Eliot disappeared from the material plane for almost a year. For him, three years passed in the dreamlands where he was made king of a fucked up magical kingdom. Just as suddenly as he disappeared, Eliot reappears in Queens. He calls his dad to pick him up.
Feels ensue.
⚠None.
Eliot had not seen Empire City in over three years.
The skyline was nearly identical to what he remembered. The clothing and technology did not look particularly strange or alien. The magician king took this to be a good thing. Despite wearing an enchanted crown with a sword sheathed at his side, and fine clothing made of silks and leather, the people on the street barely noticed him. It was strangely comforting.
After all, he probably looked like he was part of some stage production, or worse, a member of the SCA.
It was just that Eliot didn’t expect to be back in The City. The change had been sudden, unexpected, and the hunting party he’d been with had also vanished from his side. Were they also here or still back in the Dreamlands, wondering where their king went?
“Fen?”
Including his wife. Arranged marriage, but…
He had no money, no phone, not even a metrocard to his name, so the magician stood there, looking as lost as he felt. Fuck.
Not that he had ever intended on finding himself in The Dreamlands. And now that he was out? It was hard not to feel like a failure. A failure for stumbling into a strange land and being almost handed a kingdom to run, and a failure for abandoning them when that had never been his intention.
How long had he been gone?
Eliot spotted a newsstand and checked the date above the day’s headlines. On Eaarth, he’d been gone less than a year. That was good, right? Confusing. Eliot had been gone for longer on the other side. But… chances were good he hadn’t been declared legally dead yet?
“Excuse me,” Eliot spoke to the man behind the newspaper stand. “I’ve had a bit of a day. My wallet, my phone, my gym bag full of normal people clothes were stolen. I don’t suppose…?”
But this was Empire City. No one smart handed their phone to a complete stranger. It took a bit of asking, but Eliot eventually found a nice tourist from Middle America that didn’t know any better.
Eliot couldn’t remember his dad or brother’s cell phone numbers, but he did have his home phone and his father’s direct line from work still memorized from when he was a teenager. He just hoped the numbers were still good. Things hopefully hadn’t changed that much?
Given the day of the week and the time, Eliot called the number he thought most likely to reach his dad and listened to the line ring with a nervous frown. He hadn’t heard his father’s voice in years, and hadn’t realized how desperate he was to hear it until he became worried that he might not.
Like many workdays, this one was busy - but Mobius thrived on it, really. He always had - though over the years he attempted to precariously balance work and life, to walk that tightrope and not fall off; it was similar to parenting, in a way - about balance, and that was just the way of existence in general. Even his office struck a balance, a comfy transition to something warmer from the harshness of the outside world. Warm colors, soft chairs, clean and inviting - a shabby office didn’t make the best statement, and Mobious had been very deliberate with his choices when it came to decorating the space where he spent a good chunk of his day. There were many books on the shelves, his diplomas mounted on the walls, some personal knickknacks and photos here and there - those photos were mostly of his kids, and it seemed to be innocuous all things considered.
But there was an undercurrent of sadness, something that bubbled and simmered. Something Mobius felt when he looked at the photos of birthday parties, Christmas mornings, and moments frozen in time that were perfect blackmail (embarrassing baby bath photos, anyone?).
Eliot had been missing for months. And had Mobius given up on finding him? No, of course not. He still was out there looking - using whatever connections he had and whatever strings he could pull to try to track him down. People were probably sick of hearing about the case, but it wasn't their kid who had disappeared into the ether. Mobius wouldn't give up until he dropped dead, thanks, and even then he'd be a relentless ghost in search of answers.
As it so happened, he'd been in the office in between meetings when his desk phone rang. The direct line was only known to a few people, and he wasn't sure what he was expecting when he picked up. "This is Mobius."
Eliot’s lips trembled at first. He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing on his throat, one of his tells when he was particularly emotional about something. Three words and Eliot found himself unable to speak.
He held the stranger’s phone, his eyes a little desperate, but he’d look like an insane person if he started crying, right?
“Dad.”
He managed one word. One tired, exhausted, aching word. More vocal fry on the vowel than he intended, but then Eliot wasn’t the actor like Hugh was. He wasn’t always quite as good at hiding how he felt in his voice or projecting as well. He had slightly more twang to his tune, particularly when he was at his least put together, thanks to his formative years in Houston.
Eliot took off his crown with his free hand. It felt a bit ridiculous to keep it on any longer.
He supposed he should have said something else. Anything else. But more than anything, he was desperate to hear his father’s voice again.
Mobius was on his feet right away.
He'd been sitting at his desk, but he bolted up so fast he knocked over his computer keyboard, a coffee mug (that was luckily empty from this morning when he'd eagerly consumed the bean juice fuel), and a pile of papers that couldn't possibly matter. Because, all of a sudden, time was sucked into a vacuum, his ears ringing like the bells of long-dead monasteries and his vision wavering in and out as the wind was knocked from him, sucker-punched, a great and terrible pain touching him from every hair follicle on his head and down to his toes.
Or maybe it was actually relief. Or pain after all - because if this was a trick...
"Hey kiddo," he was crying already, damnit. Tears started dripping and his voice was quavery - he began fumbling for his keys, his briefcase. "I can't - it's really you, huh? Okay, tell me where you are. And where the hell you've been - or. I don't know - just tell me where you are. Don't go anywhere else. Please. I need to know you're okay."
None of this made any sense. All he knew was that he had to get out of here.
Kiddo. Growing up with the word, Eliot had always hated it, had been embarrassed by it. Within the sacred timeline, without the perspective of a terrible father, Eliot never knew how much he missed hearing it until just then.
“I think I’m in Queens,” Eliot said. He looked up and read the cross streets. They weren’t major streets and unfamiliar to him that he could remember. “I just borrowed someone’s phone. Um…”
He looked apologetically at the nice stranger, torn between wanting to keep the phone and keep his dad’s voice on the line, explain where he’d been no matter how insane it sounded, or… end the call politely, wait for his dad to come get him, and end the hostage situation happening by giving the stranger back their phone.
“I’m okay. Promise.” At least Eliot was physically okay. There was too much whiplash, too much to consider, to know how he really felt outside of that. “I’ll tell you more when I see you?”
Eliot wasn’t sure what to say. His clothing might have said enough.
“...I should probably give this nice lady her phone back,” Eliot said, not sure if the apologetic tone was for her or for Mobius.
Queens? How the hell had Eliot ended up in Queens? Then again, maybe it wasn't too unfathomable. Considering Mobius hadn't known where he'd even been. But he committed the cross streets to memory, already rummaging for his cell phone so he could pull up directions; it wasn't too far to Queens from here, at least. He'd just hop on the train -
The light rail was pretty quick, yes, but was there anything quicker? Like teleporting, maybe? Unfortunately, he didn't have that power and he was annoyed about it.
"I'm on my way," he promised, already out the door - he'd make sure to say something to admin, maybe, before he just up and left during the workday (so they could reschedule his meetings and field his calls) but if he forgot in his frantic rush to get to his missing kid, that couldn't be helped. "Tell her thanks for the phone - and just...stay put." Maybe he couldn't technically teleport but he moved fast enough to really start some rumors about it, most likely.
Eliot hung up. The moment he handed the phone back and thanked her, he felt lost again. Eaarth had become alien to him. The traffic was loud. There were too many people. The smell was something else.
He was supposed to feel relief, wasn’t he? Eliot never intended to leave the planet, or dimension more accurately. He never asked to be made a king. That wasn’t the kind of responsibility a underachieving addict like him was ever supposed to be handed.
Yes there he was in ridiculous royal finery, with an enchanted sword-- The High King’s Sword-- on his belt, a very illegal to Empire City hunting dagger tucked into one of his tall boots, caplet tailored to fit perfectly over his slim shoulders, and a crown that Eliot now held in his hands and fidgeted with nervously.
He should have memorized Hugh’s number, but wasn’t that just like that to find even the most banal of ways to be the most disappointing member of the family?
At least he was tall, and stood out. Eliot kept searching the crowds for his father’s face. As ridiculous as it sounded, Eliot suddenly worried if his father shaved off his trademark mustache, as if that would somehow prevent him from spotting his face or recognizing him instantly.
Mobius was there in an instant. Or maybe not quite an instant, but close enough. He took the light rail and it still wasn’t fast enough - and the computerized GPS voice told him where to go, on his phone, but that wasn’t quick enough either. He felt like he was two steps ahead of the pleasant, accented timbre telling him to “turn left at 24th” and yet an eon behind - time was such a funny concept. The years Eliot had been gone passed like a slow cinematic reel, in all of the colors of their life together with Hugh leading up to that point - memories that had burned into Mobius’s brain and he refused to forget.
You just had to hold things close - it could all disappear, cigarette smoke between your fingers, in the blink of an eye.
Then, he spotted his kid. Tall and willowy and with the same curly hair - not much had changed. Mobius rushed at him, grabbing him to pull him in for a hug and if it was embarrassing, he didn’t care. He just was so relieved to finally see him, as crowds and city life surged around them. “It’s been awhile, kiddo,” he got out in a voice choked with emotion. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Now WHERE THE HELL HAD HE BEEN???
The streets of Empire City were the optimal place to have a public, heartfelt reunion. Mostly because no one cared. Eliot was free, in his finest ren faire attire, to break down and cry. Because he could. Because he never had the type of father that would punish him for showing “weakness.”
The difference a healthy role model made. Not that Eliot still didn’t have his struggles, but struggling with emotional vulnerability wasn’t one of them.
“I never thought I’d be so happy to be in Queens.”
His humor never changed. It just landed differently when heartfelt and choked up versus sarcastic and stone cold.
“Do you mind if we take a cab? Enchanted swords are less public transit friendly.” Eliot could have cast a spell perhaps, opened up a portal and taken them directly home. Part of him wanted to make sure too much hadn’t changed first.
“Does Hugh know?” Eliot asked. He wasn’t sure if Mobius had called him yet.
“Not yet, I was just focused on getting here - “ And part of Mobius had been afraid that if he called Hugh right away with the good news that Eliot was back from wherever he’d been, it wouldn’t last and Eliot would disappear again and then he’d have to disappoint Hugh all over again; a vicious cycle, really. And a heck of a lot of paranoia but you also didn’t get to an AD position without developing a fine sense of the stuff. “I figured we’d call him when we get to where we’re going. Which is...home, probably? My place?”
The kids had moved out awhile ago - they were grown, they didn’t need to stay with their dad anymore. Not permanently, anyway, though they’d each had their struggles and bouts of needing to come back for a spell - Mobius never minded. The door was always open to them, he’d never turn them away. It had been difficult when Eliot was into some nasty substances, because that meant setting boundaries which was hard - but Mobius had done it and yet was still a part of his support system regardless. Things had gotten better.
Then he disappeared.
“We can get a cab though - sword?” He glanced back after he’d stepped to the corner to hail one of those cabs, looking for the canary yellow to take them out of Queens. “Enchanted. Oh boy, this is gonna be a story - I can tell.”
Eliot pressed his lips together, he hadn’t gotten to the part where he was married, and Mobius hadn’t asked about the crown in his hands. Probably for the best, especially so that neither one of them sounded insane once his father hailed a cab and they were both in it.
The clothing was too well made to be a costume. Eliot had done some theater, not like Hugh, but both the twins had artistic tendencies and overactive imaginations. Stage clothing was designed to read well from a distance. Everything Eliot wore was off or counter-intuitive to that purpose. The stitching was done by hand, the fabrics completely natural-- cottons, linens, silks, leathers, all of it put together in painstaking, detailed quality.
He didn’t say anything in the cab. He was relieved to see his father again, but his mind started to drift elsewhere. Eliot was back on the material plane: now what?
Was he the only one that fell through?
His wife, the court, those that were with him? Had he just abandoned them the way he’d abandoned his life here three-- no, less than a year-- ago? And yes, letting his family worry was terrible, but people depended on their magician king back home.
Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to get attached. Coming back was what he’d wanted, right?
Eliot brow furrowed. He looked deeply worried by the time they were home. Still the same home Eliot remembered. Stepping into the kitchen he removed the sword, the hunting gloves that he’d tucked into his belt so that he could use the tourist’s cellphone, his crown, his capelet…
Apparently he was going to force his dad to ask. That was like Eliot.
Mobius, an intellectual, had about six thousand questions - and yes, one of them had to do with why his kid was dressed like he was about to roll through the Renaissance Faire as one of the main performers. And if that crown had been picked up on the same stretch of medieval times. But none of those questions he could ask when they were actually in the cab - it would be a story that would likely take awhile to go through, and the main thing for Mobius right now was that Eliot was actually here. He was okay.
Honestly, he could have been beamed back to Eaarth from a spaceship, catapulted through the atmosphere, or just dropped from the sky not wearing anything at all. He could have suddenly decided to return from a sheep shearing gig, whatever - the point was, he was home. Finally.
"Okay, so - where am I even supposed to start?" he asked, and should he sit down? They probably should sit down. Maybe he needed water. Maybe he should put his head between his knees. "You just...disappeared. And now you're back and you have a crown and a sword and a whole new look going on and I'm just really confused." Relieved, but confused.
Eliot searched the kitchen before answering. Not because he was particularly hungry or thirsty, but because wine sounded good, even if he knew his father wouldn’t be impressed. Out of desperation, he checked the fridge, and when no bottle of wine appeared he gave up and found a place to sit.
“I sort of ended up in another dimension and they made me their king. Also I’m married now. It was arranged. It might not actually count now? I’m not really sure.”
Eliot wasn’t sure how to say it, so he just said it. But really, how much more insane did it really sound than aliens are real and they attacked Empire City? Or, Hi dad, I can do magic now?
He might have had his mother’s flair for the dramatic, but he had his father’s talent for getting into insane situations. (And thankfully, getting out of them.) It wasn’t a particularly lucky combination.
“I still don’t know how I ended up there, or why I’m back.”
Which meant he couldn’t be entirely sure he wouldn’t disappear again.
“You what??”
They were actually going over this very casually, like it was a common everyday occurrence. Mobius was sitting but then he popped up, like a daisy, and started pacing - pacing, pacing, pacing. There was no wine, and for once Mobius was glad for it (he didn’t keep a lot of alcohol in the house anyway, for reasons) - even if he too could probably use something to take the edge off, yet he’d refrain. He’d just have to stick to good old-fashioned adrenaline, until it crashed and he no doubt slept for far too long.
“So this is some kind of magical land where time passes weirdly?” he asked, and that was just a shot in the dark. “I need...I need to know if you’re going to disappear again, Eliot. What kind of shit you’ve gotten into - feeling helpless is not something I like and you were gone for a year.”
He had the amount of time locked down to the days, minutes, and seconds but for the sake of simplicity - he’d just stick with a year. Yeah, his kids were grown and they had their own lives - Mobius wouldn’t infringe on that. But all he wanted to know was if they were safe and where they were.
“It was really more like three,” Eliot said. He knew that made it worse, but what was he supposed to do? Lie about it?
This wasn’t the first time the two of them were positioned in a conversation just like this. Eliot sitting, quiet, usually because he was in trouble. His father, pacing, talking through the situation until a solution revealed itself. Mobius did get mad, on occasion. And Mobius was frequently disappointed (an Eliot specialty). But the response Eliot felt the most guilt over was when he made his dad worry.
“I didn’t exactly travel by hot air balloon or ruby slippers. I don’t know if this was a one-time thing or if being here is just a temporary visitation.”
It was nice, not being the leading figure of authority in the room. Not being the adult or person everyone turned to in order to make all the hard choices. Not that there were any choices to make.
“...Does the DSS have files on magical lands where time passes weirdly? Because that would be helpful.”
“I’ll look into it,” Mobius promised - and usually this sort of thing wasn’t his area. He stuck with science, not magic - things you could measure in grams, or by boiling points. Solid and reliable, in the way mathematical equations were. “I just - “
He moved to sit next to Eliot, placing a hand on his shoulder. This was a lot for Mobius but it also had to be a lot for his son too - because king? Married?? (Mobius had an in-law? Was he ever going to get to meet them? What the hell?). “You’re my priority, okay? You’re back and that’s what matters to me - if you return to this place, then at least I’ll know now. But it also...it sounds difficult. And because of that, I’m here - for you. For whatever this place throws at you.”
Mobius may not be magical, but that didn’t matter - he’d rip through time and space to make sure Eliot and Hugh were safe and comfortable, and he’d do it again and again. “But you know - I always thought you’d make a pretty good king. Didn’t you and Hugh used to play knights or something? This is just extra, because you’re extra,” he was grinning a bit when he said that too, not to worry.
Eliot couldn’t help but smile, despite himself. He knew his father loved him, but the reminder never hurt. It didn’t last, however, when Mobius mentioned Eliot would make a good king.
It might have been the assassination attempt, or the coup planned at his wedding, or any number of instances, but in that moment it was probably better to keep that to himself. He tried. Eliot didn’t ask to be king.
So he quietly changed the subject.
“I should call Hugh. Unless you think it would be better coming from you? Maybe tomorrow I can figure out how to get an ID and a new phone and all that other logistical bull… crap.”
Adult or not, it still felt weird swearing in front of his dad.
Between the DSS and the school Eliot attended before disappearing, there had to be an answer somewhere? …Assuming he wasn’t now kicked out of school.
Oh god, what if he had to be a hedge now?
“I’ll call Hugh,” Mobius promised, trying to fix some of the mess that was Eliot’s curly hair from where a crown had once sat upon that head. Wild stuff, really, but he knew he was right about his kid’s ability to be a good and fair king (if that’s what he was) - he was benevolent, it was just the way he happened to be, Mobius knew him well. Even if he didn’t believe it himself all the time - his dad was going to be in his corner regardless, always. “You just - if you want to rest before he no doubt barrels over here, you can. I’ll make sure you eat, too.”
Of course he would. Mobius still had a ton of questions about this mystical, magical place where time passed oddly and about Eliot’s magic in general (he’d known his son had magic, even if Mobius didn’t always understand how that worked - yet he’d tried, wanting to at least try despite how it wasn’t a talent he shared). But he wouldn’t ask all those questions right now - he’d stick to the basics, things he knew. If nothing else he could do that.
“No, it’s okay.” Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. If Hugh and Eliot’s positions were reversed, he would have wanted to know right away. Unless—
“Is everything okay here?” Unless Hugh and Mobius got in a fight or drifted apart over it? It seemed unlikely. They were the reasonable if not normal ones. “Nothing happened while I was gone?”
Maybe his father was just trying to spare him. Eliot tried not to let his imagination run before letting Dad answer. He tried keeping his face as neutral as possible but he wasn’t the professional actor in the family.
Mobius blinked, looking surprised. He couldn’t imagine getting into something with Hugh, something so significant that he wouldn’t want him in the house or wouldn’t contact him with good news as soon as he could - they’d all had their disagreements over the years, but that was natural. Nothing eaarth-shattering, however. “Nothing’s happened,” he assured. “We’ve both been worried about you, knowing you’ll come back - it was just a matter of when.”
Twin bond. Hugh knew Eliot was still alive - and so did Mobius, honestly. He wasn’t about to declare the kid dead, not when there was a puzzle to unravel and he needed the answer. The answer wasn’t ‘throw a funeral.’ It just wasn’t - and his gut instincts had been right.
“But you call him then - and I’ll just make sure you both eat.” Maybe they wouldn’t even mind staying here tonight, in the house - Mobius wanted them to be together. He didn’t really want to let either of them out of his sight so soon either, for reasons.
Any tension in his shoulders evaporated. As far as he could tell, nothing had really changed while he was gone. While his ghost might have appreciated a little drama, the still very much alive Eliot appreciated the stability.
He could almost pretend like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t been gone at all? Right?
His adam apple bobbed on his throat, like it always did when Eliot felt a knot of emotion. It was one of his tells. He had not been so confident he would find a way back. But it was nice that Hugh and his dad were. After year two he had started to lose a little hope, but that didn’t seem like the polite thing to say.
“Pizza?” Eliot asked. There were so many kinds of foods Eliot missed. Pizza was at the top of the list.
Mobius could agree easily to that request. “Pizza it is,” he chuckled, already reaching for his phone so he could pull up the menu of the place the kiddos really liked - he knew what it was, and not much had changed there. The spot was still around, with the perfect crust (deep dish versus Empire City style would forever be a debate in this house, along with whether or not you actually put pineapple on pizza - Mobius advocated for it) and all its cheesy goodness.
They could have something delivered and they could talk about this wild world Eliot had been in for the past year (three years to him which was - what) or they could not talk about it at all. As long as they were together, that was what mattered.
The rest, they’d deal with it as it came - it was all they could do anyway.
There was a lot to talk about. Even more to do, but Eliot didn’t let his mind traipse anywhere near that subject. His connection to the magic users of the city both simplified and complicated matters at the same time. They would likely have similar questions, and Eliot was not in a position to deny their questioning.
“...Can I use your phone?”
Eliot should have called Hugh sooner. He felt guilt for not calling him just as soon as his dad. But Dad was old and kept the same landline numbers he’d memorized as a teen. Hugh and Eliot had changed cell phone providers and numbers how many times in their lives? No one memorized numbers anymore.
Except Eliot was starting to question that logic now.