Cadash raises her left hand and activates the anchor like always. But when she tries to close the rift, it pushes back against her, growing larger until it explodes into a dazzling green light all around them. Dorian shuts his eyes against its searing intensity and winces at the pain of a sharp, sudden headache. But it only lasts a moment. When the pain and the light are gone, he opens his eyes and notices the striking lack of sand dunes.
Not that he liked the Hissing Wastes by any means. But now it's been replaced by a bleak, nonsensical landscape of murky water and large floating rocks. It reminds him of Adamant.
"Perfect," he says. "Another day in the Inquisition, another freakish tear in the Fade that swallows us whole."
Walking physically through the Fade was an unpleasant but intriguing novelty the first time. Now it's just bothersome. He wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared for this at all. Even his clothes are poorly chosen for the present circumstances. His lovely draping robes are ideally suited for a desert wasteland full of blowing sand. Here, they're certain to get soaking wet and ruined while he's sloshing through this awful, muddy terrain in search of a possible way out.
Still standing next to him, Cadash chuckles. She looks relaxed, undaunted, and as optimistic as ever.
"Okay, Solas," she says. "Any ideas for getting us out of here? Can't say I'm looking forward to–"
But she never gets to finish that thought. Instead she's interrupted by the whooshing sound of another rift opening in front of them.
"Watch out," Bull cries as he shoves both Cadash and Dorian sideways.
Dorian loses his footing — because of course he does. It's been that kind of day.
Bull means well, but he isn't gentle. And so Dorian splashes face first into a murky pool that turns out to be more like the consistency of slime than water. And it tastes as bad as it smells. He pushes himself up, coughing and spluttering, extremely disgusted by the experience. He's about to let loose with a string of clever curse words, when he hears Cadash's low whistle of disbelief.
"Well, shit," she says — still standing, of course. Bull managed to avoid knocking her down. "Now isn't that the weirdest thing?"
Dorian glances up from his unpleasant predicament to see that the new rift has formed right beside her. Its light is nearly as intense as the first one. As he blinks against the brilliance, he can just make out the fact that several more people are standing there, shielding their faces from the painfully bright light. As the rift closes and disappears behind them, seemingly all by itself, Dorian hastily gets up from the mud. He's missing his staff and he scans the ground in search of it. If these new arrivals are hostile, he needs to be ready to fight them.
"Hey, it's okay," Cadash says, presumably talking to the strangers. "You're spirits, right? And that's why some of you look like us?"
Dorian immediately looks up to see what in the literal Fade she's talking about. And once he does, his jaw drops — he's looking at his own spitting image reflected back at him in the form of another person. It's another Dorian, the perfect facsimile, standing safely on dry ground without a splash of disgusting Fade water sullying any part of him. And standing behind him, there's another Solas and Bull, as well.
"No, we're not spirits," says an unfamiliar voice belonging to a fourth man in the group.
Dorian's never seen him before. And he's certain of that, because he'd definitely remember this one: handsome features, a rather strapping physique, and a mage, as well — he's already cast a defensive barrier around himself and his three companions, all of whom have their weapons out and ready.
"Isn't that what you are?" he asks. "Spirits who trapped us here when I tried to close the rift."
"Whoa, wait a minute," Cadash says. "You can close them, too? I thought it was only me."
She holds out her hand, palm up, and focuses her gaze until the anchor flares green for a couple of seconds. After that, she lets it fade away. And then, the improbable happens. The strapping, beautiful man signals to his companions. They all relax their stance as he holds out his left hand. His palm flares green, lit up with rift magic. He's got a Fade anchor, too, just like Cadash.
"Holy shit," she says. "Solas, could a spirit do that?"
"Unlikely," Solas says.
The other Solas nods in solemn agreement. Meanwhile, the other version of Bull is eyeing everything around them with wary disdain.
"Fucking rifts. Fucking Fade. What did I tell you, boss? 'That rift over there looks weirder than the others. Maybe we shouldn't go near it.'"
"Yes, you told me so," the man says. "And I didn't listen. But look on the bright side, we've got five mages here, and two of them are Solas. Chances are we'll figure this out somehow."
"Yeah, not actually much of a comfort," the other Bull says.
"Solas? Dorian? Thoughts?" the beautiful man says as he glances at his mage companions.
"Don't look at me, amatus. I'm as baffled as you are," the other Dorian says. He steps closer and rests his hand on the strange man's shoulder, friendly and intimate.
"I, on the other hand, do have ideas," the other Solas says.
But Dorian doesn't hear the rest. Because he's still stuck on that word — amatus — which the other Dorian used. He looks so well at ease standing beside the beautiful man and calling him that intimate term of loving endearment so openly. Dorian's not even aware of how blatantly he's staring at his counterpart until Bull comes over and shakes him out of it.
"Hey, you just gonna stand there gawking at yourself or do you want your staff back," Bull asks, holding it out gingerly like it's some sort of dangerous artifact.
"Thanks," Dorian says.
He frowns as he takes hold of it. The entire thing is coated in slime, which means it's no worse off than his wet and filthy robes.
How charming.
He steals another glance at his alternate self — not a scratch on him, not a hair out of place. Of course this would happen.
"So, that's pretty weird, huh?" Bull says.
He nods towards Cadash, who's striking up a conversation with both Solases while the man with the anchor and the other Dorian stand side-by-side as they listen. The other Bull stands at a distance from all of them. He's keeping his eye on the perimeter.
They seem to have landed in the Fade-equivalent of a swampy basin ringed by rocky terrain. The whole swamp is desolate, no spirits or demons in sight. Scattered here and there, the bleached white bones of skulls and femurs and rib cages — human or elven — rise above the water at its shallower points. But nothing moves or breathes beyond the eight of them gathered here. After a few minutes, Other Bull seems satisfied by the lack of immediate threats, and he saunters over to check out his counterpart.
"Hey," he says. "So here's the deal. Solas and Solas are both saying we're all the real versions of ourselves. It's some alternate universe crap and I can't even wrap my head around it. Turns out your boss, Cadash, remembers seeing my boss, Trevelyan, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes right before the–"
Other Bull cuts himself off to make an expanding gesture with his hands while attempting to mimic the sound of a massive explosion.
"So maybe in your world, he died, but in ours she died. Or maybe the two universes split apart right then and there, and everyone got duplicated except for the two of them. I don't know. The Solases were debating it and it sounded pretty messed up and magical so I figured I was done listening at that point."
"Huh," Bull says, "that is pretty weird."
"I know," Other Bull says, "the Chargers are never going to believe me when I tell them."
"Oh, I know, right!? Krem's definitely calling bullshit when I tell him about this," Bull says.
And just like that, it seems, the two Bulls are friends, laughing together as they wax prosaic about what each of the Chargers will say. Meanwhile, Dorian continues casting sidelong glances in the direction of his alternate self. Other Dorian's got his hand on the other Inquisitor's shoulder again — and to Dorian's surprise and great dismay, he watches as the handsome Inquisitor smiles, catches hold of his Dorian's waist, and pulls him near. Both of them look utterly smitten with each other and entirely too pleased with themselves.
"Oh, yes, actually!" Cadash is telling them. "Josephine's my special lady friend."
The volume of her voice has gone up, presumably in her enthusiasm to tell another happy couple about her extremely satisfying romantic relationship.
"Oh, how lovely for Josie," the Inquisitor — Trevelyan — says. "It's too bad she doesn't have you in our world."
Both men glance at each other again with the same revoltingly devoted smile. Dorian fears for a moment they're about to kiss, which in turn would cause him to vomit — and honestly, hasn't he been through enough today?
"Ugh," Dorian says, not even realizing he's speaking aloud until both of the Bulls are staring down at him.
"Aw, hey big guy, you having a hard time with this?" Bull asks.
The worst part is, he's not even being snarky and condescending. Bull sounds earnestly concerned for Dorian's well-being.
"Oh, leave me alone, I'm not a child," Dorian says, and then he sighs, immediately aware that he sounds rather childlike and petulant after all.
The sooner they all get out of here, the better — ideally before he has to talk to this insipidly perfect other version of himself.
Adding to his present discomfort, his feet are soaking wet. The earth squelches beneath him as he moves a few paces onto higher ground. He kicks at the dirt, trying to dislodge the worst of the mud from the treads of his boots. Then he pauses when something catches his eye. He bends down to inspect the gleam of something silver in the dirt. It's a ring, inset with a small green stone. It doesn't look precious, but as he stands up and studies it more closely, he sees writing on the inside band. He can barely make out the words: I love you.
Cadash should see it. So he drops it into his pocket with every intention of showing her later, when she's no longer chatting up the adoring pair of lovebirds. Dorian's not going over there. He can barely stand to look at his alternate self and the other Inquisitor. He's not sure how anyone can stomach their constant stream of loving glances. It's so disgustingly syrupy he can feel his stomach churning just from thinking about it.
"Hey," Cadash says, calling out to him and interrupting the satisfying bitterness of his private thoughts as she approaches. "So here's the story. I think we have a plan."
Both of the Bulls come closer to listen as she explains it in broad strokes. The Solases have a theory and to test it, they need to wait until the four floating boulders nearby have completed one full orbit of each other. It should take about half a day — or what will feel like half a day — measuring time isn't really a thing in the Fade, she says, according to both of the Solases. The rocks will end up in the same position they were in when the two rifts opened. At that point, both the Inquisitors can draw power from the Fade as they simultaneously work to reopen the rifts. That should recreate the portals that brought them here. Once everyone is back in their appropriate worlds, both the Inquisitors can seal their rifts.
"So yeah," she says, "we're gonna do that."
"Sounds good, boss," Bull says.
"Won't the new rift just transport us here again when you try to close it?" Dorian asks.
"Well," she says, "we asked that question, too. Solas doesn't think it'll work that way. When we open the new rifts we should have full control of them."
"Should have?" Dorian asks.
"Yeah, both the Solases are, like, eighty" — she holds up her hand, tilting it back and forth to show her uncertainty — "maybe ninety percent sure about this? So here's hoping it works!"
Dorian sighs at the sight of her broad, beaming smile. Leave it to Cadash to be chipper and cheerful despite all the danger.
"And hey," she adds, grinning up at Dorian, "did you see that? The other you has a super cute boyfriend, huh?"
Dorian clenches his jaw and tries very hard not to swear at her. He's going to have a long, terrible half-day ahead of him.
There's nothing to do but wait. So they all trudge over to a patch of rocky ground, raised up slightly from the marsh. They sit together in a circle, as if gathered around a campfire. And for a long while, Cadash and Trevelyan do most of the talking, comparing stories of their own adventures with the Inquisition. Many details are similar, but an equal number are strikingly different.
When Cadash mentions their search for Calpernia, Trevelyan looks utterly baffled. In his world, he says, the Inquisition is pursuing Samson and the Red Templars instead. Gradually, the more they talk, the more the discrepancy begins to make sense. Trevelyan never recruited the Templars at Therinfal. Instead, he teamed up with the other Dorian at Redcliffe to thwart Alexius and recruit Fiona's mages as full members of the Inquisition. That's when his Dorian joined the Inquisition, and then spent several weeks at Haven getting to know everyone before Corypheus mounted his attack — with Samson and an army of Red Templars beside him.
"What about Felix?" Dorian asks, addressing his counterpart for the first time.
His own desperate need to know the fate of his friend in that other universe wins out over all his ill will.
Other Dorian shakes his head sadly. "The Blight caught up with him, I'm afraid."
"Yes," Dorian says, "I suppose that's what would have happened if the Venatori hadn't killed him like they did with us."
"I'm so sorry," Trevelyan says, speaking directly to Dorian.
And it's the last thing Dorian wants — some contrite, beautiful stranger trying to sympathize with him.
"Don't be," Dorian says. "You don't even know me."
"I know," Trevelyan says, "but I met one version of Felix and I'm sorry he's gone in both our worlds."
"Don't," the other Dorian says, touching his hand gently to catch the Inquisitor's attention. "Amatus, leave him be."
Trevelyan looks at his Dorian for a moment. They exchange a long look that seems to communicate something meaningful to both of them. Then Trevelyan nods in agreement. And that's even worse somehow. Dorian would prefer mean-spirited laughter, or a gloating sneer of presumed superiority. Instead, he's stuck with the vague, unsettling sense that his counterpart pities him.
"So, what about Rainier?" Cadash says, moving the conversation along.
"Is that a place? A person?" Trevelyan asks.
"Well–" She starts to answer when Solas, sitting beside her, interrupts.
"Tread carefully," he says. "If information has surfaced in one universe, but not yet in another, it could be disastrous to reveal it before its time."
"Really?" Cadash says. "Now you tell us? We've been swapping stories for, what, a couple of hours now?"
"Forgive me, Inquisitor," Solas says." It was not my intention to withhold anything from you regarding our present circumstance. I was simply reflecting on the possibilities, and the danger occurred to me."
"Yes," the other Solas says, speaking up on his behalf, "I believe my counterpart is correct."
And of course it's this way. Of course every other person here is perfectly delighted to fawn all over their alternate self. It's just Dorian's luck that his own counterpart is such an ingratiating, self-satisfied arsehole.
"Right, okay, well, just go easy on him when you do meet him, okay?" Cadash says. "Regardless of everything, Rainier's been a true friend."
Solas flashes her a look of warning, but she simply shrugs.
"Hey," she says, "what's the problem? I didn't say anything specific. So come on. Lighten up, Chuckles."
Despite his unhappy mood, Dorian smiles. He's been called Sparkler enough times to recognize the pattern. Cadash only borrows one of Varric's pet names when she's really and truly annoyed with someone. And that pleases him, because it means he's not the only one who's short on patience.
But Cadash is, as always, Cadash — amiable, optimistic, and perpetually fond of group activities. She sets her mind on a new task, searching her pockets until she finds a deck of cards. She holds them up in triumph and proposes a few rounds of team Wicked Grace.
"Okay, let's all pair up with our other selves," she says. "Well, such as they are."
She smiles at Trevelyan, who grins right back at her.
"All right, teammate," he says. "Let's do this!"
Dorian sighs with misery and resignation. And several minutes later, he finds himself sitting unhappily next to Other Dorian, who holds all the cards and very cautiously allows him the briefest of glances. As he leans forward, the pendant of his amulet slips out from beneath the folds of his robes.
"You never sold it," Dorian says, instantly recognizing the Pavus birthright amulet.
Other Dorian glances down, realizes what he's talking about, and tucks the pendant away again.
"I did, actually," he says.
"Then you got it back? From that little shit, Ponchard de Lieux?"
"In a manner of speaking," Other Dorian says. "Trevelyan pulled some strings. Not how I would have wanted it done, but I can't say I'm not grateful to have it."
"Oh, of course," Dorian says, chuckling as it all makes sense. It's all for show. Of course there's no universe in which any version of himself would get to have genuine feelings for someone. "How convenient for you."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Other Dorian narrows his eyes. He does not look pleased.
"Oho! Hit a sore spot, did I?"
Dorian chortles with glee, loud enough for everyone else to hear him. They stop chatting amongst themselves and they all look over at him, but he doesn't even care. With all his resentment building, it feels good just to gloat.
"It isn't like that," Other Dorian practically hisses at him. "Not that you would know."
In response, Dorian rolls his eyes. He doesn't have to put up with this and he isn't going to — not any longer.
"You know what, forget this. Just play on your own," Dorian tells him. He grabs the cards from his counterpart's hand and tosses them to the ground, where they land face up for all to see. "Beat your pretty boyfriend or lose to him, I don't really care. I'm done with this shit."
He gets up and leaves the group, grabbing his staff, hopping down from the ledge, and once again splashing through the brackish filth all around him. He only stops when he's far enough away that he can't hear any of their horrible voices rising up in distress and concern.
So sorry to ruin your lovely little card game. Except he isn't sorry. Not sorry one bit.
Of course, the unfortunate part about storming angrily away from others is that the cruel satisfaction fades away rather quickly. Dorian knows the way of it, because it's always the same: The momentary gratification disappears and then he finds himself all alone and lonely. Because what he'd really, secretly like is for someone to come and find him. If he's feeling particularly perverse, he makes a game of it — a sad, silent wager with the emptiness all around him. If someone shows up, it means he's important. And when they don't, it confirms that he isn't.
The healthier thing to do would be to go back. But at this point, it's too much of an indignity to even fathom. Needless to say, it's a surprise when he hears the sound of splashing behind him and turns to see a familiar figure approaching.
"Hey," Bull says. "I thought maybe you could use some company. Someone to watch your back in case of demons."
Dorian's so relieved to see him that he's instantly annoyed with himself for feeling this way.
"Let me guess," he says, "they're all distressed by my shocking outburst, and the Inquisitor asked you to check up on me."
"Nah," Bull says. "That's not why I'm here."
"So Cadash didn't order you to follow me?"
"She didn't have to. I was on my way already."
"Right, of course," Dorian says, still feeling annoyed, "because you're so good at knowing what everyone wants before they even have to ask for it."
"Nope," Bull says. "Because my friend is upset. And I care about him enough that I followed him into this nasty, festering bog so he wouldn't be all alone out here. You know, like friends do."
"I don't want to go back there," Dorian says.
"So we won't."
"You think I overreacted, don't you?" Dorian asks.
He's not sure if he even wants an answer. But he feels so off balance in this place, and Bull's perspective is often the balm that he needs when his spiraling anxieties get out of control. If anyone's going to help him find a clear-headed perspective, it's probably Bull.
"Maybe?" Bull says. "But the way I see it, the rest of us have it easy around here."
Dorian looks up at him with his eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.
"I mean, look," Bull says, laying it all out matter-of-factly, like it's an obvious joke, but somehow Dorian needs the punchline explained. "Cadash? She's fine. Her other self isn't even her. She gets to chat up some random, friendly human guy. He asks her about her life without even once being creepy and hitting on her. What's not to love about that?"
"And Solas?" Bull says, continuing down the list of their companions. "Who knows what's up with him, but it's probably a lot like it is for me and the other Iron Bull. When it really counts, we've made the same choices. Betraying Gatt, saving the Chargers — that's the kind of thing that shapes you. There's not much different about us. So it's easy, I guess."
"Whereas I'm the lesser of the two Dorians," Dorian says. "Well, that feels fantastic. Thank you for that."
He sighs and turns away, and as he does so, something gleams near the surface of the water and it catches his eye.
"Not what I said," Bull says. "Not what I'm saying."
"Could have fooled me!" Dorian shouts back to him as he trudges off through the marsh, heading towards whatever new bauble or bit of shining metal he saw from the corner of his eye.
"He's not better than you," Bull says, splashing after him. "Seems like he's had a good, safe place to be vulnerable while he works through some of his bullshit. So yeah, good for him. But who cares? You don't need what he has."
"What I don't need is pity from you," Dorian says as he stops and looks down at the rotting remains of a person's hand, sticking up from the vile, brackish water.
There's a ring on the fourth finger, silver with a small, green stone. It looks identical to the one he found before. He has a vague suspicion that it isthe same, with an identical inscription and everything. That would mean that other people have been trapped here before, taken by a rift, left to starve and die alongside their counterparts from the alternate world.
"It's not pity. That's not what I'm saying," Bull says.
He wrinkles his nose from the smell as Dorian reaches down, pulls the ring from its mouldering finger, and wipes it off.
"Hah! Just as I thought," Dorian says.
The inscription on the inner band is identical, but he reaches in his pocket and takes out the other ring just to be sure they're a perfect match. He still has it, because in all his grumbling and animosity towards the other Dorian, he forgot to show Cadash.
"I love you. That's what it says and the etching is identical. They're the exact same ring."
"What does that mean?" Bull asks.
"Well, I'm not entirely sure, but we should definitely go back and show the others," Dorian says. He's speaking quickly, excited to be doing something, and hoping it just might help. "If more pairs of other people have been taken from both worlds and trapped here, then there might be something we can learn if we all search around a bit. Solas was — what? — eighty percent certain he can get us back safely? More information might help us increase those odds."
"Okay," Bull says. "So, you sure you're ready to go back there?"
"Oh, forget him," Dorian says, rolling his eyes as he refers to his counterpart. "It's just as you said — good for him, but nobody needs what he has. And if we can figure this out, then it'll be a good thing we're not all sitting around making calf eyes and swooning!"
"Okay, then. Lead the w– Whoa!" Bull says, widening his stance and trying to hold onto his footing as the ground around them begins to shake. It feels like an earthquake — but a magical one — because the mud beneath their feet starts to glow with a dull, sickly green. And then, out of nowhere, the large spindly form of a demon rises up from below.
"Oh, fuck!" Bull says as the demon lets loose with an ear piercing scream and then leaps towards him on long, agile legs.
Its fingers are claws, long and deadly as an assassin's blade. And it swipes at him with two of its hands, aiming low for an eviscerating wound. But the blows don't land. Bull is already safely shielded behind Dorian's magic. He's fast and he's good at this. He's got barriers up around both of them and now he's casting a barrage of fire to keep the demon at bay. Another fire barrage follows and Dorian glances behind him to see Solas, Solas, and the other Dorian all firing off spells from a patch of dry ground behind him. Meanwhile, Cadash and the other Bull are splashing through the water, their weapons ready and their sights set on the massive demon ahead of them.
And then, out of nowhere, Trevelyan appears in a burst of spirit energy, driving the demon even further back as he slices at its legs with his spectral blade. He's a fucking Knight-Enchanter, of all things. And a sexy one, at that.
Dorian sighs and tries to remind himself of what he just said to Bull. Good for my counterpart. I don't need what he has. And he gets back to work casting barriers to keep Cadash and Bull shielded as they venture forth into the fray.
With four mages at a distance and four fighters up close dealing massive amounts of damage, the demon doesn't stand a chance. But it's wily and agile, and it jumps away to shield itself, summoning spirit minions to gain an advantage. But the end is near. Cadash and Trevelyan seem equally talented at adapting to the flux and flow of battle. And as the fight nears its inevitable conclusion, they're talking to each other, fast and strategic, collaborating as they shout out directions for both of their teams. The end result is that the fight goes smoothly. By the time the demon is slain, all eight companions are covered in mud. They almost smell worse than the bog itself. But no one is injured, not even a scratch.
"Huh," Cadash says, as she wipes the slime from her face. "Well, what do you know?"
She kicks the demon's corpse-like husk and then watches as it melts away into the invisible substance of Fade.
"An envy demon," she says. "Just like at Therinfal."
"Not like the one at Therinfal, but yes, this is envy," Solas says. "I surmise it was a spirit corrupted by Corypheus, possibly at the Temple of Sacred Ashes at the moment of rupture when our two worlds diverged. If so, I suspect it's been feeding off the world ever since, using rifts it controls to lure people here in pairs — counterparts from across the divided realities. It gorges itself on their envy for each other."
As he speaks, the air around them seems to shift and shimmer. It coalesces into a pair of rifts. And both of the Solases are ready to explain it. The rifts have been freed from the clutches of the demon — and all that. Dorian stops listening. He's weary of explanations and he's more than willing to hop through whichever rift will take him safely back to the desert wasteland — where the sand is far too invasive, but at least nothing looks or smells like a festering marsh.
There's no reason to linger. And yet Cadash and Trevelyan are dragging things out, because of course they're both huggers. And they're so glad to have met each other. And it makes them sad to think they'll never see each other again.
"Maker's breath," Dorian mutters, "he's as sentimental as she is."
"You get used to it," says an altogether too familiar voice from right behind him.
Dorian turns to see the mud-splattered face of his counterpart looking right back at him.
"Look out for yourself, alright?" he says. "And I know you don't need my advice, but–"
"But you're going to offer it anyway?" Dorian asks.
The other Dorian smiles.
"Perhaps try letting your guard down with someone. I can promise you it's incredibly worth it."
And with that, he walks away, heading towards the rifts to join the rest of his companions. There, they all stand waiting until the goodbyes can't be dragged out any longer. Trevelyan joins them, activates the left rift with his anchor, and then leads his group back to the world that they came from.
"Okay, boys," Cadash says, calling her own team back together. "As much as I know we all love this place, it's definitely time to get out of here!"
The desert campfire blazes with a welcome heat. Dorian sits beside it, basking in the warmth as he tries to relax and put the day's events behind him. He's got fresh clothes on and he's as clean as he possibly can be given the limited availability of water. Tomorrow, Cadash says, they'll track down a functioning well and bathe more thoroughly. That will be nice, provided it all goes according to plan.
It doesn't always.
When Bull sits down beside him and holds out his waterskin, Dorian takes it, drinks deeply, and then passes it back.
"Thanks," he says. And then, after a quiet few seconds between them, he adds, "And not just for the water. Thanks for all of it."
"For what?" Bull asks.
He must know, but he's asking anyway, clearly enjoying this rare, appreciative mood.
"Thanks for checking on me. For talking to me. And for what you said — that I'm not the worst of the Dorians."
Dorian smiles as he watches the campfire in front of them, sending up sparks that rise until they disappear in the desert night. He might not be the perfect man with the perfect boyfriend, but at least he's got a free life of his own and a few friends to share it with.
"Yeah, well," Bull says, "as far as I'm concerned you're the best one. You're pretty damn great."
"Ugh, you don't have to say that." Dorian laughs and rolls his eyes.
"Sure I do. Friends take care of each other. And you know, you're my friend." Bull pauses for a second. Then, in a quieter, gentler voice he adds, "And like I said, we could always be other stuff, too. If you ever wanted to be."
Dorian looks over at him. It takes a moment for Bull's offer to register. But once it does, Dorian's eyes go wide and his mouth falls open. He's legitimately at a loss for words. The flirting — all the flirting — Maker's breath, he always thought it was nothing, just Bull being Bull. He tries to say something — anything — but his mind's gone blank and his throat's gone dry. He swallows in a futile attempt to wet it and find the words to speak.
Meanwhile, Bull simply shrugs.
"Hey, just saying. The offer's out there. Up to you what you want to do with it."
And still, Dorian sits there saying nothing. He watches as a drop of sweat beads on Bull's neck and then slowly starts to roll in a wet and gleaming line along his skin.
"Fuck," Dorian says, finally coming up with one word to express how he feels.
He's otherwise still speechless, completely floored by the dawning understanding that perhaps he's been hoping for this all along — for a serious offer to appear behind all the ridiculous come-ons.
"But no matter what, I'm your friend," Bull says, calmly reassuring him. "And you already know I'm the kind of guy who'd burn all my bridges for the sake of my friends."
"And sink all your dreadnoughts, yes, I've heard about that," Dorian says.
The power of words has come back to him, thankfully, because there's one more thing he wants to say. And he gets to the point faster than Bull can say "dreadnoughts don't sink!"
"I'll let you know, but I think it will be soon."
"What will?" Bull asks, predictably enough.
"When I'm ready to take you up on it," Dorian says. "And try a few of those other things."
He looks up at Bull again. And he smiles.
Somewhere out there, in another world, an alternate version of himself is probably sitting by a campfire much like this one, holding hands with the Inquisitor he loves. It's a good life, probably. But as he glances up at Bull again and they both start laughing, Dorian's sure of it. That life can't possibly be better than this one.