Martok couldn't help the proud grin that crept onto his face as he took in the sight of his adopted grandson. Gone was the clumsy youth who could barely balance a bat'leth or speak his people's language. The Alexander Rozhenko who stood tall in front of him now was a skilled and respected warrior. A credit to his ship, who had been decorated for his accomplishments aboard the battle cruiser Ya'Vang.

"You've grown." Martok's words echoed that of Worf's when he had first laid eyes on his son after five years.

"Yes, General as I have many times been told." Alexander smirked as he looked down at the older Klingon who sat behind his desk. "Though until I heard the news about Jadzia I was surprised to be reassigned to the Rotarran." Alexander glanced around the sparsely lit office aboard the Rotarran. There wasn't much for furniture save the General's desk and chair; and like most Klingons, Martok had inherited his father's bat'leth which he kept mounted on the wall behind him. He wondered what the old man would think of his son now. Martok had raised himself up from the surf station to which he had been born to an accomplished warrior whose name was revered across the Empire.

"Jadzia…an awful thing to happen to as great a warrior as she. Your father on the other hand has been surprisingly tight-lipped about the matter…at least when it comes to me." Martok squinted his lone eye and for the first time noticed the bruise on Alexander's left cheek. "Tell me have you spoken to your father since your return?" As if he didn't already know.

"Yes, I have. He was in a foul mood and I seemed to only make it worse." Alexander rubbed the left side of his face.

"Ah, well I hope you do not hold it against him." Martok knew how fragile Worf's relationship was with his son. In many ways it reminded Martok of his own son, Drex. They too had had their trouble when Drex was a boy.

"That was the first time my father's ever struck me. But no, I will not hold it against him. I can only imagine how he feels… to experience something like this again." Alexander shook his head.

"You're referring to your mother? You were very young when she crossed into StoVokor."
"I had not yet reached the age of Ascension." The younger Klingon pushed the image of his mother's frail body covered in her own blood out of his mind as quickly as it had come.

"I am curious, you never answered my question before."

"General?" Alexander stepped forward trying to remember what Martok could be referring to.

"Your father told me that you never wanted to be a warrior, what changed? And before you say that it is a private matter let me remind you that we are family now. We don't keep secrets from one another." Alexander's shoulders sank as he watched the older man lean back in his chair and cross his arms; there was no way out of it this time. He had never spoken of his reasons for joining the Klingon Defense Force to anyone. Since his assignment on the Ya'Vang began he hadn't thought about incident that had left him with no choice but to leave Earth.

"Well, sir…there was a girl…"

Clams, Sisko smirked as he looked down at the three thirty-pound clam filled drums that had just arrived from one of his fathers' vendors. Leave it to his dad to think of this; ever since Ben was a boy a drum of clams had been his last saving grace. There was something about cleaning them that brought him resolution. Which was something he desperately needed at the moment. He felt more lost than he ever had before. The prophets were right, they had always been right. If only he had listened Bejor wouldn't be left adrift without their prophets, Jadzia would never have been hurt, the Federation and their Allies wouldn't be on the verge of annihilation, and he wouldn't be here now staring at a drum of clams.

"Well here's to a resolution." Ben sighed and bent down to pick up a drum and sat it on his right shoulder. As he walked outside to the back alley his mind went to the last day he saw Jadzia. After the meeting with Dr. Triss, Sisko had gone to see his friend for himself. Jadzia had been sitting up on the bio-bed, she'd looked frightened, confused…lost and it was all his fault. He'd tried to make pleasantries, introduced himself but she had looked on him as one would a stranger. 'Jadzia, I know you don't remember me but I swear to you I will find a way to make things right! I'll make Dukat pay for his betrayal, but most of all I'll make him pay for what he did to you!' She hadn't responded and recoiled when he put a reaffirming hand on her shoulder.

He had to make things right, he just didn't know how. Without the prophet's guidance or Dax's advice he had no one to turn to. No one who could make the right path clear. Once outside he set the clams down and went about gathering large bowls, two for water and one for the clean clams. Once he was done he sat down and started. First, he would dunk a clam in the water, then scrub the grime off of it, dunk it in the second bowl, and drop it in third. He was halfway done with the first drum when Jake came outside. "Grandpa's ready to close the restaurant."

"I'll be in soon." Sisko hadn't looked up, in fact he hadn't looked anyone in the eye since leaving the station. Whenever he tried he was afraid someone would see his shame. 'What a little bitch you've turned into Benjamin,' Kurzon's voice broke through the chaos of his mind. 'Is this the example I set for you? Wallowing in self-pity and whining about what people will think of you now? You're mortal, you make mistakes just like the rest but I've never seen a mistake that couldn't be rectified, you just have to get creative!'

"Easier said than done, old man." Sisko shook his head and tossed a well brushed clam into the clean bucket; he was sure of it now…he would need more clams.