Dezra Daire (and now truly Dezra Daire again, and not Dezra Dax) woke up, rubbing her eyes and staring up into the bright lights of the DS9 Infirmary overhead. Dr. Julian Bashir came into her field of vision, looking down onto her from above. "How are you feeling, Dezra?"
Dezra made a face. "Well, no voices or visions. Okay, I guess."
Bashir nodded once, not smiling. "You should be experiencing no memories that aren't your own, anymore. The transplant was a success. Allow me to introduce you to ... Yarras Dax." Bashir made a halfhearted motion with one hand, then began to walk towards a wall console, scratching at several days' worth of unshaven beard growth on his chin.
A 30-year-old-looking male Trill with sandy blonde hair and dark brown eyes tipped an imaginary hat as he came to stand beside Dezra's biobed. "Hello."
Dezra looked over at the new Dax host -- the permanent host, her mind corrected her -- and said simply, "Hello." She wondered why she had the sudden urge to run.
Bashir interrupted, returning to stand beside both people. "If you're both feeling all right, I have to pack and get on a transport. This was my last official task as a Starfleet officer."
Dezra blinked but didn't say anything, just looking back at Yarras. Yarras Dax shrugged, either uninterested or unimpressed. "Julian doesn't seem to be handling Ezri's death well."
Bashir grabbed Yarras' tunic and gripped it, angrily speaking under his breath. "Don't even speak her name. You aren't her, and no matter how much you want to pretend to know anything about her, you don't. You're a copy."
Dezra blinked. "Doctor Bashir!" She took a breath and let it out. "Calm down."
"Don't tell me what to do," Bashir snapped at her. "Neither of
you are Ezri. You're just wannabe Daxes." He left the Infirmary angrily, pushing a Bajoran medic out of his way as he went.
Yarras Dax shrugged nonchalantly as he readjusted his shirt. "I don't know what he means. I'm not a poseur." He gave Dezra a smug look. "You'd certainly qualify for that title, though."
Dezra shook her head, looking at Yarras. "Is that Curzon speaking? I wasn't a wannabe. I don't want to be a host again." She looked down at the floor.
Yarras smiled at the young woman. "You keep telling yourself that, Dez. Now that you've had a taste of what it's like to be joined, I imagine you'll be regretting this decision you've just made. I, for one, thank you immensely. Dax is an excellent symbiont to host."
"My aren't we full of ourselves, Yarras." Dezra looked up at him, then looked back down, knowing he was right, but refusing to admit it or ever say
Yarras Dax produced a business card and lay it down next to Dezra. It had the name of a major shipping conglomerate on it, with Yarras Dax's name in gold script. "Self-confidence has gotten me far in the business world, Dezra Daire." Yarras turned to head for the entrance. "If you're ever in the need of my services, give me a call ... I'll even give you a discount, by way of a thank you."
"I was talking arrogance." Dezra looke at the card but didn't pick it up. "Don't let him get too big-headed, Curzon. Haunt him a little." Dezra bit her lip to keep from crying.
"Ugh. That Curzon certainly was quite a bit to handle, wasn't he?" Yarras exited the room, leaving Dezra alone to start crying, as the young Operations Officer for the USS Pegasus thought about how much she would miss Dax ...
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