A Year Of Dreams
[There have been little glimpses of a man with long, reddish hair around London, strikingly familiar to anyone who knows Ellery Hart. But... it can't be him, can it? The hair is too long, and he's much too thin, and he seems to be avoiding Ellery's usual haunts... How odd...] >>> One Year, One week. Time can work differently on a Parabolan Hunt.
He told them he was going to be gone a week, give or take a few days. This time, when he left, everyone knew where he was going and when to expect him back. Dinners, drinks, a few letters. Some time spent with with friends and lovers and partners. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten so lucky, but his mistakes had been made, and he'd learned from them.
He told them where he was going, and when to expect him back. He'd told them that, right?
He absolutely told them that.
Of course, the longer he was here, the less sure of that he was.
The Lieutenant could get here. When he realized --if. If he realized. If he realized, and if he cared to come. Surely he would care to come. Surely his claim on Ellery meant something. Even if it never meant as much to him as it had to Ellery. Surely he would come after what was his, if only to claim it. To claim him.
And if he didn't care to come?
Weeks stretched.
Lyra loved him. Lyra loved him and she was strong, but he wouldn't wish this place on her. Not as the weeks became months. Not as the nightmares took hold. Would she send someone after him, or would she assume, as before, he'd gotten in too deep? Would she remember the time he died at Zee and decided, finally, she'd had enough of his stupidity?
Six months in, he couldn't blame her for having given him up.
Merry had a lab. Merry had a lab, and he swears he could remember a covered mirror in their home. In the first month, there was little expectation of anything on that end. Merry often got so busy with their own work that they needed to be dragged away. But they also had their own mysteries to solve, meetings to attend, and they had to figure out who was impersonating them.
At what point did they notice he was missing? At what point did they decide they weren't coming either?
Time stretched, and loneliness turned to bitterness.
Eckil was strong, but they were no hunter. Ellery knew that Eckil could come here, but that was nothing in tracking him down. Ellery was so damnably lost. He couldn't rely on the thought of Eckil being able to seek him out. Or having the time. Or the desire. Eckil would move on. The rest of them had.
Jin, also, was not a hunter. Still, with the way they had been looking out for one another, and after their talk, Ellery had hoped…
What a joke. What a mess of a joke. When had he begun to think of himself as someone who could rely on others? Was he a sucker? An idiot? When he was having worse day than normal his thoughts of his friends, the people he cared about, were less kind. On better days, he hoped they were alright. He hoped they were happy. He wanted them to be happy, even if he was pretty sure he never would be again.
Eight Months. Eight god-be-damned months in this nightmare.
Professor Shaw --that one hurt more than he cared to admit. He realized he'd come to think of the Professor as endlessly powerful, and someone who would care if something happened to him. He'd held on to the hope longer than he should have that the Professor, a killer of kings, would be able to find a way to pull him out of here. But there's a difference between pulling the strings of a local corrupt power and launching a rescue mission into Parabola for… what? For him? His bitter laugh was all that surrounded him. He'd gotten too comfortable there.
Ten months. Give or take, anyway. When it had mattered, he'd gotten better at keeping track of the time that had passed. When it had mattered, he knew how many days it had been since he saw one partner or the other. He'd learned to count the days in a way that he didn't need to anymore, but habits, once they were habits, could be hard to break.
He'd stopped trying to reach Chiasmus in the first couple of months. He couldn't reach it, couldn't feel it. Still, he was strung along by messages, small bits of gold writing. Assurances, encouragements, platitudes that Ellery desperately wanted to believe. Those didn't stop. Those don't stop, and they're probably the only damn thing by the end that keeps him looking.
One damn year. Maybe more than that. Probably more than that. One year, and finally, finally a mirror back. He wasn't sure where he was coming back. It wasn't the steamer he had lived in with Jin. It wasn't his lab, either, if that even still was his lab. Still, London seemed much the same, once he was back. Not much had changed, even if he had. A not-so-small portion of him longed for the surface, the ability to leave once more. To start over somewhere else. He wondered if his Clay Zailors were alright. Had they sold the Might? Maybe he'd check on that in a couple of weeks, once he figured out where he'd be staying, and what he would do now.
His hair was longer. Maybe he'd cut it soon, shave it off. He had a few new scars, his clothes were falling apart and his makeshift belt would need to be replaced soon. His glasses were broken. He still had the pieces to hold up if he needed to see, but it's not like there was much to read where he had been. They'd need repairing now that he was back. Food first. God, but he was hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he felt sated. Food, shelter, and then he could see to his looks, his clothes, his eyes. He missed his bed, but he couldn't go back there. He made well sure he was shut down --the Scrimshander would know he was back, he couldn't prevent that, but it would not feel a thing from him otherwise.
Food, shelter, and then he could decide his next move.