STORIES

Himself
Word count:286 | Completed:Yes | Style:Downright convluted | Fandom:Spock

Closing my eyes, I was surprised to find he was there again. Standing right in the middle of the shifting mass of the dreams that tugged at my human half’s subconscious.
“I’m writing another book,” he had said. Speaking in my voice, standing with my posture. My face blinked back at me as I moved toward him, my face but older. More lined, different eyebrows, changed by a different life. But still my face. He hadn’t come in a while, I assume because his sleeping patterns differ from mine. Years? Months? My usually acute sense of time passing was always dulled as I slept, I could not be sure of my accuracy.

“It’s called ‘I am Spock’” he had continued, comfortably sitting down on nothing.
“I thought you had concluded that you were not.” I replied, almost a query. It never seemed to work, asking him questions, we shared the answer somehow, and so its importance was lost.

“I never said that.” He seemed almost hurt.
“You stated that ‘I am not Spock’” I replied, matter-of-factly.
“But you are.”
“Yes.”
“And, by that token, so am I.” there was a glint of humor in his eye, something that would never show from mine. But it was the same eye, wasn’t it?

“I want to talk to you about something to do with each chapter, put it at the beginning of them.” He stopped, producing a pile of papers far too large to fit in his pocket.
“Would you read a chapter each night and then talk to me?”

I took them, of course, it would be impolite to do otherwise. Refusing a favor of ones self, no matter the differences, would be seen as most impolite.

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