Chapter Text
Ezri can’t sleep.
She tells herself it’s just a coincidence, another quirk in the grand designs of the universe, something all her previous lives can attest to.
After all, Jadzia certainly didn’t lose any sleep from wondering why good old Shran, as Tobin remembers, looked like someone as vile as Weyoun.
Neither was Curzon bothered by the fact that Benjamin’s father had a striking resemblance to one Admiral Cartwright, though the fact that they once had a budding friendship gave him much shame.
And she herself thought it was amusing that Ambassador Troi was the polar opposite of a Doctor Christine Chapel, whom both Audrid and Curzon had worked with on one crisis or another.
It’s just a random coincidence, nothing more.
Yet she can’t shake off the images, and when she closes her eyes, she sees her, clothed in malevolence and arrogance, her body and soul mutilated in the guise of a slaver.
She’s had far too many sleepless nights. This has to stop.
It takes her some time to think, but she eventually locates the contact in her computer terminal and keys in the request with shaky hands.
The she waits.