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After Sasha, Hamid, Azu, and Grizzop had gone to Rome, it took-
- three weeks for Oscar to first consider that something had gone wrong. He dismissed the idea almost immediately, of course. It was ridiculous; they were fine, they’d always been fine, no matter what had been thrown at them. Besides, Einstein had informed him of the… temporal anomalies associated with the plane they’d had to travel to, so it only made sense for it to take some time before they got back. He just needed to be patient.
- two months for Oscar to realize that, if it was going to take this long for them to return, he might need to find some others to help him in the meantime. Not to replace them, no. Just to… assist, to fill the space they’d left behind until they’d be back to fill it themselves. Because they would be back; of that, he was certain.
- four months for Oscar to finally swallow his pride enough to reach out to the Harlequins. It went significantly better than he’d thought it would. They didn’t immediately try to kill him, at least (or push him off the side of an airship), which was, on its own, a substantial improvement. And, even better, they agreed to accept his help, and to help him in return. It was all he could ask for, really.
- six months for Oscar to ask Zolf to work with him again, to reach out and ask for his help. In all honesty, he was rather surprised when Zolf agreed. He supposed it really said something about the state of the world that Zolf was actually willing to help him, that he could stand him at all. And the fact that he brought additional help in the form of Barnes and Carter was an added bonus.
- seven months for Zolf to ask Oscar what had happened to Hamid and Sasha. Oscar could tell he’d been working himself up to it for months, the assorted times Zolf would walk into the room, pause, then immediately leave again without saying anything were indicative enough of that. But the way he phrased it, once he finally did, left a sour taste in Oscar’s mouth. ‘What happened to them?’ Not, ‘where are they?’, or ‘are they okay?’. ‘What happened to them?’ As though he was already certain they were dead. Oscar tried not to let it bother him (but didn’t really succeed). They were okay, they had to be.
- eight months for Oscar to trust Barnes. His tendency towards flashy maneuvers and bold strategies during combat was completely at odds with his more… dull nature in most other situations, and initially Oscar couldn’t help but find it slightly off-putting. But, over time, Barnes had proven himself reliable, and Oscar had grown accustomed to his inherent contradiction. In fact, he’d even grown to appreciate it, to appreciate him.
- nine months for Oscar to stop comparing Carter to Sasha. There was no point in it, he knew, he just hadn’t been able to help it. When Carter slipped up, or cracked an unfunny joke, or talked too much or too loudly, Oscar hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking of her. Of the difference between them. Because Carter was good, he really was, but he was no Sasha.
- ten months for Oscar to gain a new scar.
- eleven months for Oscar to lose hope. To finally realize that they weren’t coming back, that it had been too long. To finally realize that they were dead. If he was being honest with himself, he’d stopped believing that they were still alive months before. But he hadn’t been ready to acknowledge it, then, the wound they left behind still too fresh. Now, though, he knew. Now, he could breathe around the hole in his chest where they had been, and he could keep going. They still had a world to save, after all.
- thirteen months for Oscar to go a day without thinking of them. To go a day without thinking of how he’d failed them, how he could have done more, done better. To go a day without blaming himself for them being dead. To fall asleep without wondering what had happened to them, what had finally, after everything they’d been through, killed them.
-fifteen months for Oscar to finally talk to Zolf about them. To apologize for how he’d snapped, all those months ago, when Zolf had asked. He told him, in as much detail as he could, what had happened to them. He told him about the zombies in Prague, healing Sasha in Cairo, the factory in Damascus. He told Zolf he was pretty sure Azu would have liked him, if they’d had the chance to meet. He told Zolf he was also pretty sure he and Grizzop would have killed each other, both of them just as stubborn as the other. And, in the early hours of the next morning, when he’d finally finished, they sat together in silence, neither of them sure what to say, both of them feeling the absence of those they’d come to care for.
- eighteen months for Oscar to realize that maybe, just maybe, his hope hadn’t been that misplaced after all.
- eighteen months for Oscar to be certain Sasha was never coming back. Because, even though only a few days before he’d been certain they were dead, he’d never been fully convinced that would stop her. But Hamid and Azu were there, and Sasha wasn’t. Sasha was gone.