Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Alright, don't get confused. The narrative goes in a Keely/Wright/Phil rotation for awhile. And for the record, Phil and Keely's experiences do not move in time respective to each other, if that makes sense. Anyway, another two chapter day, enjoy!
"Phil, don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?" Phil's mother asked tentatively as she poked her head out of the backdoor to address her son. Phil was drenched in sweat, rapidly throwing a laser-squash ball against the side of the house. He'd been playing for the last seven hours, something he'd been doing every day since they'd been back—which made a grand total of three weeks. He wasn't eating, he wasn't sleeping, and he wasn't resting. His mother could see that his shirt, which had fit him quite nicely a month ago, now hung off of his lean frame as though he were a scarecrow. The bags under his eyes made him look as though he had gotten into a bar fight the night before, and his pallid skin made him look like a zombie. Not the picture of health in the least. The boy in question did not reply, instead throwing the ball with a solid throw against the wall. His breath was ragged, and Barb was afraid he would drop of exhaustion any second if she didn't do something. She ventured to walk outside. Phil ignored her completely, making him seem more like the ghost he was becoming, and Barb shuddered. She grabbed his arm.
"Come on, Phil, let's go inside," she said, leading him gently towards the door. Phil still said nothing, but allowed himself to be walked inside and sat down at the kitchen table. He leaned back heavily in his chair while his mother bustled around him, handing him a bottle of water before throwing a clean shirt at him. Phil caught it at the last moment, his reflexes now super-charged.
"This moping around isn't healthy, Phil," his mother scolded, running a dusting cloth over the table. Old habits die hard, and Barb just couldn't seem to let go of the (admittedly) outdated twenty-first century habits she had become accustom to. Thankfully for the rest of the family, she'd given up on her cooking extravaganza, instead resorting back to spray food. Phil opened the bottle of water and took a deep drink, the ice-cold liquid tingling his parched throat before creating a cool sensation as it went down his esophagus.
"Well, look who finally decided to join the land of the living," Pim said as she walked into the room, pulling up a chair next to her brother and smirking at his misery. Phil glared at her, but said nothing.
"Listen, Phil, if you're so worried about it, why don't you look it up on the Giggle?" she asked, taking his bottle of water and taking a swig. Phil looked at her, the anger apparent in his eyes.
"Because that would be incredibly disrespectful," he growled, grabbing back his water.
"What does she care? She's dead," the words made Phil flinch. He shot death glares at his sister before leaving the table and walking into the kitchen. His mother was busy arranging a bouquet of silk flowers she had brought from the twenty first century. She fluffed them to perfection, gave them a satisfactory file, before turning her attention to her son, who had practically thrown himself onto one of the stools that had been placed in the kitchen for random purposes.
"Phil, I wish there was something I could do to help," she gave him a sympathetic smile and ruffled his hair. He twisted the t-shirt she'd given him in his hands before using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
"You were supposed to put that on, you know," she said, frowning a bit, gesturing to the shirt Phil held in his hands. When he did nothing, she sighed, forcibly pulling the shirt he was wearing over his head and jamming the other one back on. Phil leaned back against the counter, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He went to wipe it away, and realized immediately something was wrong. He had almost forgotten the weight of the chain around his neck, but suddenly felt naked without it. His mother didn't notice, and turned to toss the shirt into the laundry hamper. As she did so, Phil closed his eyes and visibly winced at the characteristic plink of metal on kitchen tile. Okay, so he hadn't told his parents where he was going the night before they left. He prayed to whatever god was out there that his mother hadn't noticed. He sat, frozen on the stool, not being able to move, hoping that if he didn't recognize the noise, she wouldn't either. Ten seconds later, his luck ran out. His mother scooped to pick up the necklace.
"Phil, honey, I think this is yours," she smiled jovially, looking at it. She went to hand it back to him, and then realized what exactly was on the chain. She snatched it away before he could grab hold of it, and brought it close to her face for examination. A look of shock ran over her face as she turned the ring over in her hands, her eyes widening as she found the inscription engraved on the inside of the band that read simply Amo, ergo vivo along with the date the ceremony took place. Phil held his head in his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose while waiting for his mother to respond.
"Latin," his mother said a moment later. "Impressive, Phil." He saw tears glisten in her eyes, and she just stood there with her hand covering her mouth, letting the chain of the necklace dangle between her fingers. For the first time in his life, Phil saw his mother at a loss for words. He was waiting with baited breath to see her reaction when the news sunk in.
"Well," she said, breaking off with that one word. She handed the necklace back to Phil, who took it and lifted his over his head and adjusting it until it lay safely around his neck, the chain so long that the ring rested close to his breastbone, near his heart. Not that he had a problem with that. His mother turned away from him and suddenly busied herself wiping off the counter with a handy dishrag. After a moment, she whipped her head back to him.
"When were you going to tell me?" she asked him, and suddenly, Phil felt about five years old again, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He sat on the stool, one leg crossed over the other, suddenly becoming very interested in the frayed hem of his blue jeans. "Did you think you could hide it forever?"
"I don't know," Phil honestly answered. The proposal had been a spur of the moment thing, with literally no time between decision, jewelry store, Keely's house, church. He hadn't really thought about what would happen afterwards, he just wanted the chance to do what he'd been planning on doing as soon as they'd started dating—marry her. This coming from the boy who, from the time he was five until he was fifteen, declared that women were too much work and that he would never fall in love. Obviously, opinions change. "I wasn't sure how you'd react."
"Phil, you're old enough to make your own decisions," his mother looked into the sink instead of at him. "While your father and I might have balked at first, in the end we would have respected that it was your decision." She spun her head to look at him. "I guess I'm just hurt that you wouldn't trust me with that kind of information. I knew how you felt about Keely—"
"Feel about Keely," Phil corrected. "Present tense."
"Right. I know how you feel about her, I would have thought that you would have told me about it,"
"It was kind of a quick thing,"
"I can tell," she gestured to the ring, whose inscription included the date the couple was married; the day before the family left. "Besides, my little boy is growing up, what mother wouldn't be sad?"
"Be sad about what?" his father walked in, complete in ridiculous (even for the time period) futuristic jumpsuit. He carried a small disk about the size and shape of a credit card. He held it up.
"Mail's in!" he said, apparently forgetting completely about his question. He threw it on the counter before going to give his wife a hug, pressing a small, round, red button in the center. Immediately, a holographic pink screen popped up, with the words Addressee: Lloyd Diffy. Re: Electric Bill.
"Lloyd! I asked you to pay that bill two weeks ago!" his wife put her hands on her hips in the traditional menacing-spouse stance, sending him a glare that could have killed a vampire. Her husband gave a nervous smile before sputtering a reply and pressing a gray, triangle-shaped button next to the red one. Another piece of mail popped up, this one an advertisement for a robot magazine. He pressed the button again, and this time a bright yellow notice with the words Addressee: Phillip Diffy. Re: Diffy's Law and Implications. It was flagged as "urgent", sent by a representative of the Nexus corporation.
"Something you're doing for a class, son?" his father asked, his expression confused. Phil had recently been taking university courses to fill up his time. Phil shook his head, and watched as the gray card gave a loud groan before spitting out a large packet of folded up paper in Phil's direction. He picked it up with curiosity and started to unfold it. It was an intricate process, as to emit that amount of paper from something the size of a credit card took skill. When he finally got the paper open, he scanned it quickly, before sneaking out of the kitchen while his parents were talking. This was definitely not the kind of paper he wanted to read in front of his parents. A bubble of hope had risen in his chest when he had initially scanned the paper, and despite his attempts to push it back down, it rose and rose, making him feel slightly punch-drunk and giddy. He dashed to his room and shut the door. He flopped onto his bed and opened the paper back up.
Mr. Diffy,
The Nexus division of the Federal Bureau of Time Travel is responsible for monitoring the impact time travel has on biological resources. In looking over our recent bizarre findings of disruptions to the time line, we have linked the strange happenings back to you, and your family. As a former time-traveler, you know what happens when the time line is disrupted. The proper course of action in this situation is to replace the missing piece of the equation, which we believe to be you. Therefore, we request your attendance at FBTT head-quarters tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. There, we will assess the situation and see what can and needs to be done. Directions to head-quarters are provided on the paper stapled to this one. Please take note this is not a voluntary venture—failure to comply with our request will result in your arrest and detention.
Arthur Gibbons
Head Cyberneticist, F.B.T.T.
Phil's eyes were a blur across the page, and the bubble of hope had grown into a balloon, and then a zeppelin, until he had the sudden urge to get up and dance around his room. An urge of adrenaline pushed him off his bed and down the stairs, taking them two at a time and nearly breaking his neck in the process.
"Phil, there's no need to stomp up and down the stairs," his mother said automatically, once again re-arranging her silk flowers. Phil barely registered it as a comment, and slapped the letter down on the counter, a wide grin on his face.
"I get to go back!" he said in an excited voice, feeling like a little kid at Christmas. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting for his parents to respond.
"What do you mean 'you get to go back'?" his mother picked up the letter and read it quickly. Her mouth dropped open in shock and she tapped her husband on the shoulder, who was busy washing his hands at the sink.
"Lloyd, honey, look at this," she handed the letter to him after he had dried his hands. He took the sheet of paper and scanned it with his eyes, his brow furrowing closer and closer together as he read.
"I don't believe this," he said, looking from the paper to Phil and back again. "We need to sort this out."
"So we're going tomorrow?" Phil asked, practically bouncing up and down. He was going back. He was going back. He could hardly believe it. He didn't care about the circumstances.
"Well, it seems we have to," his father looked down at the letter again, and then flipped to look at the paper with the directions on it.
"Yes!" Phil did jump up, pumping his fist in the air. He dashed out of the kitchen to take a lap around the house, nearly knocking over Pim in the process.
"Okay, who else thinks he's finally lost it?" she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at her brother. She shook her head before they could answer, and made her way into the other room.