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He's clutching the phone in his hand.
That's his first conscious thought. He doesn't know how much time has passed since she disappeared. It may have been hours. He can still feel her lips pressed against his. He knows he hung up after that last call, but he must of picked the receiver up again while he was sitting in his chair, staring at the abyss of L.A. lights
His second conscious thought is that while he has this phone in his hand, he may as well make all the necessary calls. Who else will? Someone needs to tell her parents, her friends from high school, he thinks, absently. But as he reaches for the dial pad he realizes he doesn't know her parents' phone number. He doesn't even know her parents' names. Eight years, and he never learned her parents' names. Are they even alive? Did they make it out before the, well, you know. Her friends from high school, he considers, tapping his fingers against his desk. Well, that means- No. No, he can't call her. He needs to, eventually, but not tonight. That would just be too much. He's not even sure where she is in the world, anyway. Wouldn't know where to call, he rationalizes.
There has to be someone else, there has to be. A flash of red hair and flying pencils. God, half his thoughts are coming in half-formed images. He can't even think coherently yet. Yes, he should tell her, but she shouldn't be the first call. It has to be someone- someone important. Someone who really knew her.
He breathes in. He knows who he has to call. He's surprised he didn't think of it earlier. He probably knew deep down the whole time, but he really, really didn't want to.
The younger man answers on the second ring.
"Hello?" He's confused and wary. In their line of work, you don't want a call from an unknown number in the middle of the night. Well, no one even wants an a call from an unknown number in the middle of the night, but chances are for most people it tends not to be a matter of life or death. Or, you know, the apocalypse.
"It's me."
"Woah, what's the matter? Why are you calling this late? Did something happen? Are you evil? No, if you were evil you wouldn't call first, I'd just come home to find my girlfriend's dead body in my bed."
Oh, the irony.
"I'm not evil. Something's happened- something, fuck, something you should know. Nothing apocalyptic-" He stops for a moment, because this is apocalyptic. Not on the scale they usually deal with but a world has ended. His life with her is gone. The life, the world, they could have shared together is no more. He breathes in, and then he tells him.
"Fuck." A breath. "Oh God," The other man's voice is shaking now. "I can't- It's too soon after-fuck," he's breathing unnaturally heavily, "Oh my god. I just, I always assumed she'd be there, you know? Not like I was planning on starting it up again, but she'd be there," he sobs, "Why does this keep happening to me?"
"This didn't happened to you." The selfish asshole. He hasn't seen her in almost four years. He didn't live with her. He didn't fight with her. He didn't follow her into a hell dimension. He didn't- fuck- almost raise a child with her.
"ALL OF MY EX-GIRLFRIENDS ARE DEAD." Oh. Right. He'd forgot about the other one. The fiancée. Or ex-fiancée. He couldn't keep up. Maybe he should have called someone else first.
"Well, two of my ex-girlfriends have died. Twice." He hears the younger man start laughing through his tears.
"In the job description, huh?"
"Something like that."
"Do you ever get used to it?"
"No."
"Good to know." They are silent for a long time. "Well, thank you for calling me. For letting me know. I can tell- I can tell the others." He knows he means her.
"Thank you."
"No problem."
He feels he needs to say something else, something inspiring or champion-esque, something to acknowledge that they're fighting the same fight, but all he comes up with is a quick, "Good luck," before he hangs up.
He stares out the window for the rest of the night, thinking of toothy smiles and deep brown eyes.