by Amiroq
---
Disclaimer: Character theft? Me? Never!
Dedication: To Thomas, who is a right bastard for giving me this
plotbunny. Here's the line that inspired the damn thing (talking about
twins' psychic links): "I imagine it would be much stronger with
your exact duplicate."
---
Harry awoke sometime in the early morning, suddenly and with no period of
half-wake. He didn't abruptly sit up, but after orientating himself
and calming down a bit, he did slide out of bed and head for the bathroom.
It was impossible, that was what it was. There was no way that what
he'd dreamed - the sights, the sounds, the goddamned
sensations - could have been an actual reliving of his
counterpart's death. He shivered, both at the thought and the memory.
Space had been cold. None of his dreams had ever been that. . . that detailed.
He shivered again, pulling out the basin and splashing the refreshingly cool
water on his face. Except that brought back the memory again.
There was only way way to know for sure. In his-- well, dream, he guessed
- in his dream, B'Elanna had climbed down two rungs of the ladder and
reached for him. Their hands had touched, for two beats, before the ship
rocked again and he'd slipped. If he asked her, and that had really
happened. . . Well, freakier things had happened, hadn't they?
He got all the way back to his bedroom, and had, in fact, picked up his
commbadge before realising that this mightn't be the brightest idea.
Despite the fact that it would make him sound utterly crazy, B'Elanna
was hardly talking to him recently. He could hardly blame her - if his
dream was not a dream, she'd been through something pretty
traumatic, and he was just reminding her of the fact every time she saw
him - but he doubted waking her in the early hours of the morning to ask
her exactly what had happened when she failed to save her best
friend's life was going to help matters much.
So instead, he dressed (it wasn't that early, and after all, he
didn't think he'd get back to sleep) and picked up his clarinet.
It was too early to actually play, since most of his neighbours
were probably still asleep, but he sat down and practiced his fingering,
letting the familiar 'click click' of the metal calm him.
Dammit, but he needed a drink.
---
End
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