He Always Cries

He always cries after we are together. After he erupts in me like the active volcano he is. Granitic, explosive, stone on fire. The surfaces of our bodies have been ripped by cataclysm, transmuted once, twice, changed again. When I am with him the earth always moves, and moves. When he rolls away and curls in upon himself like a collapsing crater the dust and ashes in my mouth taste like apocalypse.

I will lie awake for hours, listening to the soft hiss and crackle of his afterburn. His weeping soothes my heat-blistered mind and when I drift off to sleep I will settle like a fallen mountain. Heavy and aging I will sleep very late. When I awaken I will be alone and my world will once again be transformed. I will shower, I will eat breakfast, I will drive my car. Nothing I see will look the same.

The songs on the radio will all be about him, about the way he makes me feel. The co-workers I greet will all be people who do not know about us. My partner alone will remain familiar. We will work together smoothly, as if the shape of continents were not altered.

The basement office was empty when he arrived. The lock on the door had never been difficult, even before his connections assured him of a skeleton key to the building. The decor was amusing, so reminiscent of the personality of an obsessive man and his supportive, yet rational partner. The poster proclaimed "I want to believe" but the smaller desk bore a copy of the Skeptical Inquirer. He reached the file cabinet and picked the lock with no difficulty. Reaching inside, he withdrew a file containing some small pieces of evidence that would certainly be missed... eventually.

His skin still bore traces of the recent tryst, and his attempt to focus on the present was undermined by memories of another time in that office. A time when his entry had been interrupted by the unexpected presence of an occupant. A short argument, swiftly silenced by the pressing of his gun against the other's throat. The shocking, unmistakable scent of arousal, combining with dilated pupils and harsh breathing.

Remembering the convulsive mating that followed, his eyes glazed and he was unprepared for the sarcastic voice addressing him from the doorway.

"You've gotten careless."

Rage filled him as he realized the truth in that statement. Wallowing in emotions was not something he could afford.

"What do you want." A statement, not a question. The mocking figure in the doorway would only give out information in a prescribed ritual, never as a present.

"What does anyone want? A long life, good health, meaningful work, pleasure... ah yes, we all want pleasure. It would be wise if we could keep it from interfering with the other things we all want... Don't you agree?"

He made a meaningless noise in his throat, waiting for the other to get to the point. After a moment, the drawling voice continued.

"The fact is, you are becoming a little too, shall we say, high maintenance? Some of us feel your needs in the human department ought to be a little more spartan. A lot is at stake here." The voice grew more resonant, a trifle grandiose. " The fate of worlds hangs upon us now. I want to believe" mocking gently, "that you can be relied upon to exercise rational restraint.".

He sighed at the predictable nature of his enemy and sometime ally. Always, inevitably, the talk.

"Can you just get to the point. I have things to do tonight." It would do no good to become impatient, but the grandiloquence of the other could become insufferable.

"At the risk of being trite; you are not the man you were. You seem to be developing scruples that conflict with your purposes. Single-mindedness is not evident in you the way it once was. We fear you have become...distracted."

He gave a short, genuine laugh. So someone had noticed.

"I am not the man I was. I will probably never be again."

There was a saccharine sigh from the doorway. He almost thought he heard jealousy in the voice. Or was it envy?

"Ah, true love. How sweet. As fabled as its effects are, however, I've never heard of love stopping bullets. Are you sure you can protect your darling?"

His teeth showed in something that might have been a smile.

"I can assure ALL of you that I have provided carefully against just such a question. As of last evening, I am certain that any bullet hitting my DARLING's body might just as well be aimed at the heart of a much larger creature. A creature with many heads."

The mocking note was stronger now in the reply.

"Do you really think anything in this business can really change? The weather shifts, but the landscape remains the same."

"Tell that to the people frozen by fire at Pompeii. Tell that to the dinosaurs you work for. Don't you understand? The face of the land is different now." He allowed his confidence to suffuse his voice.

Another sigh. Meant to be amused, indulgent. But it still held that note of bitterness.

"You were always so naive."

"And what were you? Idealistic? No, I assure you I am more practical than you might have suspected. I am also a great kisser. Just in case you were wondering. Not that you'll ever know. Frankly, you never were my type."

The anger in the glinting eyes showed him that his guess had been correct. Jealousy. The signs of emotion in the other's eyes gave them the only beauty he'd ever witnessed there. But he'd had enough of this game, and he moved close to his enemy with subtlety.

"Arrogant bastard." The eyes were flashing now, the white hand trembling. No gun in that hand, no awareness of physical danger as emotional threat overwhelmed intuition.

"You always wanted to know, didn't you?" Now he was just a breath away, and before the wide, frightened yet aroused eyes could register the change, his hands were around that white, weak throat.

But he only squeezed until consciousness left the overstrained face. He allowed the still-breathing monster to fall to the floor. He smiled and patted the evidence in his pocket. Then he left the basement.

He had no need of violence, his insurance was all in place with this latest acquisition. And as he had said; he was a different man now.

He always cries after we are together. Even the first time. I think maybe everything he has suffered silently just rises up when he feels anything at all. All that pressure, all that heat. That first time he took me, I could not have stopped him nor held back my response even to save my life. The power he unleashes is beautiful and dramatic beyond my ability to comprehend. One moment he was all cool surface, rugged but settled terrain. The next, I was pressed up against the wall and he poured over me like hot lava. His eyes shone gemlike, metamorphosing carbon.

A hot and sweaty time later during which I gave up my name in favor of his, he left me lying ragged and shattered on the floor to wrap his arms around his knees while tears poured down his face. If I could have moved I'd have crawled to him and held him. As it was I lay gasping and tried to learn the new form my body had taken. Before I had recovered myself enough to call his name he lurched up and out the door of the office. I would call him a thief but the way he took me felt more like an act of Nature.

I didn't expect to see him again. But I did.

The park is full of people as he jogs with seemingly aimless grace through its green-clad topography. Another typical urban being, he is disguised to near invisibility by his sweat pants and running shoes. One more working drone, gathering sunlight and a taste of the outdoors while he can. The early evening sunlight glances down at scattered angles from the luxuriant tree branches sheltering his path. Everywhere he looks he sees grass, flowers, blooming trees, couples walking hand in hand. Spring is here, and the rocky bones of the earth are covered by lovely but temporary lush growth. Underneath the covering of life, larger forces wait which could transform this whole oasis in the blink of an eye. He looks at the unknowing people moving through the park and remembers the powers for whom he has been working. The metaphor makes him smile.

He sees his contact sitting on a bench. He is amused at the cartoon- like cliché of the trench-coat and the bag of crumbs for the pigeons. Still, this is one meeting he would never consider missing. He wanders, apparently at random, over to the bench and props a foot on it to begin stretches. The mutter from the middle-aged man on the bench is so discreet he can barely hear it.

"I've done it. The transportation you requested in will arrive at the location you specified at the correct time. You are wise to leave now; the old men have ordered that you be terminated. Did you bring the... article we discussed?" The man's voice is rough and reminds him of a young James Cagney.

"Of course. Were you followed? You really should brush up on other human behaviors, you know. Your disguise looks too much like a disguise." He cannot completely suppress his amusement. His companion, however, does not evince any humorous undertones in his reply.

"I don't think I was followed; my DNA-analyser did not register any non-terras. Perhaps you are right, though I do enjoy feeding the pigeons." The birds cluck with all evidence of approval as more crumbs are thrown to them.

He smoothly removes the packet from his shoe under the guise of retying his laces. It slips easily into the bag of crumbs his companion has laid down conveniently close. The sound of a contented sigh from the other makes him smile again. He too is glad to see an end coming to the battle that they've been fighting. This one final piece will make enough of a difference that he feels for the first time at ease with his previous role in the war.

A different kind of smile crosses his face with the slow inevitability of a glacier. He really has changed.

He always cries after we are together. But now he is transfiguring us again, staring at me with tears still raining down his altered face. He wants me to go with him, leave the blue and green world behind. I am amazed, I am confused, my mind shifts and thunders and I will go with him anywhere. He sees my answer in my eyes, unable as I am to hide my metamorphosis. I feel a light from behind my eyes that refracts in his, turning jade stone into liquid crystal. He takes my hand and smiles.

Hours pass, slow drifting with him and we stand together in a field in West Virginia, as a star grows and changes, drifting down to us to land, silently. He leads me to stand under a strange ship I never thought I'd really see and a light from above flares white. We are on the bridge of this strange ship, ready to sail the most primal of seas and I look into his eyes again, waiting for him to explain. But he only smiles and the world is moving, lifting and spinning. I am dizzy and he holds my wrist to lead me to a queer, padded object like a bench. We sit down, and he straps us to it, though I can't see where the straps come from . He reaches out and covers my eyes for awhile, murmuring.

I think of my partner, who will search for me. I think of the few people who really matter to me. I think of the life I will leave behind. I will send a message, somehow.

There are large panoramic windows and after some time has passed and the movement no longer makes me dizzy, he leads me to them. His strong hand molds mine as I peer down at the jewel that was my home. I see ocean, blue-green, and white puffy clouds. I see continents, drifting.