I need a place for these drabbles, so for now they will go here.

jae

I thought of texting you "good morning, I can't sleep"

and then I remembered

that you are on a journey

which I am not a part of

and that's okay

but

good morning

I can't sleep

His fingers travel the familiar pattern across the touch screen's glowing keypad. it's a number he has memorized, as if he's known it for a thousand years, repeated it in a thousand different lifetimes.

It's a habit he's grown accustomed to, in the early hours under the moonlight. During the day the ache for her isn't nearly as overwhelming, as all consuming as it is once he lies down at last to sleep. She slowly fills his head, his heart; her name in every breath he exhales in the quiet of his bedroom. There's something about hearing her voice fill his ear for the mere seconds that follow the end of the call's ring; although the voice he knows so well is distorted by static and technology, it helps him breathe easier to hear her fill his head. He often wonders after every call just what happened to that light and happy voice that still lingers after the dial tone, and how everything could have fallen apart so rapidly.

He just supposes it follows the pattern of their partnership.

He nearly has a heart-attack when the ringing cuts short of its usual length, and the sound of his name breaks hesitantly in his ear.

"Tony."

His stomach clenches as his heart begins hammering loudly, and for a brief hysterical moment, he wonders if she can hear how loud it beats in response to her abrupt greeting. He lays frozen as her breathing fills his ear, staring at the dark wall of his bedroom.

"Tony," She murmurs again, an unspoken command for an answer resonates off his name.

"Did I wake you?" It's the first thing that comes to mind, a concern that precedes all other thoughts raging in his head. He immediately rolls his eyes at the first words he delivers to her since their goodbye, but he hears faint laughter come from her end of the line.

"You usually do," she replies softly. "You call me often around this time, no?" Her voice is kind, sad and rough. Quickly he calculates the time, and realizes it's around morning there.

"I'm sorry," He murmurs sincerely, turning his body to gaze over at the clock on his nightstand. "I didn't think -"

"No, it is okay." She sighs. The silence that stretches between them could fill the miles that keeps them apart.

"So, tell me."

Tony starts at her soft voice, the sound so familiar and affectionate and adoring, and the force of her absence suddenly hits him, hard and fast, all over again.

"Hmm?" He squeezes his eyes shut as they begin to burn, and turns his face into the pillow beneath him.

"Why all the phone calls when you should be asleep?"

Silent tears slip beneath his eyelids, and he breathes deeply to keep them hidden over the line.

"I can't sleep. And it helps to hear your voice."

Silence follows his confession, and then her voice, thick and tearful, comes back to him over the line.

"Good morning, Tony."

He holds the phone tighter to his ear, his heart slowing to a steady beat.

"Good morning. I can't sleep."