Title: Sphere (1/1)
Series/Sequel: The sixth and last in the Reincarnation Series.
Author: Vera
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Through the centuries of human history, two souls are bound together. This sixth tale takes place in the present day as promised.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to Sandra, I just borrow them for nefarious purposes.
Archive: Yes
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Notes: I don't know if I believe in reincarnation or not, but it makes for fertile story telling ground. This was not written with the intent of offending any religion.
*
"Hey, Cya. Wanna color with me?"
A small smile and the Latino slid into a seat across from his beaming friend.
*
God muttered to itself (the current gender war going on in looser parts of the area of belief made it difficult to pin a masculine or feminine aspect to it for longer then a few seconds) clicking through it's omniscient data, searching and correlating files while whistling tunelessly under it's breath. It could, of course, had found any tune it wanted from all of space and up to the present moment in time or even pull one from the possibilities of the future, but sometimes one just liked to whistle tunelessly. The angels around him picked up on the tuneless whistle and made it into a glorious new melody. God sighed. Maybe it shouldn't have made angels so dense.
*
"Pass me the blue...no the other blue..."
"Skids, there are like sixteen blues, be more specific."
"Blue-green, it's a shade up from Tropical Blueberries."
"Do blueberries even grow in the tropics?"
"Just pass me the crayon, Cya."
Their fingers brushed as the crayon changed hands.
*
Huh. Well...that was strange. The record was old. Really really old. And it looked like it had changed metaphorical hands quite a few times. It was must have been one of the few remnants from the old regimes. The reality of the 'file' was massive and impossible to comprehend, but in this metaphysical form it was as readable as a new Stephen King novel and about as gory. It's 'cover' was in fact stained with blood.
A remnant...he had cleared most of them over his five thousand year reign, but there was nearly two million years of history to clear out and no amount of omni's could cease Time.
Even deities needed a belief system.
Time itself resisted definition. It existed. That was all that could be proved. The gods that had come before God had acknowledged that and struggled with in it's boundaries, fighting each other in vicious wars that had laid waste to whole galaxies. In a meeting of almost omniscient minds it was agreed that the fighting must stop or at the very least no longer be quite so chaotic. The conclusion had been the start of the Great Game which held all the players of the universe and whatever pieces they controlled. The only rule was that Time would be left unmolested.
Not that they had a choice.
Time just was. It could not be quickened or slowed because no one was quite sure how it worked. There were gods who could manipulate reality, create wonders and destroy them, there were little gods and huge GODS, not a single one of them truly understood Time. All they knew was that when it ended, one of them would be the winner of the Great Game.
No one said that the religion had to make any sense.
The 'file' glowed green in God's hands. It was active.
Right now, God was in charge of everything. Gods only grew with belief and so far, God had been the only one to figure out that that meant getting rid of the belief in other gods. So it had made it a commandment to it's followers:
There shall be none but me.
And because people believed, there wasn't.
God was, of course, knew that that would not last. The gods would come creeping back sooner or later, but during that time God had full control of the game. And he had systematically been fixing everything it felt the other gods had broken.
The 'file' was definitely one of those things. Whatever small gods had fought over this 'file' they had hopelessly botched it's original intentions. Well, it would expend some energy to correct that.
*
"Black is a shade. Not a color."
"So?"
"So that means that this box is lying. There are not 64 colors in here. Dios, there aren't even 63. White is tint."
"Cya?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up and pass me the forest green." Short pause. "Please?"
*
HUH.
The angels blinked in unison and ceased their work. So rarely did God speak that it was occasion to stop everything and listen to the Divine Word.
FOR NEARLY FIFTEEN MILLENNIA TWO SOULS HAVE BEEN NARROWLY MISSING EACH OTHER. IN ORDER TO STOP REPEATING THEY MUST ADMIT LOVE. THEIR SUFFERING HAS BEEN GREAT.
The angels winced. There was a reason God always sent a messenger.
IT SEEMS THESE SOULS HAVE ALREADY BEEN REBORN INTO THIS SPACE AND TIME. THIS SHALL BE THEIR LAST CYCLE SO THEY MAY BE RELEASED.
"What do you intend to do?"
The angels turned again in unison to a cherub who was picking the Dirt of Paradise out from under it's fingernails.
THERE ARE TWO HERE. And God ruffled the first page of the massive 'file'. WHO HAVE TRAVELED WITH THE TORTURED PAIR. THEY ARE AVATARS OF GOOD. THIS ONE WILL TWEAK THE PROBABILITIES. THEY WILL HELP.
*
"It's getting late. We should get to practice."
Together they gathered up the crayons, stuffing them into the improbably small box. Skids reached for Cya's paper, but the Latino snatched it back before he could even get a glimpse of the drawing.
"Just some equations." Carefully, he folded it and tucked it into a back pocket.
*
God didn't have limbs per se. But if it did, it would have reached out a hand and grabbed at one of the pieces of yarn that held the universe together. And twisted ever so slightly.
*
"Ewwww....gross. Dude, you sat right in the ketchup." Harley informed Cyanide about three seconds after the Latino had casually draped himself into the chair.
"Oh, shit!" Cya shut up, wiping at his ass, and his hand come up covered in red tomatoey goodness. "I liked these pants!"
"I can get the stain out."
All eyes turned to the petit blonde.
"Uhh...dude, you don't even do your own laundry."
"Well, I meant Mik could get the stain out. He's got a real talent for getting weird stains out of pants." Harley said, waggling his eyebrows.
The room was suddenly filled with mock gagging noises.
But in the end, Harley went home with Cyanide's pants.
*
Somewhere, on the peripheries of reality to which the other gods had been banished, one elbowed it's way to the front and peered out over the abyss into the universe. A bit of it's power had been tapped...it felt so painfully familiar.
And something popped and a pressure it had been feeling for twelve thousand years suddenly eased. It sighed content. At least someone out there was about to have a good time.
*
"All right, love. I'll clean them for you, but clean out the pockets first. I have no desire to find out what the great Cyanide Torres keeps buried in those things."
It turned out to be quite a pile, despite the fact that Cya had fished out the 'important' items before handing it over. By the end, Harley had unearthed half a broken drumstick, a pocket calculator, several pens of varying colors, lots of lint and a half-eaten mozzarella stick that had definitely seen better days. Feeling a bit like he was groping his friend by proxy, Harley felt vaguely sick digging into the back pockets.
He withdrew a neatly folded drawing and thoughtfully unfolded it.
"Holy shit!"
*
A sudden stink filled the office. The angels continued, except for the affected individual who blushingly cleaned his cubicle.
"I really wish that they knew what happened every time they swore...maybe it would make them stop." He muttered.
OR THEY WOULD DO IT ON PURPOSE.
The angel winced.
*
"What is it, lovely?" Mik had rushed in from the living room to find his lover staring at the drawing in horrified comprehension.
"Cyanide is in love with Skids."
"I know...he told me."
"What?!"
"It's a long story."
"I'm not doing anything else." The blond crossed his arms and looked generally impatient.
"Well...it started in the elevator..."
Twenty minutes later, Mik heaved out a sigh.
"And we haven't much talked about it since."
"Do you think Skids loves, Cya?"
"I don't know. You know him better then I do."
"He does." Harley said suddenly with absolute conviction. "He just doesn't know it yet."
"But...."
"Not buts. I will not have one of my friends pining away for the other. Its' stupid. They were obviously meant to be together!"
"Lovely, what are you going to do about it? They grown ups, they'll figure it out for themselves eventually."
A chill pervaded the room. For a moment, Mik was positive he could smell blood and there was a horrible stain all over Harley's fingers. In his mind he heard an ancient wail //My son!//
It faded as soon as it had come.
"Somehow, I don't think so."
*
The 'file' was starting to loose it's green glow which meant that the twist had taken effect. The strange power of the other gods involved was fading. All would be as God had intended. And it was good.
"Dude, how's it hangin'?"
Lucifer grinned at the general space that God choose to occupy in that moment.
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
"Wanna play a game of poker?"
YOU CHEAT.
"Duh."
I DEAL.
The Devil rolled it's eyes.
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
*
"Sit." Harley commanded. Nearly a month of planning had gone into this presentation and he'd be hetero, if he was going to let it go to waste because Cyanide couldn't follow directions.
"What this all...'
"I said sit!"
Cyanide sat.
The kitchen table looked something like a war council or some type of intervention. Skids and Mik were already sitting down and Harley loomed above them all. On the counter next to were several large pieces of poster paper lying face down.
"Before I continue, I want a promise from everyone here that no one will interrupt me until I'm finished."
"I don't think so."
"You don't get a choice." Harley growled at Cya. The Latino blinked rapidly.
"Harley, why are you being so mean?"
"Skids, I love you. Really. Shut up, please."
The Italian's eyes went round, but he closed his mouth so fast his teeth made an audible click. Cya glared at Harley who pretended not to notice. Mik, who had already been brief, sat silent trying to repress a lusty smirk at his lover's domineering ways.
"Cyanide. Skids. You're in love with each other."
"Wh-" A pointer slammed down on the table with a loud crack.
"I said, no interruptions." The voice was low and lethal. Starting to feel a little afraid, Cya backed down and glanced over at Skids. His friend was trembling. "I want you two to be happy. Well, happier anyway. And that's only going to happen if you two get together. Which I will do everything in my power to prove you should be.
"Exhibit A. This drawing." Harley lifted the first piece of poster board to reveal the discovered paper.
The sketch of Skids was an almost perfect likeness, but the dead give away was the little heart at the bottom with the initials G.D. written in the coroners. Heat rushed into Cya's cheeks turning him beet red. Another cardboard piece was flipped up.
"Exhibit B. A bar graph of how many times Skids mentions Cyanide in daily conversation when Cyanide isn't around, compared to how many times I mention Mik when he isn't present. As you can see it's often as, if not more frequent.
"Exhibit C." Harley flourished a video tape and inserted it into the waiting VCR. The tape came up and it soon became apparent that it was a heavily edited version of last week's Boy Band practice.
"I thought you said that was for the record company!" Skids started to protest.
Harley ignored the interruption.
"This tape was edited only to dramatize my point. In a three hour band practice this is what usually happens."
A series of clips showed Cyanide staring longingly at Skids every time the guitar player turned his back and then a series of Skids smiling at something Cyanide had said. Then at least seven of them sharing long intense looks. Then a slew of them both sighing soulfully.
Mik was impressed at his lover's single minded intensity. The film had taken at least a few hours to cobble together. Even if the editing was starting to make him a little dizzy.
The tape drew to a close.
"And finally, the last and most important exhibit of all..
"Harley, please..." Skids begged, tears standing out in his eyes.
"I thought I told you to be quiet!"
"Goddamnit, Harley! Leave him the hell alone or I'll...." Cyanide had all, but leaped across the table, ready to deck his best friend since elementary school just to get him to stop yelling at Skids. The room was silent.
"Exhibit D. Sorry, Skids, but you guys need to be together and you're both so oblivious."
Skids sniffed and tried for a smile.
"Could you just leave us alone for a while?"
"Yeah. Come on, Mik. Let's go out."
"But, this is our apartment!"
"Mik..."
"Right. Going."
And then it was only Skids and Cyanide. The Latino was already standing in front of Skids' chair, poised for action, but unable to act.
"Skids..."He wet his suddenly dry lip with the edge of his tongue.
"I think we should be done with words by now."
The Italian rose in one fluid gesture and his lips were suddenly on Cya's.
It was sort of an awkward angle, but Cyanide tilted his head a little the right and that about even things up.
"I love you, Giovanni Diangelo."
"Love you, too."
And this time when they kissed....
bloodfireancientthreat....a soft hand...a servant crying for his master...a prince calling for his lost spy.....the slave who reached for his master in the dark...the road toughened sister reaching for her softer twin and missing...the master who could not find his way....a woman crying to the heavens...a child sobbing for it's mother while molten rock poured from the sky....two people dancing in the chilly early hours of morning...the concubine who glimpses a far off lord.....the monk who lost his faith.....aching endless pain....the glorious rapture of stolen moments....the days spent waiting to die...the days spent dying.....they were everyone of them
none of it mattered at all.
"We shall..." Cyanide stared, but Skids quickly laid a hand over the moving lips.
"We've met up at last. Now, let's live."
*
THE END
"Now, who's cheating?" The Devil pouted. "Ending it just because you're winning."
NOT THE GAME YOU POMPOUS FOOL. THE STORY OF TWO SOULS. THEIR STORY IS COMING TO AN END.
"Oh." Blistered red shoulders shrugged. "Pass me the nachos? Everything is a circle. You shouldn't say The End."
HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?
"I'm a part of you. You gave me some of your knowledge."
A PART. NOTHING IS CIRCULAR.
"But I thought Time always came back to meet itself...that's why it's infinite."
God shrugged it's nonexistent shoulders.
YOU KNOW ONLY A PART OF THE GREATER WHOLE. THERE IS NO SINGLE INFINITY, BUT INFINITE INFINITIES. EVERYTHING IS A SPHERE.
"I don't get it."
LET'S JUST SAY THAT IT'S EASIER TO SAY THE END.
********************************************************
Author's Notes: I didn't want to end this series. There is, in fact, another story that I almost added before posting this one. But, I feel that it's run it's course and as much as I loved it, it was time for it to end. I wanted to thank everyone who supported the series this far. At five months, it is the longest I have spent on any BMB idea. Final feedback? Questions, comments and ritual abuse are all accepted at: tarrotcat@aol.com