= The first, most noticeable thing about the sky was, it was blue. Well, not all the time. Not here in the city. It was supposed to be an orange, but for some reason, it was blue. He was young, about seven, young enough not to know what was happening, but able to tell by the people around him running that it was a bad, bad thing. For a moment, he wondered how something so beautiful could bring so much fear. Then, a friend of his father’s fell to the ground. Neil froze in place. Is that why they were running? Could the blue kill people? He would be fine in his home, correct? A moment later he felt a tugging at his arm, and when he turned he saw his father. Neil always admired his father for remaining cool and calm even in the most pressing situations, but as he looked at his father's face, he couldn't ignore the fear and panic in his eyes. So when he was pulled along, he didn't protest, even though it was hurting his arm. His father picked him up, handing him to a person in a big spaceship --one that frightened Neil, for he had never been on one, and he vaguely remembered seeing them on TV while his father watched the news. The person sat him down, buckling him into his seat. Watching his father, he observed that he wasn’t running. In fact, he seemed frozen in fear. Why wouldn’t he run?! He was so close to the ship! He could make it in time! Someone screamed out words Neil couldn’t comprehend, and the door closed as his father crumpled to the ground. It was Neil’s turn to cry out, knowing exactly what had happened. The barrier had fallen and the Phantoms had killed his father. =

~~

Neil Fleming sat up in bed, shivering and breathing heavily. He hated that nightmare, and it seemed to be the one that decided to reoccur the most. Not the naked one, not the finding out he’s sterile one, not the one where he confesses his feelings to Jane and she laughs and walks away (though that was just as bad)…No. Had to be the one involving death. He glanced over at the clock, which glared up at him in green neon numbers, telling him that it was nearing three. His eyes moved from the clock to the sleeping beauty in the bed beside him. He struggled with himself, wondering if he should wake her up. She looked so peaceful and innocent… but… she was the only person who could calm him right now.

Pushing himself to his feet, he shuffled a few steps over to her bed, shaking her gently. Jane Proudfoot made a small noise of irritation before opening one of her eyes. Upon seeing him, she opened the other.

“Neil? What’s the matter?” He watched her as she sat up, running a hand through her hair (which happened to be down at the moment, he noted) . Why did he have to wake her up? For something as stupid as a bad dream, too. She could have been asleep still, not having to listen to him talk (or not talk, at the rate he was going) about some misfortune he had as a child. “…Neil?” He snapped out of it.

“I shouldn’t have woken you up. … … Sorry.” He turned, and she caught his wrist.

“Well you did, so are you going to tell me why I’m up at, oh, quarter to--“ She paused, feeling him shiver. Her eyes moved from the clock to his, concern evident in them. “Did you have that dream again?” He nodded slowly, and she loosened her death grip on his wrist. “Are you all right?”

“Am I ever after that dream?” He chuckled nervously, and she edged up towards her pillows, allowing him to sit down. He did so, picking at the edge of the bed out of nervous habit. “Sorry about waking you up.” She shrugged.

“It’s okay… you wanna talk about it?” He shook his head after a minute.

“Not right now.” She nodded, though he immediately wondered why he had bothered her if he didn’t want someone to talk to. Maybe he just needed her company. Every other time they had talked, then she picked a fight with him, and he went to bed hating her. For the moment, anyway. He knew why she did it: to get his mind off of the dream. It worked, too. He almost laughed. If anyone else knew how much Jane did just to make someone comfortable, she’d lose her title as resident tough gal.
Staring at his lap for a while, he wondered why that dream had to be so recurrent. When he decided the answer, he mumbled it out loud. “It’s my fault.” He rubbed his face, not wanting her to see him cry. She touched his arm lightly.

“No it isn’t, Neil.”

“I could’ve done something. I should’ve started running earlier.”

“You were seven. You were scared, and confused, and you had no idea what was going on. You can’t let it haunt you. Move on, nothing could have saved your father. You just have to realize he’s dead.” At her last sentence, he looked up, glaring through his tears. At this point, he didn’t care what she saw.

“You don’t think I know that, Jane?! It kind of gives it away when he’s in a box six feet under!” He went back to staring at his lap, expecting a “Fuck you, Neil, I was just trying to help!” in return. Instead, her arms wrapped around his body, and he sobbed into his hands, only partly registering what was going on and who was holding him. She laid him down, and started to get up when she felt his grip on her tighten. She looked over at him, and, seeing that he needed a friend through his tear-stained face, she laid down beside him. He put his head on her chest and moved his arms around her possessively, and all she could do (or all she FELT she could do, rather…) was play with his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

Apparently, it worked, for his body, once wracked with sobs, calmed. He sniffed, and she looked down at him.

“Better now?” He nodded.

“Thanks… Sorry about flipping out on you.” He mumbled tiredly. She grinned slightly at him when he looked up.

“It’s understandable. Now come on, mind if I have my body back?” He rolled off of her, flushing slightly.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, would you?” She helped him up, walking him back to his own bed. She turned to go back to her own bed, but paused. “Neil?” He didn’t answer. She turned and saw he was apparently fast asleep with tears still evident on his face. She wiped them away so he wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment of having the whole squad know he had cried. Then she bent over, kissing his forehead softly and quietly. “Sweet dreams.” Turning off the light, climbing into bed with her back to him. Because of that, she never saw his grin.