He had fallen asleep, perhaps, though he didn't know how long. Jefferson became aware that he drifted in and out, the peace and soundlessness of the world around him easing away the nagging thoughts and pain in his chest. The crickets chirped and sang around him, and at least once a firefly drifted past, and his mind was emptied of all thought and for some time, Jefferson chose simply to exist, to breathe, and nothing more.
It only worked in his consciousness, for when he unwillingly drifted to sleep he dreamt of her face, recounted the many things that had led to point was now at. She'd fallen, she'd miscarried, she'd waited to tell him. He rescued her, she ignored him, she shunned him. They fought. They stopped speaking, they drifted apart, he stopped coming home. He was angry. She found him, she showed him his son. In his mind was a torrent of accusing thoughts that contradicted each other. He didn't deserve to be happy, he knew; the fates had stolen from him his children, then toyed with him and returned one. Jefferson didn't understand&mash;he couldn't. Pripyat should not even be alive. Geneva shouldn't be forgiving him.
His ear flicked to attention even before it registered a sound; his eye opened though his body lay stiff. Movement, somewhere at the lakeside. Jefferson pushed himself up with a groan, rubbing at his bad shoulder. Ember stood not far away, he recognized her instantly, though it startled him to see her and he momentarily questioned where he was. "Ember?" the brute said, the grass tickling his sides when he forgot to get up. "What are you doing here?" It was only then that he saw the lines under her eyes and a sickness in her movements; his gaze widened and he straightened, only then pushing himself to his feet, with concern clear even in the scars of his face.
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