You're... you. [he bows his head slightly, embarrassed to have to quantify what he thinks should be a straightforward statement.] There are endless versions of myself, folded into one being but just as easily separated from each other. You could pluck me from a dozen different moments, like apples from a tree. But I would never be able to find anything more than a memory of what you used to be. And I'd never have expected someone so singular to look at me and see anything other than an arrogant, ambulatory anatomy model.

[as he rambles, his hands move back down to the collar of the Captain's shirt, pulling lightly -- nervously -- at the edges.]