Work Text:
She is woken by the phone. Her bedside alarm clock blinks warily at her and shards of electric orange pour across the carpet. The light and the sound of cars, a dog barking in the distance - it reminds her of home. Home with her father. Clearing her throat, she picks up the phone.
“Congratulations! You’ve reached Four Oh Three AM Escort Agency. How may I help you?”
The scowl on her face deepens at the silence.
“Look, I’m hanging up now-“
“Veronica.”
Oh God.
Oh God.
That voice.
“Veronica?”
Oh God. His voice.
“Duncan?”
And she can hear the strain in his voice. She can hear that familiar puff of breath. She can see those lips, slightly open and dry, waiting for her to kiss him. She can feel his hands on her back as she leans across the bed sheets, and she can smell the sandlewood, the citrus body wash, the rum.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”
“No wait!” Her voice makes her jump. It is unfamiliar. There is a panic she hasn’t heard since Hearst and Logan and Piz and… so much has happened. So much has changed. Duncan has been locked away in those years of adolescence for so long that it feels as if he is merely an echo to the past. Perhaps he is. Perhaps this call isn’t real. But the thought of speaking to him and then losing him once more is just too hard to bear.
“Please, Duncan, don’t hang up.”
They sit there in silence. Neither of them daring to speak, as if reality could shatter the moment one word is uttered. A siren wails in the distance at Duncan’s end and she wonders where he is.
“How is Lily?” she finally asks, choking back a wetness that is dripping silently down her cheeks.
“She’s beautiful, Veronica. She starts primary school next month.”
“So you’re still in-” She stops. Anyone could be listening to this conversation.
“No,” he whispers. “But close.”
“Duncan?”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing.”
She slides the mouthpiece away from her so he doesn’t hear the hitch in her breath.
“I love you, Veronica.”
She breathes. In. Out. In. Hold. She closes her eyes and thinks of all the times they lay awake in his suite with the same orange glow illuminating the sheets, the carpet, their bare skin. She licks her lips. The tang of salt is fresh and wet.
“I love you, too.”
The line goes dead.