Ezri didn't look very much like Jadzia. You could draw a comparison (blue eyes, black hair, pale skin), but it would always be surface level. The two women had a different presence, different paghs. (But by the Prophets, sometimes Kira would look at Ezri and think, Jadzia's pagh is in there, my fiery, passionate wife, smothered by pragmatism and nerves.) It was jarring. (Jarring would never explain it.)
At the beginning, Kira had vivid nightmares about Ezri. Every evening she doused herself in calming teas and turned under standard issue grey sheets. At some point the Cardassian mattresses slipped into Bajoran fields. And up, awake, running from the enemy on gangly fourteen year old limbs. Weeds and rocks and dust were searing under more fucking phaser fire and those spoonheads were ruining every last inch of her planet and she needed a gun and there was Ezri. Somehow, the gun was inside of her. Right above the symbiont. And like a good little terrorist, Kira took it out.
She imagined going into Ezri, telling her about the nightmares. Or walking past Ezri in the counselling offices (repurposed Cardassian guest quarters), watching her wonder what the hell she was doing here. She went the temple instead. Breathed in deep and whispered out her confusions to her gods.
The small blessing, the little piece of hope is that Bajoran nightmares are generally very short, like human dreams. (Once Jadzia told her that Trill dreams could be an hour long. A whole world could live and die in her dreams. Not one to turn away from sentiment, Jadzia had looked her in the eyes and said, "For a Trill, it's very important who we choose to sleep next to.")
This wasn't the worst way she coped with grief.
"Kasidy, I need you to be honest with me. Is this ridiculous? I'm being ridiculous. This is," Kira started pacing around her quarters, "this is madness. I'm the problem here."
"I think, when you talk to Jadzia, you need to tell Ezri. Don't spring it on her. She's had enough sprung on her. But no, you're not crazy."
Kira grabbed at air around her like with the ferocity usually reserved for Starfleet admirals. "When? When?"
"Yes, when." Kira melted. Kasidy stood up and extended her arms. A funny universality across species. "I talk to my half-dead husband through another culture's religious artefacts. There's no madness left for you."
Kira called Ezri to the commander's office – Ben's office – to ask. Could I be a part of this? Would you let me see my wife again? Just once; I promise.
Instead she asked Ezri to summarize a proposal for providing long distance counselling services to Bajoran and Federation relief workers on Cardassia.
She invited Ezri to dinner in her quarters. Casual.
"Ezri," she stumbled, "I have a request."
Ezri sipped spice wine. "Would it have anything to do with my Zhiantara?"
Kira and Jadzia couldn't have their time right away. It would make the guardian suspicious. A few wars and the Trill were clinging ever desperately to the minority chance at immortality. Some part of Kira felt sick, hypocritical. (The Orbs were indiscriminate to status; it wasn't the same.) But she loved her wife as much as her ideals and at some point we all became collaborators –
Jadzia washed into her with all the smoothness of Risian liquor. All Kira felt was calm. She was becoming smaller, but happier. She could stop anytime she wanted to; why would she stop? Her wife was beside her once more, for another forever.
It was –
It was.
It was Jadzia's smile playing across her face as she said, "The new Dax. I'm already impressed."
And Ezri dropped the layers of comfort she gained with her joining as she spilled out her anxiety at being the wrong Dax, the any-warm-bodied-Trill addition to the line.
Kira was floating. She felt Jadzia running her hands through her hair, caressing her cheek. She watched her own face from Jadzia's eyes. J
Kira smiled.
When Ezri clasped both of her shoulders and pulled her in for a hug, she was still smiling.