Peter was really fucking glad Phaedra couldn't read his mind. There was nothing but static and white noise in there right now. Jesus fucking Christ on a wheat thin.
"When-" Peter stopped, clearing his throat. His voice sounded pretty strained, with good reason. He was an inch away from freaking out right now. Slowly, he straightened up, the muscles in his jaw tight as he fought not to flinch.
"When you say 'a very long time'..." he began, slowly. "We're talking, what. Months? Years?" Those were the worst case scenarios. He couldn't be here for months. He just couldn't. Destiny needed him; more importantly, Lynda needed him.
"No, no I can't - I need to get home." He tapped his forefinger on the table for emphasis, dull tap of his nail against the worn wood. "There's got to be a way out."