ArchivedLogs:Reassurance

Reassurance
Dramatis Personae Peter, Shane
In Absentia	2014-12-01 Part of Future Past TP.
Location
Ring, ring. Shane's phone suddenly starts ringing at Sunday night -- actually, more like Monday morning. *Really* early Monday morning -- nearly 2:00 am. "Do you /know/ what time it is." Shane sounds a little out of breath. Hff hff. Shortgasp. Fourth ring. Probably his voicemail was just about to pick up. "Shane." Peter's voice is shaking. Hoarse. A little wet. "Shane, you're -- oh. Oh." A heavy, whimpering breath -- and then, softer. Strained: "Shane, I had a future dream." "Sleeping. Like you should --" Shane's voice is slowly evening out as he gradually manages to get his lungs back in working order. There's quiet splishing in the background; presumably he's pulling himself a little bit further up out of his pool. "You're crying." A pause. "You what?" "The dreams. The ones from the future -- you're -- you're not... It's okay," Peter says, his voice still shaking, but becoming a little more steady. "You're alive. Here. Now. So maybe..." There are sounds from the other end; shuffling, clanking, as if Peter is struggling to retrieve something. "--Hive, Flicker, they didn't -- the future *changed*, so it can -- change again." His tone has an edge of mania to it. "Peter." Shane's voice, on the other hand, is a little drowsy with sleep. "You had a dream. How do you even know it was one of those? And even if it was, it -- was a dream. It's not. Happened. I'm here. You should sleep." "--it was like the others. Like a *memory*. Shane, I was in my house -- the one in Queens -- all by myself. It was abandoned, like it had been abandoned for years. Everything was looted. The whole neighborhood was... I went upstairs, and..." The steadiness in Peter's voice begins to rapidly disintegrate. "...found the compass. It wasn't -- it didn't work, anymore. Didn't point anywhere. I think, everyone was dead. I was alone. I..." There's a brief, strangled noise. "...pardon. I just -- I'll be alright. Just, I needed to hear you. Make sure you're alive." Shane's breath, stable now, huffs out in a sharp puff. "I'm here," he assures Peter. "I'm alive." Then silence. "It's not going to happen." Peter is quiet for a while; his breathing, hitched and rapid, begins to slow. When he finally speaks, he sounds considerably steadier. "Alright." Then, much more softly, but still steady: "I love you. Will I see you tomorrow?" "/Ugh/." This is sharper. "Mngh. {Fuck.} Yeah. You'll see me later goddamn tonight." And boy is Shane grumbly about it. "My dads want to get Jim to investigate. Fucking -- /time/ P.I." He sounds amused about this. "{Love you.} Go back to sleep." "Treebeard?" Peter responds, and now there's even a touch of laughter in his voice. A little *manic*, but that might be the lack of sleep more than anything. "I -- yeah. Sleep. Alright. Thanks. {Sorry}, for waking you up -- good night."