Familiar (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Ezri, PG)
Written as a yuletide treat, 2012.
Days like today make you wonder about Trills who don’t have many friends; it must be odd, you think, to have strangers or even acquaintances stepping into this role for you, or to have to request that extra guardians arrive from the homeworld to fulfil this function.
You are uncomfortably aware of how many of your friends are familiar with the ritual, have done it before. You make a point of mismatching; you ask Miles if he’ll embody Lela, your first host. You wait until he’s on the station to make the request; he looks uncomfortable at the idea of channelling one of Dax’s female hosts, but you know he’s not going to say no to you after having travelled all the way from Earth.
You ask Jake if he’ll embody Torias; you want to snap at him for the space-sickness, among other things, and you don’t want Julian taking on that host again. You ask Julian if he’ll be Emony, instead; he, too, looks surprised, but he doesn’t push it, just nods and presses a kiss against your lips.
You are nervous. You know you are not the first of Dax’s hosts to be nervous about the zhian’tara, but you throw up before the guardian arrives. And after.
Then it begins.
Miles was a good choice for Lela; he puts you at ease instantly. Then Nog joins you, to embody Tobin; you can see it written all over his face how honoured he is to have been included. He hovers afterwards, wanting reassurance; “You were wonderful,” you say, squeezing his hand.
You watch Emony, in Julian, stretch out. “I always do this,” she says through him, smiling in a way that is entirely un-Julian. “This body’s reflexes are extraordinary.”
“I’ll make sure to pass that along,” you say, and then flinch. “She said that to you the last time, didn’t she?”
Emony shrugs. “You’d be surprised at how much gets repeated at these things. We’re not really all that different, you know.”
You might be more inclined to believe this if she wasn’t mid-handstand at the time.
Audrid comes to you through Kira, and you know you were right to have asked her; this wouldn’t have suited her years ago but it does now. She has carried a child; she has loved, she has lost. Audrid looks at you like a mother and you know there is a hint of Kira still aware there.
Next Torias; the sauntering suits Jake and you can’t help but smile. And then Joran - Worf embodies him and just like Jadzia, you have force fields in place. But Joran doesn’t scare you; you’ve faced him before and he’s lost his power to intimidate you. Worf shudders, afterwards; “He is not worthy of the Dax symbiont,” he declares.
“Smart girl,” Curzon says, nodding in approval, when he is channelled into Quark’s body; you go drinking in the bar and play tongo.
“Are you enjoying your zhian’tara?” he asks, after he’s won several games in a row; you suspect that Quark is re-emerging just enough to let Curzon know just what weaknesses to look for, and that Curzon is letting him.
“I’m not sure,” you say, honestly. “This must be very familiar to you.”
Curzon frowns. “The bar, you mean? The station?”
“All of it. It’s all been done before, hasn’t it?” You’re a little closer to weepy than you realised.
“Ezri,” Curzon says, leaning in close, “the best things in life have an awful lot in common. Good food, good women…” He grins here, and again you’re not quite sure if there’s a flicker of Quark in there or not. “It doesn’t make them any less extraordinary.”
You’re not entirely sure you agree with him, but you let him continue to make proclamations until it’s time for the last Dax host.
You throw up before this, too.
Kasidy squeezes your hand before you begin. “Thank you for including me,” she says. “I wish Ben could be here.”
“Me too,” you say. And then: “But I’m glad it’s you.” Kasidy is your friend more than she ever was Jadzia’s; you’ve grown closer since Ben vanished and she may be the one person out of all of the others here who can be counted on not to fall to pieces when Jadzia’s memories start flooding in.
When Kasidy opens her eyes, after the guardian has finished the transfer, you know even before questions are asked that it is done.
“Excuse me,” you say, and you know this is the last thing you are supposed to do, but you step outside, venture out onto the promenade.
And it is yours. All yours. All the memories you have are Ezri memories, and although you can remember looking at this station through familiar eyes, you can only see it now as it has been for Ezri. For you. Free of layers of associations, of Jadzia’s memories, and you need to gather all your strength before you go back inside because otherwise it would be dangerously tempting to stay out here forever.
Kasidy is waiting for you, Jadzia looking out from behind her eyes. “Ezri,” she says, and there’s a smile on her face.
It surprises you that she’s smiling, and it’s only then that you understand just how terrified you’ve been of this moment.
“Jadzia,” you say, and can’t help but smile back.
“How’s Worf?” is the first thing she asks, and her voice cracks a little and you feel the prickle of tears at the back of your eyes.
“He’s - Worf,” you say, and she smiles like she knows what you mean, which she does, of course, and this is so strange, stranger than any of the others.
You tell her about Benjamin; it is an odd thing to say to someone in Kasidy’s body and your shoulders tense up at the tangledness of your life. And then you tell her about Julian; she laughs and says, “Wow. And he hasn’t driven you crazy yet?”
You giggle, and for a moment it is as though you are two friends, having a normal conversation about love interests and life. Then it slips away again.
“Do you resent me?” you ask. Because this is the question you need to ask. You need to know if you are living too much of Jadzia’s life. If all of this is a pale shadow of her bright and glorious and vivacious existence.
Jadzia, inside Kasidy, shakes her head. “I wish things had been different. I wanted a long life, Ezri. I wanted children with Worf, and to make lots of scientific discoveries, and to die happily in my bed at a hundred and two.” She smiles. “But this is why we do it, isn’t it?” She reaches out and takes your hand. “We’re both going to be around for a long, long time.”
And you realise the other question you need to ask, this one of yourself: do you resent Jadzia? But as soon as it forms you know the answer. You can’t. She’s a part of you.
“Now let’s go to Quark’s,” Jadzia says, mischievously, and you see that bit of Curzon in her.
None of the Dax hosts is independent, lives a life that is not hopelessly entangled with the others. Is this what the zhian’tara does, teaches people this?
You never asked for this. Never wanted it. But you don’t resent it.
You smile at Jadzia and ask if she’s ready to return to you.
Later, in Kira’s quarters, you all gather: it is rare that both Worf and Miles are back on the station at the same time, and it feels right to toast to absent friends. To Benjamin, wherever he is. To Odo, with his people. To Rom and Leeta, still on Feranginar. And to Jadzia, who is gone but not-gone, who is part of you but not-you, and you raise your glass to her.
Days like today make you wonder about Trills who don’t have many friends; it must be odd, you think, to have strangers or even acquaintances stepping into this role for you, or to have to request that extra guardians arrive from the homeworld to fulfil this function.
You are uncomfortably aware of how many of your friends are familiar with the ritual, have done it before. You make a point of mismatching; you ask Miles if he’ll embody Lela, your first host. You wait until he’s on the station to make the request; he looks uncomfortable at the idea of channelling one of Dax’s female hosts, but you know he’s not going to say no to you after having travelled all the way from Earth.
You ask Jake if he’ll embody Torias; you want to snap at him for the space-sickness, among other things, and you don’t want Julian taking on that host again. You ask Julian if he’ll be Emony, instead; he, too, looks surprised, but he doesn’t push it, just nods and presses a kiss against your lips.
You are nervous. You know you are not the first of Dax’s hosts to be nervous about the zhian’tara, but you throw up before the guardian arrives. And after.
Then it begins.
Miles was a good choice for Lela; he puts you at ease instantly. Then Nog joins you, to embody Tobin; you can see it written all over his face how honoured he is to have been included. He hovers afterwards, wanting reassurance; “You were wonderful,” you say, squeezing his hand.
You watch Emony, in Julian, stretch out. “I always do this,” she says through him, smiling in a way that is entirely un-Julian. “This body’s reflexes are extraordinary.”
“I’ll make sure to pass that along,” you say, and then flinch. “She said that to you the last time, didn’t she?”
Emony shrugs. “You’d be surprised at how much gets repeated at these things. We’re not really all that different, you know.”
You might be more inclined to believe this if she wasn’t mid-handstand at the time.
Audrid comes to you through Kira, and you know you were right to have asked her; this wouldn’t have suited her years ago but it does now. She has carried a child; she has loved, she has lost. Audrid looks at you like a mother and you know there is a hint of Kira still aware there.
Next Torias; the sauntering suits Jake and you can’t help but smile. And then Joran - Worf embodies him and just like Jadzia, you have force fields in place. But Joran doesn’t scare you; you’ve faced him before and he’s lost his power to intimidate you. Worf shudders, afterwards; “He is not worthy of the Dax symbiont,” he declares.
“Smart girl,” Curzon says, nodding in approval, when he is channelled into Quark’s body; you go drinking in the bar and play tongo.
“Are you enjoying your zhian’tara?” he asks, after he’s won several games in a row; you suspect that Quark is re-emerging just enough to let Curzon know just what weaknesses to look for, and that Curzon is letting him.
“I’m not sure,” you say, honestly. “This must be very familiar to you.”
Curzon frowns. “The bar, you mean? The station?”
“All of it. It’s all been done before, hasn’t it?” You’re a little closer to weepy than you realised.
“Ezri,” Curzon says, leaning in close, “the best things in life have an awful lot in common. Good food, good women…” He grins here, and again you’re not quite sure if there’s a flicker of Quark in there or not. “It doesn’t make them any less extraordinary.”
You’re not entirely sure you agree with him, but you let him continue to make proclamations until it’s time for the last Dax host.
You throw up before this, too.
Kasidy squeezes your hand before you begin. “Thank you for including me,” she says. “I wish Ben could be here.”
“Me too,” you say. And then: “But I’m glad it’s you.” Kasidy is your friend more than she ever was Jadzia’s; you’ve grown closer since Ben vanished and she may be the one person out of all of the others here who can be counted on not to fall to pieces when Jadzia’s memories start flooding in.
When Kasidy opens her eyes, after the guardian has finished the transfer, you know even before questions are asked that it is done.
“Excuse me,” you say, and you know this is the last thing you are supposed to do, but you step outside, venture out onto the promenade.
And it is yours. All yours. All the memories you have are Ezri memories, and although you can remember looking at this station through familiar eyes, you can only see it now as it has been for Ezri. For you. Free of layers of associations, of Jadzia’s memories, and you need to gather all your strength before you go back inside because otherwise it would be dangerously tempting to stay out here forever.
Kasidy is waiting for you, Jadzia looking out from behind her eyes. “Ezri,” she says, and there’s a smile on her face.
It surprises you that she’s smiling, and it’s only then that you understand just how terrified you’ve been of this moment.
“Jadzia,” you say, and can’t help but smile back.
“How’s Worf?” is the first thing she asks, and her voice cracks a little and you feel the prickle of tears at the back of your eyes.
“He’s - Worf,” you say, and she smiles like she knows what you mean, which she does, of course, and this is so strange, stranger than any of the others.
You tell her about Benjamin; it is an odd thing to say to someone in Kasidy’s body and your shoulders tense up at the tangledness of your life. And then you tell her about Julian; she laughs and says, “Wow. And he hasn’t driven you crazy yet?”
You giggle, and for a moment it is as though you are two friends, having a normal conversation about love interests and life. Then it slips away again.
“Do you resent me?” you ask. Because this is the question you need to ask. You need to know if you are living too much of Jadzia’s life. If all of this is a pale shadow of her bright and glorious and vivacious existence.
Jadzia, inside Kasidy, shakes her head. “I wish things had been different. I wanted a long life, Ezri. I wanted children with Worf, and to make lots of scientific discoveries, and to die happily in my bed at a hundred and two.” She smiles. “But this is why we do it, isn’t it?” She reaches out and takes your hand. “We’re both going to be around for a long, long time.”
And you realise the other question you need to ask, this one of yourself: do you resent Jadzia? But as soon as it forms you know the answer. You can’t. She’s a part of you.
“Now let’s go to Quark’s,” Jadzia says, mischievously, and you see that bit of Curzon in her.
None of the Dax hosts is independent, lives a life that is not hopelessly entangled with the others. Is this what the zhian’tara does, teaches people this?
You never asked for this. Never wanted it. But you don’t resent it.
You smile at Jadzia and ask if she’s ready to return to you.
Later, in Kira’s quarters, you all gather: it is rare that both Worf and Miles are back on the station at the same time, and it feels right to toast to absent friends. To Benjamin, wherever he is. To Odo, with his people. To Rom and Leeta, still on Feranginar. And to Jadzia, who is gone but not-gone, who is part of you but not-you, and you raise your glass to her.