Author's Note: Many thanks to all of you for the positive response! I'm glad that my Muses are still capable of branching out into other fandoms, especially one that I've always adored. Let's get this party started. As for this fic, while it's still going to be an AU, there will be allusions and full spoilers for episodes scattered throughout it and I hope you guys enjoy the latest.

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

Present Day…

Deep Space Nine had always been striking in its appearance.

A blend of curves and sharp edges, unique in its history, and massive…it hung in space like a big industrial necklace, the lights shining almost as bright as the surrounding stars, as the glacial tones of the nearby wormhole. It was an architectural and aesthetic delight…

Counselor Ezri Dax blinked and turned away from her porthole. Looking into the full length mirror, she straightened to attention, taking in her towel clad reflection. The towel hit the floor with a soft whoosh and she cocked her head in evaluation.

Her skin was still pale but it was obvious that she had been in the elements. Her previously pixie cut onyx hair had returned to its original clavicle length soft waves. When she was on duty, she kept it up in a messy bun via a scavenged Jem'Hadar combat blade. It had been taken from one of the soldiers who had attacked the Infirmary at AR-569, the sister post to AR-558. She had dispatched 7 of the 12, leaving the rest to Dr. Nash and the blade had been an impulse grab before they departed. A trophy, her training informed her. It was like when Earth's World II fighter pilots became Aces or when the Hirogen in the Delta Quadrant kept the carcasses of their Prey. It was tangible proof of survival and a way to keep score against the enemy, a way to remember…

Her lightly calloused fingertips went to her toned abdomen and the now very faint Scar from Dax. That Scar had been hoist upon her as a duty and she had done everything she could to make it fade. A reddish pink sunburst ropy scar that extended from her left hip to just above her knee was anything but faint but Ezri didn't want to soften or fade it. It was raised and more than a little ugly, especially once her spots began to manifest on the tissue, but she wanted to keep it as natural as possible. She had earned that Scar. She had decided to have that Scar. It was hers.

She had been a part of an evacuation team when she collected the wound, aiding diplomats and refugees away from the advancing Dominion troops. She had been on the glancing blow of a disrupter shot. After the rest of the group was free, she had collapsed the tunnel behind her before limping to the transporter coordinates. She had been given a commendation in her record after that mission, along with the Latinum Star and the Starfleet Cross for valor above and beyond the call of duty. She had also been promoted from Lieutenant Junior Grade to Lt. Commander but the new pips didn't mean much to her. She had no interest in climbing up the ladder at the moment. What she wanted to do was live through the War and to continue her personal mission to help others be well…and to be more than the "placeholder" Dax.

She was more than the sum of her parts.

She was more than the sum of her parts.

She had something to prove and she was going to prove it tenfold or die trying.

All of her life, Ezri had felt like she had something to prove. Being Yanas Tigan's only little girl had been a test of mental strength. Actually, being her child in general was a test of mental strength, one that unfortunately, both of her brothers had failed miserably. Janel had written her about the debacle. There had been a woman Morica Bilby extorting the Mine for money and while Yanas and he had been willing to bend over backwards to keep her happy, her younger brother Norvo had decided to take matters into his own hands. He had murdered the woman and had confessed, both out of guilt and out of twisted pride. For once, he was not seen as "the idiot brother" or "the weakling with his head in the clouds". No. He had done what the perfect matriarch Yanas and the perfect older brother Janel had been unable to do. He had solved their biggest problem, a problem that wouldn't have arisen to begin with if Janel hadn't secretly turned to the Orion Syndicate for financial aid. Pergium prices had fallen in the wake of a large Ferengi discovery on Timor II and the Tigan Mines had hit dire financial straits. Janel had done what he had felt was necessary to keep the business afloat and their mother happy…

Norvo was currently serving a 30 year sentence on New Sydney and was on constant suicide watch. Janel had left the Mines and worked on cargo supply lines near the Beta Quadrant border.

She hadn't spoken to her mother since she left Trill after being Joined and quite frankly, Ezri wasn't looking for her. She had much bigger concerns, now.

While her body was now physically adapted to being Joined, her mind was still in chaos at times. Dax had been inside 8 strong willed, distinct people and they all felt like they had a say in her actions. They all had opinions about what she should be doing and who she should be. Ezri was much too young (25) and much too sheltered (daughter and heiress to a Mining fortune) to be of much use without guidance. She needed to listen to them. She needed to…no. The struggle was ongoing but she had taken back most of her mental space. She was the Dax host, now. Whether she or they or anyone else liked it or not (and she certainly didn't like it, even almost a year later), she was the Dax host now and she would do whatever the hell she wanted to do. She would do whoever the hell she wanted to do and she would be whoever the hell she wanted to be. Anyone with a problem would just have to learn to cope with it or leave her alone! She had survived her childhood with her identity and will intact. She'd be damned if it was stolen from her by a glorified leech with an over-inflated ego.

With a resolute nod, she walked away from the mirror and began to get dressed.

/

Ezri Dax was returning to DS9 and would be staying on as a Counselor and if need be, a security officer. She had served with distinction in the field and was now a Lt. Commander. She had published several excellent articles about the mental state of officers in the field and the various coping mechanisms, both positive and negative. Rumor had it that she was being courted by Starfleet Academy to teach there after the War ended (provided that they won the damned War, of course) and that she had her choice of her next assignment until then.

She had immediately picked DS9.

Captain Sisko had accepted her before Admiral Ross could even finish pitching the idea.

She was coming home.

She had chosen to come home…

Dr. Julian Bashir sat in the Replimat, nursing a deep mug of Tarkalean tea. He had just gotten off a 52 hour shift and would be spending the rest of the day in his quarters reading and eventually sleeping. Unbeknownst to the rest of the Senior Staff (except for perhaps Odo), Julian had kept in contact with Ezri after she went to the Front. Mainly, it was by letters (and checking the List every Friday…) but there had been a couple of late night transmissions. She would be in the postage stamp quarters typical of troop transports or in a medical area. Sometimes she'd be in full uniform. Other times, she'd be in a black camisole with her trousers and boots on. Unless someone was assigned to a relatively safe place like DS9 or on one of the Core planets like Vulcan or Earth, no one slept out of full uniform in case they had to fight or evacuate quickly. She would talk to him about her patients (as much as confidentiality would allow) and she'd ask after everyone, even Worf.

He had kept her apprised of what was going on the station, too. The baseball game against Captain Solok had her both in stitches and indignant on her long time friend's behalf. Curzon Dax had witnessed the wrestling match and the ongoing aftermath of the Vulcan's smug gloating firsthand so she understood why Captain Sisko had gone off the rails about it. They had thoroughly lost the game but due to Rom's bunt and the Niners' overall good humor about the situation, they had helped the Captain get one over on the bastard.

Then, he had told her about their Vic's Lounge Heist. Felix had inserted a 'jack-in-the-box' subroutine into the program to have Vic Fontaine's place be taken over by the Mafia. The Senior staff (sans Worf), Kasidy Yates, and Leeta had joined forces to get rid of the intruders in a convoluted, Rube Goldberg machine like plan. There had been many missteps (Miles O'Brien having to be strip searched being the worst…well, that and the safe lock being much more complex than anticipated) but in the end, it had worked out well. Vic was back where he belonged and the Program was safe.

Even with the Dominion War swirling around them and drawing them in, good things had still happened, good things that Julian wished that Ezri could've been a part of.

But, there had been bad things, too.

A string of murders had happened abroad the station. One of the victims had been Lt. Hector Ilario, a young and highly thought of helmsman on the Defiant. Greta Vanderweg and Zim Brott had also been taken. The weapon used had been a TR-116 rifle and each murder had been caused a long distance projectile fired into the victim's hearts. Odo had profiled the killer to be cold, calculated, and very traumatized, provoked by the sight of positive emotions.

The murderer had been Lt. Chu'lak. He had been a science officer on the USS Grissom for 10 years before it was destroyed by the Dominion at Ricktor Prime. He had been one of six survivors out of a crew of 1,250. Nearly everyone he had known, respected, maybe even loved for a decade had been on that ship and their lives had been stolen by the Dominion.

It had been too much for the already unstable man, even with his Vulcan emotional control.

When he had been stopped, the only reason that could be given was that "logic demanded it".

The last Julian had heard, the man had been sent to the healers at Gol before being transferred to a high security mental institution in Australia.

He didn't even want to dwell on the debacle with Sarina Douglas. She had been brought to the station for treatment and he had nearly driven her back into her mute, near catatonic state because he had overwhelmed her with his emotions, his alleged "love". God, he had been so bloody stupid! And so very lonely but mostly bloody fucking stupid, which Ezri had no qualms about telling him when he sheepishly informed her of what happened over a 0249 Sunday com. Her jaw had dropped, she had sputtered, and with a venomous "Julian Subatoi Bashir, what in the living hell were you thinking?!" that rivaled his mother's (and Miles'), she had been off.

It had been a long time since he had been called to the carpet but he didn't mind it. A good friend, a true friend was one who would rip you a new asshole when you needed it before helping to put you back together. His attachment to Sarina had been unhealthy, unethical, and had the young woman just gone along with it to make him happy, cruel. It had been a wakeup call that Julian appreciated and he wished Sarina all the best in her new life. Really, he did…

After the dust settled, the Defiant had been assigned to run supplies and troops to the Front, leading to them being at the last siege of AR-558. Nog had been critically injured on reconnaissance, resulting in a field amputation of his leg. When he returned from physical rehabilitation, the cowed and frightened young man had found solace in the holographic world of Vic Fontaine, to the point of Vic deactivating the program himself. Ezri had advised him on how to look after the young man from that point forward and Nog was much better now. Vic's was now running 26/7/365 and not only was Nog back among the living, their holographic friend could now have a life of his own...

A life of his own…Julian wondered what sort of life he could have. It wasn't too late for him. He was only 34 and barring unforeseen occurrences (like a Jem'Hadar squadron reducing him to subatomic particles), Bashirs easily made it past 100. His great-grandmother Amira had passed away at the age of 128. He had his work. He had hobbies. He had his friends but otherwise, his life really didn't have a lot of depth to it. Part of it was the ingrained sense of having to hold back so no one would ask too many questions. After finding out he had been Enhanced and realizing what dire consequences that could befall him and his parents if found out, he had become an accomplished actor. He had played naive, even stupid when it came to social situations and never really let on just how deep and fast his mind worked until after the Truth came out. The Truth had come out almost 3 years before but it took more than 3 years to undo over 20 years of conditioning.

Another part of it was his complete inability to find the correct partner needed for a more substantial life, meaning a committed relationship with the possibility of children. Marriage wasn't mandatory to him. All it was a piece of legal documentation. What Julian cared about were the sentiments attached to marriage: trust, acceptance, love. He hadn't found the right partner, yet. It was always bad taste, good taste but bad timing, or both. Palis, Melora, the ill fated infatuation with Nerys, Leeta, Sarina…Jadzia…

What truly frightened him about his growing attachment to Ezri Dax was the relevant worry of whether he was subconsciously substituting Ezri for Jadzia Dax, seeing her as a consolation prize, "the next best thing". The very idea was repugnant to him, something that he'd never actively do (unlike Quark and perhaps Worf) but still, it was something to contemplate…

/

"Lt. Commander Ezri Dax reporting for duty, sir."

"At ease, Old Man."

Grinning, Ezri let her ramrod straight posture relax and sat down on the other side of Benjamin Sisko's desk. Unlike the last times she had been in the room, she was feeling utterly serene. She wasn't wrestling with inadequacy or the overwhelming drive to run far, far away from her problems. No, she was just there. She was there to report for her new job and to see her old friend again. Well, Dax's old friend. Hopefully, he would become a friend to Ezri, too…

"You look good, Benjamin. Tired but that's to be expected. How are Jake and Kasidy?"

"They're doing well. Jake's still writing articles for the News Service and he's on his 3rd final draft for his novel. Every time he says he's done, it just keeps growing…"

"It's going to be a smash when it's done. Kasidy?"

"She's taken a supervising position with the Cargo Union. She's their liaison officer, now."

"Oh, she must love that."

"She does, although the paperwork is something she could do without."

"Her and every other person in a position of responsibility…while we're on the subject of responsibility, what's my first assignment?"

"After you settle in, I need you to follow up with Garak and prepare the psychological evaluations of the Senior staff and the Defiant's crew."

"Is it that time of year already?"

"Time flies when you're dodging death, Old Man."

"True. Would you call me a coward if I did them mainly through PADD questionnaires and observation?"

"No, I'd call you sensible."

Snorting ruefully, she looked out at Ops and saw the senior staff "causally" milling about the conference area. Kira Nerys, Miles O'Brien, and Worf were usually stationed there but Nog? Not so much, not to mention Garak and…

Julian's face lit up in a smile at something Miles said and Ezri felt her own lips curve upward in response. They were waiting for her to come out. She knew that Julian would be happy to see her but she wasn't sure about the rest of them. Before she had left, there had been the beginnings of acceptance (albeit grudgingly on her ex-husband's part) but now, things were different. She was different. Only Julian had an idea of who she was now and while she was uncertain about many things still, Ezri knew that she was pretty much the polar opposite of the Dax they knew and loved as a crew member, friend, sister, wife…

Staying on DS9 could and would lead to trouble.

Leaving would be the absolute wrong thing to do, not to mention that it would make her look very unprofessional and flaky amongst the Powers that Be.

It was a conundrum but it was a conundrum of her own making and she'd find a way to make it work out in the end.

It was the acceptable course of action.

Any choices that she made, even the problematic ones were acceptable courses of action because she was the one choosing. Not Lela, Tobin, Emony, Audrid, Torias, Joran, Curzon, or even the all sainted Jadzia…no, she was choosing again. She had control again. Ezri.

Deciding to just rip the band-aid off, Ezri stepped out onto the landing and immediately gazes went to her as she descended to meet them. Claiming a place next to Julian, she pulled out her blade and put her hair up, just as she did before every shift. After inclining her head in greeting, she looked up at Julian with a brilliant smile.

"Hi."