For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known - Corinthians 13:12
“The truth is,” Curzon had confessed, “You weren’t a little girl back when you were an Initiate. You were a brilliant and beautiful young woman. Very beautiful.”
Long after Jadzia’s zhian-tara, she would occasionally recall her old mentor’s confession. All of Dax’s prior hosts, fluidly interlinked as they were within the symbiont nestled inside of her made her who she was, yet her former mentor had unexpectedly become such an integral and occasionally overwhelming aspect of her fundamental personality, sometimes Jadzia would forget she wasn’t Curzon.
Perhaps it was merely because he was her most immediate predecessor…or perhaps it was because Curzon had always been such a charismatic man full of such ’joie de vivre’ (as the Terran’s say), that he simply had more life left to express, and thus, in those moments of ego-sublimation, he organically projected himself into the more diaphanous; less fleshed out corners of her nature.
Sometimes, when she would sit in front of her vanity, alone in her quarters at night, brushing her hair, she would look into the mirror and see, not quite herself, but someone so lovely it made her heart ache.
Lela was her easy confidence. Tobin, her caution. Emony, her endurance. Audrid, her warmth. Torias, her capacity for deep, enduring love. Joran, her darkness. But Curzon? Curzon was, in a sense, her fire, her spirit…and in many ways she felt somewhat discomfited by at times, that latent element of narcissism she didn’t care to look at too closely. Curzon himself had always bordered on the arrogant side, which naturally, Jadzia had to suppress upon occasion, but this wasn’t quite the explanation.
No, it was his surviving affection and admiration for her that bled into her mind in those rare moments she would look at her reflection–a reflection seen through Curzon’s eyes.
He’d given her so much. First as her friend and mentor, and now, as that most cherished and instrumental part of her psyche, and she longed to give something of herself back to him; although, she wasn’t altogether sure whether she was compelled by her own, autonomous sense of compassion, or whether it was Curzon’s uninhibited yet unbidden yearning that tugged at her, but regardless, she needed to do this.
It was a bit surreal standing there in the holosuite, in the reproduction of her own quarters staring at herself–at her own reproduction, but when she reached for the hologram’s hand, it was warm, and so were her lips as they met in the first tentative brush of a kiss.
Jadzia pulled away just slightly, enough to bring her hand up to cup the other’s chin.
“I love you, Jadzia,” Jadzia heard herself say, her confession Curzon’s to voice. His heart beat inside her, achingly fond and searing with long-kept desire.
Jadzia’s mirror image brightened in a smile; a smile she/he cherished dearly. “I love you too,” the hologram replied.
Jadzia–no, Curzon, took the hologram’s hand and led her to bed, and as Jadzia made love to her own form, this chimera made of no more than photons and holomatter, she felt Curzon’s passion and love pulse through her own orgasm.
In the end, as Jadzia lay there curled against Jadzia / Curzon’s cherishing arms wrapped around the physical embodiment of his love, she heard Curzon whisper inside her head; a whisper only for her to hear: