She hadn't thought it would be like this. All these thoughts, emotions - all of it unfamiliar and strangely disconcerting. Curzon's voice was the loudest in her head. Jadzia had expected that. Jadzia held her hand up. It looked the same as it had prior to joining and in fact, it felt the same too.
"How do you feel?" the attendant asked. Jadzia opened her mouth, but for the first time in years, she could not find the right words. There were too many opinions competing for attention.
Finally, Jadzia settled on a simple, "I'll be fine."
Or so she hoped.
They could have left the lights on, but by silent and tacit agreement, the room remained dark.
"Old - Jadzia," Sisko said.
"What is it?" Jadzia asked. She sounded normal. Sisko pulled up the sheet, covering his bare chest. He refused to look at the beautiful woman lying next to him.
"I don't know what came over me," Sisko confessed.
"Yes, you do," Jadzia propped herself up on an elbow. "Old feelings have a funny way of resurfacing."
"Old man - damn, I can't think of you like that anymore."
"You know why."
"But you and Curzon ?"
She had spent twenty minutes obsessively scrubbing but still, Dax felt dried blood on her hands. But she would not give Sisko the courtesy of acknowledging guilt.
"Something to say, Ben?" she asked.
"I don't know where to start," he admitted.
"Yes, you do."
"You don't want to hear what I have to say," he said.
"Probably not, but go ahead."
"No oath justifies murder," Sisko answered harshly.
"Wouldn't you have done the same?" Dax persisted.
Dax looked down at her hands.
"I wish you were wrong," Dax whispered.
Bashir scanned Dax with the tricorder, desperately trying to forget that she had walked in with that Klingon. At least Worf was gone now, giving them time alone.
"Well?" Bashir asked.
"You know what happened," Dax replied..
Bashir turned off the tricorder.
"You can return to active duty," he said.
Dax put her hand on Bashir's forearm.
"Julian," she said softly. "Are you okay?"
"I have to be, don't I?" Bashir quirked a grin. "Klingons mate for life, don't they?"
"Are you serious about him?"
"I won't hurt him."
"That's what I thought," Bashir said.
Bashir stood in front of Dax's door. He rang for entry and after a second, the doors slid open, revealing her. Klingon opera played loudly in the background.
"Hi," Dax said.
" I don't like Klingon opera, I can't tell one end of a bat'leth from another, and I certainly can't stomach gagh," Bashir began.
"And?" Dax asked, obviously puzzled.
"But I'm a good listener," Bashir said. "I thought you might want someone to talk to tonight, even if I'm not Worf."
Dax smiled her first real smile in days.
"Come in," she said. "You're just what the doctor ordered."
The holosuite doors had barely closed before Worf turned to Jadzia and said, "We need to talk."
Jadzia put her bat'leth down; this conversation could take a while. Mentally, she ran through the list of possibilities. She had not eaten breakfast with Captain Boday recently, had not played tongo in a few weeks, and more importantly, she had been properly Klingon for Sirella and Martok's last visit.
"What is it?" she asked, bracing herself for the lecture that was sure to come.
Worf looked uncomfortable.
"I wish to discuss starting a family," Worf said.
"Oh," Jadzia said. "Is that all?"
Jadzia had always wondered and now she knew.
The others had memories of dying and she had carried them with her.
Of course, remembering someone else's death was very different from experiencing your own.
And somehow, dying seemed anticlimactic.
She tried to flex muscles, but none of her limbs responded. She could hear voices, frantic voices, but the words were jumbled in her mind.
There was only the light. The bright light all of her previous hosts recalled.
She recognized the voice. Curzon. He held out a hand.
"No," she said softly.
"Yes," he answered. "It's time."
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