third person, singular
by cimorene

'patrick stewart does not deal well without his coffee in the mornings.' 'patrick stewart does not really know what to say to that.'

brent spiner does not deal well with people speaking of themselves in the third person. you'd think he'd be used to this after a decade of working with pat. he's been data for so long that when he wakes up from the dreams of data he's not sweating anymore--the fear has been commonplace, the nightmares crystallized into reality. and pat's mannerisms are just as commonplace by now. unlike brent, pat seems not to have changed at all since the beginning.

but brent spiner isn't like patrick stewart. he's not as egotistical--well, maybe, but not the same way, anyway; he's not as bald; he'll never be voted the sexiest man on television by anyone, although he's really very handsome; he never refers to himself in the third person (when he's not making fun of pat); and he's not predictable. not at all. he's not steady either.

some days he needs coffee. some days he wakes up as chipper as a bird. some days he throws a towel over the mirror so he won't have to look at data; some days he puts on data's voice in the checkout line at the grocery store just to see the cashier's eyes widen. some days he shakes his head and smiles when pat starts with 'patrick stewart is going to speak of himself in the third person today.' and some days when patrick opens his mouth and 'patrick' is the first word that comes out it's like he's plunged straight into a nightmare--

'patrick stewart is going to speak of himself in the third person long after the last time you see him, and every time you turn on the television he's going to be there, long after children stop recognizing brent spiner as data; so you may as well get used to it now. and stop looking in the mirror.'

brent still wakes up sweating from that one.