Summary:

Hi, this is Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail.

Shane jolts like he’s been shot, a sharp breath bursting from the depths of his diaphragm. The comfort of hearing Ilya’s voice fizzles out with the knowledge that Ilya didn’t pick up. Logic says he’s still on the flight. But why would he—

Ilya knows how Shane is, how he gets. He wouldn’t send a bunch of ominous fucking messages and then drop off the face of the earth without letting Shane know he’s okay.

Except, he did. Which means—

The plane scene, reimagined. ft. Ilya's voicemail.