     He was going to say it was no big thing, but decided he could let it be a big thing, if that's what she wanted.  "It's good to talk to someone who has some idea of what I'm talking about."  His hand moved so easily from her arm to her back, that he couldn't help but think that was where it belonged.
     "Yeah."  she agreed, to more than just what he said.  You're far away from home, alone, and easy prey,  she warned herself, but the physical and emotional contact was just too good to deny.  A hug wouldn't be so bad.  Maybe just a hug.  Moving in, she pressed against him and put her head on his shoulder.  It felt good- partly because she rarely found someone tall enough to make a nice fit.  She looped one arm about his waist, and rested her other hand on his chest.
     This was pretty strange, for Jake.  He guessed he should stroke her hair, but after that...?  Not only couldn't he figure out what she wanted from him, he couldn't even decide what he wanted from her.  Rather than screw it up, he just stood there holding her.  After a while, though, he came to believe that was the right thing to do.  It felt right.  At least, it did until she sighed "I should go."
     "Yeah."  he agreed, his mind racing.  Was that it?  Or was he supposed to do something?  What did all this mean?  Or did it mean nothing at all, and was he supposed to act like it was no big deal?  And why hadn't she budged, since she said she was going to go?  Was she waiting for him to do or say something?  "It's getting pretty late."  he added, then winced at his lack of eloquence and originality.
     Dru didn't really want to go.  Truth be known, she'd like to sleep just like this.  But even she, lacking in the social graces as she was, knew it would be a stupid move to even bring up the word "bed".  She was reluctant to break the spell, but knew it had to be done.  The only question remaining, was how?  How did she extract herself without insulting him?  Moreover, how did she do it without ruining her chances to get back in?  She had to leave him with something that would make him want to see her again.  You don't even know this guy,  she warned herself.  He could have a string of girlfriends from here to Bajor.  She honestly didn't much care, though.  If it was true, she'd just have to convince him to get rid of them; and the convincing would start right now.  Lifting her head from his shoulder, she looked up into his face.  It was unreadable, so she took a chance.
     He was perfectly aware of everything that was happening, but somehow he had the strangest feeling he just woke up in the middle of kissing her.  He guessed that was what  the old writers meant, when they talked about someone coming back to themselves.  He placed his hands on her face, and gently pulled away.  "You should go."  he said, once he caught his breath.
     "I should?"  she asked, sounding a little worried.
     "You don't even know me."  he explained.  "I could be some homicidal maniac, or something.  And besides, it's late."
     She smiled.  "Where would you hide the bodies?"
     "Huh?  Oh.  Dump 'em in space, of course."
     "Wouldn't the station's sensors pick them up?"
     "I'd... burn them."
     "Internal sensors would report the fire."
     "Cut them into little pieces?"
     "Then what?"
     He smiled with inspiration.  "Feed the pieces into the replicator."
     She smiled back, nodding and backing up.  "You're right."  she patted his cheek.  "I guess you could be a homicidal maniac."  The way she said it, she sounded like it wouldn't be such a big deal.  "So could I, for that matter."
     "Really?  Well, then I definitely want to see you again."  The look she gave him told him he'd scored a point with that line, and he began to feel a bit cocky.  He knew that feeling, though, and knew the fall that usually came after it.  "I'm working on an article, but I should be free for dinner.  Can I meet you at Quark's?"
     "Just so long as you promise not to kill anyone until after we eat."  She felt the thrill of victory, when he smiled.  Usually, her idea of humor fell pretty flat on humans.  She kissed him again, briefly, and turned to go.
     He watched her walk away, forcing himself to be quiet.  He didn't want to push it, and ruin the urbane image he was trying to maintain, by appearing too eager.  Once she turned a corner and left his sight, he went back inside.  At once, he came face to face (well, belt to face, anyway) with Nog.
     "It's about time you two stopped playing koochie-koo out in the hallway!"  he scolded.  "That was disgusting!"
     "You were eavesdropping?"  Jake demanded, outraged.
     "It's not eavesdropping, when you can hear every word even though you have a pillow over your head!"
     "Oh.  Sorry.  But what did you think of her?"
     "She talks too much, and wears too much clothing."
     "You say that about all the women I date!"
     "It's not my fault you date all the wrong women.  Can I go to bed now?  Or are you going to start singing love songs?"
     "All right, go to bed.  But-"  Jake fidgeted a little, "what did you really think?  Did you like her?"
     "Did you?"
     "Yeah.  A lot."
     Nog looked at his friend for a while.  "I think you should teach her how to tell time; but other than that, she seems fine."
     "Just fine?"
     Nog shrugged.  "How can I form an opinion, without seeing her naked?  Besides; all I really know about her is that she has a weird sense of humor, and thinks you're a great writer.  Actually, considering your ego, I guess you're perfect for each other."
     "Ego?  What ego?"
     "I'm going to bed, Jake.  Either do the same, or go someplace far enough away so I don't hear you."  Scratching the inside of his ear, Nog trundled off to bed.
     "But what did you mean about that crack about my ego?"
     "Go to bed, Jake."
     "But do you actually think-"
     "Lights off!"

******

     Dax  went to the replicator, to fix herself some tea.  "Want some?"  she asked Worf.
     "I am not thirsty."  he answered, shifting in his seat.  "I would rather have your thoughts on this matter, than tea."
     She shrugged, her back to him.  "I don't really see where it's any of my business.  She's your brother's daughter.  It's your decision, if you want to adopt her."  She was a little angry at him for waiting until after they'd gotten to bed, to spring this on her.
     "You know I want to include you in any decisions that would effect the both of us."
     She carefully turned, holding the cup of tea to her lips and blowing on it.  Glancing at him, she took a small sip.  She knew this annoyed him ("Drink it, or set it down!" he would say).  Tonight, though, he would not be baited.  "I suppose I should meet her."
     "Good idea."  he mused.  "That makes sense."  This was something he could understand; wanting to meet someone, before deciding to welcome them into your family.  "I will arrange for dinner, tomorrow night."
     "You mean tonight."  she said, nodding toward the chronometer.  "Fine.  I look forward to it.  Can we go back to bed now?"
     He glanced at her, then stared across the room at nothing.  "This is not an easy thing.  It is an added responsibility I had not expected.  There are-"  he sighed, then looked at her.  "There are so many ways this could go wrong; and it is not as if it were very right to begin with.  It is a matter where both Sons of Mogh have proven themselves... inadequate."
     She stopped in mid sip, studied him a bit, then set her tea cup down.  "You'll do the right thing, I'm sure of it.  You usually do."
     A hint of a smile passed his lips.  "Usually?"
     Dax smiled back, and came over to sit beside him.
     "I hope you are right."  he said, hugging her.  "I just really did not expect to become a father again, and so soon.  The idea takes some getting used to."
     She laughed.  "I think you'll find teenage girls lend a whole new dimension to parenting.  You though the Jem Haddar were tough!"
     Worf laughed with her, despite the fact that he was quite sure there was nothing funny about it.

********

     With nothing else to do the next morning, Dru took herself in search of the tailor Worf had told her about.  On the way, she tried very hard not to gawk.  Many of these races, she had only seen on the holo-vid; and never life-size.  Bajorens and humans made up the bulk of the population, but there were plenty of other kinds of people mixed in.  Some looked at her strangely, some amiably enough, and some looked right through her.  At least very few of them seemed openly hostile.
     When she got to the tailor's she found a female who's race she couldn't identify.  The female introduced herself as Ziyal, and it wasn't until Garak (the tailor, a Cardassian) was finishing up a transaction with a Bajoren female, that Dru made a connection.
     "You're multi-racial."  she said.
     "Excuse me?"  Ziyal asked, punching up Worf's account and checking the amount he'd allotted.
     "Multi-racial, like me."  Dru explained.  "Your background has more than one origin."
     "Well, I've never heard it put so..."  Ziyal looked the girl up and down.  "Tactfully.  Your name is Drusilla Cavanaugh?"
     "Call me Dru."
     "Dru, then.  Well, Dru; what do you suppose multi-racial people are wearing, these days?"  a small smile tugged at her lips.
     "What else?"  Dru shrugged.  "Mix and Match."
     By the time Garak got to them, they were in full tilt giggle- and didn't stop until after Dru left.  It was great for Ziyal to have someone her own age to gossip with and dress up, and Garak was glad to see her have a good time, but something about all that twittering and fluttering about made him want to gouge out his eyes.  As he tallied up the expenses, he had to pause and rub his aching cranium.
     "We got on your nerves."  Ziyal concluded, putting away the rejects.
     "Not at all."  he protested.  "It was wonderful, seeing you laugh and smile like that.  I wish I got to see it more often."
     She blessed him with another smile, because he was such a smooth liar.  "In other words, we got on your nerves."
     He smiled back.  "Perhaps there are times when males simply do not belong in the realm of women."  he admitted.  "Certainly don't avoid her, for my sake.  While I don't mind spending every minute of every day with you, it wouldn't hurt for you to have other friends."
     "It doesn't bother you, that she's half Klingon?"
     Garak smiled gently.  "Ziyal; you of all people should know, I don't judge people by who their parents happen to be."  As soon as he said it, he regretted it; but if it hurt her feelings, she showed no sign of it.  Instead, she came to him for a quick embrace.  As always, her sweetness made him feel as if the last twenty years had never happened, and he was a naïve young conscript with nothing but a bright future ahead.  "Nothing you could ever do, would persuade me to leave you."  he sighed.
     "Nothing?"
     "Nothing."
     "You'll spoil me, with all this attention."  she smiled, not minding it one bit.
     "Maybe you deserve a little spoiling."  he said, thinking that maybe they both did.

*******

     Dru had stayed within Worf's instructions when choosing clothes on his money, but she had seen some other things she wouldn't mind getting for herself.  The few measly strips of Latinum she had left, though, would barely buy one button.  What she needed, was a job.  After some asking around, she heard that Quark's was always looking for new waitresses.  Of course, no one told her that was because Quark himself often drove the waitresses he had, away.  His idea of an interview was a little more personal than most people's, and his idea of rapport was a little one-sided.
     She was wearing her old slacks, which were just a bit snug and had worn knees.  She also wore a loose blouse and an unbuttoned vest.  Not exactly job interview clothes, but they were clean.  She easily found the Ferengi named Quark, and introduced herself.  Quark began his usual spiel, then halted short.  "How old are you?"
     "Seventeen."  she said, but added "Nearly eighteen."
     Quark's eyes widened.  "Are you trying to get me arrested?  Get out of my bar!"
     "I... I was just looking for a job!"  she protested.
     "Go back to your parents!"
     "Why does everyone keep saying that?"
     "Because everyone is right."  He grabbed her arm, and none-too-gently led her to the door.
     "Look; I don't have to waitress.  I can wash dishes, or sweep floors.  And look, I'm pretty strong.  I can haul crates of merchandise."  She demonstrated her strength, by prying his fingers off her arm, and lifting a table.
     Quark was about to take up kicking her out again, but an idea came to him.  He certainly had to do an awful amount of hauling and lugging (schlepping, Morn called it) since Rom decided to play at being an engineer.  How much trouble could that cause him?  She wouldn't be scantily clad, wouldn't have contact with the customers, and wouldn't even be seen by Constable Odo.  "You can put the table down.  What hours can you work?"
     Dru recited the times Worf had told her he'd be unavailable.  "What's my starting pay?"
     "You're begging me for a job, and you want to haggle over pay?"
     "My food, shelter, and clothing are all paid for.  I can afford to be a little picky."
     "Is that right?  Well maybe you can pick your rear end right up and out-"
     "I just want what's fair!"  she said quickly, before he could finish throwing her out.
     "I won't know what's fair, until I've seen you work."
     She nodded.  "Fair enough.  I'm not an idiot, though.  Cheat me, and I'll go straight to the station liaison."
     "A law-spouting Klingon?!"  he scoffed.  "That's almost criminal; and I should know.  Just show up on time tomorrow, and we'll see how it goes."
     "Deal."  She tried to shake his hand, but he turned away.  The interview was over.  She was beginning to feel a little hungry, and the public terminal flashed a time that could be considered lunch time, so she found a place to sit.  She was still a little lagged, trying to get her internal clock on DS9 time, because it was set to correspond with Bajoren time rather than Terran time (which was what most stations in the Federation seemed to use).
     "What are you hanging around for?"  Quark asked on his way back by.  "I told you, you can start tomorrow morning."
     "I wanted to get something to eat.  I think Commander Worf set up an account for me?"
     Quark stared, then consulted the mini-datapadd he always kept in his pocket.  "You're Drusilla Cavanaugh?"
     "I am."  she nodded.
     He smiled as pleasantly as he could manage.  "Fine.  I'll get you a menu.  Oh- by the way, you're fired."
     "What?  Why?"
     "Because I don't need any trouble with the Chief of Starfleet Security, that's why."  He grabbed a menu from a stack on the shelf and handed it to her.  "Your... guardian and I don't exactly get along.  It's nothing personal, I assure you.  I was actually getting pretty enthusiastic about the idea of not having to lug things to and fro.  I just happen to like all my vital organs and limbs where they are, thank you."
     Dru scowled a little.  "I'll talk to him, later.  Hey- don't you have any burgers?"
     "Excuse me?"
     "Burgers.  Animal flesh ground to a thick paste, flattened into discs, and fried or broiled.  I like them with cheese, and served between two slices of bread."
     Quark looked disgusted.
     "Got a replicator?"
     "Of course."
     "Ask it for a cheeseburger, rare, with lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, catsup, and pickles."
     "Hang on."  he busily tried to enter her order on the datapadd.  "Repeat that."
     She did, and he looked over the list before going to upload it in the replicator.  "I'll never get used to Klingon food."  he muttered, shaking his head.  What came out, of course, was a soyburger; but Dru was hungry enough to eat it anyway.
     "It's better with fresh meat."  she said around a mouthful.
     "I'm sure it is."  he said, watching in rapt (though vaguely sickened) fascination.
     "Get some meat and a meat-grinder, and I'll show you."
     "I'll put it on my "to do" list."  he assured her.  "Anything to drink?"  He steeled himself for something horrible.  "Prune juice, perhaps?"
     "Yuck."  she winced.  "Some Moxie would be great, but I bet you don't have it programmed in.  How about Iced Coffee, no sugar?"
     Quark looked as though her order was nearly as disgusting as he'd imagined it to be.  "Decaf?"
     "Not on your life."
     "Of course not."  he nodded, and left to fill her order.
     Dru finished the last of her burger, looking over the menu for future reference.  She noticed there were several types of meat pies, bread puddings, and even "Snorkers and Mash".  There was something claiming to be Guinness Stout, though she really doubted it was the real thing.  Obviously, someone else from the Isles must be here.  Not, of course, that any of the food interested her.  Celtic, Keltic, or otherwise Gaelic; they all boiled their meat to a tasteless mess in her opinion.  Her mother and grandmother were forever trying to get her to eat it, and she was always sneaking off to some greasy spoon.  Sometimes, when on a rare occasion they were using real meat rather than synth meat, she was able to wheedle a chunk of it out of them and cook it the way she liked- barely browned, and warm enough for the blood to run easily.  At such times, her mother would give her strange looks, but she never scolded.  She no doubt always knew Dru would have to obey her genetic leanings.
     After lunch, she went back to her room and found some of her clothes had been delivered.  She chose a modest tunic short-sleeved over a long skirt, that swooshed gratifyingly when she walked.  She wore the necklace she'd brought, made from hand carved wooden beads, and slid her hand through a wooden circlet.  As an afterthought, she added her old leather belt.  It was just worn enough to perfect a kind of "rustic" look.  In other words, she hoped it made her look natural and comfortable, rather than like a dressed up doll (which was how she felt).  Brushing her hair loose, it frizzed a bit (like it always did) and fell down her back.  She looked in the mirror to check the effect.  "Not too bad."  she commented, wondering if Jake would like it.  At the thought of him, she smiled.  She loved the sort of sleepy, smoky look he'd gotten in his eyes, when they were kissing.  It made her believe he was all the way there, and all the way with her.  "How long till dinner?"  she wondered out loud, checking her terminal.
     The door sounded, and she invited whoever it was in.  It was Worf.
     He stood just inside the doorway, half inspecting her.  "You look respectable, now."  he said.
     "Gee, thanks."  she frowned.  "Anyway, I followed your instructions."
     "You should have new boots, as well.  Those are worn.  And that belt; you should have a sheath for your knife."
     "First I'll have to get a knife."  she cracked.
     His eyes widened in amazement.  "You did not bring your knife?"
     "Don't own one.  Never have.  Always found what I needed in the kitchen."
     "You do not know how to fight with a knife?"
     She shook her head, sitting down.  "I wanted to carry one, but my mother wouldn't allow it.  Said it would most likely get me killed."
     He scowled.  This one was going to require a lot of work.  "Do you know how to fight, at all?"
     "Oh, sure.  Well, I know how to defend myself until I can get away, anyway."
     "Get away?  You mean run?  Like a coward?"
     Her look darkened.  "Look; I haven't had much experience with one-on-one fighting.  Usually, I got jumped by anything from a small group to a gang.  Even you have to admit, those odds are pretty unacceptable."
     Worf bit back his comments, and thought it over.  "Tell me."  he said, sitting down.
     Dru dragged up all of the most sordid details of her childhood; from attacks at school, to groups bearing a strange resemblance to a lynch mob showing up at her house and chanting "Earth is for Humans!" over and over.  Every once in a while she would come across someone who thought they were bad enough to take her on alone, and she usually took out her frustrations on the poor soul, but most times she didn't have the slimmest prayer of winning a fight.  There would just be too many of them.  "So you see, I'm not exactly your idea of a fierce Klingon Warrior."  she concluded.
     "They certainly saw you as a Warrior."
     "No, they saw me as an easy target."
     "A target, perhaps.  But easy?  I do not think so."  He shifted in his chair.  "Why do you suppose they so often came in groups?"
     "Because they were bullies and cowards."
     "Yes, this is obviously true; but what makes a coward, is fear.  What do you suppose they were afraid of?"  He paused a moment, then went on.  "Something about you frightened them.  It frightened them so much, that they felt one or two, or even three of them, would not be enough to defeat you."
     "Well, we know it wasn't my teeth."  she cracked, glumly.
     "Despite your tame teeth and your human habits, they still saw something of the Warrior in you; even though you carried no weapon!"
     "I still think they were just garden variety cowards."
     He shook his head.  "You will never be a Warrior, if you do not think of yourself as one.  And in a way, you are already a warrior, of sorts.  You have been battling all your life to both reject and accept your father.  You say you have finally chosen one direction.  You say you wish to acknowledge your bloodline, and claim your place in the family.  If you will do this, you must do it as a Warrior; proud, and with every intention toward victory."  He leaned forward.  "We will no longer speak of those days.  They are from another life.  They have little to do with who you are, and who you shall be.  You will train and learn to focus the strength and abilities you were born with, and you will learn what it means to be Klingon.  Yes, I know; genetically you already are Klingon.  There is much more to it, than that.   You must learn the things that can not be seen outwardly, or under a microscope; the things that will reside in your heart, and in your soul.  Then, you will be ready to formally enter the House of Martok."
     "How long will all this take?"  she asked.
     Another Klingon would have knocked her across the room for that, but Worf was all too familiar with the culture that influenced her life up till now.  "That will depend on you."  he answered.  "If you are lazy and stubborn, it could take the rest of your life.  If you work hard and obey me, it could take a much shorter time.  I must warn you, though; it may take years, even if you are the very best of students.  After all, we have seventeen years of Terran influence to counter.  The first step, though,"  he stood, "will be to get you a knife.  That is easily enough done.  The second step will take some thought.  We shall have to give you a name."
     "What's wrong with my name?"
     "It's not Klingon."
     "I answer to it, well enough."
     "Your father would have given you a new name."
     She couldn't argue with that.  "OK, so I get a new name."  She looked over at the terminal's chronometer.  "Ummm... it's just about dinner time-"
     Worf had almost forgotten!  "Dinner will be at my quarters."
     "Oh, that's OK.  I have plans."
     "Plans?"  he scoffed.  "Dinner will be at my quarters."  The added emphasis left no room for argument.
     She looked him up and down, then walked around him a bit.  "There was this film I saw once, called "My Fair Lady"-"
     "An adaptation from the book "Pygmalion".  I know of it."  he nodded.
     "Yeah.  It was OK, except for all the singing.  Anyway, the professor turns the guttersnipe into a lady."
     "I believe the premise was actually that he wished to fool others into thinking she was a lady; and the singing was actually the best part."
     She looked at him oddly, continuing to walk around him.  "The ending was pretty satisfying, don't you think?" she asked, watching closely.
     "Somewhat; although it was not entirely unexpected.  Their affection toward each other had grown throughout their time together, and-"  Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, and he straightened up.  "And any correlation you may draw between that situation and this one, is entirely erroneous.  My interest in you is exactly as I have stated; nothing more, and nothing less."
     "Just checking."  she said, not looking entirely convinced.  "In case you're wondering, I'm already interested in someone."
     "As am I."  What she'd said hit home.  "But who could you possibly be involved with?  You have only been here a day!"
     "I think I'd like to keep my privacy, thanks."
     He started to scold her, then stopped.  "I will see you at dinner, then."  He nodded, then moved toward the door.  Pausing, he looked over his shoulder.  "Just out of curiosity, if I had more... romantic plans for you, how would you have reacted?  Would you have booked passage on the first transport back to Earth?"
     Dru's mouth dropped open.  He'd just zinged her, on several levels.  Folding her arms across her chest, she took a couple of steps toward him.  "Why, uncle; it shocks me to hear you talk in such a manner.  The fact that you would even entertain such an idea, makes me wonder if I really want to be adopted by you.  Perhaps it would be better if I retained my title of "Daughter of Kurn", and approached Martok on my own."
     Now it was Worf's turn to let his jaw drop.  Best to drop the whole thing.  "You will do nothing without my consent!  Dinner at my quarters, in two hours!"  He left, with no further delay.
     Dru couldn't help but giggle.  It was certainly a power rush, to make someone who could easily tear your head from your shoulders run away like that.  Two hours gave her a little time, so she went looking for Jake.  She found him, through Nog (who gave her strange and irritated looks).  He was sequestered in a little used area of the station, where mine ore used to be stored.  The place had been made safe (though not very clean), but was deserted because no one really had reason or inclination to go there.  It certainly wasn't a picturesque place, with it's disabled processing equipment and battered ore carts.  You could almost hear the ghosts of abused and underfed workers, protesting their lot in life.  She shuffled in the dust, to let him know someone was there.  He was perched on a shelf inside an alcove, obviously meant to house an overseer or guard.  He looked down at her, but she wasn't sure he saw her.  "Busy?"  she asked.
     The fog of confusion lifted, and Jake seemed to wake up.  "How'd you find me?"  he asked.
     She grinned, touched her nose, and sniffed.  "Smelled you out."
     He frowned a little.  "I didn't know Klingon's sense of smell was that accute."
     "It's not.  I'm teasing.  I asked around."  She shrugged.  "You can't do much around here, without someone seeing you."
     "That's the truth."  he admitted, edging off and hopping down.  "Hey; you look nice."
     "Thanks.  Worf picked it out."
     "Oh."  he seemed disappointed.
     Dru laughed a little.  Obviously, he though she'd dressed up for him.  "Anyway, I have some bad news.  We're going to have to postpone dinner.  Worf wants me to have dinner at his quarters."
     "Oh."  Jake repeated, drawing his own conclusions.  Worf was dressing her, having dinner with her,... He was Klingon, she was Klingon...  "What about Dax?"  he wondered out loud.
     "Dax?"
     "She and Worf are sorta dating."
     "Oh, that must be who he meant.  He said he was involved with someone."
     "But he's having dinner with you."
     She shrugged.  "Probably wants to teach me Klingon table manners, or something.  Anyway, he made it pretty clear if I want to be accepted into the family, I'd better start listening to him."
     "So you're sure that's what you want?"
     "No,"  she walked around a little, making swirls in the dust with her toes.  "but I don't know that I don't want it, either. Don't want to burn my bridges, y'know?"
     He couldn't help smiling at her colloquialisms.  "You're so Terran, it hurts.  How d'ya expect to become a Klingon?"
     Her face darkened slightly, as she looked up at him.  "I am Klingon.  I just don't have all the trappings.  And if I want to get them, that's pretty much my business; isn't it?"
     "Hey,"  he shook his head and touched her arm.  "I didn't mean anything by it.  I just meant, well,... I think you're fine the way you are.  More than fine.  I mean..."  he stepped closer.  "I like you, without the trappings.  Anything you want to do or be is fine.  I just don't think it's necessary."
     "It is."  She didn't want to be mad at him.  After all, he couldn't know how she felt, and that wasn't his fault.  "Just take my word for it, OK?"
     "Sure."  he said, with a little shrug.  "If you say so.  Maybe we can get together after dinner?"
     She smiled.  "Another late night rendezvous?"
     "The last one went pretty well."  he smiled back.
     "I guess it went OK."
     "Just OK?"  He found it easy to draw her close to him, easy to lean in until there was barely a breath of air between them.  "Should I meet you at your place?"
     Alone with him behind closed doors?  As much as the idea appealed to her, Dru heard distant muffled alarm bells going off inside her head.  "Why suh; I bah-ly know yew!"  she batted her eyes in a parody of a southern belle.
     "We can fix that." he reasoned, leaning in even closer.
     Suddenly, Dru stepped back and shoved her hand over her mouth; stifling a growl that threatened to escape.
     "What's wrong?"
     "I...uh... forgot.  I have some things I really have to take care of."
     "It can't wait?"
     "No, I don't think so.  Lemme go."
     He smiled, mischievously.  "Pay the toll booth."
     She knew he thought she was being coy and shy, but that wasn't the case.  The truth was, old as she was, Dru had never found herself in this situation; therefore, the ways her body was reacting were a complete surprise to her.  Nothing she'd seen or read described the things running through her head right now, so she had no idea how to deal with them.  "Seriously, Jake; let me go.  I'm late."  Why now?  Why not the first time?  The first time they'd kissed, nothing remotely like this had-
     His smile faded away, and he released her from his arms.  The look on his face made her curse herself and her genes, but it couldn't be helped.  Making a hasty good-bye, she escaped as soon as she could.
     Once alone, Jake wondered what he'd done wrong.  Had he misread her so completely?  Had something changed since last night?  Or... maybe Worf was teaching her more than table manners.  Maybe he was teaching her that she shouldn't be hanging around humans, messing up the already muddy gene pool.  He climbed back up to his perch and picked up his datapadd, but somehow he couldn't get back his train of thought.

*******

     Dru was surprised to see Worf's chosen companion was not Klingon.  After a little awkwardness, though, she had no trouble getting along with Dax.  Dax, too, was pleasantly surprised to see how well they got along.  Worf was beginning to think the only person Dru could not be civil toward, was him.  During the meal the conversation was light, but afterward Dax encouraged Dru to tell more about her childhood.  The Trill watched the young girl's face light up when she talked about life before the Klingon aggression, during the years of peace.  Dru did well in school, and often got picked first when teams were organizing for sports.  In fact, before political tensions changed everything, Dru scarcely felt she was different from other children.  Then, almost over night, the same faces that had smiled at her began to avoid her.  When the first Terran casualties were reported, the fights and attacks began.   During a time when a young girl should be planning dances and dates, Dru was struggling with getting from place to place without bloodshed and broken bones.  The worst part of the betrayal, though, was that she was just as shocked and angry by the Klingons' actions as they were.  No; the worst part was the way they treated her mother.
     Eithne Cavanaugh did her best at first, to hide the cuts and bruises from being pelted with stones each time she went out, but after awhile she didn't bother.  The wounds they shared in common, served to bind them and help them seek support in one another.  The authorities were notified, but their lack of compassion was so aggravating Eithne decided to save her energy and settle things herself.  She began a personal campaign to confront her friends and neighbors- people who had known her and her daughter for years- and shame them into mending their ways.  Perhaps some listened.  The stones grew fewer.  However, those with a conscience must have bore down on their children.  Attacks against Drusilla increased.  Finally, a tutor was hired and the Cavanaughs shunned the sun.  Then, one day, a new treaty was signed.  The Cavanaughs emerged back into the glare of the sun and the shame-faced stares of their neighbors.  Being right, didn't make living there any easier.  Dru decided to go find her father, and maybe find a reason to feel proud of who and what she was; or at least find someone to blame.
     For a while, they sat in silence; Dax and Worf shooting each other secret looks.  Before things could go any farther and end up with any show of sympathy, Dru claimed it was late and excused herself; after thanking Worf for dinner.  Feeling spiritually raw, she wandered over to Quarks.
     Jake sat patiently, letting her explain her mood.  "I know."  he said, when she was finished.  "For a while, my father was convinced it would be healthy for me to talk about my mom."  He shook his head, remembering.  "He might have been right, but that didn't make it hurt any less.  I always came out of those talks feeling stripped down and wiped out."
     "Exactly."  she agreed, nodding.  "Sometimes I feel like I want to tell it, but when I start, it's like making it... fresh."
     "It wasn't even all that long ago."
     "Nope."
     He saw the malaise settling in, and decided to head it off.  "Come on."  he stood and held out his hand.  "Let's go for a walk."
     "Sure."  she shrugged, not really caring.  When they got where they were going, though, she cared quite a bit.
     For at least ten minutes, she wandered through the arboretum in silence.  Some of it was so like Earth, it almost broke her heart.  But this was the tame side of Earth; the structured gardens and cultivated displays.  The Earth she had always loved, was the wild side of the planet.  Extremes in temperature, terrain, and weather always seemed to ignite her soul.  She thought about cliff-climbing, and hunting rabbits in the woods, and being caught out in a storm.  She thought about small boats and tall waves, and cold so sharp it stung your nose.  "This is nice."  she finally said, finding a bench to sit on.  It was the best she could say.
     "I thought you might like it."  Jake looked around.  "It always makes me think of my grandfather, tending his herb garden.  He wouldn't use any modern tools or chemicals.  Said it interfered with the flavor."  He gazed across the way at a flower bed.  "He worked really hard on it.  I wonder if he still has it."  Almost without thinking, he took her hand.
     Dru felt the growing seeds of carelessness in the back of her mind, and she really didn't care.  In fact, she began to encourage them.  Taking his hand, she leaned against him and rested her cheek on his shoulder.  After a few moments, she tilted her head back, and kissed his cheek.
     Night and day.  Jake was really confused.  Earlier, he was sure he'd blown it, or at least imagined Dru's feelings toward him.  Now she'd actually kissed him, and was looking at him like she expected something.  Oh, she was gonna get something, all right!  No more half measures.  He turned toward her, and took her chin in his hand.  Gently at first, he began kissing her.  Shifting, he put his arm around her and pulled her closer; but she was already moving in.  In fact, she seemed to be adding to the stakes.  Jake was shocked to the core when she actually threw her leg across and pulled herself into his lap.
     "Dru, someone might see!"  he whispered, soon as he had the chance.
     "There's no one here."  she argued, becoming more insistent.  Leaning back, she pulled him against her chest, so he could hear her heart.  "Oh, Jake!"  she whispered, feeling her face grow warm with excitement.  She needed this.  She needed to feel wanted and close to someone, after dredging up memories of feeling all alone.  A low growl escaped, but she didn't care.  Her fingers arched into claws, but she didn't care.  In the back of her mind she heard her grandmother use the word "deflowered", but she really didn't care.  She-
     "Hey!"  Jake didn't mean to dump her on to the ground, but he wasn't thinking about minding his manners just now.  He was thinking about the pain on his back.  Looking over his shoulder, he saw the rips in his shirt and the growing blood stains.
     Dru sat on the ground, looking utterly amazed and shocked.  "I'm.... oh, geez, I'm so sorry!"
     "Sorry?!"  he scoffed, getting up.  He looked at her for a moment, then just left.
     She sat there in the grass for a few moments.  Trying to breath through a sob, she whispered "This just isn't my day."

*******

     "Want to try again?"  Julian Bashir ran a medical instrument over Jake's back.  Besides being wakened from a sound sleep to mend a young lothario's wounds, listening to said lothario's lame excuses was his second least favorite thing to do.  "Let's cut to the chase; who was she?"
     Jake squirmed a bit.  "Does this come under doctor/patient confidentiality?"
     "I won't tell your father, if that's what you mean.  You're not a child anymore.  At least, I hadn't thought so up till now."
     Jake spilled the beans just enough to impart any relevant information.  Julian nodded, finishing up.  He tossed Jake a spare shirt, then pulled a data  cube from a drawer.
     "As your doctor, I strongly urge you to view this."
     "What is it?"  Jake pulled the shirt on, then took the data cube.
     "It's a study on inter-special relations, and how to have safe sex."
     "Safe...?"  Jake couldn't help laughing.
     "This is no joke."  Julian warned.  "Just recently, the Andorians found a race in the alpha quadrant they felt a strong attraction to.  Trade contracts were set up, and visits back and forth were arranged.  It wasn't until it was too late, that the Andorians discovered this new race's females liked to gnaw the limbs off of males after sex.  In their species, the limbs grow back.  The Andorians weren't so lucky."
     "Klingons and humans get together all the time.  Besides; she's only half Klingon."
     "Didn't tonight teach you anything?"  Julian folded his arms across his chest.  "Perhaps you should study up on the physiological differences, before you get into some serious trouble."
     Jake winced, remembering the botched encounter.  Now that he thought about it, he realized she was just being... affectionate.  "It probably doesn't matter.  I dumped her onto the ground.  I don't think she'll get over that."
     Julian guided his young friend to the door.  "View the files.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a full day tomorrow."
     "Huh?  Oh.  Sure.  Thanks, doctor."
     Julian just nodded, and gently shoved him out the door.

********
     "That went well."  Worf said, cleaning up the last of the dishes, and placing them in the replicator.
     Dax didn't mean to laugh, but she couldn't help it.
     "Obviously, you do not agree."  he scowled.
     "No, I-"  Sniffing and getting control of herself, she tried to explain herself.  "The poor girl unburdens her soul to you, and reveals herself to be a kindred spirit, and all you have to say is it went well?"
     "I would not go so far as to say we were kindred spirits."  he harrumphed, but hid a tiny smile.
     "Oh, Worf; she couldn't be any more you, if she climbed out of your skin."
     "Now you do go too far.  Drusilla Cavanaugh and I have only a very little in common."  The last of the dishes gone, he shut everything down and went to prepare for bed.
     Dax followed him.  "You have got to be kidding.  You and she shared practically the same childhood!  Always on the outside, always feeling alienated.  And this yearning to find her place in the family- that has you written all over it.  You have a perfectly good career in Star Fleet, and you're accepted by your peers; yet you can't be satisfied unless you have one foot firmly planted in Klingon society."
     "Because I am Klingon."
     "So is she.  And don't give me that half-breed garbage; you know better than that."
     "At her age, I had already completed years of training.  My parents did all they could, to ensure I had a proper Klingon education.  She is completely unprepared.  She can not even speak the language."
     Dax set her jaw in a way that Worf had learned meant she was ready for a fight.  "By your reasoning, anyone can be a Klingon; so long as they have the training."
     "Of course not."
     "Then what is she lacking?"
     "She has no warrior spirit!  She has been spoiled and sheltered by her mother's skirts all her life.  She has no respect-"
     "Do you even hear yourself?"  Dax scoffed, then leaned in.  "I wonder what a Klingon Warrior would have said about you, at seventeen."
     Worf stood his ground.  "When I was seventeen, I had goals!  I had a purpose!  She... she has no focus.  She can not possibly grab what she wants out of life, because she has no idea what that might be!"
     "You act as though you haven't made up your mind about adopting her."
     "There is much to consider!"
     Dax's eyes narrowed, and her mouth became a thin line.  "She is your brother's child, Worf.  She belongs in your family!"
     "I am considering what is best for all of us, including her!"  Shaking his head, he stepped away.  "Right now, I am not entirely convinced she would not be better off, to simply go back home to her mother."
     What really ticked Dax off, was that she knew this was a load of crap.  She'd watched him while Dru told her story.  He was beginning to care about that girl, and it was no doubt scaring him.  Of course, she could never just call him out on it.  A more circuitous route was called for.  "Well, then; if you won't adopt her, maybe I will."
     "You?!"  he half laughed.  "You are not even Klingon!"
     "I am a member of the House of the Sons of Koloth."  she shrugged.  "I'm sure I can get them to accept her.  Who knows; maybe I can even arrange a good marriage for her.  Someone used to dealing with Humans.  I'm sure she'd be fine."
     Worfs eyes had gradually grown as large as they could get, without actually popping out and rolling down his cheeks.  "You will do no such thing!"  he said quietly, but firmly.
     "If you don't want her, what do you care?"
     "I did not say I did not want her, I said I want what is best for her!"
     Dax's careless smile faded, and she stepped up to him.  "Then don't be just one more rejection for her.  I'm serious, Worf; I won't stand by and watch it.  Like it or not, she is part of your family.  She is of your blood."  Pointing her finger and poking it into his chest, she added "Deal with it."
     All his arguments died on his lips- not necessarily because he felt she was right, but because he knew that look on her face.  All the arguments in the world would do him no good.  When Jadzia Dax caught hold of an idea, it was like a Targ with a chunk of fresh meat.  Nothing could get her to drop it.  He decided the best thing to do was shut up and go to bed.  However, Dax stood in his way, shaking her head.  "Jadzia,"  he warned, "you can not banish me to the couch in my own quarters!"
     Planting her hands on her hips and standing with her feet apart, she glared at him and said "Try me."
     "I do not wish to fight."
     "Then you know what to do."
     Fight, or squeeze on to the little couch.  Just now, the latter option sounded infinitely more appealing.  After all, a wise Warrior knows how to pick his fights.

******

     "He what?"  Ziyal leaned in, unmindful of the steam from her herb tea.
     "Pushed me to the ground."  Dru repeated, miserably.  "I don't know what I should have done; I-"  she sighed again.  "I don't know what I thought I was doing, to begin with."  It had been a rough night, and this morning she had the rings under her eyes to prove it.  "I don't know what came over me.  It's like... I couldn't help it."
     "Well, what usually happens when you're with a man?"
     Dru stared at her for a moment, then sighed again.  "There's so much wrong with that question, I don't know where to start."
     Ziyal frowned, then smiled.  "You're a virgin!"
     "Do you mind?"  Dru glanced around.
     "No, I think it's... quaint."
     "Gee, thanks."
     "No, really, Dru."  Ziyal stirred her tea, lowering her eyes.  "I wish I were.  I mean, nothing really bad... happened to me, but...  the circumstances..."  She glanced up.  "My mother and I were slave laborers.  My first time was..."  she shrugged.  "well, there really wasn't much else to do, there."
     "Ziyal, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to-"
    "You didn't."  She shrugged again.  "Anyway, let's concentrate on your problem.  It could be two part: one, you could be simply inexperienced, and two, you could be unfamiliar with certain aspects of your own physiology.  Have you thought about talking to a doctor?"
     "There's no way I'm going to a doctor about this."
     "Well, the option would be a more experienced woman, who knows about Klingon physiology."
     "But I don't know any-"  Dru stopped.  "Oh, geez; I do know someone like that.  Worf's fiancée.  At least I think she's his fiancée.  They really weren't clear about that."
     "Well, see?"  Ziyal sat up, sipping her tea.  "That's perfect.  If Worf adopts you, she'll end up your step mother."
     "I don't even know this person.  How can I talk about this with her?"
     "You barely know me, right?"
     "That's different.  I mean, we're friends; right?"
     "If you're going to be living with her, you'd better be friends with her, too."
     Dru thought about it.  "Might get me on her good side."
     "Mmm-hmm."  Ziyal nodded over her tea.
     "And if I get on her good side,..."  she left the obvious unspoken.
     "There, you see?  Contrary to what Garak says, Klingons are capable of stringing two thoughts together."
     Dru started to protest, then saw she was teasing.  "You better drink that tea, friend; before you end up wearing it."
     Ziyal smiled over her teacup, and lifted one pinkie.  "Ah, the breeding always tells."  she sighed.
     Across the promenade, Worf heard the giggling and decided to fortify himself with a prune juice, before taking the actions that would allow him to sleep in his own bed.  After all, Dax was right.  The fact that Martok had adopted him did not erase the fact that Mog's blood flowed through both his veins and Dru's.  His course, for the moment, was clear.  The long range course was not so clear, but with almost no sleep and cramped limbs, he wasn't ready to really think long range.

******

     Nog returned to his quarters for a quiet lunch, and was surprised to find Jake there.  He was even more surprised to find Jake looking almost traumatized.  "What happened?  Did someone die?"
     "I can't do this stuff."  Jake gestured limply at the terminal he was sitting at.  He said it in a way that sounded like he'd said it many times before.
     "Can't do what?"  Nog stepped behind him, looking over his shoulder.  Reading a little, he gave a small "wow", and leaned closer.  "Where'd you get this?"
     "Doctor Bashir gave it to me."
     "Can I borrow it, when you're done?"
     "Nog, this is serious."
     "It is?"  Nog straightened up.  "That girl!  You and she-"
     "No!"  Jake stood, pacing a little.  "At least, not yet.  And... I don't see how we could."
     Nog shrugged.  "Most of this stuff's ceremonial.  Isn't she Terran?  She wouldn't necessarily even know about it."
     "That's not the stuff I'm worried about.  Read farther down."
     He did, moving into the chair Jake had left.  "Looks pretty violent, but nothing you couldn't handle."
     "I can't hit a girl.  I just wasn't raised that way."
     "Oh, you're a walking target for every female thug in the galaxy."
     Jake shook his head.  "It's not just that.  I- Nog, I'm not afraid of pain, I just... don't necessarily like it."
     Nog gave his friend a serious look.  "Jake, some things are worth a little pain."
     "This looks more like a lot of pain."
     "So is being hit with a wild pitch, but the risk never seems to discourage you from playing Baseball."
     "Wild pitches aren't a sure thing, this is."  He gestured toward the screen.  "Look at paragraph 26b.  I couldn't do that."
     Nog read, a grin broadening on his face.  "Oh, I could."  He ducked the smack he knew he deserved, and turned to face his friend.  "Why don't you talk to her about it?  Maybe she's not even like this."
     "I'm pretty sure she is."
     "I thought you said you didn't-"
     "We didn't.  We were just... messing around, and she practically ripped my back to shreds."
     "Wow."  Nog repeated.  "Hey Jake; if you're going to break up with her, would you mind if I-"
     "Don't even think about it!"  Jake warned.  "Besides, look at paragraph 26f.  Even you have to admit, that's pretty bad."
     Nog read on.  "OK, that is pretty bad.  How do they ever manage to propagate?  I have to admit, this is over my head."
     Jake was about to crack a "short" joke, but thought better of it.  "I guess I could talk to Julian about it.  I mean, he already knows what's going on."
     "Aren't you afraid he'll tell your father?"
     "He already said he wouldn't."
     "Jake?"
     "What?"
     "If you and she do manage to... you know; we could sell the holo-recording for a lot of money."  Nog grinned up at him, noting the disgusted look on his friend's face.  "What do you want?  I am a Ferengi."
     "Just lie to me, and tell me you were kidding."
     "All right, I was kidding."
     Jake patted Nog's shoulder.  "You're really getting a handle on this tact thing, Nog."

**********

     Once Ziyal left and Worf was able to join Dru at her table, he opened  with some of the words he hated to say.  "I have been wrong."
     Dru picked at cold scrambled eggs.  "About what?"
     "About you.  I have been going about this in the wrong way."
     "So you decided not to adopt me."  she concluded, lowering her eyes.
     "No,"  he began, knowing he should just dive in, but not quite knowing how.  "My mistake was in making it seem conditional.  As in natural birth, the child comes to it's parents first.  The learning comes later."
     She looked at him, more than a little flabbergasted.  "So when do you want to do this?"
     "Today.  As soon as possible."
     "But..."  she looked around, feeling a little helpless.  She really hadn't counted on this!  Now that it was happening, she was having doubts of her own.
     He could read her thoughts, because they had been his own.  "It is simply a matter of claiming our kinship.  It need not change our lives if we do not want it to.  At least, not right away.  If and when you feel ready to, I will fulfil my obligations toward your education."
     Dru nodded.  He was making it seem so serious, and she guessed it was, but... she was about to be related to this man she barely knew.  That seemed more important than any education.  "I think we should just get to know each other, first.  I mean, if we're going to feel related, we should at least be comfortable with each other."
     This made no Klingon sense, but it made perfect Terran sense, so Worf figured he had to respect it.  Settling back, he got comfortable.  "I have cleared the whole day.  What would you like to know?"
     Of course, there was an awful lot Dru wanted to know.  Walking the promenade and other parts of the station, they switched back and forth between question and answer periods, and long stories.  Not all the stories were about them, either.  To Worf's gratification, Dru showed an avid interest in the stories and legends of Kahless and ancient Klingon times.  It was nearly dinner time, before he exhausted his repertoire and needed to consult his files.  He suggested they have dinner at his quarters, but she wanted to stop by hers to pick something up.

*****

     Dax had seen nor heard anything from Worf all day.  She supposed it was because he was angry with her, but that made no difference.  She wasn't going to waver one bit; even if it meant they were going to fight every single night until he came around.  With a slight hesitation, she let herself into his quarters.  There, she was confronted by an unlikely sight.  Worf and Dru were huddled together in front of a terminal screen, watching something colorful.    The images resolved themselves into humans and machines, as she looked over their shoulders.  Breathless run-on sentences could be heard, along with music so simplistic it sounded like a joke.  "What is that?"  she asked.
     Worf glanced at her briefly, then looked back at the screen.  "There is a battle."  he said.
     "Actually, a race."  Dru amended.
     "But with fighting."  Worf added.  "The white vehicle is owned by Speed Racer.  He is aided by his brother Rex, who, because of a family dispute, must disguise himself as Racer X in order to maintain contact with the family."  He glanced back at Dax.  "It is very complicated."
     "I'll bet."  Dax agreed.  "Who's that?"
     Worf laughed.  "That is Spritle, Speed's younger brother, and his pet, Chim-Chim.  They are often full of mischief, though the boy only wishes to join his older brother in battle."
     "It's a race"  Dru corrected again.
     "Surely, you can not consider it a mere race, when the Car Acrobatics Team engages in such activities!"
     Dru sighed.  "OK, Snake Oiler turns it into battle.  But otherwise, it's a race."
     "Ah."  Dax nodded, and wisely left them alone.
     After the "Demon of Wheels" and Trixie gasped and grunted their last and put the Mach 5 back in the garage for Pops to fiddle with, Worf went to a low cabinet under a sword display and pulled out some data cubes and a flat bundle.  "Come."  he said, and headed for the door.  Dru recognized his sudden seriousness, and followed without question.  They ended up in the holo-suites, and Worf made Dru wait outside while he loaded a few things up.  After a while, he opened the portal door and commanded "Enter."
     Dru stepped onto a high cliff, surrounded on three sides by wild forest.  Just ahead, she could see a broad misty valley full of dark spires and tall mighty buildings.  A cloud moved, and the setting sun turned the mist into a reddish haze.
     "What is this place?"  she whispered.
     "Our ancestral home, Qonos."  Worf answered, satisfied with the look of wonder on her face.  "There before us lies the capitol city, wherein sits the Hall of the High Council; seat of the Empire's true power."
     "What about the Emperor?"
     "That is a story for another time.  However, you can see the Imperial palace at the end of the long broad parade grounds."  He waited for her to take it all in; waited for her to declare her feelings.
     "It's..."  she shook her head, her eyes wide.  "It's awful damn big."
     "Seats of Empires are rarely found in small hovels."  he scoffed; but gently.
     "Can I really belong to... this?"  Her question was more to herself, than to him.
     The time was right.  Worf activated another program, then placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around.  There stood a tall Klingon Warrior; taller, even, than Worf.  He wore full battle gear, and the burden of command rank sat easily on his collar and shoulders.  Pride and ferocity were stamped on his face in a way that told you nothing in this life could take those qualities away.  The last time Worf's eyes rested on that face, a very different look resided there; but that was a burden he and he alone would bear.  "This,"  he said in a hushed voice, "was your father."
     "Oh."  Dru breathed, her voice quavering slightly.  "Oh."  she repeated, and took a small step toward the figure.  She reached out to touch it, but (naturally) her hand passed right through.  Alive, dead; these things had been theories to her up until now.  Her father had been no more real that any other fairy tale.  Now, though, that he had a face, the weight of the situation made her sink to her knees.  "Take it away."  she whispered, sniffing loudly.
     "He was a good man, and a fine Warrior.  I feel he would have been proud to know you."
     The old bitterness rose in her gullet, but never made it up any farther.  She was tired of hating, and tired of fighting.  Wiping her nose, she raised her eyes to look at the image again.  "He was very tall."
     "Yes."
     "Do..."  gathering her feet under her, she stood.  "Do I look a little like him?"
     "A little."  He agreed.  "Particularly when you are being stubborn."
     She laughed a little at that, as he had hoped she would.  He deactivated the program, and she uttered another little "Oh!" tinged with a smidgen of regret.  When she turned to face him, he handed her the cube containing the portrait.  Then, he handed her a flat bundle wrapped in a hide.
     Dru shoved the cube in her pocket, and carefully unwrapped the bundle.  It was a knife.  The blade was shiny, but slightly nicked, and the haft was worn smooth.  "His?"  she looked up at Worf.
     "It was."  He affirmed, and showed her how to use the device that snapped the side blades into position.
     It was a curious thing to Dru, to be holding this thing her father had held.  The knife, when used as either a weapon or a tool, must have been the focal point of so many strong emotions.  She laid the flat, cool, blade against her cheek, and could almost feel those emotions surging through her.  A thought occurred to her, and she suddenly held it far away from her.  "This isn't the knife he-"
     "No."  he assured her.  "A ritual knife was used."  A true Klingon child would not have thought twice about accepting the knife their father had taken honorable death by, but he knew she couldn't help the sensibilities formed after all those years among humans.
     "Good."  she nodded, folded in the side blades, and tucked the knife into her belt.  "Thank you.  I guess I will have to get a sheath to keep it in."
     "We will look for one, tomorrow.  Just now, it is time to eat and talk and think."
     Dru had no trouble agreeing to that.  With a final look at the spectacular sight of a Qonos sunset, she let him end the program and lead the way.

*******
 

     It took an additional day to set up all the particulars for the adoption, but things progressed smoothly.  She even had a pleasant lunch with Jake, though she felt he kept himself a little distant; and the sight of her new knife seemed to make him a little edgy.
     "So you're a regular full-fledged Klingon now, huh?"  he asked, picking at his Ramen noodles.
     "Yeah, right."  she scoffed.  "I'm starting to think I've just found a whole new race of people ready to kick my ass."
     "But for a Klingon, that's kind of a plus."
     She laughed at his joke, but noticed she was laughing more than he was.  "Is something wrong?"  she asked, her smile fading.
     "Hmm?  No."  He flashed her a quick smile, and sipped her drink.  Something about that laugh of hers set off all kinds of alarm bells in his head.  He quickly put his finger on what was wrong with it:  there wasn't but a trace of humanity in it.  What had kept her going out, day after day, to meet up with new attacks?  Her mother had to make her stay inside, to avoid further beatings.  Did she enjoy the confrontation?  The challenge?  Was there something more, than just human spirit and stubbornness?  "Has Worf introduced you to gaugh, yet?"
     Dru wrinkled her nose in distaste.  "I told him unless he wanted to thread a few of those babies on a hook and go fishing, I didn't want to even look at them."
     He laughed with her, but he watched her a little more carefully.

*******

     After a peaceful night's sleep, the day arrived.
     Only a few days ago, Dru had no clear thoughts but bitterness.  Now, as she stood beside Worf in front of Captain Sisko, she actually had the kind of hope that didn't feel like a fairy tale.  The adoption procedures were finalized, authorized, and duly witnessed.  After a lifetime of wondering how it would be, Drusilla Cavanaugh was going to get the chance to get used to the idea of having a father.  Dax had insisted on holding a small reception, to celebrate.  Making a circuit of the room, Worf proudly introduced her to one friend after another.  She kept waiting for something to feel fake or forced, but the moment seemed as genuine as any she'd ever known.  It made her feel kind of sore inside, like the way a scab tugs and stings when a wound begins to heal.
      Jake was there, but he seemed a little uncomfortable.  Dru had wanted to talk to Dax before she saw him again, but she felt so full of good luck, she was sure nothing bad could happen.
     "Congratulations."  he said, when she was able to get away from Worf and approach him.  "I'm sure it'll all turn out great, for you."
     "I think so, too."  she agreed.  "Listen; do you want to meet up later?"
     Jake glanced around a bit, then set down the drink he was holding.  "I was wanting to talk to you about that, but... I don't think this is the time."
     "What?  Is something wrong?"
     "Dru, I don't want to get into it, around all these people."
     The uncomfortable glances, the way he avoided her eyes,- she began to have an idea of what was wrong.  Some of her friends had acted this way, at the beginning of the Klingon aggression.  "Afraid I'll go into hysterics, or dissolve into tears?" she said, her voice low and steady.  "It's OK, Jake.  I'm a big girl.  I've been ditched before.  I just ask that you have the courtesy to tell me why."
     He just hung his head even lower, glancing up now and then to see if she was still there.
     "Is it because of the other night?"  she asked.  "I didn't mean it, Jake.  I just wasn't paying attention.  It wouldn't have to happen again."
     "Yes it would,"  he said, "if you were going to feel comfortable enough with me to be yourself."
     She nodded.  "And me being myself is just a little too barbaric for you."
     "No!  I mean; there's nothing wrong with you, or me.  We're just too different, is all."
     "We need to stick with our own kind."
     "Yeah.  I mean, no."  He didn't know how to get the disgusted look off her face.  What's more, he wasn't too sure he didn't deserve it.  "I really like you, Dru.  I just don't think..."  he sighed.  "You'd always have to be concentrating on being careful, and I'd always be watching you, and... I just don't think it would work.  If I could change things, I would; but I can't.  But that doesn't mean we can't still be friends."  He knew that last bit earned the look of disbelief on her face.  "Sorry."  he managed to say, shrugging and making his miserable escape.
     She watched him go, letting everything roll over her in a wave.  "It's not fair."  she whispered; words broken by a swallowed sob.  "It's not fair."
     "Of course not."  a soft voice answered.
     Dru looked up to see Dax beside her, herding her to a slightly more secluded corner.  "You-?"
     "I think I can figure out what happened."  Dax smiled sympathetically.  "I know Jake Sisko.  There isn't a mean bone in his body.  This is just one of those things."
     "Why did my parents even have me?  Didn't they even think for one moment how messed up this would be?  Any way I turn, I just can't win."
     "That's not true.  You won something today, didn't you?"
     "Yeah, but everything's so hard."
     Dax shrugged.  "Life is hard.  You loose one set of problems, and you end up with a whole new set.  And yes, life is unfair.  Nature's unfair.  This is just one example."
     "I guess."  she drooped a little, feeling deflated.  "I finally meet someone who doesn't care about Klingons politically, and biology gets in the way.  And I can't explain it to him, because I don't even understand it."
     Dax studied the younger girl for a moment, and wondered how she didn't see it before.  Then, after so many lives where she'd listened to so many parents and swore so many times she would never use the same words, the ageless echoes issued from her mouth.  "Dru, when you get to a certain age, you begin to have... feelings.  Now you  might find these feelings confusing, but there's no reason to worry or be ashamed.  It's completely natural..."

******

     After only a few weeks to train his adopted charge, Worf would not have chosen to introduce her to the head of the House so soon; but Martok had heard of the adoption, and was in the area anyway.
     "Stand up straight!"  he whispered tersely.
     "If I stand any straighter, I'll fall over backwards!"
     "Do not contradict me!  And see that you show General Martok the proper respect!"
     Dru shot him a border-line defiant glance, and mumbled "Yes, Father."
     A small smile tugged at Worf's mouth, but he was able to quell it.  There had been some horrific fights, sulking, and general stubbornness, but he found her strength of will actually encouraging.  And there was the way she said "father".  It was so... possessive.  He didn't know why he liked it, he just did.
     With a hiss, the airlock opened and an irresistible force moved through it.  "Worf!"  it cried, obviously pleased.
     "General Martok."  Worf greeted back, nodding slightly.
     Martok nudged forward a little, then turned to glare at the young Klingon who had bumped him from behind.  Leaning into Worf he whispered "My sister's son, Kich."  and rolled his single eye.  After it's lofty arc, the eye rested on Dru.  "So.  Is this the new Daughter of Worf?"
     Dru bowed her head slightly, as she had been taught, and Worf presented her to the General.
     "I do see some family resemblance."  Martok peered into her face, taking a measure of her will.  When she lifted her chin slightly, and gave him a look that said she did not take kindly to being examined like a specimen, he gave a soft, pleased chuckle.  "qavan'a',"  he spoke the name Worf had given her; a Klingon pronunciation of Cavanaugh, "would you be so kind as to take my nephew on a tour of the station?  Your father and I have some matters to discuss."
     "Of course, my lord."  she answered, with just the right inflection and nod.  Then, she turned to Kich and said "This way, sir."
     Kich looked a little confused, then smiled craftily and followed Dru.  Worf watched, a little worried at that smile.  Indeed, they hadn't gotten much more then ten paces away, when Kich leaned in and whispered something that caused Dru to stiffen and miss a step.  Martok held up a hand to silence Worf, then chuckled with satisfaction when Dru reached across and smacked Kich upside the head.
     "My lord,"  Worf began, wincing when she stuck again.
     "Oh, it's just flirting, Worf.  It's harmless."  Martok assured him; a nostalgic look in his eye.
     "But she may not understand-"
     Another head swat nearly made Martok guffaw with delight.  "She seems to understand, quite well."
     They proceeded down the corridor; Kich and Dru engrossed in intermittent tour and battle, and Worf and Martok following at a distance.  The old General's eye twinkled, in contrast to Worf's worried eyes.  At one point, the young Klingons took the turbo lift, while the older ones took the route to ops.  It was at that moment, Worf rediscovered the art of prayer.
     As the younger pair emerged on the promenade and continued their tour, they came under the gaze of another pair of eyes.  This pair wasn't nostalgic or worried, but maybe just a little bit regretful, and a little bit hopeful.  After all, one does wish all the best, for one's friends.

END