In a place you only dream of, where your soul is always free Who: Torque and Patience (NPC) Where: Dreams (mostly) When: Night What: Life isn't what either of them dreams
When he dreams, he’s home. Not the place of his birth, far enough South that his accent thickens along with everyone else’s, until the tint of his birthplace becomes a slosh of the heavy fluid sound of it. He doesn’t dream of Mississippi, or of growing up and raising hell (while being told all the while by his ever pesky older sister that he’s headed there anyway).
He dreams of dragonskin body armor and of flying bullets.
He dreams of firefights and briefings of strategy and intel, of the heavy weight of a gun in his hand some days or the lighter (but more sure) feel of a blade on others. Some nights bring dreams of chaos and of the uncertainty of his survival that flashes past his military reserve and discipline to lodge broken shards of worry or, of what might have been, to rise and stab at him when the adrenaline passes. Some nights he dreams of perfect missions, men moving in absolute tandem to accomplish the goals at hand.
He dreams of his brothers-in-arms beside him, in battle and at rest.
It isn’t always that he dreams of battlefields and infiltration. Some nights bring memories of days and nights on stand down. They don’t have anyone but each other, and when their hands aren’t busy reloading clips into their weapons or splitting the wiring on explosive devices, they’re engaged in play. Video games divide their time between being additional hints of training and simple pure fun; they don’t avoid the games of war, but they don’t play only those.
There are questionable bars in whatever location they’ve been temporarily stashed in, with women (who are sometimes equally questionable, but they do their best to avoid those) and alcohol that runs the gamut from worthless to worth its weight in gold. It’s never where they are, as sentimental as it is even for him to think and no one ever speaks it aloud, but it’s who they’re with. Each other.
When he wakes, the dreams slip easily through his fingertips, replaced by consciousness.
Vaguely he remembers a flash of the phoenix that was and still is his unit’s totem, and laughing so hard his ribs ached. Or the burn of adrenaline driving marathons through his veins and the satisfaction that only came when they accomplished the near impossible.
-
When she dreams, she’s home. In the place of her birth, far enough South that the voices around her drawl and settle slowly in the air. She dreams of Mississippi, of days in the sunshine and nights sure and content that her parents would race to her side if she called for them.
She dreams of her mother’s warm voice, of the way she smelled of soft flowery perfume and that black bound book that seemed magical for the way that it always appeared at a moment’s notice. Of bath time where bubbles and warm water became a playground full of floaty toys and where a slap of her hand would splash the water up into the air.
She dreams of her father and the way he always smiled and laughed; how he swung her up into his arms and hung her upside down while she giggled and swung her arms.
There are Sundays spent in the white house her grandfather lived in half the days of the week, where people sang together and there was sometimes vast amounts of food and activities after everyone listened to her grandfather speak at the front of the room. She dreamt of wanting to wiggle away from sitting still on the wooden seat, wanting to chase the strange smells that sometimes wafted in, but was held still by stern words and the understanding that she had to be a good girl.
When she wakes, there are only remnants of her dreams left for her mind to wonder over.
Vaguely she remembers the small of fresh baked cookies and of her grandmother’s smile. Or of falling asleep between her parents after waking from a nightmare, and of playing with a little blonde girl who had been her playmate from the days before she could remember.
-
Every morning they have breakfast together before he has to head off to work and she goes to spend her day with his former superior officer, or with the children of his current boss. It’s not perfect, not what either dreams about, but it feels right and sometimes that’s enough.