She stands very, very still, wearing the clothes she did in December. The stain is there, dried but still growing in its own memory.
Behind her is a man, young enough but older than Stefan, a little taller than River with the same dark hair but blue, blue eyes. His mouth is drawn in a thin line of concentration, head tilted back and chin out, looking every inch the doctor he was always supposed to be. Clean and polished and good. Secure and solid and constant. Every molecule the idolized brother.
She stands very, very straight, good posture stretching vertebra into a taut harp string. The notes are in her fingertips, the ready ready ready heartbeat of panicked foxes running in her veins. They twitch in anticipation without moving.
"You aren't--" and her eyes dart between the fixation points of his face (chin ears eyes mouth eyes nose ears nose eyes mouth forehead eyes mouth eyes mouth eyes mouth) as if they can pin it in place. Then her demeanor changes, fingers twitch freely, she half-smiles and half-frowns and back again. It's almost like she's completely forgotten she just ran through his available mind and pulled out his own nightmares. "He came for me," she says, enunciates each syllable with reverence and care as they drop like weights off her back.
River frowns again, eyes dart (eyes mouth eyes mouth eyes mouth) as she maps out differences. Schisms. Contrast. Draws the lines of the parallels that will never ever meet.
"You can't be him." Clear, firm, decided.
What's unclear is whether she says it for Stefan's benefit or her own, but the phantom-Simon shifts his weight and crosses his arms to illustrate his projected agreement on the matter.
i try to sleep, they're wide awake, they won't let me alone;
Behind her is a man, young enough but older than Stefan, a little taller than River with the same dark hair but blue, blue eyes. His mouth is drawn in a thin line of concentration, head tilted back and chin out, looking every inch the doctor he was always supposed to be. Clean and polished and good. Secure and solid and constant. Every molecule the idolized brother.
She stands very, very straight, good posture stretching vertebra into a taut harp string. The notes are in her fingertips, the ready ready ready heartbeat of panicked foxes running in her veins. They twitch in anticipation without moving.
"You aren't--" and her eyes dart between the fixation points of his face (chin ears eyes mouth eyes nose ears nose eyes mouth forehead eyes mouth eyes mouth eyes mouth) as if they can pin it in place. Then her demeanor changes, fingers twitch freely, she half-smiles and half-frowns and back again. It's almost like she's completely forgotten she just ran through his available mind and pulled out his own nightmares. "He came for me," she says, enunciates each syllable with reverence and care as they drop like weights off her back.
River frowns again, eyes dart (eyes mouth eyes mouth eyes mouth) as she maps out differences. Schisms. Contrast. Draws the lines of the parallels that will never ever meet.
"You can't be him." Clear, firm, decided.
What's unclear is whether she says it for Stefan's benefit or her own, but the phantom-Simon shifts his weight and crosses his arms to illustrate his projected agreement on the matter.