like a light

Jim. Jim would say that, of course he would. He loved books, the smell of them, the feel of old, worn paper and ink under his fingertips. Is he really no longer as real, as tangible as those fragments of history?But these thoughts are selfish and self-serving. Jim gave everything he had, and Spock needs to cherish what shards of him he has left. They almost coalesce into a faint image that stands behind him with soft eyes and says, "Well, Mr. Spock?" with a voice that ghosts over the hairs on his neck and makes him shiver even now, decades later, the voice-That is lost forever, trapped in the Nexus.