Chapter Thirty Two: Soldier, Salesman, Serpent, Tree

“RORY ELLIOT POOLE. AWAKEN. WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS.”

Rory rolled over, finding himself lying in a soft grassy field, staring up at a gently lit twilight sky filled with a countless number of stars and five brilliant moons. He sat up and looked over his shoulder at the titanic serpent god, its chin laid against the same grass lit by the great glowing tree in the distance. He pulled himself upright and took a step forward.

“YOU BET YOUR NOODLY ARSE WE DO, YOU GIANT KIDNAPPING HOMEWRECKER!” he shouted.

“I WILL ASSUME YOU HAVE NEVER SPOKEN TO A DEITY, AND THUS WILL EXCUSE YOUR… LACK OF DECORUM.”

The giant snake smiled at him, at least that’s what it looked like. The crinkling around the eye scales, the little lilt to the back of the jaw. Yes, definitely a smile.

“I’M AN ATHEIST, YOU MASSIVE TWAT!” a vein stood out in stark relief on Rory’s forehead.

The monstrous serpent smiled at him again, only infuriating him further.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BOYFRIEND!? IS HE SAFE!? DID OUR APARTMENT BLOW UP WHEN YOU SWALLOWED ME WHOLE AND SHIT ME OUT INTO WHATEVER ASSHOLE PLANET WE’RE ON!?” Rory continued his indignant tantrum.

“DARIUS HENRY MOORE IS SLEEPING. HE DOES NOT YET KNOW YOU HAVE DEPARTED FROM YOUR EARTH.”

Rory started, “But… we’ve been gone almost a month. How…”

“THE CURRENTS OF TIME FLOW DIFFERENTLY BETWEEN WHAT YOU KNOW AS UNIVERSES. FOR YOUR MATE, IT HAS BEEN ONLY A FEW HOURS SINCE I CARRIED YOU ACROSS THE SKIN BETWEEN REALMS.”

“Is… is he ok?” Rory sniffed.

“HE SLEEPS.”

“Why me? Why not him? Why not both of us? He’s a soldier. He’s strong. He’d keep us safe,” a tear dropped down Rory’s face.

“YOU ARE CORRECT. DARIUS HENRY MOORE IS STRONG. HE IS A MIGHTY WEAPON, FORGED IN THE FIRES OF WAR. AND HIS SOUL IS TOO VAST TO BE FERRIED ACROSS THE NOT-WATERS OF SPACE AND TIME IN MY WOUNDED STATE.”

The massive serpent turned its head to reveal the mass of scar tissue and the ruined eye.

“So, you could take the four of us because we’re… what? Weak?” Rory’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set into a hard line.

“NO. BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT STRONG.”

“Those are the same thing,” Rory rolled his eyes.

“THEY ARE NOT, AND NEVER SHALL BE.”

In the distance, the great tree sparkled and patterns of light danced across its surface.

“TIME GROWS THIN. I HAVE BROUGHT YOU TO THIS PLACE TO PRESENT YOU WITH A GIFT, IF YOU WOULD HAVE IT.”

Rory’s eyes narrowed again, “What is it?”

The massive serpent struck like a crack of thunder, swallowing Rory whole.

All was darkness for a time. No light. No sound. No smells, nor tastes. There was only the sensation of being carried through a softly rocking current.

-----

When light and sensation returned, he was standing in his bedroom, looking down at the most beautiful man in the world.

“Darius!” Rory rushed to him.

“Hold, Rory Elliot Pool.” the serpent’s voice echoed quietly around him, but the great snake was nowhere to be seen.

“What now?!” he grumbled.

“You must understand what passes in this moment. The body which your soul occupies on Ayrgard is already too mighty to pass through the waters between worlds. I have separated it from your soul, and brought only your essence back to your Earth. You will have one hour as you reckon it, then I must return your soul to your body on Ayrgard, or you will perish forever. When your soul touches the soul of your lover, you will pass into his dream. He will recall this meeting only as a dream, and all save the happiness of its content will fade after waking. Do not tarry. You have one hour.”

Rory wasn’t one to hesitate to close a deal. He reached out, placing his hand on Darius’ chest where it slowly rose and fell. He felt the gossamer fabric of his spirit body dissolve as he fell into the place where dreams were made, the intersection between the mind and the spirit.

He was in a cafe, sitting across from a lovely man with rich, dark skin, beautiful brown eyes, and a very, very short haircut. Darius still had his buzz cut. He was still in the corp. That means this cafe was…

Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans. Rory had flown down for the weekend while Darius was on leave. This was their first date. Darius had teased him relentlessly for wasting six hundred dollars on a plane ticket just to meet for a date.

“You were worth it,” he said to the shadow of his lover.

“What, Ror?” Darius replied.

“Wait, you can hear me?” he gaped.

“Well, yeah. I’m dreaming about our first date. Why wouldn’t…” he stopped. “I’m dreaming. I know I’m dreaming. I was just thinking about how nice this dream was. I picked up a beignet and fed it to you, just like the first time we were here. Then I thought about… I’m not sure,” Darius puzzled.

“It’s ok, it doesn’t matter. I’m here,” a tear rolled down Rory’s cheek. “Hey, do you remember that B&B we stayed at while we were here?”

Darius chuckled, “How could I forget?”

“We should go there. Who knows how long this will last. Go with me? I just want to feel you against me. To hold you,” Rory pleaded.

“Ok, Ror. Ok. We can go,” he stood up.

Rory took his hand.

“This is a dream, right?” Darius looked down at him.

“I don’t know. But I want it to be the best dream either of us has ever had,” he smiled.

The dream lasted almost a whole day. They went back to the Bon Maison B&B they’d stayed at, made love, twice, got lunch, then coffee, then dessert, then dinner, then back to the room and made love again.

“What’s gotten into you?” Darius laid next to him, out of breath.

“I love you. I wanna marry you when we get home,” he turned and buried his face in Darius’ shoulder.

“I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing,” Darius’ face scrunched up in a suspicious grin.

“I don’t care. I just wanna spend the rest of my life in your arms,” Rory shed tears for the third time.

“Ok. I love you too. Whatever you want, Rory. At least you gave up on that ‘retire to the mountains' kick you had last year,” Darius smiled.

“I haven’t given up on that. What are you saying?! Marriage. Retirement. Write my memoirs... My memoirs are gonna be a lot more complicated now,” he grimaced.

“It is time.”

“I suppose that’s fair. You said an hour before,” he sighed.

“What, love?” Darius looked up at him.

“Time. Currents. All that kind of thing.”

“That is absolutely a Big Trouble in Little China reference. What kind of god are you?”

The dream began to lose its substance, and Rory planted one last desperate kiss on Darius’ mouth, holding him tightly as the light dimmed, the sound died, and taste, smell, and touch faded away.

-----

“RORY! DON’T YOU FUCKING DIE ON ME!” Layla’s voice screeched at him through the world’s worst headache.

She slapped him. Hard. In the face.

Based on how bad his mouth hurt, it wasn’t the first time.

“I’m awake, I’m awake. Stop smacking me, silly tart,” he croaked.

“Ohhhhhhh, fuck you. You’ve been dead for like four minutes!” she shouted.

He sat up, noting how every limb was asleep, and his head felt like Erin had run over it with a solid charge.

“Was I out for a while?” he asked.

“We don’t know. You just wouldn’t wake up, and a few minutes ago you stopped breathing,” Erin replied.

“You turned grey, buddy. That usually only happens when you’re toast,” Jack pitched in.

He looked around, smiled at the feeling of Darius’ lips, still fresh on his own.

“It was worth it,” he smiled.

BONUS CONTENT: But you are Darius Moore, correct?

The daylight smushed itself against Darius’ face, grinding against his eyelids like a belt-sander insisting that he Be Awake Now. He could taste Rory’s lips. And… beignets. He vaguely recalled dreaming about both. He rolled in the bed, stirring Rory’s scent and inhaling deeply, the memories and the smell bringing a smile to his lips.

The thought crossed his mind that this bed and, mostly, that man were making him soft. He opened an eye, glancing at the nightstand, where a cup of very cold tea sat, spoon standing at the ready. He smiled at the gesture. All the same, he missed coffee. Maybe he’d grab a cup while he was out for his run. Rory didn’t have to know. It wasn’t that bad for his blood pressure.

He sat up in the bed, blearily rubbing his eyes.

“Ror. You done with your raid thing?”

…

“Rory?”

He threw the covers back and fetched his sock, sliding on the prosthesis and roughly jamming his residual into the leg. Rory was always on him about being gentler with the carbon fiber, and more importantly with what was left of his leg, but Darius was still firmly of the opinion that pain was weakness leaving the body. He stood up and walked to the bedroom door, where he could see Rory’s computer nook.

Instead of his beautiful boyfriend wearing that ridiculous bulky black headset with the wild green and blue LEDs, he saw a melted puddle of metal and plastic. Rory’s computer nook, the walls next to it, his desk, the chair, and the carpet below looked like something had taken a tremendous bite out of it, and everything inside that spherical chomp was melted into a mess of sludge that had expanded across the carpet.

“What the fuck?”

The doorbell sounded abruptly, shattering the surreal quality of the moment. Darius edged sideways along the room and retrieved the spare pistol from the kitchen drawer, eyes never leaving the pool of… whatever the fuck it was… where Rory should be. He lifted the cap from the peep and saw a black tie, white shirt, black suit jacket, and most importantly, a badge that said “FBI”.

He cracked the door, “You know, it’s very curious that you’re here at this exact moment, sir.”

“I suspect it is. I’m Special Agent Daniel Alvarez with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Staff Sargeant Darius Moore?” the man in black responded.

“I’m curious how you’d know that, agent,” Darius replied.

“But you are Darius Moore, correct?” the agent evaded.

“I assume you’re here about the fucked up situation in my living room,” he replied.

“In what way is it fucked up?” the agent smiled.

“Agent, I’m gonna just assume you’ve seen my file, so you know I bled out most of my patience in Helmand,” Darius’ eyes narrowed slightly.

“I know if you shoot a federal agent on your doorstep, it’s probably going to get messy,” the agent simply smiled genially.

“You have got that right, agent,” Darius eyes hardened.

The agent paled and raised his hands, taking a half-step back.

“You’re not in Afganistan, sergeant,” the agent replied, recovering some of his composure.

“I’m well aware, sir, which is why I haven’t jerked you through this door to have a talk involving what you know about my missing boyfriend. Perhaps you’d like to enlighten me?” Darius growled.

“That’s why I’m here. May I come in?” Alvarez was slowly rebuilding his federal facade.

“Do you really wanna be alone in my house with me right now?” Darius rumbled again.

“I’ll take the risk,” he replied. “Besides, I have another four agents and a special forensics team up the street, waiting for me to give them the go-ahead. My supervising agent seemed to think it would be a good idea to ease you into this, and I have to say I agree with him.”

“You here to find my man, agent, or just to poke around in my home?” Darius was absolutely still.

“Depends. If he spontaneously combusted, then we’ll turn it over to local fire and PD. If what we think happened actually happened, we’ll do everything we can,” the agent grimaced.

“I assume you have a warrant and all this was just a courtesy,” Darius sighed.

“You assume correctly, sergeant,” Alvarez smiled thinly.

Darius grunted and let the door swing open. He pulled the magazine from the pistol and ejected the round in the chamber, deftly catching it as it popped out.

“Go on then, call your team. Don’t fuck up Rory’s carpet. And send one of your guys to get some coffee. We’re all gonna need it.”