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May. 31st, 2005 01:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gone_byebyeAugust 15th, Sometime in the 1980's
Late Evening
14 North Moore Street, Manhattan
It was quiet on the roof of the Firehouse, or as quiet as New York could ever be. It made for a good place to think, so long as you brought something to sit on that blocked out the pebbles and pigeon doo. Peter generally remembered, and tonight was no exception. Not that the folded-up blanket helped...
He heard the door to the roof open, and willed the new arrival to go away, just go away.
"Peter?"
Damn.
"You up here, Peter?"
"If I say no, will you turn around and leave?" he muttered, deliberately pitching his voice too low to hear.
Well, he thought it was too low to hear. He caught the sound of pebbles crunching underfoot and sighed. Looked like he had company after all. "Peter," said Ray's voice, "I know you're up here."
"This is not a good time to talk, Ray."
There came a quiet sigh, but no words.
"I mean, that was one heck of a load you dropped on us. About the multiple worlds, and the time travelers, and the positronics corporations and everything else- that was a lot for us to believe."
"For you to believe, you mean," Ray said quietly, coming forward a little.
"... yeah." Now go away.
"I'm sorry, Peter. I never should've gotten you into this position to begin with."
"Darn right you shouldn't've. Ray, you lied to me-"
"No, I deceived you. I didn't lie."
Peter snorted.
"That's not an excuse, Peter. I'm trying to clarify it because what I did is worse. I took advantage of your trust for reasons of my own, and I let you do all the work of believing instead of me convincing you of what I was saying. I should never have done that. I'm sorry."
"Why'd you do it, Ray? Huh?" Peter slammed his hand against the rooftop, not even noticing the pain of impact. "You're supposed to be my friend. Whoever you are. What kind of friend does that to a guy? Six months! You spent six months letting me believe you were the same guy I've known since we were kids- and on top of that you let Winston and Janine believe it, too! You told Egon- why didn't you tell us? What kind of person are you?"
Ray didn't argue, and he didn't protest. He didn't even look, in the dim light filtering up from the Tribeca streets below, as if he were angry. Just... a little saddened, or shadowed, or something like that. It was hard to tell. And, frankly, Peter wasn't looking all that hard. He'd just spent several months reassuring himself that the Ray Stantz who'd come back to them through the portal Egon had built was their Ray, and seeing the stranger look out from behind those eyes stirred up all kinds of conflicts that Peter really didn't want to deal with.
"I'm waiting, Ray."
"Peter," said Ray very quietly, "please don't take this the wrong way-"
"It'd be really freaking hard for me to take anything you said any worse right now, buddy."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Ray muttered. "Seriously, Peter. Please. I need you to listen to what I'm about to say. I can only explain it once."
"Why? Do you self destruct fifteen seconds after you're done?"
"Probably not, but why take a chance?"
"... fine. Whatever." He folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me. What's this big reason?"
Ray moved out into what little proper light was making its way onto the roof. "Because we'd just fought the biggest enemy of our lives," he said, "and because everything around me looked completely different from the way it was supposed to. Because I was seeing things as totally abnormal, when everyone else was seeing them as perfectly normal- Winston asked me if I'd cracked my head extra hard on the building when I tried to bring it up to him, so I knew I was the one in the wrong."
That, Peter had to concede, made sense; if anyone around here counted as normal, it'd be Winston.
"And because I was looking at newspapers, and magazines, and calendars, and- and everything saying it was 1986, when the last time I'd looked at a paper it'd said 2003..."
Peter eyed him suspiciously.
"Seriously, Peter- that's what year it was, where I came from. 2003. October 5, 2003."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"When everybody in the world says 'the world is like this', even your best friends- the ones you consider family- and your own eyes and ears and memory say 'no, the world is like this', and you have no explanation or proof beyond knowing that you're not seeing the same reality as everyone else... there's a word for that, Peter."
Something stirred in the back of Peter's memory. Tell them, Peter, tell them you see them too...
"I couldn't tell you where I came from, or who I really was, because aside from a book on giant spacefaring turtles and a book of really weird physics I had no proof of any of the things I was saying. When you see a different reality from anyone else and you have no proof whatsoever about it- or your proof relies on things that science dismisses completely as being utterly impossible- what does that make you?"
Insane was the word Ray was looking for, and Peter knew it, but he couldn't make himself say it. There were memories welling up connected to that word, a lot of them, and they were the sort he didn't want to bring back to light. "You told Egon," he said instead.
"I gave Egon the philotics book. He understood it," Ray said simply.
That... made sense. And so did Ray's reasoning. Not in any way he liked, or wanted to accept, but...
"I'm sorry, Peter. I don't think I could take it if you thought I was nuts. I'd rather you think I was just a common liar."
"... jeez, Ray, twist the knife, why don't you?" The words came out before he could stop them. How long did Mom spend alone before the end? he wondered stupidly.
Ray's breath hissed. "Oh- oh, Venkman, I'm sorry. I didn't-"
"It's all right." Peter waved a hand in his direction. "No. I- you wouldn't know-"
Ray settled down onto the rooftop. "Wouldn't know what?" he asked quietly.
"About my mother-"
"Try me. You might be surprised."
Late Evening
14 North Moore Street, Manhattan
It was quiet on the roof of the Firehouse, or as quiet as New York could ever be. It made for a good place to think, so long as you brought something to sit on that blocked out the pebbles and pigeon doo. Peter generally remembered, and tonight was no exception. Not that the folded-up blanket helped...
He heard the door to the roof open, and willed the new arrival to go away, just go away.
"Peter?"
Damn.
"You up here, Peter?"
"If I say no, will you turn around and leave?" he muttered, deliberately pitching his voice too low to hear.
Well, he thought it was too low to hear. He caught the sound of pebbles crunching underfoot and sighed. Looked like he had company after all. "Peter," said Ray's voice, "I know you're up here."
"This is not a good time to talk, Ray."
There came a quiet sigh, but no words.
"I mean, that was one heck of a load you dropped on us. About the multiple worlds, and the time travelers, and the positronics corporations and everything else- that was a lot for us to believe."
"For you to believe, you mean," Ray said quietly, coming forward a little.
"... yeah." Now go away.
"I'm sorry, Peter. I never should've gotten you into this position to begin with."
"Darn right you shouldn't've. Ray, you lied to me-"
"No, I deceived you. I didn't lie."
Peter snorted.
"That's not an excuse, Peter. I'm trying to clarify it because what I did is worse. I took advantage of your trust for reasons of my own, and I let you do all the work of believing instead of me convincing you of what I was saying. I should never have done that. I'm sorry."
"Why'd you do it, Ray? Huh?" Peter slammed his hand against the rooftop, not even noticing the pain of impact. "You're supposed to be my friend. Whoever you are. What kind of friend does that to a guy? Six months! You spent six months letting me believe you were the same guy I've known since we were kids- and on top of that you let Winston and Janine believe it, too! You told Egon- why didn't you tell us? What kind of person are you?"
Ray didn't argue, and he didn't protest. He didn't even look, in the dim light filtering up from the Tribeca streets below, as if he were angry. Just... a little saddened, or shadowed, or something like that. It was hard to tell. And, frankly, Peter wasn't looking all that hard. He'd just spent several months reassuring himself that the Ray Stantz who'd come back to them through the portal Egon had built was their Ray, and seeing the stranger look out from behind those eyes stirred up all kinds of conflicts that Peter really didn't want to deal with.
"I'm waiting, Ray."
"Peter," said Ray very quietly, "please don't take this the wrong way-"
"It'd be really freaking hard for me to take anything you said any worse right now, buddy."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Ray muttered. "Seriously, Peter. Please. I need you to listen to what I'm about to say. I can only explain it once."
"Why? Do you self destruct fifteen seconds after you're done?"
"Probably not, but why take a chance?"
"... fine. Whatever." He folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me. What's this big reason?"
Ray moved out into what little proper light was making its way onto the roof. "Because we'd just fought the biggest enemy of our lives," he said, "and because everything around me looked completely different from the way it was supposed to. Because I was seeing things as totally abnormal, when everyone else was seeing them as perfectly normal- Winston asked me if I'd cracked my head extra hard on the building when I tried to bring it up to him, so I knew I was the one in the wrong."
That, Peter had to concede, made sense; if anyone around here counted as normal, it'd be Winston.
"And because I was looking at newspapers, and magazines, and calendars, and- and everything saying it was 1986, when the last time I'd looked at a paper it'd said 2003..."
Peter eyed him suspiciously.
"Seriously, Peter- that's what year it was, where I came from. 2003. October 5, 2003."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"When everybody in the world says 'the world is like this', even your best friends- the ones you consider family- and your own eyes and ears and memory say 'no, the world is like this', and you have no explanation or proof beyond knowing that you're not seeing the same reality as everyone else... there's a word for that, Peter."
Something stirred in the back of Peter's memory. Tell them, Peter, tell them you see them too...
"I couldn't tell you where I came from, or who I really was, because aside from a book on giant spacefaring turtles and a book of really weird physics I had no proof of any of the things I was saying. When you see a different reality from anyone else and you have no proof whatsoever about it- or your proof relies on things that science dismisses completely as being utterly impossible- what does that make you?"
Insane was the word Ray was looking for, and Peter knew it, but he couldn't make himself say it. There were memories welling up connected to that word, a lot of them, and they were the sort he didn't want to bring back to light. "You told Egon," he said instead.
"I gave Egon the philotics book. He understood it," Ray said simply.
That... made sense. And so did Ray's reasoning. Not in any way he liked, or wanted to accept, but...
"I'm sorry, Peter. I don't think I could take it if you thought I was nuts. I'd rather you think I was just a common liar."
"... jeez, Ray, twist the knife, why don't you?" The words came out before he could stop them. How long did Mom spend alone before the end? he wondered stupidly.
Ray's breath hissed. "Oh- oh, Venkman, I'm sorry. I didn't-"
"It's all right." Peter waved a hand in his direction. "No. I- you wouldn't know-"
Ray settled down onto the rooftop. "Wouldn't know what?" he asked quietly.
"About my mother-"
"Try me. You might be surprised."
