She was dead. They killed her. He killed her. Murdered by the hands of the Dominion. Or, to be precise, Gul-Dukat. He was a traitor to his own people as well as everyone he ever knew. A mind warped by the Pah-wraiths and the need to destroy the Bajorans and their Emissary, Sisko. Jadzia had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Worf let out an almighty roar of anguish, pain and sorrow. It was a deafening noise that reverberated throughout his Nexus apartment, while his head was snapped back, teeth bared and eyes wet with tears. Did Klingons cry? Oh, they most certainly did when one of their mates was murdered without honour by a coward Cardassian. His apartment lay in ruins, all of his nearest possessions scattered on the floor in disarray. A mirror smashed in his bathroom and his bed sheets ripped up in fierce, primal anger. Feathers from his pillow strewn about the floor.

He was a mess.

Clutched in his hand was one of his Mek'leth knives, intent on being thrust into Dukat's cold Cardassian heart for what he did to his mate; his wife. Jadzia Dax. His Jadzia. The emotion was just too strong to bare as he sunk to his knees and roared again; a pitiful wail of grief. He was alone. The knife dropping to the floor in useless abandon as he could not find the energy to use the PINpoint and seek out revenge back on DS9. He just wanted to mourn her in the Klingon way. A new warrior departing for the Klingon after life, Sto'vo'kor.

No doubt the wailing and roaring would awake other Nexus residents since it is now early evening and Worf had pretty much been screaming for hours.

[Mumbling quietly]

I hate surprise parties.