Room 223, Monday Afternoon

It was Monday morning before Tara called Kennedy, almost as if she wanted to give the remembering extra time to work. Her breath caught in her throat when the phone rang for the first time in a month and a half.

Two rings. Three. Four.

Hey! Kennedy here. You know what to do, right? Leave your message and the digits and I'll get back to you, although guys? Don't hold your breath, 'kay? Yeah. Later!

"Baby, I'm so --" Tara started to say, rushing her words, when she was cut off by a mechanical voice in place of the beep.

This mailbox is full. Try your call again later.

Tara frowned and redialed. Got the same message. Tried again an hour later, again two hours after that. Still a full mailbox.

Her tentative email bounced back with a garbled error message almost before she'd sent it.

It was all right. It had to be. Just because someone fell out of touch when the world was almost ending, and wasn't checking her voicemail when it didn't end, didn't mean she was --

Tara's tea got cold on the desk next to her as she considered ways to avoid finishing that sentence.

[OOC: Closed door, open post. Per brat_intraining, this is what will happen if you try to get in touch with Kennedy until further notice.]