Shackled

Shackled
by Mythdefied
August 2003 - August 2007

Part 1

The bright flash of light wasn't startling; years of visits from his relatives had accustomed Hercules to that godly mode of travel. However, the color of this flash was telling; a pale blue fire that only one side of the family used and he was instantly on guard even before the visitor's identity became apparent.

"Strife," he said warily, conscious of Iolaus tensing beside him, readying himself for a battle.

Instead of the usual sarcastic response or even the normal rapid onset of physical violence, Strife instantly focused on Hercules, pale blue eyes wide with emotions Hercules rarely saw unless Strife was already on the losing end of a battle with him and even then it would normally be accompanied by anger, which was absent here. Hercules had a brief moment to note the fear and near-blind panic in Strife's expression before Strife was suddenly hurtling himself right at Hercules. Braced for an attack, Hercules was taken by surprise when Strife stopped just short of slamming into him.

"You have to help me, Uncle Herc!" Strife grabbed him by the arms, his grip bruising even to a half-god.

For a few moments Hercules was absolutely floored, unable to think let alone respond to something he'd never in his life thought to hear. So far as he knew, Strife had never referred to him as "Uncle," and to ask for his help, after everything Strife had done over the years? Hercules' problem now lay not with an inability to speak, but in stopping the semi-hysterical laughter that threatened to spill from his lips. He clenched his teeth, forcing it back. He didn't want to offend Strife right off, not before he'd found out what this was all about, anyway.

Strife must have misinterpreted the clenching of his jaw because he immediately released Hercules' arms, instead wrapping his own arms about himself in a move that seemed self-protective. Hercules quickly slapped down the hint of concern that tried to rear its head.

"You're the only one left," Strife said, almost whining. "Discord won't do anything; she's all over me, hunting me down and trying to drag my ass back there -- and I'm so not going! Aphrodite just kept pinching my cheek and telling me it'll be good for me and Cupid won't get involved -- feather-brained jackass; I'm going to put some major trouble into his life because Zeus would've listened to him!"

Hercules exchanged a confused, and more than a little wary, glance with Iolaus. Neither of them had relaxed in the slightest, both still more than ready for a fight; simply because Strife hadn't attacked yet didn't mean he wouldn't stop babbling at any second and take a swing at one or both of them.

"Strife," Iolaus started hesitantly, obviously trying to choose his words with some care, "could you maybe calm down, just a little?"

"Calm down?" Strife shrieked the words, causing both Hercules and Iolaus to wince. "Do you have any clue how totally fucked up this is? This is major and I'm getting screwed over and I need your help!" He was yelling now, right in Hercules' face.

Taking a chance, Hercules grabbed Strife by the shoulders and shook him hard. "Get a hold of yourself," he snapped.

Strife looked rattled at the rough treatment, but he shouldn't have. During any of their previous fights he'd taken all Hercules had to dish out and still came back for more; a little bit of a shake bothering him like this worried Hercules far more than his desperate plea had.

Worried? Damn. Hercules kicked that emotion until it slunk away with a whimper. Focusing a stern glare on Strife, he tightened his grip on Strife's shoulders. "Assuming I'll do anything to help you -- and that's a big assumption, Strife -- I can't even start until I understand exactly what's wrong, and I can't do that until you pull it together enough to tell me, understand?"

Strife nodded, a jerky motion at odds with his normal fluid grace. "Zeus says I have to get shackled to someone." It was a whisper compared to his shouting of moments before.

"Zeus is chaining you to another person--er, god?" Iolaus looked at Strife without comprehension.

"No, idiot!" Strife shook off Hercules' grip. "I have to get hitched, tie the knot, get a ball 'n' chain--"

"Married?" Hercules interrupted in disbelief, finally translating the babble but not quite believing it.

"That's what I said," Strife muttered, backing away a couple steps, his attention dropping to the ground at his feet. He had a sullen look on his face but that edge of panic was still plainly visible in the way he seemed to tremble slightly.

"Married, wow." Hercules had to take a moment to grasp that concept. Why on earth would anyone, let alone Zeus, care whether or not Strife married? "Is this official? Zeus ordered it?"

"Yeah. Think it was Ares' idea, though, I mean, he kind of wanted to talk about it a couple of times but I blew him off. Didn't think he'd go and pull this shit." Strife shrugged, a motion that radiated unhappiness on so many levels that Hercules had to clench his fists to stop from instinctively reaching out to offer comfort. Helping people for a living left you with some bad habits.

"I still don't understand, what do you want from me?"

Now Strife looked up, focusing on Hercules and there was an intensity in that gaze that was surprising. "Talk to Zeus; he'll listen to you. Make him see how totally whacked this is."

"Strife...." He wasn't sure how or even what to say here. Obviously there had to be some sort of refusal, but how to phrase it without sending Strife off the deep end into a homicidal rage?

Then Strife closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before speaking again. "Please." It came out through clenched teeth and sounded as though his voice was being dragged over rusty nails, but the word was completely audible.

And again Hercules was struck speechless. Strife asking for help was stunning enough, but actually saying that? To him? How was he supposed to deal with this? He looked at Iolaus, wordlessly asking for any advice his friend could give; Iolaus was, however, busy staring at Strife in wide-eyed shock and it was obvious that no help would be coming from that quarter. It was up to Hercules to navigate around this particular pit of spikes.

"Um, Strife? I need to ask you something, okay?" He kept his voice level and free of anything that might betray just how surreal this all felt to him. Strife just nodded once in response, so he continued. "Is Ares your father?"

That made Strife open his eyes. He frowned at Hercules. "No, Dad's from another pantheon, somewhere out west. Went back before mom popped me out."

"But Ares raised you like his son?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Okay." Hercules sighed, bracing himself for whatever this would set off. "Ares is your closest male relative and you haven't reached your majority yet, have you?"

"I'm almost five hundred years old."

"Strife?"

"No! Not for another decade, all right? What's the point?" Strife snapped.

"I'm sorry, Strife, but even by mortal law Ares has every right to force you to wed. As head of the family, Zeus has even more right. I'm sorry," Hercules repeated, realizing that yes, maybe he was, a little. Strife had never asked him for anything before and now there just wasn't anything he could do.

He wasn't sure what he expected after his refusal; verbal or physical violence wouldn't have surprised him, that he could've understood. What he didn't understand was the way Strife continued to just stand there, looking at him. The expression on his face seemed so...broken, fear warred with panic and a despair Hercules had never seen before. It was disturbing to the extreme to witness, and apparently not just for him.

"Strife," Iolaus started, his voice surprisingly gentle as he reached out to touch Strife's arm. He didn't get to say anything more; Strife immediately jerked away from the touch, stumbling as he backed away.

Hercules would've gone after him and it likely wouldn't have been a smart thing to do, but fortunately he was spared the mistake by twin flashes of blue flame. Appearing right behind Strife, who had no chance to disappear before a large hand was gripping the back of his neck.

"You know, this is really the last place I would've expected to find you," Ares said with a hint of amusement, although the slight growl in his voice warned anyone who knew him of rapidly vanishing patience.

"That's why I told you to listen to me," Discord said airily from beside her brother. "I know how he thinks when he's desperate."

"Whatever. Let's get this over with." It was an obvious prelude to them disappearing, but before anything could be done, Strife suddenly twisted in Ares' grip, a movement that would've been impossible for a mortal, and he sank his teeth deep into Ares' wrist.

"Fuck!" Ares immediately released his grip, snatching his hand back.

Falling to the ground, Strife quickly used his heels to scuttle back away from the other gods, towards Hercules and Iolaus.

"You're gonna pay for that, you little snake!" Ares warned, although the bloody rip in his wrist was already healing, closing without a mark.

"I'm not going!" Strife yelled, scrambling to his feet without turning his back on either of his divine relatives.

"You don't have a choice!" Ares snapped back.

Strife opened his mouth, to say what was unclear since he closed it bare seconds later, a thoughtful look coming over his face. "Yeah, I have a choice," he said after long moments had passed, and his voice was far more calm, something that set off alarm bells in Hercules' head. Apparently it did the same for anyone even remotely sane because Iolaus tensed again beside him and both Ares and Discord looked suddenly wary.

"You said I have a choice," Strife insisted.

"I meant you can choose your bride," Ares clarified without losing the cautious look.

"Yeah, that's what I mean." And Strife smiled, a truly blood-chilling expression that made even the other gods take a step back. "I choose Hercules."

In the middle of drawing away from Strife, Hercules stumbled and barely stopped himself from ending up sprawled on the ground. Beside him Iolaus let out something resembling a squeak; Hercules couldn't manage anything more coherent than, "Huh?"

"What?" Ares asked, and Hercules had a brief moment of satisfaction that the God of War couldn't say anything more intelligent than he had.

Discord said nothing, just stared at Strife, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, you heard me; I choose Hercules as my 'bride.'" He looked at Hercules and that smile, seeming by itself to cause a plunge in the ambient temperature for all the warmth it possessed, was turned directly on Hercules who couldn't stop the shudder that went through him at the sight.

"Are you completely insane?" Discord sounded genuinely curious, but how she could've looked at Strife's expression and not already known the answer to her question wasn't something Hercules could understand. "Guys don't get married to each other!"

Hercules opened his mouth to, of all things, actually agree with Discord for once, but Strife cut him, and the impending argument off with a harsh bark of laughter.

"Well, they do now," he said with a sneer. "Hear that, Hercules?" Strife walked towards him, suddenly back in possession of every bit of boneless grace he'd ever had. It was mesmerizing, the fluid way he moved as he stalked Hercules -- and that was exactly what he was doing, Hercules realized. Strife was playing the predator and he was now the prey. Still, he didn't move. He'd never backed down from his family before and he wasn't going to start now, even if this was quite possibly the most frightening, mind-altering moment he'd ever experienced with any of them.

"It'll be you and me," Strife said as he seemed to glide right up to Hercules, sliding to a stop beside him. "We're going to tie the knot. See, it's an official decree and since you're part of the family, now you don't have a choice either." He rested an elbow on Hercules' shoulder and Hercules had to stop himself from flinching back. "Of course, maybe you do." Strife took on a thoughtful look again, but this time it was quite obviously false. "Hmm....let me think here; I know! You can go have a talk with Zeus and Hera, maybe try and make them see reason. Otherwise, well, betrothal ceremony's at the end of the month. See you then, baby." Puckering his lips and making an exaggerated kissing noise, Strife suddenly disappeared in a column of blue flame.

Stupefied, dazed, horrified; all of it described how Hercules felt, standing there in mute disbelief, but none of it could quite convey the depths of utter shock that paralyzed him, making it seem impossible to move or speak for fear of making this real and not the dream--the nightmare, it had to be. This simply couldn't be reality, it had to be something else, maybe a hallucination like that time Iolaus had added those strange mushrooms to their dinner, or maybe he'd gotten hit on the head too hard during that encounter with those bandits yesterday and now he was imagining things.

"Herc?" Iolaus' hand was on his shoulder. "C'mon, Herc; you're starting to worry me here." He did sound concerned and that was enough to bring Hercules out of his daze.

"Okay;" he nodded without looking at his friend, "just...gimme a few more seconds to pretend this isn't happening."

"Yeah." Iolaus patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"He really is insane!" Discord exclaimed in open disbelief.

"Of course he is; he's Strife," Ares said dismissively as though that were something everyone should've known, and maybe it was. "But...that doesn't mean he isn't clever." Eyes narrowing a bit, Ares regarded Hercules consideringly.

Instincts honed by years of conflict with Ares, Hercules immediately pulled his thoughts together, shaking off the feeling of unreality that had gripped him. He was used to Ares focusing all sorts of attention on him, usually the violent kind, but this thoughtful look was new in that for all of its intensity, there was a complete lack of vicious intent.

"What's on your mind, Ares?" Hercules was wary of asking that, but it didn't seem that Ares would speak any further without a bit of prompting.

For a few more moments Ares said nothing, then he nodded once and glanced at Discord. "Go keep an eye on Strife," he ordered before turning his attention back to Hercules.

Discord rolled her eyes but still to all appearances, obeyed, disappearing in a flash of blue-white light.

"Strife's mind is a twisted, convoluted thing; he doesn't see reality the way normal people, like you an me, do. He wouldn't be what he is if he did," Ares stated, still watching Hercules with that strange, hostile-free intensity. "But what most people don't understand is that he's also extraordinarily cunning; I forget it sometimes 'cause he screws up so much." He shrugged and finally looked away. Not seeming to focus on anything in particular, he, for all appearances, just surveyed their surroundings.

Sighing, Hercules started to rub the back of his neck, feeling a headache coming on. "Look, Ares, I know what Strife said and maybe he believes it, but Zeus won't allow it." For all their differences, he really didn't think that Zeus would force him to actually marry Strife. The thought went right past ridiculous and head-on into ludicrous.

Ares snorted, a thoroughly amused sound and one that set Hercules firmly on his guard.

"What do you know about the line of succession on Olympus?" Ares asked.

That apparent non-sequitor made Hercules frown. "Um, if Zeus dies, you're next in line?" That sounded right, anyway. It wasn't as though he spent a great deal of time memorizing his family tree and all of those impossibly intertwined relationships.

"Yeah, and after me?"

"Cupid?"

"Wrong; has to be a legitimate male child -- Mother's decree because of dear old Dad's infidelities. Wanna try for door number two?"

"Well...Deimos or Phobos?"

"Again, wrong. I said legitimate, Hercules; none of my children by Aphrodite are legitimate."

Hercules could only shrug now and exchange a baffled glance with Iolaus. "I don't know, Ares, okay? Can we drop the games and you just tell me what the point is?"

"The point, brother, is that I don't have any legitimate kids, let alone a male one. The line of succession therefore goes to my closest, legitimate male relation."

"Hades?" Iolaus guessed. That got him a scathing look from Ares before he refocused his attention on Hercules.

"Since you seem to be on the incredibly dense side today, lemme clue you in: when Discord had Strife, she was married to his father."

A moment of stunned silence, then, "Strife is second in line to Olympus' throne?" Hercules wasn't sure he could wrap his mind around that concept. Iolaus just stared, eyebrows reaching for his hairline.

"Duh," Ares responded, almost a perfect imitation of the way Strife would've said it. "Now here's where it gets clever; do you really think that Zeus is gonna be in any way against this when by marrying Strife, it both legitimizes you and puts you in the line of succession?"

And what could Hercules say to that? Ares was right; the idea of Hercules being even remotely close to the throne would be enough to win Zeus' approval. But if Strife knew that, then why would he have done this?

"But...then how does Strife expect me to get out of this, to get us both out of this?" he voiced his confusion.

Ares smirked. "It gets better, little brother. Yeah, your biggest problem is 'Daddy dearest' but it also gives you your biggest leverage; how do you think Hera's going to feel about this?"

"She's gonna implode," Iolaus whispered, and he was absolutely correct, Hercules realized. Even the slight possibility of him becoming in someway legitimate would be enough to incite Hera to fury, but add to that the fact that he'd be close to becoming an official heir to the throne, and she'd likely tear down half of Olympus with her temper.

"So, what? My greatest enemy is now my greatest ally?" he asked warily.

"Something like that." Ares' smirk widened a bit. "See, Mother was the one who demanded that Strife be given a choice in his bride, so she trapped herself. She'll do what she can to put an end to this, but don't think for a moment that she's gonna be friendly with you about it."

"Wasn't counting on it," Hercules said truthfully. The thought of Hera actually being nice to him was enough to give him unpleasant shivers. "What about you?"

"Oh, I suppose I'll take up Strife's side, since he did such clever job here. But I'm not doing it for you, 'brother,' I just wouldn't want to see anyone in my side of the family stuck with you for eternity."

"The feeling's mutual," Hercules sniped back. "I wouldn't marry into your side if you were the last--"

"Hey!" Iolaus stepped between them, hands out to keep them apart should they try to get at each other. A brave, if foolhardy move considering either of them could easily pick him up and move -- or throw -- him out of the way. "Knock it off, guys; this isn't the time to start fighting. You don't like each other? That's not exactly news. But right now you've got more to gain by working together. If you can't do that, then at least stay off each other's backs and out of each other's ways, okay?"

Hercules immediately nodded, seeing the sense in that. He wasn't at all sure he could work with Ares, but he had enough self-control to keep his half-brother from provoking him.

"Whatever." Ares shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. It almost looked like a child sulking when he didn't get his way but Hercules had enough sense not to comment on it, as did Iolaus who just nodded once and stepped back.

"Now, I've got a couple favors I can call in," said Iolaus, still keeping a close eye on both of them. "Aphrodite owes me more than one so I'll try and talk to her about this and there's a mortal or two I know who have some influence with the gods. Any favors you guys can call in?"

"Yeah," Ares responded without elaboration.

"I don't know," Hercules had to admit. He spent more time ruining his divine relatives' plans than helping them out so he wasn't at all sure that some of them wouldn't go against him just for revenge. "Maybe Hephaestus, but I'm just not sure." He sighed in frustration.

"See what happens when you go against your family?" Ares taunted. "They just aren't there when you need them." His voice was filled with fake sympathy.

Hercules glared at him but made no other response, refusing to take the bait.

"Getting back to the original subject," Iolaus said pointedly, "how will this play out? Are we just trying to get you off the hook, Herc, or are you gonna try and save Strife too?"

Rubbing the back of his neck again -- definitely a headache coming his way -- Hercules shook his head resignedly. "He's, well, Strife, Iolaus; unless we want to spend the rest of our lives tripping over our feet, eating spoiled food and running from mobs, I think we'd better help him out, too."

"A surprisingly wise decision coming from you, little brother," Ares said condescendingly.

Again Hercules just glared.

"Maybe we can find Strife a replacement," Iolaus suggested, "someone he'll get along with, want to marry even."

Hercules nodded. "All right; isn't there a nice goddess who'll marry him," he asked Ares, "or maybe not 'nice' but a goddess who understands him, would get along with him?"

Ares looked at him in open disbelief. "You know, maybe you should actually try to learn something about your family before you make yourself sound like even more of an idiot." Then he disappeared in a flash of blue flame and sparks.

For a few moments neither Hercules nor Iolaus said anything, then Iolaus sighed deeply. "So," he started, but never continued.

"Yeah," Hercules agreed, understanding the confused sentiment.

"Xena?" Iolaus queried.

"Yeah."

And with a shake of his head at the entire convoluted situation, Hercules started off down the road, Iolaus at his side.

Part 2

"...and that's about all we know," Hercules concluded.

"It just kinda got dropped right on us," Iolaus commented with a shrug. "Well, more on Herc," he added before taking a long drink of his ale.

There was silence from the other three sitting at the table as they digested the news with varying looks of shock and disbelief. Xena looked the least effected of them all, but even her eyes were wider than normal.

"So, what d'you want from me?" Autolycus was surprisingly the first to speak considering that he'd looked the most stunned of them all. "I mean, you've got my condolences big guy, and you know I'd steal the beard off Zeus' face if you asked -- nice challenge there; I'll have to think about that one -- but I don't see how a thief is gonna help you out of this."

"I don't need a thief -- not right now but let's not rule it out completely -- I asked you all to meet us because of who you know and in your case, Autolycus, who you are," Hercules explained, although from the confused look on Autolycus' face, it didn't clear things up any. "I need you all to call in any favors you have with the gods," Hercules clarified with a sigh. "I know it's asking a lot and there's a good chance you may need those favors in the future but I've never--"

"It's all right, Hercules, we'll help," Xena interrupted, her tone serious but with a softer edge than normal. "This...situation is unusual and we wouldn't let you take this on alone."

"No, friends help each other, no matter what," Gabrielle agreed, giving him a slightly wavering smile, obviously still trying to grasp everything she'd heard.

"Thank you, both of you." Hercules smiled back.

"I'm still not getting how I can help you out," Autolycus said with a slight shrug. "I don't have any dealings with the gods if I can help it -- it's why I try to avoid all of you, you know -- so I don't have any favors to call in."

Iolaus and Hercules traded a significant look and Hercules nodded once before taking a drink of his mulled wine. It was Iolaus who turned towards the thief and spoke. "You're Hermes' son, aren't you?"

"Hey! I dunno where you heard that, but...." Autolycus let his protest trail off as he looked from Iolaus to Hercules, then at Xena and Gabrielle. The two women wore mildly curious looks but the men just returned his gaze calmly. "Shit," he muttered, slumping back in his chair. He took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, he sat forward and clasped his hands on the table.

"Listen, guys, I don't have any 'special powers' and I'm not immortal; I made my own reputation without any help from a dad I've barely met, okay? Maybe it's gotten around that Hermes is my father but I'm never going to publicly admit to it, understand?"

"It would ruin your reputation?" Gabrielle ventured.

"Yeah. Everything I've ever accomplished would be laid right on Hermes' doorstep."

Hercules nodded in understanding, but Iolaus reached out to grasp Autolycus' forearm lightly. "We're not asking you to take out a public notice, Auto; there's more than one of us here who knows what it feels like to live in someone's shadow, okay? Just...do you have any relationship at all with Hermes?"

Autolycus shrugged uncomfortably. "Look, I don't know. Maybe. I suppose if I called he might answer."

"You don't have to do that here in a tavern. Go to one of his temples -- that wouldn't seem unusual for a thief -- and see if you can talk to him alone there. I don't know how you'd want to approach him; ask his help for Hercules or yourself, whatever works, just see what you can do, all right?"

Instead of answering verbally, Autolycus just nodded. Iolaus squeezed his arm in silent thanks and let go, moving to pick at the bits of food still left in his trencher.

"We should probably have picked up Joxer back in Apollonia," Gabrielle commented suddenly, looking thoughtful. "It wasn't that far out of the way and he can probably help too."

"Good point." Xena nodded, taking on the same thoughtful expression.

"Joxer?" Iolaus asked skeptically. "He's...a nice guy, I guess, completely deluded, but...nice."

"What do you mean?" Hercules asked the women, unwilling to discount any possible source of help, no matter how unlikely.

"Aphrodite likes him, and so does Cupid," explained Gabrielle.

"There were a few...incidents," Xena elaborated in a vague way. "I think we could make a good case that they owe him, more than once."

Hercules nodded, smiling slightly. He knew what his sister and nephew considered "fun" so he had a fairly decent idea of what Joxer might've been put through. "If you two are headed back that way could I send a scroll with you asking for his help?"

"Sure," Gabrielle grinned, "he'll love to see that. I mean, he'll help anyway -- he is a nice guy," she directed that towards Iolaus in agreement, "but it'll make him more enthusiastic if you actually ask him yourself, even if it is in a scroll."

"All right," Hercules grinned back. He knew Joxer annoyed Iolaus but he'd always liked the guy, even if he did have some strange ideas about reality.

"Sounds like we've made a good start," Iolaus observed.

Hercules nodded thoughtfully, not quite in agreement. "I don't know; we can probably get me out of this, but you know he won't settle for that. Maybe we should find him a wife."

"Joxer?" Gabrielle frowned at him.

"Oh! No, sorry," he smiled a bit sheepishly, realizing that he'd made a slight mental leap that everyone save Iolaus might have difficulty following. "I meant Strife."

"Someone call my name?" The maliciously teasing voice was quickly followed by the familiar flash of blue flame, revealing Strife, smirking and posed just out of Hercules' reach. "Posed" being the appropriate phrase as Strife stood, hands braced on his hips, weight resting back on one foot in a stance that fairly screamed "look at me!" And everyone did; apparently Strife had decided to be completely visible since anyone still sober at the nearby tables was currently shooting out of their chairs and running for the door.

At their table, Xena simply greeted the god with a slight nod and a quiet, "Strife."

Gabrielle smiled although it was obviously forced. "Um...hi."

"Great," Autolycus muttered, looking away from the god and down into his half-empty mug.

Hercules and Iolaus remained silent, waiting. It wasn't exactly a long wait.

Abruptly dropping his pose, Strife grabbed a now-vacant chair from the nearest table and spun it around, shoving it between Iolaus and Hercules. Giving them no time to move out of the way, Strife slid himself around the chair and dropped into it, sprawling in a way that put him in both Hercules and Iolaus' personal space. It looked completely random but knowing Strife, Hercules didn't doubt it was a perfectly planned and executed move. Iolaus immediately scooted his chair to the side but Hercules didn't move; he had a suspicion that if he tried to put any space between them, Strife would just find a way of narrowing that distance so it wasn't worth the effort.

"How's it hanging, sweetie?" Strife actually fluttered his eyelashes at Hercules. "Ready for the betrothal? It's only two weeks off."

"I'm doing everything I can, Strife," Hercules pointed out, somehow managing not to grit his teeth too hard.

"You better be." Suddenly dropping the act, Strife's expression became deadly serious. "You really don't want to know what an eternity with me is like, Hercules."

"I think I have a good idea," he replied wryly.

Strife smiled, an expression devoid of any humor or warmth. "No. You don't."

For a brief moment Hercules fought the urge to get as far away from Strife as he possibly could, but he quickly stamped down on the impulse, along with the icy fear that inspired it. He dealt with his relatives so much that sometimes it was difficult to remember that they were powerful beings, not mortals or even people at all by definition -- then one of them would do the smallest thing, like that smile, and he had no problem at all remembering.

Lightening fast, Strife's attitude changed again, that chilling smile gone as though it'd never been, replaced by his usual smirk. "So, what's the plan so far?" he asked, glancing around at the others seated at the table.

"We're going to contact the gods we know, see if they'll help," Xena summed it up succinctly.

"Huh. Same plan then, just more of you." Strife let his head fall back against the back of the chair.

"We'll do whatever we can," Iolaus said in annoyance. "Why couldn't you've just gotten married quietly?" He muttered the last under his breath.

After all the years that they'd dealt with the gods, Hercules had thought that Iolaus realized just how well a god could hear when they cared to. Or, more likely, he did know it, and that was the point.

"Now why the fuck would I want to do that, Blondie?" Strife's tone practically dripped with condescension.

"I liked marriage just fine," Iolaus countered. "So did Herc."

"I was happy," Gabrielle agreed, smiling softly. "Even if it was only for a little while."

"It might've been entertaining," Xena mused.

"Trust me, it's not," Autolycus said acidly. "He's got the right idea; run as far and as fast from it as you can."

"Autolycus." Hercules sent a warning glance in his direction. "You know, Strife, you just have to find the right woman. Isn't there one of the goddesses you...." He left the question unfinished, mainly because it couldn't be heard over Strife's high-pitched laughter.

Strife just sat there, laughing so hard that his body shook, so loud that most of the patrons who'd remained after his entrance were collectively starting to move to the other side of the tavern, eyeing him warily. He continued laughing for long moments, making even Xena wince at the pitch he reached. Finally though, he seemed to calm some, although he still giggled when he looked at Hercules.

"Oh, man, Uncle Herc; either you have a real bitching sense of humor and I never noticed before, or you're so out of the loop." Reaching in front of Iolaus, he snagged the mug Iolaus had been about to pick up. It looked like Iolaus was going to protest for a moment, but Strife was already drinking the last of the ale so there was no point. Iolaus just gave Hercules a pointed, annoyed look. Hercules shrugged slightly in response; what could they do? Strife was always going to be a pain in their rears simply because that was a fairly good definition of who he was.

"I don't understand," Hercules said instead, focusing back on Strife's comments.

"Yeah, like that's a shock." Wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, Strife set the mug back down in front of Iolaus. "Okay, here's a little clue for you: Xena there could get naked, down on her knees and offer to blow me right here, and you know what, I'd be pretty damn bored. No offence." He smirked in Xena's direction. She didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow, and maybe that said it all. "But, see, if it was Auto over there, or even Blondie here," he inclined his head towards Iolaus, "well, that's a different story. They'd be bent over this table faster than a mortal heartbeat; seeing the picture yet?"

Autolycus looked about ready to run -- which explained the sudden move on Xena's part, clamping her hand on his shoulder in what looked like a fairly painful grip. Iolaus had a fairly wild-eyed expression himself, but Hercules knew he'd stick around, if only to make certain that Strife didn't attack anyone. Besides, he doubted either of his friends were in any real danger; Strife was just making a point.

"You aren't attracted to women," Hercules summed it up.

"'Attracted?'" Strife snorted in amusement. "Hera's tits, I can't even get it up for them!" He frowned then. "Well...there was that one time, but it was totally unnatural and someone better have damn well learned her lesson." That was said in a way that seemed as though he were talking to himself, so Hercules didn't comment on it. "Anyway," Strife continued, dismissing his comment with a wave of his hand, "women and me don't have any business with each other like that, so why would I ever have even thought of getting hitched? And that kind of brings me back to you, Hercules." Another lightening-quick mood change. All traces of humor gone, Strife looked at him with utter seriousness.

"Find me a way out of this," Strife ordered, his voice deadly calm, "because if you don't and we end up tying the knot...well, I'm not real big on celibacy, you're most definitely hot, and I don't bottom. Got it?" And he disappeared, the blue flash blinding to eyes accustomed to the dimness of the tavern.

Blinking a bit to rid himself of the after images, Hercules continued to watch the spot where Strife had sat. No one else at the table said anything for long minutes and maybe they were waiting on him for a reaction, but he wasn't ready to give one yet.

"I'd better get to Hermes' nearest temple." Autolycus finally broke the silence, shaking off Xena's hand at the same time. Undoubtedly she'd let him go, but no one made an issue of it as he stood, nodded to all of them and walked from the tavern, his steps maybe a little more hurried than normal.

"We should find Joxer and let him know what's going on," Gabrielle said, her tone a bit awkward.

Hercules nodded. "I'll write that scroll for you; I think we have some extra parchment with us. Iolaus?" If anyone knew where that had gotten off to, it would be his friend.

"It's okay; here." Gabrielle was suddenly pushing an empty scroll towards him with one hand while drawing a quill from her pack with the other.

"Thanks." Hercules gave her a small smile. Sometimes having a bard around made things convenient.

As he wrote out a quick, friendly note, he tried not to think very hard about Strife's last comments. If he spent too much time on that he'd either get angry or possibly frightened and either way he'd lose his focus on the situation. Still, he didn't know what was worse, the threat or the fact that Strife thought he was "hot."

Part 3

It would've been much easier to just call Aphrodite, or any of the other gods for that matter, ask them to come to him. But given the fact that Hercules really needed their help, he thought it a better idea that he go to them, observe all the pleasantries, so to speak. Not that he was going to make sacrifices or offerings or anything, but he could at least travel to their temples, just to be polite.

It'd already been over a week since they'd all started getting in contact with the gods and so far there hadn't been any good news, or any news at all, really. Just a quick visit from Hermes once to let Hercules know that he was "on the case," but no word from any of the others. Granted, it would probably take some time to pass conventional correspondences between all of them, but Hercules had been hoping that a few of the other gods would drop in to update him on what else was happening, if anything. Since he hadn't heard from them, he'd decided to try asking himself. If Iolaus thought he wasn't being patient enough, he hadn't said anything about it.

A visit to Hephaestus' forge hadn't turned up anything useful, not even Hephaestus himself. With that option at least temporarily gone, Hercules had decided to try Aphrodite. She was one god who probably wouldn't care if he just called for her outside of her temple, she hadn't in times past, but Hercules just wasn't willing to take even the slightest risk of offending her this time, not when he really needed her help. He wasn't sure what he'd say to her yet, but he'd probably beg if he had to. He still had some of the night to think it over though; they wouldn't reach her temple until sometime the next morning.

"Hey, Herc?"

Somewhat grateful to be distracted from him morose thoughts, Hercules looked up from his portion of the roast bird he'd been
absent-mindedly munching on, raising an eyebrow in Iolaus' direction. Iolaus didn't say anything more though, not for a minute or so. He looked uneasy, thoughtful too, but Hercules didn't push. Iolaus had something on his mind and he'd get it out eventually.

"Did you ever wonder?" Iolaus finally continued. "I mean, about us?"

"Us?" Hercules frowned. He thought he might know what his friend was getting at but he couldn't be absolutely certain. Besides, it was better to let Iolaus keep talking with a bare minimum of prompts, otherwise he'd get off track and maybe drop the subject entirely.

"Yeah." Iolaus shifted on the log. Definitely looking uncomfortable now. "You're my best friend, Herc, even at the Academy I considered you my best bud, but...back then, well, I kind of wanted something more."

Nodding, Hercules swallowed the bite he'd just taken before responding. "Only back then?"

That got him a rueful grin. "Nah; I still think about you like that sometimes," Iolaus admitted, "but it was more intense back then, maybe because we hadn't known each other long or something. I know you know about that thing I had with Iphicles, but do you know why it happened?"

Hercules just shook his head. Not that he couldn't make a guess, and it would be a good one, but Iolaus obviously needed to say it.

"He was your brother, Herc; you didn't seem interested so he was the next best thing. I know it wasn't fair to him," Iolaus quickly went on as though afraid that Hercules might interrupt him with recriminations. "I did like him, but I was using him and he caught on pretty quickly, that's why it ended so fast. We, um, sorted things out a few years ago so we're okay now, but I'm not exactly proud of that."

"You were young, Iolaus; we all make mistakes when we're young, even bad ones," Hercules responded with a shrug and a comforting smile.

Iolaus shook his head. "Honestly, back then, I think that if Ares had made the right proposition I might've jumped into his bed just because he was your brother. I had it bad for you, Herc."

That made Hercules snort with repressed laughter, unfortunate since he'd just taken another bite of the roast chicken. When he was certain he wasn't going to choke, he swallowed the meat and grinned at Iolaus. "Promise me that if you ever tell that to Ares, that I get to be there."

"No problem," Iolaus agreed, returning the grin, "'cause I'm never telling him that!"

Chuckling a bit, they both went back to eating for a few minutes. When Hercules finished up, he rubbed some dirt on his hands to rid them of the grease, wishing they had access to some fresh water at the same time.

"We're friends, Iolaus, you're right," he started. Iolaus had gotten out what was nagging at him and now it was up to Hercules to carry it forward. "I guess if I hadn't been so, I don't know, shy, I guess, back then, we probably would've been more, but would we still be friends now if we had?"

Taking the last bite of his own dinner, Iolaus looked thoughtful as he chewed; by the time he swallowed he was shaking his head. "I really don't know, but I'm thinking there's a chance we wouldn't be. I wasn't the most thoughtful person back then, I guess I'm still not sometimes, but it was worse then, especially when it came to lovers. I probably would've hurt you and maybe you would've forgiven me -- yeah, you would've because that's the way you are -- but we just wouldn't be as close as we are now."

Hercules nodded at that, not so much because he agreed but because Iolaus believed it. "So what about now? Do you still want that kind of relationship with me, I mean seriously, not just wishful thinking?"

"You know, I don't think I do, Herc. Not that I don't still think you're fantasy material -- you are -- but I'm pretty happy with what we've got right here."

"Fantasy material, huh?" Hercules had to bite back a laugh at that even though he knew Iolaus was serious about it.

"Yeah, and you know you are so no laughing!" Iolaus aimed a chicken bone at him but Hercules leaned back easily and it sailed past him.

"Whatever you say, Iolaus." He rolled his eyes but couldn't help the way his grin widened.

"So what about you; satisfied with how things are now?" Iolaus queried, rubbing his own hands with dirt. He was still grinning himself but the tone was more serious.

"Yeah," Hercules replied without hesitation. "I'm happy having my best friend with me and adding a complication to that, romance...I'm just not sure I'd want to deal with that. What we have is special enough."

"Yeah, it is," Iolaus agreed.

They smiled at each other for a few moments, then Iolaus abruptly kicked some dirt over the chicken bones he'd dropped. "Okay, bonding moment over; how're we handling this tomorrow?

Hercules winced; he really didn't want to think about that.

Part 4

Fortunately for Hercules, since he hadn't come up with anything resembling a good way of approaching this, explaining anything at all to Aphrodite turned out to be completely unnecessary. It was just a matter of walking into the temple, calling her with far more politeness than he'd used in the past -- and holding his breath before he was smothered.

"Oh, bro, I'm like, so sorry for you!"

Hercules might've tried to say something, but his face was abruptly yanked against Aphrodite's chest and he found it difficult enough just to breathe as she hugged him. When she finally let him go, Iolaus was giving him a slightly envious look, likely because Aphrodite hadn't said one word to him yet and he was usually the first person she noticed.

"Um, good to see you too, Aphrodite," Hercules greeted her a bit bemusedly.

"And you're still so nice!" She was visibly upset, hands clenching together as though to stop herself from grabbing him again. "If I was in your place, I'd just totally lose it!"

"Lose what?" Sometimes trying to follow the way her side of the family spoke was like listening to a completely different language.

"My mind!" She elaborated, throwing her hands up in the air theatrically. "Marrying Strife of all gods!" Now she shuddered dramatically.

"I thought you wanted him to get married," Iolaus pointed out with a frown.

"Oh, hi, Curly!" She reached out and pinched his cheek, grinning at him, but then her mood switched right back to semi-hysterical when she looked at Hercules. "I did want him to marry, some nice girl -- maybe a really slow one because who'd ever marry him otherwise? Oops, sorry, bro; nevermind. Anyway, someone who could be his friend or something -- since she wouldn’t get anything else out of it; it would settle him down, but I never wanted you to be involved, bro. I swear, if I'd known he'd do this, I would've tried to put a stop to the whole thing -- just like he asked me to." She sighed, the air movement making her bangs flutter a bit. "Why didn't I guess he'd do something so twisted when I blew him off?"

Hercules reached out awkwardly and patted her on the shoulder. "It's all right, sis; no one expects you to predict anything he does."

"Thanks, bro." She gave him a small smile. "He's just...way nuts."

"No kidding," Iolaus muttered in agreement. "You should've heard him in the tavern."

"Huh?" She frowned at him, a pretty little expression on her.

"Oh, Strife showed when Iolaus and I were recruiting some help and I guess I made a stupid comment -- but I didn't know any better then!" Hercules protested when Iolaus snorted.

"C'mon, Herc, even Xena had a pretty good idea and she'd only met him once before. I can't believe you'd never noticed. I mean, sure, we all thought he liked women just as much as men, but we still knew--"

"Oh, that worm!" Aphrodite interrupted, her tone furious. "I can't believe he told you! And Xena was there too? And probably that little bard with her. Please tell me Joxie didn't hear it!"

"Joxie--? Oh! Joxer, no, he wasn't there," Hercules assured her, although he didn't understand what had upset her to begin with.

"Autolycus was, though," Iolaus added, unhelpfully as it turned out.

"Autolycus! He's a total gossip! I'll never live this down now! That's Strife's revenge, isn't it? He told everyone!" Aphrodite looked as though she wanted to break something, a rather frightening look on her.

Exchanging a confused glance with Iolaus, Hercules tried to calm things down a bit. "I don't know what you--"

"It's so humiliating!" Aphrodite interrupted without seeming to hear Hercules. "I mean, I've had trouble before but that was like, a total wash-out! There I am, dressed in my prettiest see-through gown because I wanted to make his first time so special."

"See-through?" Maybe Iolaus hadn't meant to say it out loud because he winced. But Aphrodite smiled at him, even if it was a bit distracted.

"Yeah, Curly. It's so totally last week now, but I'll wear it for you sometime."

"Thanks." Iolaus grinned at her.

"No problem; at least you'd appreciate it. Strife -- virgins get shy, I expected that, but he ignored me! We were at an orgy, sure, but I was the best looking one there, at least I thought so." Her anger abruptly deflated. Crossing her arms -- a movement that nearly pushed her breasts out of the front of her pink dress and caused Iolaus' eyes to widen dramatically -- she suddenly seemed vulnerable. "I looked beautiful, I know I did, but he just said I was in the way 'cause he wanted to watch Cupie's ass."

Now she looked to be on the verge of tears and Hercules reacted instinctively, reaching out to give her a light hug. "It wasn't you; he doesn't like women, even if you're the most beautiful one in existence." That got him a hug in return.

"I know -- now I know," she clarified, pulling away. "But back then, I was just so offended. So I got even."

"Uh-oh," Iolaus whispered and Hercules agreed, albeit silently.

"I wanted to make it good, but even that went way wrong!" Aphrodite said forlornly. "My most powerful lust potion, no mortal can resist it; Ares spent five years trying to get that donkey to sleep with him because of it -- um, you might not wanna mention that around him, like, ever -- but I douse Strife with it, shove him at some warlord's wife, and can you believe what happened?" she demanded.

"Uh, no?" It was a safe enough reply but Hercules doubted she would've stopped even if he'd said something else.

"Fifteen minutes!" she nearly shouted. "It only lasted fifteen minutes and ten of those he spent just trying to get it up. I really felt so sorry for that poor woman." Once again her entire demeanor changed, going from agitated to sympathetic in a heartbeat. "A god jumps her, has serious performance problems, and she still gets knocked up. At least her husband thought the boys were his." She shrugged, sighing again. "Gaea says sometimes nature is too strong to mess with and I guess that's what happened with Strife. Still, it really bites, you know? I was all humiliated and I had Strife pissed off at me -- except he's never done anything about it, until now. He never told anyone, you know? I think he was humiliated too -- and doesn't it suck that I feel guilty about that? But since I didn't help him this time I guess he decided go blabbing about those little mistakes I made."

The look Iolaus gave him told Hercules that he'd be the one breaking this news. "Um, Aphrodite? Strife didn't tell us anything about that."

"Sometimes he can be such a--what?"

He definitely had her full attention now. "He mentioned something and he must've been talking about this, but none of us had any idea what he meant," he said truthfully. Until just now, Hercules had thought that the "one time" Strife had mentioned had been some sort of youthful experimentation.

"Oh." Suddenly Aphrodite looked more than a little embarrassed. "Oops. Um, could you guys maybe not tell anyone about this? Please?"

"Never heard a word of it," Iolaus responded easily.

"Of course we won't," Hercules agreed.

That earned them both a kiss on the cheek, which left Iolaus looking a bit dazed. Hercules just smiled at her, an expression she returned.

"So what can I do for you? I really want to help, okay?" She did sound enthusiastic.

"Did Joxer talk to you or Cupid yet?"

"A day or two ago, I think, but I was being stubborn then, so was Cupid. I'll have a little talk with him, okay?"

"Joxer?" Iolaus frowned.

"No, silly; Cupid! I guess we do owe Joxer, but we should help you out anyway, bro. I mean, you're family and one of the better ones, too."

"Thanks, Aphrodite." It was one of the nicest things she'd said to him.

"Sure thing, bro. I'll see if Hephy has any ideas too." Her smile abruptly faded then and she looked troubled. "Honestly though, I'm not sure we can help. It's not that we won't try, but you know Daddy, once he's made one of those stupid decrees...."

"I know, and I'll be grateful for whatever any of you can do," he assured her.

Part 5

At least it was indoors. Not that Hercules had anything against sleeping outside; Iolaus loved it and he'd learned to like it too over the years, but occasionally, especially on a rainy night like this, indoors was just better. Maybe this wasn't the cleanest inn in Greece -- the dust was making his nose itch -- but at the moment it was far superior to the bed of mud they would've been forced to lay in outside.

With Iolaus still over at Cupid's temple, hopefully coming up with some good news, Hercules decided the least he could do was get this place livable. When Iolaus came back he'd probably be drenched and by now Hercules was realistic enough to guess that any news Cupid had for them wasn't going to be anything they wanted to hear, so Iolaus would probably be depressed too. A semi-clean, warm room would be welcome to him, maybe cheer him up a bit.

It wasn't as though this inn saw few guests; Hercules supposed the owner was just lazy, or maybe busy and too poor to hire someone to clean. It hadn't looked as though the man had any sons or daughters to help out, so maybe it was the latter case. At any rate, it was one of the more lower class places in the town and it showed.

Shaking out the bedding, Hercules tried not to think about what he was seeing fall from the coarse blankets. Fortunately the dim light of the one lamp in the room was helpful in concealing some of the worst of it. It took more than a few minutes of shaking, and sometimes stamping on the bigger things that were shaken loose, but eventually he was satisfied enough to remake the bed. The bed itself was lumpy, stuffed with dry straw as it was, but again, it was a far better choice than the mud.

"Aww, don't you look all cute and domestic."

No flash of light, but Hercules didn't need it to know who that was, not after the past few weeks. He didn't respond to the taunt and finished making the bed before turning around to confront his visitor.

Strife stood by the room's one window. Hercules had meant to open the shutters to let a bit of a breeze in with hopefully little rain, and he didn't hesitate now. Strife watched him approach with a raised eyebrow, but Hercules just ignored him, notching open the shutters slightly.

"What, no 'nice to see you?' Not even a little peck on the cheek for your intended?" Strife asked with mock affront.

Rolling his eyes, Hercules just turned away from him and walked over to where Iolaus and he had set down their packs earlier. He needed to air out a change of clothes for both of them; the ones he wore now were still damp and Iolaus would be in worse shape when he returned.

Suddenly hands grabbed him, spinning him around and shoving him back against the wall. He knew instantly that Strife wasn't trying to hurt him, much anyway; they'd fought each other enough for him to know the difference so he didn't try to take a swing at him. He did knock Strife's hands away from him, glaring as he did so, but Strife didn't look the least bit intimidated.

"Two days, Hercules. We've got two fucking days before the betrothal ceremony." All of his earlier sarcasm was gone, replaced by a completely serious demeanor, and he was close, barely a handsbreadth of space between them.

"I keep telling you, Strife, we're doing everything we can. You know that." Refusing to be cowed by Strife's tactics, Hercules met that cold, blue gaze without flinching.

"Well it's not working so find another way!" Strife slammed his hands flat against the wall, one to each side of Hercules' head.

"If you have an idea, then tell me, we'll try it! If you're just here to annoy me then go away, it's not helping."

Something flitted through Strife's expression then, anger, rage, or some related emotion but it was quickly masked by his sudden, nice smile. That expression more than any show of temper, set Hercules on his guard.

"Annoy you? Now why would I want to do that? I'm just here to spend some time with my future hubby, thought we should get acquainted better, know what I mean?" Strife shifted his weight and the small amount of space they'd had between them disappeared.

Hercules understood the threat, was starting to understand that this was the only leverage Strife thought he had, but before he could give voice to his thoughts, lips pressed hard against his.

It was...a shock. Not just the fact that Strife was kissing him, but that up until that very second, he hadn't really believed that Strife would take it this far. And was apparently set on taking it farther.

Slim body pressed hard against him, trapping him there, the pressure of Strife's lips increased until Hercules had to open his mouth or risk broken teeth. Instantly Strife's tongue was there, a slick invader that was still just as shocking despite having known what was coming. Hercules couldn't decide whether to bite down first or just shove Strife away as hard as he could, and the thought flickered through his mind that Strife kissed like he moved; tongue flitting across his, fast, light touches, constant motion, fluid and easy and utterly demanding of every bit of the recipient's attention. And suddenly Hercules realized he was focusing on it, on how it felt after so many years to have another man kissing him, specifically Strife, because why was it that Strife tasted so sweet? Not that he'd ever given even the most passing consideration to how Strife would taste, but if he had he would never have guessed that it would make him think of the purest honey. Was this how ambrosia tasted? This light sweetness that never threatened to overwhelm, only entice? Or was it just the sweetness that came with all temptation?

Hands were on his face, long fingers buried in his hair, holding him in place as their lips meshed, tongues caressing. Hips moved against his in a slow, grinding rhythm, one he was reciprocating, his own hands clutching hard at a leather-covered ass. And the moaning...that wasn't nearly all on Strife's side.

Temptation. Yeah.

Reality returned with the abrupt clarity of being dumped into an ice-cold lake and Hercules yanked his hands away as though he'd touched a live coal. He gave Strife's shoulders a hard push and surprisingly Strife let him go, stumbling back a couple steps. Although, from the momentary dazed expression, Hercules doubted whether Strife was any more cognizant of what was happening than he himself had been.

Then Strife shook his head, a hard motion that reverberated through his whole body, and he looked at Hercules again with a dawning awareness. Shock was foremost in that look and Hercules knew it was mirrored in his own expression, as was the confusion and horror. Their breathing echoed loudly in the room, harsh enough to drown out the sound of the steady rain outside as they continued to stare at each other. Strife's clothes weren't skin-tight, but he wore the leather close enough to reveal that he was half hard, and Hercules couldn't make any kind of realistic denial about being in the same state himself.

He wanted to ask what in Tartarus had just happened, but looking at Strife he knew the god before him didn't have any more answers than he did. Whatever had just happened, it was just as much of a surprise to Strife.

Hercules wasn't sure how to proceed. Did they talk about this? Did they just go on with life and ignore that it'd happened? Who was supposed to speak first here and what could even be said? It didn't look as though Strife was going to say anything any time soon and Hercules wasn't all that eager to start a conversation himself -- except...they really couldn't just leave this, or could they?

The door opening and Iolaus walking into the small room was almost as great of a relief as it was a surprise. Hercules hadn't heard him approach and apparently Strife hadn't either judging from his startled expression.

Iolaus looked just as drenched as Hercules had expected and he sounded about as depressed too. "Hey, Herc; weather out there, like, so totally sucks -- and I'm really spending too much time talking to Aphrodite and Cupid lately." He pushed his dripping hair out of his face then, in the process of shutting the door behind him -- and froze. His gaze slid quickly between Strife and Hercules, but before he could say anything more, or react at all for that matter, Strife vanished. No sparks or flashes, he was just gone.

Hercules breathed a bit easier the second Strife disappeared. The tension in the room dissipated almost as quickly and he sagged back against the wall. There was a part of him, albeit a small part, that wished Strife had stayed so they could work this out, but he wasn't listening to that voice right now. He needed space and time to figure out just what in Hades was going on.

"Herc, what was that about?" Iolaus' voice was strangely calm, without inflection and that said more than words that he had a fairly good idea of the answer to his own question, he just wasn't prepared to believe it without confirmation.

Not ready to talk about it yet or deal with the questions, and possibly accusations Iolaus would have, Hercules just shook his head. Brushing his hair out of his face, telling himself that no, his hand wasn't trembling, he pushed away from the wall and bent down to get their spare clothing out of their packs, as he'd intended to do what seemed like years ago.

"Right." Iolaus didn't sound happy but he didn't push either and Hercules was once again grateful to have such a good friend.

"Um, Cupid says he can't do anything more," Iolaus abruptly, if a bit awkwardly, switched the subject as he finished closing the door. "He did say that Zeus isn't happy with so many of the gods against him on this, but that doesn't mean he's going to change his mind either."

Hercules nodded as he draped their pants over the room's single, small table. "Then I'm out of options."

"We are, yeah." Iolaus stressed the first word, reminding Hercules that he wasn't alone in this, even if it felt like it at the moment. "If Xena and Autolycus couldn't come up with anything, then I don't know what's left to do." He sighed in mild frustration as he pulled off his soggy vest and draped it over one of the two rickety-looking chairs.

"We wait," Hercules said with a fatalistic shrug. "I don't like it any more than you do, but it could be that if we have any chance of finding a way out of this, it won't show itself until the betrothal ceremony when I can see Zeus."

"You think he'll be willing to talk it over with you?" Iolaus asked speculatively, his attention split between his friend and trying to untie the laces of his pants, the leather too swollen from water to be easily pliable.

"It's possible, although I don't know how willing he'll be to talk about anything but me getting into a better position on Olympus," Hercules replied ruefully. "Need help with those?" He nodded in the direction of Iolaus' waterlogged boots.

"Yeah, probably."

After helping Iolaus remove his boots, Hercules set about getting out of his own clothes. There weren't too many places left to lay out their garments so he had to improvise, hanging his shirt on the doorknob and his pants over the back of one of the window shutters. That last wasn't ideal and the pants would probably still be damp come morning due to rain occasionally coming in, but hopefully they'd be dry enough to fold up for travel. Their boots they left by the bed; anything that took up residence in them overnight would be shaken out come morning.

"I hate going to bed hungry," Iolaus grumbled as he stretched out on top of the bedding.

"We had dinner," Hercules pointed out as he put out the lamps and got under the covers. He'd dried off far more than Iolaus so he wouldn't drench the bottom sheet.

"Well, yeah, but that was hours ago."

"About one hour."

"I did a lot in that hour; I worked up an appetite."

"Goodnight, Iolaus." Hercules couldn't quite keep the amusement out of his voice.

"Sure, let me starve." But Iolaus sounded just as amused and he was silent after that.

Not that it would've matter if Iolaus had taken up a running commentary because Hercules quickly found that sleep wasn't going to come either quickly or easily. The only thing the silence did was leave him to think undisturbed. He really didn't want to think though, not about any of it, what would happen two days from now or what had already happened. For once since this all started he wanted a night when he could sleep peacefully without any worries -- and that was just wishful thinking. He'd always been too concerned with things to be carefree like that, even under normal circumstances; he envied Iolaus his ability to put things out of his mind and just drop off to sleep whenever he needed to.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, he felt the bed shift as Iolaus moved under the covers. He was probably still a bit damp and the top cover would be wet, but with their combined body heat things would dry out soon enough.

Hercules lay there, eyes closed, listening to the sound of continuing rainfall outside and vaguely glad that at least the room seemed leak free. Hopefully by the morning it would clear up and they wouldn't spend another day traveling through a steady downpour. Or maybe they'd just stay here. It wasn't as though they had anywhere else they really needed to be at the moment, not if they'd run out of gods and friends to ask for help.

Part 6

The opulence surrounding him was, well, opulent. Hercules couldn't come up with a better description than that, except maybe gaudy. He'd never given much thought to how Olympus would look but he couldn't say he was surprised by the place. White seemed to be the predominate theme, as well as defying gravity -- and what exactly was the purpose of having the furniture float? There were plenty of sculptures scattered about, probably done by Hephaestus, and all of the engraving work on the walls seemed to be done in gold. Overall it was...way too much. But then this was Zeus' temple and maybe the other gods did their decorating differently. If things went on the way they had been, Hercules would probably get a chance to see for himself once he was "really" part of the family.

The thought brought him back to the looming problem, brought into sharp relief by the outfit someone had laid out for him to wear. Aphrodite had led him to this room, "for a bit of privacy" she'd said, patting his shoulder in a comforting manner. She'd looked so depressed that he'd hugged her to try and cheer her up some, but it was hard to do when he was just as depressed himself.

The room was decorated just as badly as the rest of the place. Its centerpiece was a wide bed with gold and white sheets, upon which lay an outfit in his size. It was...white. Very white. Pants and a sleeveless vest and the boots on the floor, all...white. Hercules couldn't look at it for too long without starting to see spots in front of his eyes; he wasn't at all sure he could wear it.

"What, am I supposed to be, some sort of virgin sacrifice?" he wondered aloud sarcastically.

"I don't know, are you?"

Hercules closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. "You know, giving me a heart attack might solve my problem, but you'd still be stuck." When he opened his eyes again, Strife was standing beside him, looking down at the outfit with raised eyebrows.

"It's kind of...."

"White, I know." Hercules looked at him a moment, his own eyebrows going up. "That's, um, not bad. I mean, you look nice."

Gone was the neck to toe leather and metal outfit, even most of the earrings were missing, as was the spiked hair style. Strife's outfit was still mostly black, the pants, vest and boots, but they were unadorned and the deep blue shirt under his vest brought out his eyes, something Hercules was certain that he shouldn't be noticing.

Strife smirked. "A betrothal is an official function; we all have to dress the part. Of course, we'd be a lot happier if we didn't have to do it at all."

"I did what I could, Strife. We all did. I'll try talking to Zeus after all this is done."

"And you think that'll make a difference?" Strife looked at him in contempt. "What are you, fucking stupid? Zeus is walking around grinning his ass off because his 'baby boy' is getting in good here. Do you really think there's even one thing you can say to him that'll get him down off his trip?"

"I don't know, okay? But I'm going to try instead of just giving up!" Hercules snapped at him, tired of Strife's constant needling. "And before you say one more thing to me, remember that you chose this, Strife, everything that's happening right now is because you made the decision to drag me into this."

"You should've helped me!" Strife yelled at him. "I asked you, Hercules, I did it real nice too; why didn't you just help me?"

"I was wrong! I didn't think it was my place but I was wrong; you asked and I should've tried to do something. I'm sorry." And this time he truly was. Not because it involved him now, but because Strife had been desperate and he shouldn't have let their differences or common law hold him back.

He could see that it wasn't enough though, that it'd gone beyond apologies or possibly even talking at all. Strife's eyes were narrowed and his teeth were bared; he looked like he wanted to kill Hercules and was barely holding himself back.

"Sorry?" Strife hissed the word. "You're sorry? I almost begged you for help and that's all you can say? Well I'm going to make you sorry, Hercules, and we're starting now."

Before Hercules could do or say anything to prevent the oncoming catastrophe, Strife had grabbed him and -- was kissing him? He'd honestly expected a fight but he'd forgotten the threat Strife fell back on when he was scared, and Strife was so obviously terrified now. Even with lips crushed against his, hands locked on his arms, Hercules could feel Strife trembling.

When Strife pulled back slightly, Hercules continued to try and talk this out. "Strife, wait, we have to--" But Strife took the opportunity to take advantage of Hercules' open mouth.

Hercules remembered this from that one time just days ago, Strife's agile tongue flicking across his, darting in and out and there, there was that taste he remembered. It hadn't been his imagination before; Strife was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

He heard himself groan but he couldn't help it. His hands were on Strife, cupping his chin to tilt his head further up, carding through his strangely flat hair, noting how soft it felt sliding through his fingers. And he felt Strife's hands on him, tugging his vest open and sliding up his chest, fingers rubbing over his nipples. He heard Strife moan, felt it against his mouth, and then they were kissing harder.

It was almost like one of their battles, clashing together, only this time tongues substituted for fists, they moved together instead of pushing apart as he hooked an arm around Strife's back and pulled Strife flush against him. Strife moaned again, a far deeper, sweeter sound than his usual high-pitched laugher and Hercules sought to hear it yet again. He was tugging at the laces holding Strife's leather vest together, still kissing him almost feverishly now, when suddenly his hands were on hot, bare skin.

He was pressed thigh to chest against Strife and all of their clothing had disappeared. It burned, the sudden contact of skin on skin, punctuated sharply by the cold metal of the rings threaded through Strife's erect nipples. The suddenness of it all almost brought Hercules back to his senses, the haze of intense need and desire started to lift, to let him realize just what he was doing and he started to pull out of their continuous kiss, to pull away -- and then Strife moved.

It was just a slight shift, but like nearly every time Strife moved it was done so fluidly. His hips rocked just a bit, just enough to slide his cock against Hercules', making them both gasp, and then none of it mattered. There were no more questions in Hercules' mind, no need to talk and none at all to protest. He slammed his mouth into Strife's, groaning as Strife rocked his hips again. Hercules pushed back, sliding his hand down to cup Strife's ass so he could grind harder. Strife was holding onto him now, fingers digging into his biceps as Strife's tongue moved almost frantically against his. And there were those moans, those broken, dark sounds that made Hercules so hard; he had to pull Strife tighter against him, needing more contact, feeling the slickness of pre-come between them.

It took him by surprise; Strife's grip on him tightened and with a hard shove Hercules was turned and tossed down onto the bed. Strife followed him down, landing on him and still kissing him. And it was easier like this, without having to worry about standing Hercules found it much simpler to lose himself in the endless, deep kisses and the grinding of their hips. Then Strife's hand moved, releasing Hercules' arm and sliding down between them, wrapping around their cocks. Long fingers, perfect for this, forming a tunnel into which Hercules eagerly thrust, loving the friction of Strife thrusting at the same time, their cocks moving against each other.

Then Strife's mouth was gone from his, moving down to his throat where Strife bit him, not deep enough to draw blood but it would leave a mark, as would the way Strife sucked at his skin, and Hercules didn't care. He tilted his head back, giving Strife all the room he wanted as they both thrust harder, moving faster against each other. Fingers were on his nipples again, moving from one to the other, twisting and tugging and he bit back a cry at the shocks of pleasure it sent straight down to his cock. No one had ever been this rough with him before -- Strife was still biting, neck and shoulders, and those clever fingers didn't let up on his nipples for a moment -- maybe it took a full god to know what his body could handle, what it craved. Certainly Strife seemed to have no objections to Hercules' touch, the way he gripped Strife's arms with a force that would've broken mortal bones, how he was slamming his hips up against Strife's, it might well bruise them both and it didn't matter to him, Strife didn't seem to care much either.

Then the wonderful grip on their cocks was gone and Strife was sliding further down. Hercules would've protested, wanting that hand back on him, but then Strife bit down on his left nipple and anything Hercules might've said was cut off by his gasp. Sharp teeth, not quite breaking skin but coming close with every nip and bite and a hot, wet tongue followed behind, soothing the sting and Hercules closed his eyes, lost in it all. His nipples seemed connected in some way to his cock and every bite and lick sent hard jolts of pleasure straight down, making him thrust up against Strife's flat stomach.

Strife's hips were still rocking against him, possibly out of reflex or maybe just because skin on skin felt so damn good. Hercules felt Strife's cock sliding against his thighs, slicking them with pre-come, pushing against his balls and the sensation was delicious, but not quite enough. He spread his legs, pulling his knees up to trap Strife there, except Strife moved just a bit lower, his cock sliding down, pushing -- Hercules' eyes snapped open and he found Strife watching him intently.

Flicking his tongue over Hercules' nipple, Strife smirked. "Yeah." Had Strife's voice ever been that deep, that rough? Just one word and it made Hercules shiver and harden even further. Then he gasped in surprise when he felt a sudden, slick feeling inside him; oil. He barely had time to register that before Strife was pushing in and Hercules hissed at the burning stretch that rode the edge of pain -- it'd been a long time.

Strife's eyes fluttered shut and he groaned, pushing harder. "Come on," he muttered, sliding deeper. Hercules winced at each hard thrust, biting his lip in reaction, but it was as much pleasure as pain and Strife's words seemed a perfect accompaniment to every movement.

"Sweet Fates...tight!" Strife gasped out against his chest, pushing deeper. "Feel so fucking incredible...never thought...so hot...," and it kept going, a semi-incoherent litany that made Hercules' cock jerk with each ground-out word.

When Strife was finally, fully inside him, Hercules was panting and the burn was intense and Strife didn't give him even a moment to adjust. A swift pull out and a hard thrust in and this time Hercules couldn't stop the cry, short and sharp. Strife opened his eyes, looked at Hercules for a moment, then pushed himself up, bracing himself on his forearms.

"I'm going to ride you now, Herc," he said, whisper-quiet. "I'm going to make you scream for me and come so fucking hard -- just because it's me in you." He licked his lips -- and slammed in.

Hercules grabbed hold of Strife's upper arms again, seeking the only leverage he could as Strife continued to pound into him relentlessly and it hurt -- and it didn't. There was pain, he was sure of it each time Strife moved and it was like broken glass grinding into him, but then Strife would hit something and it wasn't pain anymore. Every time Strife hit it, that wonderful spot, Hercules pushed up against him in reaction, driving him deeper. He'd never liked pain before but he was still hard, still throbbing and dripping against his stomach and his cock was turning darker and aching more for release and he wasn't there yet.

"Yeah," Strife repeated breathlessly, slamming in harder and Hercules half-choked on a scream because that didn't hurt and he wanted it again. "Yeah!" Strife sounded triumphant as he thrust in even harder than before and it yanked another scream from Hercules because Strife was pounding that spot, again and again and Hercules dug his fingers into Strife's arms, shoving back as hard as he could, tightening around the cock inside him and that made Strife cry out.

"Fuck, yes!" Strife moved faster and Hercules could feel him start to tremble above him, in him, but it wasn't Strife that came first.

Hercules didn't even realize he was that close until suddenly he was there, his cock jerking and spurting and him yelling, clenching tight around Strife, shock and pleasure mixing and shaking him until he went suddenly limp, utterly drained. Strife only outlasted him by a couple minutes and Hercules lay there, rocking under the brutal thrusts until Strife went abruptly still, eyes meeting his and they stared at each other for long moments as Strife gasped, his hips snapping forward once, twice and then the tension seemed to drain from him.

Somehow Strife remained holding himself up, not collapsing onto Hercules, at least until he moved up just enough to place a single, almost chaste kiss on Hercules' swollen lips, then he dropped down onto Hercules' chest and just lay there.

The "afterglow" was short for Hercules, ending quite suddenly when the reality of what they'd done came crashing down on him like Hera in a towering rage. He didn't say anything though because what could he say to this? Didn't move either because would running away screaming make it go away, make it not have happened? There simply wasn't anything to be done about it. Except for maybe getting Strife off of him and...out of him too. He poked Strife in the shoulder.

"Hmm?" Strife glanced up at him, then rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know; reality is back with us again. Sucks." He sat up, or started to anyway. "Uh, Hercules, you want me to move, you're going to have to let me go."

"Huh? Oh!" Hercules quickly unwrapped his legs from around Strife's waist. He hadn't even realized he'd put them there.

"You're blushing." Strife smirked down at him. "Breathe out."

Hercules tried to fight back the blush but it was kind of hard to do when someone was pulling his cock out of you. And that did hurt despite breathing out. He hissed in pain at the raw feeling, and at the protesting muscles when he dropped his legs completely.

"Well, fuck," Strife commented, flopping down on the bed beside him.

Hercules couldn't help it, he smiled at that. An apt description and a horrible pun; perfectly Strife.

"You heal fast?" Strife asked.

"Uh-huh." It would be a few more minutes before Hercules was up to decent conversation.

"Good. You're bleeding. Would kind of look bad at the ceremony."

Hercules resisted the urge to hit him. It wasn't like he'd been screaming "no," or even said it once, and it'd felt good enough. Well, more than that. "Now what?" he wondered aloud.

Strife pushed himself up with a sigh. "We clean up and go make nice with the relatives."

"That I know. I mean, now what?" Hercules waved a hand between them. This was past the point where they couldn't talk about it, well past.

"Fuck if I know. Wasn't planning it in the first place." Strife ran a hand through his hair; it fell back flat.

"Makes two of us. A little help here?" He made a motion encompassing his sweat and semen coated body.

"Huh? Oh, right." Strife gave a negligent wave and suddenly they were both clean and dressed. He hopped off the bed and looked down at Hercules -- and winced. "Now that is just wrong. You look like the God of Leisure Suits."

Hercules sat up with a wince of his own. He knew his body had mostly healed itself but there was still lingering soreness. "Not exactly happy with it myself," he commented, standing gingerly. Then he noticed the front of the white outfit. "Strife." He pointed to the stains.

"Oops. Guess I wasn't looking when I pushed you down before."

The blood disappeared in a flash that was somehow less bright than the whiteness of the outfit.

"Well, I'm not supposed to be here anyway, so I have to bail before someone comes looking for you. I did soundproof the room before we got all hot and heavy, so you're covered there. See you in a few." Strife waggled his fingers in a sarcastic farewell before he disappeared in a flash of blue flame.

Hercules closed his eyes with a sigh. After all that he still had to go out there and face a room full of relatives, most of whom hated him, and smile the entire time. Politics really did -- what was that term Strife used? Oh yeah; sucked. It all sucked.

Opening his eyes again, he glanced down in distaste at the outfit -- and froze. "He doesn't have to worry about getting married," Hercules said a moment later, his voice perfectly calm, "I'm going to kill the little bastard."

Part 7

Hercules had wanted Iolaus, any of his friends really, to attend this with him, just for moral support, but he truly missed Iolaus now. His friend would've walked with him into the lion's den, probably cracking jokes or just patting him on the back for comfort and it would've made this a bit easier.

Instead, Aphrodite bounced along beside him. Okay, she was walking but other parts of her were bouncing and that was hard to ignore even when he only though of her as his sister. She remained quiet, a strange state for her and one that told of her depression at being unable to put a stop to this, but she also kept sending him funny looks and it made Hercules grit his teeth. It wasn't that he didn't know the reason for the looks, he was just waiting for her to make a comment because the Fates only knew what sort of remarks it was going to get from the rest of his relatives.

"Um, bro?"

Her hand on his arm tugged at him, a silent request for him to stop and he did so with a sigh. Instead of replying, he just looked at her questioningly.

"Well, before we go in there I just wanted to say that we're not giving up, okay? We're so in your corner -- most of us, anyway -- and we'll keep after the old goat until he gives it up." She smiled at him but instead of her usual cheerfulness there was an edge of desperation there. She didn't hold out any more hope for that tactic than Hercules did at this point.

"Thanks, sis," he said seriously, patting her hand. Even if she couldn't do anything she really had tried to come through for him on this one.

"No prob, bro." Then she frowned, her pretty little nose wrinkling in distaste. "I knew I should've tried to get in on the prep for the ceremony. I didn't wanna look like I was supporting this in, like, any way, but Zeus has seriously got a taste problem. That's just so...white!"

"Yeah, I know." Hercules sighed again; he could tell this was going to be a reoccurring theme throughout the afternoon.

"Oh, and I didn't want to say anything 'cause I know we all relieve a little 'tension' every now and then -- it's good for you, but next time you gotta do something formal, aim better, bro. That's kinda on the grody side for a family function." Aphrodite gave a delicate wave of her fingers and the stains on Hercules' vest and pants vanished.

"Thanks," Hercules said through clenched teeth. What else could he say? It wasn't his? Strife paid a little visit and left a souvenir? Better to let her think what she did.

It seemed that every god and goddess in the pantheon from the major twelve down to the youngest nymphs and sprites had turned up to see this, and it was only the betrothal. This wasn't open to anyone but full gods, and the "groom to-be" of course; Autolycus had tried to wrangle an invitation based on his parentage but Hermes had refused; he was invited to the actual wedding though. At least if it came down to that -- and it was looking more and more likely -- then Hercules would be allowed to have his friends with him, all of them had promised to stand with him and there was nothing in Olympian law about mortals at weddings, just at the betrothal ceremony.

"Chin up," Aphrodite whispered to him. "Pull through this and try to remember that some of us really do love you, bro." She pecked him on the cheek, then melted into the crowd.

Surprisingly that helped. Not every god or goddess here was his enemy; Cupid up near the front was giving him an apologetic smile and Psyche gave him a small wave, Hephaestus, with Aphrodite now snuggling up against him, gave him a thumbs-up sign; Hades nodded to him, looking a bit grimmer than usual and beside him Persephone smiled encouragingly. Hercules recognized a number of friendly faces among Poseidon's children and among the many nymphs scattered about the large room, tittering excitedly. Even the ones he did consider his enemies were looking decidedly unviolent; Ares and Discord stood together near Cupid, Discord looking rather subdued and Ares just looking bored; Apollo actually looked sympathetic, as did Athena. Of course, up at the front of the room Zeus himself was waiting with a wide grin -- Strife hadn't been exaggerating there -- and Hera was nowhere to be seen.

Well, might as well get it over with, Hercules decided. The crowd of deities was split, one on each side of the room so he walked down the isle left between, trying not to let the stares and hushed muttering get to him.

"Dead man walking!" The semi-loud, taunting voice startled Hercules enough to make him turn a glare on the god as he passed. Deimos just gave him a "What'd you expect from me?" shrug.

Zeus stood on the top of a dais, behind him sat two marble thrones, white like everything else around them. Hercules realized this was Zeus' throne room although the double thrones indicated that Hera visited, at least once in a while. Aphrodite had briefed him on the ceremony earlier so he stopped at the bottom of the dais and waited, as expected.

A flash of light drew his attention away from Zeus and Hercules found himself staring at Strife who stood a few paces to his left. Nothing had changed since he'd last seen Strife a few minutes ago, but the lighting here was different and suddenly there was more to see, or at least it seemed that way.

In the background Hercules was aware of Zeus starting to speak, a monologue about the importance of marriage and how a betrothal, short as it was, would give them time to grow accustomed to each other. Aphrodite had warned him about this too, that it was a long-winded speech, normal for Zeus who was full of hot air to begin with, according to her, and it all boiled down to, "You're getting married; deal with it." Hercules felt safe enough tuning it out because paying attention would probably have just annoyed him; it was easier to just...look at Strife. And Strife was looking right back at him.

It was interesting, in this light he could see that Strife's hair wasn't entirely black, there were brown highlights in it that made it seem to shine in the brightness of Olympus. That shirt really did do something for his eyes, made them seem paler, but Hercules couldn't help remembering how dark they'd been not so long ago when Strife had been staring down at him in absolute lust -- and they were getting darker now. Strife was looking at him just as intently, maybe thinking the same thing judging by the way he shifted his weight uncomfortably, and Hercules' eyes seemed to drop of their own accord, taking in blue silk and black leather until his gaze came to rest on the outline of Strife's half-hard cock.

Mouth suddenly dry, Hercules licked his lips -- and a low hiss snapped his gaze back up to Strife's face. The look Strife was giving him, utterly intent, like Hercules was the only thing in the room worth bothering with, blue irises almost eclipsed by dilated pupils as sudden, intense arousal took over. Hercules couldn't look away, remembering what it'd been like to see that look on Strife's face above him as Strife moved inside him.

"Hercules."

"What?" Hercules snapped, looking up at Zeus in irritation.

"I asked if you accept this betrothal."

Realizing he was breathing a bit faster than normal, he just shook his head.

"Fine, then as your father I accept it for you. Strife?" Zeus turned his attention to Strife, as did Hercules.

Strife sneered, his only reply, and it was obvious that he wasn't exactly breathing slow and easy either.

"As your grandfather, I accept for you," Zeus announced.

"Whatever." Strife shrugged, then his gaze strayed back to Hercules.

It was impossible to look away from that intense gaze. Hercules knew he should be angry with Zeus' manipulation of his life, with the triumphant tone in his voice, but with Strife standing there staring at him, Hercules decided he'd get upset later. He was a bit more interested in the way Strife's two remaining earrings in his right ear glinted beneath his hair; he wondered where all the rest had gone, and if Strife were still wearing the nipple rings under that shirt. Did silk irritate pierced nipples, or was it a good feeling?

"Hey, Uncle Herc." Cupid's arm dropping around his shoulders snapped Hercules out of the trance-like state he'd been in. He had a moment to see Strife being dragged in the opposite direction by Ares before Cupid was pulling him away.

"Time to mingle," Cupid announced, shoving a gold cup into Hercules' hand. "I think you need that, man."

Suspicious, Hercules took only a small sip, then raised his eyebrows when he tasted plain water.

"Nice and cold, isn't it?" Cupid gave him an unreadable look. "Everyone's looking for something cold right now because suddenly it got kind of warm in here."

Hercules looked away, managing not to wince at the implication. He drank the water anyway.

"Do I even want to know what's going on?" Cupid asked.

"Probably not," Hercules responded. "Look, thanks for this, but is there anything with some alcohol in it?"

That made Cupid chuckle. "I hear you, man. No problem." And just like that Hercules' cup was filled with wine. "It's ambrosia-free," Cupid promised. "Just don't take anything from Zeus because I wouldn't put it past him to slip you some just to get a jump start on things."

A jump start. Well, Zeus wouldn't be the only one then, and Hercules quickly pushed that thought aside. He'd have to deal with it, but he couldn't do that and still deal with his relatives. Apollo was headed his way followed by all the Muses and Hercules just pasted a polite smile on his face and got ready to endure.

Part 8

"So, how's it hanging?"

The soft words near his ear made Hercules jump and he almost spilled his wine. "Damnit, Strife; stop doing that!" he snapped, turning to glare at the god behind him.

"What, not happy to see me?" Strife mock-pouted before taking a sip from the cup he held.

Hercules rolled his eyes. "This whole thing is bad enough already -- Ares is being nice to me, and if you don't think that's weird--"

"Ares is wasted," Strife interrupted, glancing across the room to where Ares was laughing aloud at something Artemis was saying. "It's the only way he can get thorough these family things without killing someone. He's a real happy drunk."

"Oh, well I guess that explains it." Hercules took a long drink of his wine, wondering if maybe he wasn't a little tipsy himself after fourteen cups of it. But how else was he supposed to have dealt with Zeus dragging him around, boasting about him like he was a prized horse or something? He'd finally slipped free a few minutes ago while Aphrodite intercepted Zeus to give Hercules a head start. This betrothal reception was turning out even worse than he'd expected.

"See you got the stains off." Strife looked at his outfit with a smirk.

Now Hercules glared at him. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? Aphrodite had to do something about it!"

"Well, duh! Strife here, of course I'm going to embarrass you. Besides, those hickeys healed right up on you so I liked seeing something that said I fucked you."

That should've made Hercules angry, or at least irritated him, so why did it send a flush of heat through him instead? A sudden, soft giggle from beside him let him know that Strife was well aware of the affect his words had. That irritated Hercules, and then he remembered something, a little facet of Olympian law that had come up in conversation with Persephone back during the trouble with Hades, and Hercules realized he could have a bit of revenge here. He waited until Strife was taking another sip from his cup.

"At least you got the blood out, although I thought that wasn't supposed to happen until the wedding night, or is it different up here?"

Strife choked on his drink. "W--What?" he finally gasped out, all humor gone from his expression.

Hercules shrugged, affecting a disinterested manner. "Oh well, wasn't like I was 'saving myself' for someone or anything."

Suddenly Strife's cup clattered to the floor and he was gripping the front of Hercules' vest, his expression a mix of fear and anger. "What the fuck are you saying, Hercules? Because it better not be what I think I'm hearing! If it is, then I don't want to hear it! I'm not getting shackled to you because you were too tight-assed to get laid...." Strife trailed off, eyes narrowing.

Hercules knew he was smirking and couldn't stop himself, nor could he stop the chuckles that came out when Strife's eyes widened in understanding.

"You prick!" Strife shoved him away.

Hercules was really chuckling now, although he could see they were drawing attention from their relatives so he did his best to rein it in.

"Do you have any idea what would've happened if you'd been a virgin?" Strife hissed at him, eyes darting back and forth, probably to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. "Zeus made that decree for the women, but he would've used it on you just so we couldn't wiggle out of this!"

"I know," Hercules said with a grin.

"It was a joke, right?" Strife still had that edge of fear to his expression and Hercules had to fight not to laugh aloud.

"Twenty years ago, me, Jason and way too much wine," Hercules said, although it was a bit strangled with the suppressed laughter.

"Well thank the Fates for that!" Strife dropped his head with a sigh. When he looked up again, a smile was playing around his lips. "You got me, Hercules; not bad at all. So you do have a sense of humor under that tight-assed front you put on."

"Quit calling me that," Hercules said, although it was a bit hard to sound stern when he was still holding back a few chuckles.

"Mmm, but you are, Hercules," Strife said wickedly, "so very, very tight." He bit off the word with an audible click of teeth and suddenly Hercules wasn't laughing any more.

The intensity was back in the way Strife watched him, so much closer now than they been during the betrothal ceremony and Hercules fought the sudden urge to step closer, to taste Strife's mouth again because it was sweeter than all of the wine he'd had this afternoon.

"Careful." Strife's hand was suddenly on his, caressing briefly and making Hercules gasp softly before Strife took his cup from him. "You'll spill this all over. Why don't I carry it for you?"

Hercules didn't give any response but Strife didn't seem to need one either. "Come on," he said quietly. "We'd better walk around or something because we're starting to make people stare."

That was enough to bring Hercules back to the present. Many of the gods and goddesses were watching them, most of them wore expressions of confusion but Cupid was frowning and he looked like he understood all too well. Hercules quickly looked away.

"Just stay with me," Strife said, starting to walk and nodding when Hercules fell into step beside him.

"Where're we going?"

"Nowhere. We just have to be seen so we'll wander around the place. No one will bother us because we're supposed to be playing the 'getting to know you' game."

"Are we actually going to talk?"

"Could be. Of course, we could just see if we can make each other come with words alone," Strife said with a smirk.

There was that rush of heat again, but this time Hercules chuckled too.

Strife grinned at him, a disturbingly friendly expression. "There's that sense of humor; good." He looked away to nod at Ares, then giggled suddenly.

"What?" Hercules looked at Ares but didn't see what was funny. Even if Ares was drunk he didn't appear to be acting strangely, other than that open smile he was wearing.

"Just thinking about what I would've had to say to Ares if you'd really been a virgin. 'Hey, Uncle Ares, I really do have to marry Herc now because I just popped his cherry and Zeus says I have to save his honor.'" Strife giggled again and this time Hercules was chuckling with him, imagining Ares' face when confronted with that.

"Oh, you think that would be bad?" Hercules asked, seeing the same scenario with different players. "I would've been the one telling Xena I was marrying you because you'd stolen my virtue."

Strife laughed out loud and Hercules would've tried to quiet him except his next thought had him laughing just as hard. "Sorry, Iolaus," he said through the laugher, "didn't have a choice; my chastity was just in tatters."

Strife was leaning against him now, giggling hard and their walk was more of a stumble for a couple minutes until the laughter died down.

"Oops," Strife said, putting just a bit of distance between them, "we're getting stared at again."

Aphrodite in particular was watching them, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Then Hercules noticed something.

"Everyone here is dressed differently," he thought aloud. Ares was wearing a shirt under his vest and Discord was actually in a floor-length dress, even if it was leather. The rest of the gods were dressed in manners he hadn't seen in his dealings with them as well. Everyone except Aphrodite. "So why is Aphrodite still in that pink dress?"

"You don't know?" Strife looked at him strangely, like this was old news.

"I'm asking," Hercules pointed out.

"Nah, guess you wouldn't know. Ooh, this is going to be fun." Strife giggled again but this time it sounded more wicked, the way Hercules was used to hearing it. He wasn't, however, used to having Strife drop an arm around his shoulders.

"See, Aphrodite does have an official dress," Strife said, seemingly oblivious to the startled glance Hercules gave the arm draped over him. "It's all white and gold and it covers her from neck to feet and I think Hera designed it or something because she always looked real smug sitting there looking at Aphrodite all bundled up like a mummy. Aphrodite hated it but we don't get much choice with these family things. Anyway, then she had the twins and Deimos and Phobos were total terrors, even as newborns; never had any patience. So she had to drag them to a family meeting one day and she was still breast feeding them, dig? They got hungry in the middle of the meeting and Aphrodite had to hand them off to Athena so she could get her top open -- bad manners to use your powers in one of these get togethers, you know? Problem was, that thing laced up in the back and it took forever for her to get it off and the twins got real impatient. They started thinking one set of breasts was as good as another."

"Oh no." Hercules could see where it was leading and he cringed even as a grin started to spread across his lips.

"Oh yeah." Strife smirked. "They started groping Athena and slobbering all over her tits. So she freaks out and hands them over to Artemis, only same thing happens, and Aphrodite's still trying to get her top off. Then Artemis hands them to Ares and all Tartarus breaks loose."

"They didn't?" Hercules was really grinning now, picturing exactly what must've happened.

"Yep. Those kids were strong and Ares couldn't shake them off; got a crash course in breast feeding though. And then, get this, Aphrodite starts smacking Ares for being so rough with the twins and he's still trying to peel them off of him and Aphrodite still doesn't have her top down. So she finally gets the brats off of Ares -- and half the pantheon's on the floor laughing by this time -- and she gives them to Zeus."

"Ouch," Hercules commented, having noticed that Zeus' formal outfit bared one side of his chest.

"Uh-huh. You got it in one. So anyway, after that Zeus decreed that Aphrodite could wear her usual outfits during the meeting because they unhook in like half a second. Even after Deimos and Phobos grew up she just kept wearing them and no one's said anything, I guess because most of them are afraid she'll spawn again and she'll make them hold the brats."

"I'll have to mention that one to Ares," Hercules mused.

Strife giggled. "That'll totally send him off the deep end! Oh, wait! If you didn't know about that, do you know why Aphrodite calls Zeus an 'old goat?'"

"I thought it was just her way of talking."

"Nope. See, she did a favor for Hera; Zeus was panting after one of Hera's priestesses, so Aphrodite hid the chick in one of her temples, then spread around the word that she'd had changed her into a goat to hide her from Zeus. Zeus spent the next month feeling up every goat anywhere near Aphrodite's temples." Strife was grinning maniacally and Hercules was caught between disgust and returning the grin.

"That's sick," he commented, but the grin won out.

Strife snorted. "You think that's bad? I oughta tell you why Cupid won't rim his mortal boy-toys anymore."

"Rim?" Hercules looked at him questioningly.

Strife's raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. What, you and whatshisname, Jason, never did that?"

"We were only together that one time," Hercules said with a shrug. "We were drunk and it was lousy."

Something in Strife's grin shifted, becoming predatory. "Well, guess I'll just have to show you then." His voice was closer to a purr than any mortal could've managed and Hercules sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden bolt of arousal that went through him. But then Strife looked away and the moment was gone, and Hercules could breathe easier.

"So why was it lousy?" Strife asked, his tone back to normal.

It took Hercules a moment to answer; he couldn't make those same lightening-quick mood swings and he had to force back the burn of arousal or risk embarrassing himself considering how tight his pants already were. "Um, well, it just was," he finally answered. "I mean, he'd just been crowned king and there was a party and we drank way too much. If we hadn't been drunk he never would've asked me and I probably would've been too shy to say yes."

"So who passed out first?" Strife grinned at him again.

Hercules couldn't help returning the expression given just how dead-on Strife's observation was. "Jason," he said. "On top of me."

"In you too, huh?"

"Yeah," he admitted, thinking back on that hazy memory with amusement. "You know, when we get drunk enough to talk about that, he still complains about never getting to finish."

"Wait, he was too wasted to come? Amazing he even got it up then. Did you pass out too?"

"About five seconds after him." It was funny now, but it'd taken him years to think about it without turning three different shades of red. "We woke up like that, hungover, and Jason got sick."

"On you?"

Hercules nodded and Strife winced sympathetically.

"You're right; lousy. Not as bad as when I got my cherry popped though."

"Oh really?"

"Totally. Orgy, a few hundred years back -- and it was one of those big ones Aphrodite threw for the family, so no powers allowed; Apollo wanted to do me and he's like, so hot -- when he doesn't open his mouth and let his personality show up, know what I mean? So anyway, I let him. Figured, what the Tartarus, he was hung -- not like you though -- and I wanted a piece. Thing is, Apollo doesn't normally do guys -- he's always banging the Muses -- and he forgot the little fact that you need lube."

It was Hercules' turn to wince in sympathy.

"Yeah," Strife nodded. "Went about like you're thinking. Hurt like a bitch and he was still trying to do me like it was some sorta race and my ass was the finishing line, and then we got stuck -- I mean literally."

Hercules couldn't help it, he laughed. "Sorry," he said a moment later, quickly getting his reactions back under control.

"Nah, it's funny now, but back then, with Asclepius there trying to get us apart and most the pantheon laughing their asses off, wasn't exactly seeing the humor myself. Never bottomed again. Cupid says I'm missing out but I'm just so not into pain, unless I'm the one causing it, you know?" Strife winked at him.

Remembering the pain mixed in with the pleasure in what they'd done earlier, and how much he'd liked it, Hercules flushed. "Never thought I was into pain," he admitted.

"Yeah, well, there's bad pain and good pain and really good pain and I'm a total expert with the good side of it. I like screaming but I want to hear a whole lot of 'more' and 'please don't stop,' dig? Torture and shit, that's more Deimos' thing, not mine, even on the job. Oh, hey, reminds me, did you know that Deimos started this whole piercing thing in Greece?"

Hercules shook his head bemusedly; he was getting used to the way Strife hopped subjects as fast he changed moods.

"I don't mean the ear piercing stuff, everyone's got that, I'm talking the totally out there ones like eyebrows and tongues and cocks and clits and all that. He picked it up when we were fighting in Egypt a few decades ago; total fad here now."

"Why?" Hercules had never been able to understand that whole thing. Even Iolaus had a nipple pierced but Hercules had never really pushed him to explain it.

"Because it feels good." Strife shrugged.

Hercules was suddenly struck by the surreality of this entire scene, walking with Strife -- a god who'd tried to kill him more than once -- betrothed to him, talking as though they were friends instead of lifelong enemies, and there was still the occasional twinge inside him to remind him of just what else they'd done, and taken all together it was like he'd stepped into another reality, and yet it wasn't exactly bothering him either. It was something of a relief not to be fighting constantly, worrying about what latest annoyance or mortal peril Strife was going to come up with; if Strife was willing to be friendly then Hercules was willing to take him up on it. And anything else that came up, he silently admitted to himself. They really did need to talk about that. He stopped walking and Strife stopped beside him, looking at him curiously.

"Do you eat ambrosia a lot?" That wasn't what Hercules had meant to say but he supposed it'd been on his mind for a few days now.

Strife frowned, cocking his head to the side a bit as he looked at Hercules. "Nah, pretty vile crap; only shove it down when I have to. Why?"

"It must just be you then," Hercules said thoughtfully.

"Huh? Me what?"

"You taste sweeter than honey." And he really hadn't planned on saying it like that, it just came out.

Strife gasped softly, his pupils dilating as a slight flush of arousal colored his pale cheeks. His lips parted as though he were going to speak, but nothing came out save a shallow breath or two. Hercules' gaze was drawn to those lips, remembering the feel of them on his own, on his throat, his nipples, and as he had during the ceremony, he moistened his own lips with the tip of his tongue. It wasn't a thought out action in any way, it was just an automatic response.

Strife's eyes snapped shut and he took in a deep, sharp breath, holding it a moment before letting it out slowly. "There's a door over in the corner behind you, leads to a nice little library Zeus keeps. See if you can sneak into it; if you get caught, tell them you needed a break from all this 'family bonding' shit." Without further explanation, Strife opened his eyes -- gaze deliberately focused away from Hercules -- and walked off towards Poseidon and Hestia.

It took more effort than Hercules cared to admit to tear his gaze from the retreating figure, but he finally turned away, looking for the door Strife had spoken of. In the huge room with dozens of gods moving about, it was easy to miss. It wasn't an ornate doorway, which was strange considering the way everything else about the place was so overdone; it looked to be a simple wooden door tucked into a corner of the room.

Hercules made his way over to it, smiling and nodding to any gods or goddesses that made eye contact with him. Maybe someone like Strife could've moved stealthily enough to avoid being seen in this crowd, but it was beyond Hercules. He figured the best he could do was to look like he had every right to go into that room, and it seemed to work as no one stopped him or called him back.

A "nice little library" turned out to be something on the scale of the one down in Alexandria. Maybe this was small for a god but standing just inside the room, Hercules couldn't see to the other end of it. Shelves and shelves of scrolls as far as the mortal eye could see and he couldn't help but think that if this was Zeus' library, what must the Muses' library look like? It was an intimidating concept.

Making sure the door was firmly closed behind him, Hercules started to move towards the nearest scroll, curious as to what the King of the Gods kept as reading material -- but he never made it. Hands caught him and shoved him back against the wall.

"Wasn't thinking about doing 'story time' in here," Strife said, pressing close to him.

"How'd you get in?" Hercules had to wonder. The door had been in his sight the entire time and he hadn't seen Strife enter either before or after him, unless he'd cheated and used his powers. But Hercules thought that maybe the other gods might've taken notice of a display like that.

"There're other ways." Strife's hands moved from Hercules' arms, a smooth slide up to his neck, then back to tangle in his hair.

"Love long hair; so much to play with." Strife's voice was a murmur as he wound strands of Hercules' hair around his fingers.

This was crazy, standing here letting Strife touch him, seduce him with the entire pantheon in the next room, but Hercules couldn't have stopped it if he'd wanted to. And as his own hands came up to frame Strife's face, he was fairly certain that he didn't want to.

"You--You look good like this," he said, maybe a little uncertain how Strife would react to the compliment since it was a criticism of his normal attire. Hercules moved one hand up, letting strands of Strife's hair slide over his fingers. "Softer than silk," he commented, smiling slightly at the feel.

Strife moaned, that deep, broken sound he'd made when he'd been on Hercules before, in him, and just like that Hercules was hard. Strife had to have felt it, as close as they were, and the wicked smile he gave Hercules seemed to confirm that. Then he moved, somehow sliding his entire body against Hercules', rolling his hips so their erections pressed hard together, even through the leather of their pants, and proving that Strife was just as affected by this.

"How do you move like that?" Hercules gasped out, things he'd subconsciously wondered about for years finally breaking free, tumbling from his lips even as he pushed back against Strife. "You're like a cat, but they aren't as...graceful, boneless--" and he couldn't continue with Strife kissing him, that wonderful burst of sweetness when Strife's tongue licked its way into his mouth.

He didn't know how much time passed before Strife drew back, but by then he was panting, his hands on Strife's hips, holding him there as they ground against each other. Eyes half closed, pale face flushed, Strife stared at him intently.

"The things that come out of your mouth, Hercules...so naughty." His tone was teasing but his voice was so deep, making Hercules want to kiss him again. "You like looking at me, tasting me, huh? Then try it from this angle."

Hands slid to Hercules' shoulders, exerting pressure that he didn't resist and he let himself slide down against the wall, ending up on his knees. One of Strife's hands remained on him, moving up to his cheek, long fingers stroking his skin while Strife quickly unlaced his pants with his free hand.

It should've been even more surreal than anything else that'd happened; Hercules had come here willingly, was on his knees without a fight and admiring the cock of one of his worst enemies. Or was that former worst enemy now? It was too strange to know for certain anymore. But all of this, the situation, what was about to happen, it was absolutely clear to him; he couldn't claim any coercion or lack of wits when he leaned forward to run his tongue up the length of Strife's cock. He couldn't say he was not himself or that he didn't know what he was doing, not when the hiss of pleasure Strife gave made eager to do it again, to do more. Except...okay, maybe he didn't know what he was doing, in the technical sense of things.

"This is going to be really amateurish," he warned.

Strife frowned down at him, then groaned in frustration when understanding dawned. "Figures. Okay, crash course time: you've got one so do what you like having done to you; if you can't take it all then use your hand; spit if you don't want to swallow, but don't just pull back because you'll end up with a whole different kind of facial -- and fuck, I want to see that on you sometime! Use your tongue, don't choke, and I like teeth." His thumb moved over Hercules' lips. "Now open that pretty mouth for me."

Wondering if it was a sign of the world ending, Hercules obeyed. It was a good thing Strife didn't mind teeth, he thought, considering that he couldn't figure out how he would've gotten his out of the way. As Strife pushed into his mouth, his teeth scraped across the thick cock and he heard Strife hum in pleasure. When the head hit the back of his throat he didn't think he could manage any more, he wrapped his hand around the base of Strife's cock, forming a tight tunnel that Strife was quick to take advantage of.

Strife rocked his hips, withdrawing, then pushing right back in. When he did it again, Hercules flicked his tongue over the head of Strife's cock, then sucked, hard. Strife growled, approval radiating from the sound, and he moved a bit faster.

It tasted different; Strife's mouth was sweet but his skin had the sharp tang of metal and copper, like blood. Maybe it had something to do with him being a war god but it wasn't unpleasant, it was...addictive, a little like violence. Hercules licked at the cock sliding in and out of his mouth, not just to hear those wonderful moans and gasps above him, but because he wanted more of that taste.

Hercules fell into a rhythm, sucking and licking and sometimes deliberately pressing down with his teeth and that never failed to make Strife gasp and move faster. One of Strife's hands was in his hair now, gripping him, holding him in place while Strife braced himself against the wall with his other hand and simply fucked Hercules' mouth. And somehow -- because Hercules had never even given the most passing thought to this ever happening -- he was loving this. He could make Strife moan with a slide of his tongue, make him cry out with the right pressure of his teeth, and he began to realize that even here on his knees with Strife using his mouth, he was the one in control.

Strife was shoving hard against him now but with Hercules' hand still tight around his cock there was no danger of being choked. He could hear Strife's rapid, gasping breaths above him, could see the way Strife's thighs were starting to tremble, and he sucked harder, biting down.

"Oh, fuck!" Strife yelped.

And suddenly his cock jerked, again and again, and Hercules' mouth was filled with hot come. It didn't even occur to him to spit it out; if Strife's mouth had been sweet, this transcended the word. No mortal man would ever -- could ever taste like this and Hercules swallowed eagerly, sucking hard on Strife's cock even when there was nothing left to swallow.

Then Strife was pulling back, pulling him up painfully by his hair and Hercules had no choice but to follow or lose a good clump of his hair. When Strife finally released him, Hercules was pressed hard against the wall with Strife leaning into him, licking at his neck, biting his ear.

"Maybe you don't have much experience, but you do just fine with improv," Strife said, nipping at Hercules' earlobe, drawing blood. Hercules hissed but didn't push him away; the sharp pain seemed to transform itself, the sensation becoming something far more pleasurable as he became abruptly aware of just how hard he was.

"I'd kiss you, because you kiss so fine, but I'm not really into the way I taste," Strife explained, biting again.

"How can you not like it?" Hercules gasped out, still savoring the aftertaste.

Strife giggled against his throat. "Figure it out, Hercules." Then he was licking his way down Hercules' chest, stopping to bite at a nipple before moving lower, falling to his knees.

Looking down at the ice blue eyes, glittering up at him with mischief, pieces suddenly began falling into place.

"It's your godhood," Hercules said, remembering his thoughts the first time they'd kissed. "The way you taste -- it's temptation." He'd thought of it before, but he hadn't been literal enough. "Doing wrong, causing harm--"

"Causing strife," Strife said with a smirk.

"Yes. Sometimes it's just too sweet to resist." Even for him; he'd played enough pranks on his friends over the years.

"That's right." Smirk widening, Strife began unlacing Hercules' pants. "I am trouble, and the temptation for it, so why would I care how it tastes? Kind of overkill for me."

Hercules groaned in relief as Strife tugged his pants down, freeing his cock. "It's not just the way you taste, is it? It's everything about you." Even down to the jarring high-pitched giggles because as bad as that sounded, could anyone ignore it or even resist stopping to see what caused it?

"Could be," Strife said teasingly. "You tell me." Then he swallowed Hercules' cock, one single movement, straight down to the base.

Hercules was only marginally aware of the dull pain as he slammed his head back against the wall in reaction, but it was better than shouting, which was what he wanted to do. He did have enough sense left not to bring everyone in the next room running so he clenched his teeth against the cries that wanted to escape as Strife continued those torturously wonderful swallowing motions around his cock.

When Strife pulled back, Hercules' hands automatically shot down, tangling in soft hair, trying to pull that mouth back where he needed it. Strife didn't allow it though, resisting the tugging motions in his hair as he began licking his way around Hercules' cock, tonguing the sensitive spot just below the head.

"Look at me!" Strife said with a hiss.

Suddenly realizing that his eyes were closed, Hercules forced them open and looked down in time to see Strife take him in again, right down to the root. Strife's eyes never left his; even partially concealed by dark bangs, the icy blue glint was still visible. Strife drew back, slowly, sucking hard, then slid his mouth back down, swallowing. Now Hercules couldn't even think of looking away; the sight of Strife's lips stretched around him, his cock disappearing into that hot, wet mouth -- it was all he could do to stop himself from coming right then. He wanted this to last, just a little longer, wanted to watch it and -- oh gods -- feel what Strife was doing to him. But Strife apparently had other ideas.

Focused completely on that talented mouth, Hercules didn't see Strife move but he felt it -- sweet Fates, did he ever -- when fingers slid beneath his balls, pausing to lift and roll them before sliding back further. There was no hesitation, no gentling or teasing touch, Strife simply pushed two fingers deep into him and Hercules bit into his lip, somehow not giving voice to the roar of shocked pleasure that threatened to tear from him as he came in near-painful spurts down Strife's throat.

He was still shaking when Strife pulled away and then his legs wouldn't support him; he slumped down to the floor, gasping for breath and tasting his own blood. Strife still knelt in front of him, watching him closely. It seemed to be the appropriate thing to do, reaching out, grabbing a fistful of Strife's vest and hauling him forward for a deep kiss. Beyond Strife's normal sweet taste, Hercules detected a slight undercurrent of bitterness and realized he was tasting himself. Bitter to sweet and somehow the tastes mixed perfectly.

He only reluctantly released his grip on Strife, but Strife didn't really move once he was free. He settled himself a bit, straddling Hercules' lap and loosely draping his arms around Hercules' neck.

"I'm still not marrying you," Strife announced in a tired voice.

"Hadn't changed my mind either," Hercules reassured him, closing his eyes and letting his head rest back against the wall.

"Good, because it'd never work. I mean, well, obviously this is working -- go figure -- but if I married you, you'd have to live with me on Olympus and I live in Ares' temple."

Hercules snorted, trying to picture that scenario and failing. "We'd kill each other if we lived anywhere within a league of each other."

"Yeah, well I'm kind of thinking that's what Zeus has in mind," Strife said without a trace of humor.

"What?" That was enough to banish the peaceful lassitude Hercules had been enjoying from the bone-melting orgasm. He opened his eyes and frowned at Strife.

"I wasn't sure so I didn't say anything before, but then I saw him watching Ares out there and now I know. See, Zeus has to know that putting the two of you in the same space will end up in some serious violence."

"I wouldn't kill Ares," Hercules cut in. "I was exaggerating. We don't like each other and maybe he thinks he hates me--"

"He does hate you; get it through your head, Hercules. Maybe you're too noble to go offing him in cold blood, but Ares doesn't have that problem, dig?" Strife's gaze was piercing now and for once he was utterly still, something that seemed more than words to convey the seriousness of this. "He will try to kill you. Zeus' little protection order won't make any difference; if you're living in Ares' temple, Ares won't be able to take it and eventually he'll take a shot at you, a real one, not the half-assed stuff you've been dealing with the past few years. You hearing me here? And unless you really want to take a permanent vacation with Uncle Hades, you'll defend yourself and you will have to kill Ares. There won't be another way out of it, and that's what Zeus is counting on."

"Gods can't kill other gods," Hercules protested although it was hollow because he could hear the absolute truth in Strife's words.

"No shit. Well, here's how it's going to play out: you off Ares out of self defense, all the other gods protest, and Zeus pardons you because it was self-defense. Now we're married and Ares is gone. Suddenly I'm next up in line for the throne. Want to take a guess on what happens next?"

"I wouldn't kill you, Strife." Hercules was very sure of that.

"What, because of this?" Strife motioned to the state of their partial undress. "Or because we 'talked?' Same scenario, pretty boy. Yeah, we fuck good, can't say that I'm real upset about that, but I don't like you, Hercules, and you don't like me either. Think about if before you open your mouth there," he cautioned.

"I am thinking about it. What you are, Strife...well, it isn’t all bad. Everyone could do with a little difficulty in their lives. It makes them strive to overcome it, to be better people. It--you don’t have to be destructive."

Strife smirked humorlessly. "What, do I look like Xena? Hot tip for you, Hercules: trying to reform me? Not gonna happen. Ever. Sorry to disappoint you -- oh, wait, no I'm not. See, I enjoy what I do, the way I do it, okay? I like killing, I like causing catastrophic problems for mortals and I really get a charge out of their suffering. I'm not looking to change or reform or be the God of Peace and Daisies, got it?

"You have a hero complex; there's no way you could stand around and watch me do my job without trying to stop me, and then we have a problem. You'd go after me eventually, try to stop me because you're all hung up on saving the precious little mortals, and you'd have to kill me because I will not adjust my life to your standards. After that, well, you'd be the number one boy on Olympus, next in line for the throne and probably God of War too, because I don't see Zeus passing up that little opportunity."

Hercules opened his mouth to protest again, but closed it almost as quickly because really, what was there to say? That he thought deep down, Strife was really a nice guy? He'd seen too much of what Strife did over the years to ever fool himself in regards to that. Was he supposed to claim that Zeus would never do any of that? Because even if he wanted to think the best of the god who'd fathered him, he had no delusions about what Zeus would do to get what he wanted.

"Damn," he whispered, letting his head fall back again.

"Yeah." Strife let him go, moving off of him in a boneless slide that ended with Strife slumped against the wall beside him.

"So, what do we do now?" Hercules asked, out of ideas. "If you're right -- and I believe you, okay? Then Zeus isn't gonna listen to me now. I'm still not exactly thrilled you got me into this, but I don't want to hurt you, Strife--"

"You don't want to hurt anyone, Hercules," Strife interrupted with a snort. "It goes with that whole 'hero' image you're working."

"There are a lot of people that could be hurt or killed in all of this and I can't help worrying about that."

"You're not worried about yourself?" Strife gave him a knowing smirk.

Hercules smiled slightly, conceding the point. "Maybe I am. I'd kind of like to come out of this unhurt myself."

Strife's smirk widened, becoming less mocking and more...alluring? Hercules wasn't sure if that was the right word but whatever it was, it made him want to kiss Strife again.

"You sure about that, Herc?" Strife asked, his voice low as he drew the words out. "Because I want to hurt you, want to make you bleed a little, scream, hear you beg me for more. I'm thinking you don't exactly have a problem with that either, do you?"

Maybe Strife didn't add any details, but Hercules' mind abruptly supplied them. Each time they'd come together like this it'd gotten increasingly rougher, Strife had indeed drawn blood this time. Hercules' ear had stopped throbbing and was likely healing now but all that meant was that he could probably take whatever Strife cared to do to him, and Hercules was honest enough with himself to admit that the thought wasn't in any way repulsive. Thinking of Strife's hands on him, holding him down, bruising him, those sharp white teeth sinking into his flesh again and again -- suddenly he was giving into earlier impulse and kissing Strife.

Hands slid up his arms then took hold, fingers digging in hard and Hercules moaned against Strife's mouth. Then Strife was pushing him away and Hercules didn't fight it, realizing that it was the right idea.

"We have to get back out there," he said, regret obvious in his tone.

"Yeah. We'll end up making too many people more suspicious than they already are." Strife released him and got to his feet, tucking himself back into his pants.

"Cupid?" Hercules asked, standing as well.

Strife just nodded, his attention seemingly on the laces of his pants instead of Hercules. It was only an appearance though, Hercules could almost feel it. If Strife had looked at him they would've been back on the floor in moments, so he looked away himself.

"Aphrodite too? I thought she was giving me a strange look." He pulled up his own pants, then struggled with the unfamiliar lacings.

"They're picking up on the vibes we're putting out. Nothing we can do about it but maybe they'll keep their noses in their own business for once."

"I thought this was their business; I did ask them for help." He couldn't quite get the laces to come out even through the holes and when he tried to tie them off the knot simply slipped apart. Then pale hands were there, pushing his away. Strife was quick and efficient, long fingers relacing then tying it off and Hercules made sure he never looked up into Strife's face, almost certain that would result in another round of kissing at the very least.

"There's a trick to it," Strife said, then patted Hercules' leather-covered crotch and walked off.

"Gee, thanks." Sarcasm was thick in Hercules' tone because now he was half hard and when he looked up, Strife was nowhere to be found. "How does he do that?" he wondered aloud, looking around. If Strife wasn't using his powers then there had to be another way out of here, Hercules wasn't going to look for it though. He had to get back out and mingle with the relatives again, try and pretend he hadn't just sneaked off to have sex.

Hercules shook his head, remembering how screwed up he'd always thought his divine relatives were. Apparently he didn't have much room to talk.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself as best he could, not wanting to face everyone out there looking like he'd not only just had sex but was ready to go again. A quick touch to his ear proved that the tiny wound had indeed closed and his hair would hide any redness or swelling remaining. A few more deep breaths accompanied by thoughts of Hera showing up at the wedding took care of his impending erection, and then he was ready to head back out.

At least there wouldn't be much more of this. Aphrodite had told him that he'd be back down in the mortal realm by evening and it had to be close to that by now. Forcing a smile on his face, Hercules opened the door and walked out.

Instantly he was spotted by a number of the gods, Ares in particular who happened to be the closest.

"Hey, little brother!" Ares called out, and his smile widened in a frightfully cheerful manner. He gulped down the last of the wine then tossed his cup aside aside -- almost hitting Athena in the face -- and strode over towards Hercules.

Hercules kept smiling and didn't run like he truly wanted to. "'Tis a far, far better thing I do now than I have ever done," he muttered through clenched teeth.

Part 9

Lying in the lumpy bed, staring up at the ceiling, Hercules studied the cracks in the dried-out wood and wondered if maybe the Fates would be kind enough to give the old timber a nudge and drop the roof on him. It wouldn't kill him, he wouldn't be that lucky, but maybe it would knock a bit of sense into him.

Coming back down from Olympus, being greeted with sympathetic hugs and pats on the back from his friends, the offers of "being there" for him if he needed to let it all out -- Hercules had felt like someone had dumped him into a lake in winter. It'd dawned on him with abrupt clarity just what exactly he'd done at the betrothal. His friends had done everything they could to help him out of this, they'd spent hours down here worried for him and what he was going through on Olympus, and he'd been up there cavorting with Strife. Strife had been nothing but an annoyance, sometimes a deadly one, to all of them over the years and yet Hercules had fallen right into bed with him as though none of it mattered. Even now just thinking about what they'd done made him half hard and he was disgusted with himself.

He had no excuse for his behavior, no valid reason for simply throwing sanity to the wind and forgetting everything in favor of living in the moment. Mistakes happened, even big ones, life altering ones, and his friends knew he wasn't perfect anymore than they were, they'd all made bad errors in judgment over the years and there was forgiveness enough to go around. But this was different, simply because Hercules knew that given even half a chance, he'd make the same mistake again. He'd let his friends down, maybe even betrayed them and he wasn't certain how to face them with it.

He had to tell them; Hercules refused to lie, to try to cover up his faults, he just wasn't sure what was going to happen afterwards. Would he have any friends left? Iolaus would be hurt and disappointed, although probably not too surprised, not after that night in the last inn. And they really should have talked about that, Hercules realized. Maybe if they'd discussed it, yelled about it if that had helped, then Iolaus could've helped him figure out what was going on here, what was wrong with him, and he wouldn't have had sex with Strife.

"If" wasn't going to solve anything though. There were a number of things Hercules would've done differently over the past few days and Iolaus was just one of them. Right now he had to get out of bed and go face up to the consequences of his actions.

Aphrodite had returned his regular clothes to him before she'd sent him back to the mortal realm. Hercules had wondered where they'd gotten off to after Strife had made them vanish but Aphrodite didn't say anything about it. She'd waggled her fingers and Hercules had been dressed normally again. He had that much to be grateful for at least, wearing that glaringly white outfit anywhere outside of Olympus would've been a nightmare -- he could just imagine Iolaus' commentary -- as it was the snide remarks from a few of his relatives at the betrothal had been bad enough.

He'd been transported from Zeus' temple down to the inn where everyone had been waiting for him with various degrees of anxiousness. It'd been good to see his friends, but their concern and the realization of his own actions had quickly made him feel unworthy of their attention, so he'd begged off telling the tale of the ceremony and had gone straight to bed. That wasn't too much of an exaggeration; he'd been tired and had simply dropped right into bed, clothes and all, only bothering to remove his boots before going to sleep.

He must've slept all night in the same spot, he realized when he sat up and found his muscles stiff with disuse. After shoving his feet into his boots he spent a couple minutes stretching, maybe more than he needed to and he knew he was just putting off the inevitable.

Hercules wasn't sure if he'd find any of his friends downstairs; the bed didn't look as though anyone save himself had slept in it so he wasn't sure where Iolaus was, but the common room of the inn was where he'd have to start. It didn't turn out to be a long search at least; the room wasn't brightly lit but daylight coming in from the open front door showed Iolaus seated with Xena at a nearby table. Xena was eating but Iolaus simply sat there, a mug in front of him that looked relatively full.

As Hercules walked closer he took one look at the blank expression on Iolaus' face and felt his heart sink. If Iolaus had suspected something before than he was certain of it now, Hercules knew his friend well enough to read that off of him. Hercules didn't think he'd done anything the night before to advertise what had happened at the betrothal, but then if he could read Iolaus, what was there to say that Iolaus couldn't read him equally as well? Still, there wasn't much Hercules could do right now, was willing to do, so he just pulled out a chair opposite his two friends and smiled at them.

"Morning," he said as he sat down.

Xena nodded to him and she seemed calm enough so apparently her thoughts hadn't followed along the path Iolaus' had taken. She did cast a brief frown in Iolaus' direction though so she obviously thought his mood strange.

"Afternoon, you mean." Iolaus said, and for having almost no inflection, his tone was remarkably accusatory.

Hercules managed not to wince although his smile dimmed. "Where’s Gabrielle?" he asked, deciding that there was nothing he could say to Iolaus' comment without making things worse.

"Tracking down Autolycus," Xena replied after taking a long drink.

"I don't remember seeing him last night." Xena, Gabrielle and Iolaus had been there but Hercules was certain Autolycus hadn't.

"He said he had business." Xena arched an eyebrow. "We heard this morning that there's a meeting of local jewelry makers guild in town."

"Oh." Hercules nodded in understanding. "How long has she been out looking for him?"

"A few hours. She'll let me know if there's a problem."

Hercules thought about that, about how adept Autolycus was at getting people into trouble and then leaving them to deal with it. Apparently Xena was recalling that as well since she'd abruptly quit eating and was simply staring at her plate with a scowl. Then she focused her intent gaze on him.

"I'll talk to the merchants," she said before downing the last of her drink.

"And I'll check the jail," Hercules agreed, standing up.

"That's it?" Iolaus' cool voice stopped Hercules before he could leave. "That's all you have to say?"

Looking at his friend, seeing the anger simmering there beneath the surface, Hercules shook his head. "No, there's a lot to say. We all have to talk." He made sure to include Xena with a look. "Some things happened last night.... I have to tell you, but not now. Let's get everyone together first because you all deserve to hear it."

Iolaus nodded once, tightly in acknowledgment. "I'm going with Xena."

"All right." Hercules wasn't going to argue; Iolaus had every right to be angry. "Let's meet back here in an hour if we haven't found anything."

Xena nodded but her look stated that she'd want to hear what Hercules had to say and soon.

He couldn't think of anything more that needed to be said right then, certainly nothing that would assuage Iolaus' anger, so Hercules left the inn.

Hercules' search ended surprisingly fast. The moment he walked into the jail and introduced himself to the man in charge -- a rather large man with a habit of squinting when he talked -- he found himself being led into the back of the building where the prisoners were housed.

"Do you know these people?" the jailer asked, stopping in front of the first cell. "They've been going on about being your friends since the town guards dragged them in here."

Hercules couldn't help smiling when he looked between the bars. "Having a bad day, Autolycus?"

"Mmfhmlr!" Autolycus responded vehemently, although it was kind of difficult to make out what exactly he was saying through the gag. Wrists bound firmly to his ankles, he lay there on his stomach, his glare alternating from Hercules to Gabrielle who sat there beside him.

"Hi," she greeted Hercules with a rueful smile.

"Hercules!" The rattle of metal accompanied Joxer as he scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the bars of the cell. "See, I told you we were all best friends with him!" Joxer said to the jailer, glaring at him. The man just yawned in response, showing a remarkable lack of teeth.

"Hey, can you get us out of here?" Joxer asked, although whined was more accurate. "I didn't know what Auto was going to do, really! I was trying to stop him -- like I kept telling you!" He glared at the jailer again before turning his attention back to Hercules. "I was taking those jewels away from him, not stealing them. If the guards hadn't come in I would've had it all under control!"

Hercules looked past Joxer to Gabrielle; she just rolled her eyes. He assumed that meant Gabrielle had been the one stopping Autolycus but what did it hurt to let Joxer have his little delusions? Regardless, they were all his friends, even the currently incapacitated King of Thieves -- and wasn't that Gabrielle's spare green top being used as a gag? So it was up to Hercules to get them out.

"Yeah, they're all my friends," Hercules confirmed. "I don't know what kind of trouble Autolycus got them all into but I'm sure we can work it out."

"Not up to me," the jailer shrugged, a movement that made his jowls bounce. "You'll have to talk to the merchants who had them arrested."

"Where can I find them?"

"That big house at the end of town; think it belongs to the head of their guild." The man turned his head and spit onto the straw-covered floor. "If they're not there, you can try out in the market. Think a couple of them are set up out there."

"Thank you." Hercules smiled at him politely, then looked back at Gabrielle. "This shouldn't take long; will you be all right here?"

"We'll be fine." She nodded. "Autolycus," she said without changing her pleasant tone, "if you take that out of your mouth, I'll use Joxer's socks to gag you."

Autolycus, who had managed to work the green material partially out of his mouth, now abruptly reversed his movements and used his teeth to pull it back in. He glared at Gabrielle when she patted him on the head.

"I'll look after everyone," Joxer promised sincerely.

"I'm, uh, sure you will." Hercules just left it at that because really, Joxer did mean well.

He didn't want to leave them there but there wasn't another way. If anyone could get into trouble behind bars it was Joxer and Autolycus, but Hercules trusted that Gabrielle would keep them in line for the short amount of time he was sure this would take.

The "big house at the end of town" turned out to be a bit harder to find than Hercules had expected. For one he'd forgotten to ask which end of town he was supposed to be searching, but the second problem lay in the fact that there was more than one large house on the edges of the town. He'd already walked into the market by the time he came to that conclusion so he took the easy way out and instead of going back to question the jailer, he looked for the jewel merchants supposedly set up here. Fortunately they weren't at all hard to find.

Hercules took a wild guess and headed to the stalls that were flanked by several extremely large and heavily armed guards. They looked like hired mercenaries judging from their varied collection of mismatched weapons and armor but they did look like they were committed to doing their jobs, or at least to the money they earned from it. They carefully watched the crowd in the market, paying close attention to anyone who approached the stalls. Hercules nodded at two of the men who focused on him when he approached, but quickly turned his attention to the older man who seemed to be in charge of running the stalls.

There was an impressive display of jewelry laid out, glittering in the sunlight and was attended by what Hercules assumed to be either apprentices or the sons of the owners. The three young men alternately kept an eye on the merchandise while attending to the perspective customers and Hercules wondered how they kept it up all day. There was little shade and they'd likely been out here for hours already and yet everyone, even the older man supervising them, looked remarkably refreshed and cheerful. He supposed they had to in order to attract customers but that was some acting ability. He decided to ask Salmoneus about that sometime; now there was a man who'd know all the tricks of the trade.

"Excuse me," Hercules waved at the older man to get his attention.

"Can I help you, sir?" The merchant came around the stall to greet Hercules, moving surprisingly fast for someone who looked to be well into his fifth decade.

"Yeah, it's about some friends of mine," Hercules said when the man stood before him.

"Oh? Are they looking for something special?" A frail looking hand waved towards the items out on display.

That made Hercules roll his eyes. "Well, I'm sure one of them was." Autolycus wasn't going to hear the end of this for a while. "They were arrested this morning for trying to steal from you," he explained.

The merchant's gaze hardened, his thick gray eyebrows pulling down to a frown. "The thieves. Yes, we had them taken into custody. I hear justice is swift here so you'd best say goodbye to your 'friends' before they're hanged tomorrow."

"Actually, I was hoping to talk to someone about that. I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding."

"It's hardly a 'misunderstanding' when our friends were caught with the jewels we'd just cut for our next line of jewelry." There was no room for argument in his tone but Hercules didn't let that be a deterrent.

"I know how bad it must've looked, but Joxer and Gabrielle are innocent and Autolycus...well, he's just a little misguided."

"Autolycus? That was the King of Thieves?"

Hercules wanted to bang his head against something. From the look in the merchant's eyes it'd been a mistake to bring up Autolycus.

"I'll look forward to seeing that thieving piece of scum hung until he's dead and rotting!" the man declared.

"I...take it you've met him before." Hercules was starting to wonder if he'd done something to offend the Fates.

"Autolycus stole our entire selection of flawless sapphires last year right before the annual show in Athens. We had nothing to show our customers and our competitors made a fortune!"

"Right." He always tried to be optimistic but Hercules knew when something was a lost cause. "Listen, are you the one pressing charges?"

"No, the head of our guild is taking care of it. If it were up to me that thief would be hanging out for the crows with ten broken fingers."

The bitterness and venom in that tone almost made Hercules wince. If everyone in their guild had this attitude then it wasn't likely that he'd be able to free Autolycus. But then he supposed that without Gabrielle there to watch him, Autolycus would likely free himself. Well, he wouldn't feel right if he didn't try to do this the legal way.

"Is it possible that I could talk to the head of your guild?" Hercules asked, continuing to maintain his polite exterior. Getting angry or frustrated would do nothing at this point except make this man even less likely to give him any useful information.

The merchant snorted in contempt. "You can talk to Brison all you want but he won't tell you anything different. That's even assuming you can get into see him at all; he doesn't care much for people who consort with thieves."

"It's a bit more complicated than that." Hercules sighed. He didn't know how to explain that Autolycus was a true friend, regardless of his habit of wandering off with other people's property. "Where can I find Brison?"

"The big house at the end of town," was the dismissive reply.

"Ah, I know that, but which big house on what end?"

The merchant looked at him like he was on the slow side. "That way," he pointed to the east. "It's the one with the guild crest set above the front door. Looks a bit like this?" He tapped the design sewn into the upper right of his brown vest; it looked like a half-cut gem of some sort. "Don't know why you're bothering anyway, you'd have to be Hercules himself to talk him out of finally getting justice for our losses." With that he turned and walked back to the stalls.

"Thank you," Hercules said, unsurprised when there was no acknowledgement. At least it didn't sound absolutely impossible now.

It could've just been a random comment, Hercules supposed as he headed east through the market, but it wouldn't be the first time that who he was had gotten someone out of trouble. Sometimes it worked in reverse, causing trouble for anyone who knew him, but he'd found that being something of a celebrity could work for him when he needed it to.

There were only about three houses at that end of town that could be called large, and only the left most one had the proper design above the front door. The door itself was open but just inside Hercules found himself confronted by two guards who didn't seem inclined to let him walk any further.

"Hi." Hercules tried a smile but was met by expressionless silence as the men blocked the only door leading into the rest of the house. "I need to speak with Brison," he said.

"You have an appointment?" the man on the right asked.

"No, but this shouldn't take long."

"No appointment, no audience."

An "audience," that didn't sound promising. A quick glance around showed that while the decor was plain, a couple tapestries, some urns in the entranceway, it was also highly expensive -- and Hercules realized that maybe he had associated with Autolycus a bit too much if he could price things at a glance. That aside, he had to wonder if this Brison was running his own mini-kingdom here instead of a simple guild. If that was the case, then this would require more diplomacy than Hercules had planned on. Delusions of grandeur were tough to handle when there were lives on the line, but at least he had practice.

"I need to talk to him about the 'thieves' arrested this morning," Hercules tried again. He wasn't giving up or going away until he'd spoken to Brison and although he'd prefer to do this non-violently, he had every intention of moving the men out of his way if they made this too difficult.

The men exchanged an unreadable glance then and the one on the left glanced back at the door they were guarding.

"Brison's in a meeting," he said, but this time he looked a bit uncomfortable, they both did. The reason for that became clear a moment later.

"I'm not going to repeat myself; I want them released." The voice was muffled through the door but Hercules couldn't help a small smile as he recognized Xena's voice.

As usual she'd apparently gathered the information faster than he had and was now doing her best to solve the problem. The difficulty with that lay in the fact that Xena had far less patience than he did and it sounded like she was reaching the end of hers. If he didn't get in there it was likely that the situation would take a bloody turn and he didn't want to deal with that unless it became completely unavoidable.

"I think it would be better if I went in there now," Hercules said, moving towards the door.

Immediately the two guards drew their swords and held them ready to attack.

"Why am I getting the impression that you two aren't going to be talked out of this?" That was met with hard, determined glares and Hercules sighed in resignation. It wasn't like he hadn't tried.

About a minute later Hercules managed to push the door open with the tip of his boot. He could've kicked it down but he really didn't want to give any more of a bad impression than he was already going to make. It was difficult to maneuver through the doorway with an unconscious, armored body draped over each shoulder, but he'd had some experience with that so he managed.

"Hey, guys," he greeted Xena and Iolaus with a quick smile as he made for the nearest chairs.

The heated conversation in the room had come to an abrupt halt at his entrance. Xena just nodded to him, Iolaus simply watched without comment. The only other person in the room was a man probably around Hercules' age but shorter and far thinner, as was the hair on his head. The man stared with wide eyes as Hercules deposited the unconscious guards in separate chairs.

"Sorry about that," Hercules motioned to the guards. "I did try talking." He shrugged in a "what can you do?" motion. He thought he saw the corner of Iolaus' mouth quirk up at that, but before he could be sure, Xena was suddenly drawing her sword.

"Don't call for anymore guards," she ordered, placing the point of her sword at the balding man's throat.

This was already going places Hercules didn't want so he quickly moved to stop it. "Look, this is all just a bad misunderstanding, all right?" He walked through the richly decorated room to the back where everyone stood. "Xena." He glanced at her sword pointedly.

She pulled her sword back but didn't sheath it. Immediately the man stumbled away from her, nearly tripping over his floor-length silk robes until the wall at his back steadied him.

"Kill me if you want," he gasped out, rubbing his throat, "but those thieves are getting what they deserve!"

This was going well. Resisting the urge to hit something out of frustration, Hercules plastered on another fake, polite smile. He was getting way too much practice at that lately. "Brison, right?" he asked.

The man just stared at him defiantly.

"Right. I'm sure Xena and Iolaus explained the situation to you." He glanced at his friends questioningly. Xena simply raised an eyebrow but Iolaus rolled his eyes and Hercules instantly knew what had happened; he and Iolaus had traveled together long enough to develop their own silent communication. Polite explanations had been tried, probably starting with Iolaus but Brison had refused to listen so Xena had tried her methods. It was up to Hercules to try but he wasn't getting a good feeling about this. "I realize things look bad but I'll personally vouch for Gabrielle and Joxer, I know they're innocent. Autolycus, well, I have no doubts that he'll have a very good explanation." And a very creative one at that. There were plenty of things about Autolycus not to admire but his ability to lay out a line of complete bull wasn't one of them. Even if he'd never admit to it, Hercules had always been impressed.

"What does your word mean to me?" Brison asked haughtily. "You're just some...person off the street, a friend of thieves!"

Hercules could tell that Brison had probably meant to call him a commoner or a peasant; he really did seem to think he was king of his guild instead of just its elected head. That didn't do anything to relieve Hercules' frustration. "My name's Hercules; if you ask around I'm sure there're plenty of people who will tell you that my word is--"

"Hercules?" Brison's eyes widened and his entire attitude changed, going from disdainful and superior to open-mouthed awe in the space of a heartbeat. "The Hercules?"

"Um, yeah."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Suddenly Brison was grabbing his arm, shaking it hard in a belated, overeager greeting. "Of course I'd never doubt your word!"

Xena sheathed her sword then with a shake of her head. Iolaus was a bit more dramatic in his actions, throwing up his hands and dropping into a nearby chair, muttering to himself, "Of course he's heard of Hercules; why doesn't anyone ever know who I am?"

But it was his usual good-natured grumbling and Hercules had to fight back a grin. At that moment he knew that everything would be all right between him and Iolaus. Regardless of what Hercules had done, how bad of a judgment lapse he'd made, Iolaus was still being Iolaus and that meant that he'd eventually forgive Hercules, even for this.

"Good to meet you," Hercules said, turning his attention back to Brison and pulling his arm from the man's grasp at the same time. "So, is there some way we can work this out--"

"I'll send a messenger to the jail right now. Your friends will be freed and brought here immediately," Brison interrupted, grinning widely. "Tenes!" he yelled out, making Hercules wince.

A few moments later a tapestry on the opposite wall moved aside, revealing a doorway and an overdressed, rather short man walking through it. Stopping before he reached Brison, Tenes bowed as though addressing a king, "Sir?"

"Those thieves--er, greatly esteemed friends of the mighty Hercules, are to be released immediately and brought here to share my hospitality. See to it at once."

"Of course, sir." Tenes bowed again and actually backed out of the room, only turning around when he had to move the tapestry aside.

Hercules managed not to laugh but it was a close thing. A quick glance at Iolaus showed the corner of his mouth twitching perceptibly and Xena actually appeared to be smiling.

"I'll go with Tenes to the jail," Xena suddenly announced.

"He's my most trusted advisor," Brison said in an offended tone. "There won't be any problems; he'll see to it that my instructions are carried out."

"I didn't say he wouldn't. I'm just going to make sure Autolycus accepts your 'hospitality.'" Xena turned her back on them, effectively closing the subject. Striding over to the tapestry, she shoved it aside and disappeared through the door.

Brison watched her go with a frown. "This 'Autolycus' you all keep mentioning, he is the King of Thieves, isn't he?"

"Um, yes, and I know you've had trouble with him in the past, but once he's here I'm sure we can all talk it out."

"That was a lot of dinars we lost last year," Brison said, although he sounded more thoughtful than accusatory. Then he looked at Hercules. "You know, I've heard so many stories about you over the years, I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell a few more, maybe include a few demonstrations of that famous strength?"

Hercules managed not to roll his eyes or sigh in exasperation, although both would've been equally good reactions. But if putting himself on display was the price of freeing all of his friends, then he'd do it and smile the entire time. Iolaus sent him a sympathetic glance before dropping into the nearest chair.

"Well, um...." Hercules tried to come up with something sufficiently entertaining that wouldn't take too long to tell and preferably didn't mention Ares because he was fairly certain that his interaction with Ares the night before had scared him for life and he really didn't want to think about the God of War right now. Then he had it. "How about the time Iolaus and I fought a dragon?"

"A dragon, huh? Sounds good; who's Iolaus?"

"That'd be me," Iolaus said in an overly patient tone, giving Brison a small wave.

"Oh. He helped you fight a dragon?" Brison looked skeptically at Iolaus.

"Yeah, couldn't have done it without him. But it really turned out that a warlord was controlling the dragon and we had to fight him to free the dragon."

"But...are you sure you didn't do it all? He's just so...short."

Iolaus' head fell back against the chair and he groaned audibly. Hercules sighed deeply, hoping his patience held out until Xena returned with their friends.

Part 10

"...so now you can see just how lax your security is. I am a professional after all, and I know what I'm talking about. You're just lucky I stopped by before someone else came and stole everything," Autolycus said, smoothing out his mustache.

"You were the one that stole all of our jewels last year!" Brison protested.

Autolycus sighed dramatically. "And that's why I came back this year. Your security was so bad last time, an insult to my talents really, I thought you had to have improved it this year. Once I saw that it was still deplorable, I decided to do you a favor and demonstrate your exact weaknesses. You should thank me, you know; the King of Thieves doesn't hand out advice to just anyone."

"Dear gods on Olympus," Gabrielle muttered, "I think he actually means that!"

"Never fails to amaze me," Hercules agreed under his breath. He stood a few feet away with the rest of his friends, sharing their growing disbelief as they watched Autolycus work.

"He picked up that 'security' bit from Salmoneus," Iolaus said, his lips barely moving.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. Heard about it the last time I ran into Sal."

Hercules nodded; it made sense. Salmoneus was the only other person he knew who could twist facts like Autolycus. Some of his more frightening nightmares revolved around those two teaming up someday.

"So you'd be willing to show us how you got in?" Brison was asking. "And explain to my guards how to set better traps on the jewels themselves?"

"Of course, it's all part of the service." Autolycus draped a companionable arm around the merchant's shoulder. Brison didn't protest, simply nodded and smiled.

Joxer, on the other hand, was currently trying vainly to pry Xena's arm off of him, or more precisely, from around his throat. He'd opened his mouth earlier to tell everyone exactly what Autolycus had been doing in the guild house but before he'd gotten more than three words out, Xena had put a chokehold on him. It didn't look like she was exerting much pressure, at least not enough to suffocate him, but she'd stopped him from speaking. Hercules had to wonder why she hadn't just used one of those pressure point things she did, there had to be one to stop someone from speaking, but then he figured she was taking out a bit of frustration by physically restraining Joxer. Judging from Iolaus' amused expression every time he glanced back there, Xena wasn't the only one who found it cathartic.

"Of course there's so much that needs improving here that we'd be better off starting in the morning," Autolycus said, leading Brison over to where Hercules and the rest stood. "My associates and I spent most of the day in less than stellar accommodations so we'll just head on back to the inn and freshen up. We'll be all set to help you out tomorrow."

"Oh, but that's already taken care of," Brison said with a smile. "Hercules has accepted my hospitality for all of you here tonight and I've had your things move here from the inn. You'll have everything you need and once you're rested tomorrow morning, I'll send my head of security to see you."

"Remind me to thank you later, Hercules." Autolycus glared at him, dropping his arm from Brison's shoulders.

"You're welcome," Hercules replied, well aware that there was a bit of a smirk in his expression. He'd figured that Autolycus would run the first chance he got, which would likely sour relations with Brison and put Gabrielle and Joxer back in danger, so Autolycus would be kept in sight at all times until they left this town.

"Tenes will show you all to your rooms," said Brison. "I hope you'll join me for dinner and you can tell us more about your adventures Hercules, and you...um...Eyel--Iolui--"

"Iolaus," Iolaus corrected with a put-upon sigh.

"Right. I'll see you in a few hours." Brison walked away.

Tenes quickly took his place, ushering the six of them out of what Hercules had come to think of as the audience room into a side corridor.

"Sorry about that," Hercules said quietly.

Iolaus, walking beside him, just shrugged. "I'm pretty used to it by now, Herc."

"It doesn't matter if people don't know you; I couldn't do this without you." He meant this current situation as much as the monster fighting and rescuing of people, and Iolaus obviously understood that judging by the silent nod he gave in return.

"You didn't have to do that!" Joxer whined from the back, letting everyone know that Xena had released him. "You could've just told me that Autolycus was gonna lie through his teeth, again."

"I resent that," Autolycus replied in an affronted tone. "I told the absolute truth."

Joxer snorted, then yelped in pain. "Watch that stick, Gabby, that hurt!"

"Then shut up," Gabrielle ordered. Apparently Joxer decided to take her seriously because there was nothing further from him.

They were led to two separate rooms, a smaller one for Xena and Gabrielle and a much larger one to accommodate the four men. Each room was lavishly furnished though and Hercules couldn't help eyeing the decorations and wondering how many small nations could be bought with the gold and jewels on display here.

"Different tastes, Herc," Iolaus reminded him with a pat on the back. "Dibs on the bath first!" he called out then, which started up an argument with Autolycus.

In the end the argument was solved when the bath turned out to be big enough for two. Servants brought in the tub and filled it with steaming water, and by the time it was ready Iolaus and Autolycus had stopped fighting, verbally at least, and were glaring at each other as they began stripping off their clothes. At that point Hercules stepped in.

"Tell you what, guys," he pulled Iolaus aside, "why don't Joxer and Autolycus go first since they're a little more...fragrant."

"No argument there." Iolaus looked down his nose at Autolycus, an impressive gesture given that Autolycus was a good five inches taller.

"Laugh it up, Blondie," Autolycus snapped, throwing his shirt aside, "I'll have you know that it was a perfect job until 'Gabby' and the Mighty Moron there screwed it all up. It's their fault we had to spend the day getting to know our cellmates, the roaches."

"You shouldn't have tried to steal something in the first place," Joxer said, already sliding down into the hot water, sighing in pleasure.

"What part of 'King of Thieves' did you miss, idiot?" Autolycus asked, hopping on one foot as he pulled his boot off. "It's my job to steal!"

"Get a real job."

"Says the man who thinks kitchen utensils is the latest in armor fashion."

"Hey, that's high-quality armor! The best I can afford!"

"And maybe if you'd ever been a decent thief -- yes, Gabrielle told me you used to steal -- then you could've afforded something better!"

"This is gonna last a while," Iolaus said, his voice low.

"Uh-huh," Hercules agreed. "We'll probably need to send out for a change in the bath water."

"Yep." Iolaus nodded. "I'm sure not getting in there after them." The water was already turning a bit murky and Autolycus had only just now set foot in it. "Maybe they'll drown each other," he said hopefully.

"Nah," Hercules shook his head, "I think they enjoy arguing as much as you do."

"I do not!" Iolaus protested, then rolled his eyes at Hercules' pointed grin.

"Keep an eye on them," Hercules said, changing the subject. "I'm going to go ask about another bath and someone to clean our clothes, but I wouldn't put it past Autolycus to try and escape by getting thrown out with the bath water."

"I heard that!" Autolycus turned a glare on them but was almost immediately distracted by Joxer elbowing him in the chest while searching for the suddenly missing soap. "Hey, watch where you're grabbing!"

"Hurry it up, Herc; if they do decide to drown each other I'm not sure I'll stop them," Iolaus said calmly.

Hercules grinned at that and went in search of a guard to direct him to Tenes or someone who could help him.

An hour or so later everyone had bathed -- and miraculously all were still alive and not strangled, drowned or otherwise on their way to Hades -- and replacement clothing had been brought while their clothes were being washed. Autolycus and Joxer were still arguing to a point although it was confined more to the fact that Joxer had a green silk shirt while Autolycus' was brown linen, which he wanted to trade; Joxer was having none of it.

"They're worse than when me and Auto go at it," Iolaus commented, coming to stand beside Hercules.

"Xena said they've got a bit of history." Hercules continued to look out the window, watching the towns people pass as he put off what he knew was coming.

"I've got a history with Autolycus, but even I would've given him the shirt by now, just to shut him up."

"I told you they enjoy arguing."

Iolaus nodded, conceding the point. They were silent for a moment, the continuous argument providing background noise. Finally it was Iolaus who forced the issue.

"How bad is it, Herc?"

Hercules closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to figure out how to word this. "Bad," he said, turning to look at Iolaus. He was going to face his friend, all of his friends, with this. "Let me put it this way: did you know Ares is a happy drunk?"

Iolaus frowned at the apparent non-sequitur. "Uh, no."

"He is. A very happy drunk. He kept calling me his 'favorite little brother,' and he hugged me, twice. Then he said he wanted us to be best buds and wondered why we couldn't ever 'just get along.'"

"Oh, man," Iolaus winced in sympathy, "that's just...nightmarish."

"Uh-huh. I'm not sure I'll be getting over that anytime soon." Hercules repressed a shudder at the memories.

"So...that's the bad news then?" Iolaus sounded skeptical and Hercules quickly confirmed that with a shake of his head.

"No, that was just the lead-in. I wanted to put you in the right frame of mind because it only gets worse."

"Doesn't it always?" Iolaus sighed in resignation. "All right, tell me; let's just get it over with."

"It's not as simple as that. Whatever else I say though, I am not marrying Strife; I don't even like him." He truly didn't. Maybe he'd thought differently the night before but he'd thought a lot of things then and in the light of day not too many were looking all that intelligent.

"That's a relief." Iolaus' response wasn't entirely sarcastic.

Before Hercules could say anything more, there was a knock at the door.

"Is everyone decent in there?" Gabrielle's muffled voice called out.

"I wouldn't call this 'decent.'" Autolycus said with a dark look at Joxer.

"We're all dressed," Hercules assured her, "come on in."

He couldn't help a small smile of appreciation when he saw what the women were wearing. Floor length dresses suited them both and while Gabrielle looked quite pretty in powder blue, the pink actually looked...adorable on Xena. Which probably accounted for the death glare she was sending everyone in general. Hercules decided it was best to keep his mouth shut.

"You both look beautiful," Iolaus said with a smile. Surprisingly that got a lessening of the glare from Xena, but then Iolaus had charm to spare and he could get away with making comments that would get the rest of them a chakram upside their heads. Autolycus and Joxer apparently agreed with both sentiments because while they smiled at the women, they too kept their mouths shut.

"They didn't have anything else in Xena's size," Gabrielle explained, then quickly amended, "but I keep telling her that it looks very flattering."

"We have other things to talk about besides fashion, don't we?" Xena looked pointedly at Hercules.

"Yeah, we do," he agreed. "You all might want to get comfortable for this -- and maybe put away any sharp implements for my own peace of mind," he muttered the last comment under his breath but he was also fairly sure that Xena and Iolaus heard him.

Xena remained standing near the door but Gabrielle settled herself in a flimsy-looking, overly decorative chair near her friend. Despite their constant arguing of the past hour -- and doing a lot to confirm Hercules' theory -- Joxer and Autolycus dropped into matching chairs next to each other. Iolaus just leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms with an "I'm waiting," expression.

Looking at his friends scattered around the room, Hercules decided to stall just a little longer because for once courage was something he was lacking. There were other things to tell them though, so he started there.

"I'll give you details of the ceremony later, if you want them." He directed that mostly at Gabrielle, knowing that as a bard the rituals of the gods would interest her more than anyone else in the room. "There were a few things that happened though...all of you need to know about it."

He spent the next few minutes telling them what Strife had told him, the theories of what Zeus was planning and what the results would likely be. When he was done, there were varied looks of shock and thoughtfulness around the room, the shock being mostly confined to Joxer and Autolycus' corner.

"And you believe him?" Xena asked. "It's possible he's lying to you; given your history, I'd say it's even likely."

Hercules chuckled, a humorless sound directed entirely towards himself. "Things have...changed."

"Changed?" Xena prompted when he didn't say anything more.

"Yeah." Hercules forced himself to look at all of his friends; he'd done this and now it was time to face it. "Strife isn't lying to me; he wants to make sure I understand how serious this is because it affects his survival, and that makes me believe it. He's telling me a lot of things, doing a lot, and maybe I didn't want to know that about myself but it doesn't make it a lie."

He knew from their expressions that he'd just confused most of his friends, although Iolaus, as expected, didn't look lost at all.

"What's going on, Hercules?" Something in Xena's tone alerted him that while she hadn't figured it out as well as Iolaus, she was starting to head down the right path.

A flash of light put a stop to whatever Hercules might've said. Gold sparkles cascaded down, coalescing into a familiar winged form in the middle of the room.

"Uncle Herc," Cupid greeted him with a nod. "We have to talk."

"Your timing really sucks," Hercules said, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

Cupid looked mildly surprised although his expression had a sarcastic edge to it. "So you don't want to know about the new plan Mom and I came up with?"

"Of course I do." Because even if he didn't believe Cupid or Aphrodite could help him, any straws would be grabbed at this point. "It's just that we were in the middle of something here."

"Uh-huh. Talking about the good time you had last night?" Cupid's tone left no doubt that he knew what had happened.

"I was just getting there." Hercules sighed, realizing that Cupid was probably here for the duration and wouldn't that just make this so much more painful? He really didn't want to deal with the God of Love's commentary on this.

"We'll, you're gonna get there later because Mom's gonna be here any second -- soon as she gets hold of Strife -- and you'll want to hear this."

An abrupt movement drew everyone's attention. Joxer had jumped out of his seat and was heading towards the door. Xena caught him, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him to a halt.

"Um, sorry guys," he said, trying without success to shake off her grip. "I just remembered that I forgot to tell them how to take care of my armor. Fill me in later, huh?"

"It can wait, Joxer," Xena said patiently.

"No, it can't." And there was something in Joxer's tone, some note of utter seriousness that said more than words that excuses aside, he truly didn't want to be here. Xena heard it as well as the rest of them and let him go.

Joxer didn't say anything more, just hurriedly yanked open the door and vanished into the corridor beyond. The door swung shut behind him with an audible click in the quiet room.

"He gets weirder by the day," Autolycus said, breaking the silence.

Cupid continued to look at the door, his expression thoughtful. "There's something about that mortal.... Every time I see him I get the feeling that I'm being totally slow and I should be picking up on some vibe with him."

Twin flashes of light abruptly changed the focus of everyone in the room. Joxer was forgotten as a scattering of rose petals and blue flame dissipated to reveal Aphrodite standing next to her son, her deceptively delicate hand clutching the back of Strife's black leather shirt.

"Would you let go, already!" Strife tried to twist out of her grip and failed.

"Are you gonna stay?" Aphrodite asked.

"Yeah, all right? You didn't have to grab me; I know we have to do this."

That seemed to be what she was waiting for. The instant she released him, Strife jumped out of her reach. He didn't look at anyone else in the room, just cracked his neck and strolled over to the nearest wall -- well away from the mortals in the room -- and slumped back against it, crossing his arms over his chest in a distinctively pouting manner.

Realizing he was staring, Hercules yanked his gaze away from Strife and looked at the other two gods expectantly.

"You two seriously freaked out some people last night, bro," Aphrodite said, her expression serious. "You're supposed to be enemies but you were acting like long lost friends, or something else."

Hercules sighed. This was worse than he'd thought. He knew he'd let down his friends with his actions, but he'd managed to forget that some of the gods had gone well out of their way to try and help him; he'd let them down too. "I'm sorry; it wasn't something I planned or--"

"We get that," Cupid cut in. "Thing is, you may've found a way to get yourselves out of this."

"What?" He wasn't following the logic behind this, if there was any.

"Zeus wasn't happy when you two were getting along," Aphrodite said. "The more you guys appeared to get friendly, the more the old goat's mood went downhill."

"What're you saying?"

"He wants me and Ares dead and you in Ares' place, right?" Strife spoke up without moving. "So it kind of puts a crimp in his plans if you're suddenly our best friend."

"If there's no chance you'll kill Ares and Strife, then there isn't much point in the marriage from Zeus' point of view, is there?" Cupid clarified.

"But there is a chance," Hercules pointed out. "I don't want to kill anyone but I have my limits."

"Duh, bro." Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "We know you couldn't ever live with that side of the family -- and who would want to?" That got her a glare from Strife but she continued, ignoring him. "But what if you pretended to be in the groove with them, acted like you were totally enthused about getting into the family?"

"Think about it, Hercules," Cupid said. "If Zeus thinks you're getting with the vibe on Strife's side of the family, maybe he'd start to have some second thoughts about this."

"It has to be more than that." Strife's attitude was still a bit sullen but his tone was serious. "I'm not loving this idea, so don't think it's giving me a happy, okay? But it's probably the only chance we have left and if we're going try it, we have to go all out."

"What're you talking about?" Aphrodite looked at him suspiciously.

"I was trying to tell you before you dragged me here; should've listened instead of getting on that power trip." Strife sneered at her before turning his attention back to Hercules. "Zeus won't believe jack if we suddenly decide to play 'happy couple;' even he isn't that stupid. We have to work up to this, and it has to go further then what you're all talking about." Strife straightened up, his posture losing that stubborn, childish air he'd conveyed. "We have to make Zeus think that his 'baby boy' is starting to see things from our perspective."

Aphrodite, as well as many of the mortals in the room, looked confused. However both Xena and Cupid had a thoughtful expression and that made Hercules push past his initial notion of this being a ridiculous idea. Xena knew strategy and despite a reputation for being an airhead, Cupid had been raised in part by Ares and he'd know a good plan when it was presented to him.

"I'm listening," Hercules said, willing to hear this out.

"If you start acting like maybe you're learning to get along with me and the rest of us on this side of the family, sure, that'll make Zeus nervous, but it'll really freak him out if you start actually agreeing with us, or even better, letting me or Ares have a say in what you do in your life."

No one said anything for long moments, the implications of Strife's words taking time to settle in, to be recognized for exactly they meant. It...wasn't a bad idea, Hercules was honest enough to admit, and it was the only one they had. Aphrodite and Cupid's version had merit, but it was the twist Strife put on it that made it workable, gave it more than just the vague possibility of success.

"What does Ares say about this?" Hercules was fairly certain that Strife wouldn't have proposed this unless he'd already talked it over with Ares. It relied too much on the cooperation of notoriously volatile agression gods to just spring it on them and expect them to comply.

"He's good with it." Strife shrugged. "He's not exactly happy about it, but are any of us? It's the only way and he gets that. Besides, he's pretty reasonable when he's hung over."

Somehow Hercules had problems picturing that. He decided to just take Strife's word for it. There were other, more practical problems though. "I'm not a very good actor." He had to be honest about that because this plan was relying heavily on an ability he just didn't possess. "I can 'make nice' up to a point, but what you're suggesting...it sounds like you'd want me to agree with making war or even to help fight one. I can't do that."

"Sure you can." Strife was still looking at him but his expression had turned unreadable. "We've got a little problem with Persia right now; they want more space and we're in the way, know what I mean? You got a problem defending your own country?"

"No, of course not." It wasn't anything he hadn't done before, in fact every one of his friends had fought for Greece at one time or another, Joxer included from what he'd heard.

"Think what you want about Ares but he is the God of War. Are you going to tell me he doesn't know what he's doing when it comes to defending Greece?"

Hercules shook his head. He had very little in the way of positive things to say about his half brother, but even he wouldn't deny that Ares was one of Greece's main lines of defense, and a good one at that.

"Good; I thought you were going to be an asshole about that. We're getting somewhere. The thing with Persia's coming up fast, but not too fast. We got, what, another month before Zeus wants us doing the 'happily ever after' routine?" Strife glanced at Aphrodite for confirmation; she nodded. "Okay. Then here's how we'll play this: you and me, Hercules, we're going to be hanging, acting like we're actually starting to click. All of you," he included every mortal in the room in his glance, "you'll be what makes this real for Zeus so make it look good."

"What do you mean?" Xena asked, her tone measured but calm.

It was Cupid who answered "The gods know most of you; we've dealt with you before. Zeus knows that and he knows you're tight with Uncle Herc; he'll be looking at you to see if you believe Hercules is getting with the bad side of the family. Don't act like you're cool with it because I wouldn't believe it and I know he won't; bitch about it, talk to each other about how totally bummed it's making you to see your friend getting corrupted or something, just keep it real and don't try to interfere."

"It won't work then. We wouldn't abandon Hercules, none of us would, no matter how wrong we thought his decisions were," Xena said firmly. Beside her Gabrielle nodded, as did Iolaus still leaning against the opposite wall.

"Hate to say it," Autolycus admitted, "but she's right. I'm not the most morally-driven person around but I respect the big guy," he smiled briefly at Hercules before turning his attention back to Cupid, "I couldn't just sit around and let him team up with Ares and his lackeys; I'd try to do something, we all would. I don't have many friends and I won't walk away from them or just talk about them behind their backs and do nothing to help them."

Hercules was...touched. It wasn't an emotion he'd ever thought to apply to Autolycus, but then he hadn't realized that Autolycus took their association so seriously either. "Thank you," he said quietly. Autolycus nodded to him, never losing his serious expression.

Cupid sighed, a frustrated sound. "Okay, let me try this again. We don't expect you to 'do nothing,' in fact, we're kind of looking for the opposite. We want you trying to talk him out of siding with Ares, make a big deal out of it too. You have to work up to it, though. Start talking about how Hercules is getting too friendly with Strife, then start trying to get him to spend more time in the mortal realm, after that you can go for the yelling and fighting or whatever. Up to you, just make it look intense and keep in mind that it's an act, you take it too far and Zeus might clue in."

Xena and Gabrielle exchanged a glance. "We can do that," Gabrielle spoke for them both. Iolaus just nodded.

"If I wasn't a good actor I would've been dead years ago," Autolycus said wryly, his agreement implicit.

"Yeah, well, it won't have to be a total act, for any of us," Strife said with a fair amount of sarcastic amusement.

Hercules looked at him sharply. He didn't have a moment's uncertainty about where Strife was taking this and he wanted to avoid it. Yes, he had every intention of telling his friends what had happened but he didn't want an audience for it, especially this audience. Besides, he'd had most of the day to think about what he'd done and he'd reached a few decisions.

"Yes, Strife, it will," he said firmly.

Strife frowned for a moment, but then it was replaced by a smirk. "What, did you forget that you actually can stand me, just a little?" The sarcasm was particularly heavy on that last part.

"No," Hercules wasn't going to bother to deny it, "I'm not forgetting that, Strife. But just because I made a mistake once doesn't mean I'm going to repeat it. You're not going to change and I'm not going to compromise my standards again." He'd been scrambling for words, trying to convey how simply wrong it was, what had happened between them, but the instant the words left his mouth in that tone of voice, he knew he'd made tactical error.

Something flittered over Strife's expression, shock and maybe something more, something that made Hercules want to take back his words, but then that expression went abruptly blank and he knew it was far too late.

"So now I'm not good enough, huh?" Strife pushed away from the wall. "Well fuck you, Hercules!" Then he effected a look of mock surprise. "Oh, wait, guess I already did that. You weren't exactly protesting either, or are you going to do a little rewriting of history now?"

Hercules shook his head, unable to voice it out loud and cursing himself for that small amount of cowardice. He hadn't been anything but willing and he wouldn't lie about it now.

Strife snorted in contempt. "Yeah, guess you're too 'honorable' to do that." Pushing away from the wall, he suddenly focused his gaze on Autolycus.

"Don't think I'm letting that 'lackey' bit slide; you'll pay when this is over."

Autolycus' eyes widened slightly and he stiffened in his seat, but Strife had already dismissed his presence, looking back at Hercules.

"I won't let you go after my friends," Hercules felt compelled to warn him.

Strife smirked, a somehow brittle expression. "Blow me; maybe you'll get better with practice." He vanished in a column of flame that seemed to flare brighter than normal.

It was Aphrodite who broke the uncomfortable silence following Strife's departure. "I have to get back, try and get the other gods on board with this. Some of them will take a while to convince so I have to start now. And bro? It's not gonna work with you two fighting so settle it, okay?"

Hercules nodded without looking at her, his gaze focused somewhere on the floor. He heard the rush of air that signaled a god disappearing and in the corner of his vision a single golden sparkle drifted to the floor before disappearing.

"Uncle Herc."

When Cupid said nothing more and didn't vanish, Hercules realized he'd have to face his nephew, literally. Looking up he was relieved as well as a bit surprised to see no condemnation in Cupid's eyes, but there was something else there, something darker and more...dangerous? Hercules was suddenly well aware that Cupid was Ares' son.

"You don't think much of the gods, and I get that," Cupid said quietly. "You get hassled and more than half the family wants you dead. You have to remember something though, just because we aren't human doesn't mean we don't have the same wants and needs. Maybe you know that about Mom and me, but same goes for the rest of the family. Strife has feelings, dude, and you just hurt them." And he disappeared.

Hercules closed his eyes and wished deeply for something solid to hit. Instead he took a deep breath, opened his eyes and walked over to the nearest chair. Dropping onto the, fortunately, sturdy wooden seat, he rested his elbows on his knees and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to forestall what felt to be the mother of all headaches.

"Any questions?" he finally asked, cutting through a silence that had become increasingly tense. He could feel the weight of his friends' gazes on him but he couldn't quite bring himself to meet them.

"You don't owe us any explanations." Xena's voice was quiet and completely non-judgmental, the last thing Hercules had expected from any of them.

"Yes, I do," he insisted. "You've all done everything you could to get me out of this and the second I'm alone with Strife...." He left it there; some things didn't need repeating.

"You said you're not going to marry him."

Hercules forced himself to look at Iolaus, to face his best friend. Iolaus' expression was carefully blank which was somehow worse than seeing anger or disappointment.

"I meant it," Hercules confirmed.

"Then...whatever else you do, I don't see that it matters." Iolaus looked away, again showing nothing.

"Might even help the 'act,'" Autolycus pointed out. "That's what they were getting at anyway, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Hercules agreed. Sitting up straight, suppressing a sigh, he looked at all of his friends. Gabrielle appeared shocked but there was no censure in her expression; Autolycus seemed mildly surprised but otherwise unfazed by the whole thing; both Xena and Iolaus were unreadable.

A loud knock at the door nearly made Hercules jump in surprise. Tenes' voice announcing dinner served as an abrupt reminder that he had other things to deal with outside of his problems. He'd have to put on a good show of being the "mighty Hercules" at dinner to impress Brison and ensure that Autolycus remained a free man.

Iolaus was quick to leave, saying nothing and that bothered Hercules. If Iolaus had yelled at him he could be reasoned with, but when he was silent like this it usually meant he was too angry to trust himself to speak and had to think things through. At least Hercules was fairly certain they'd get to the yelling stage at some point. There'd been other times when Iolaus had been angry with him and a few when he'd been even angrier than this so their friendship wasn't in danger.

Autolycus followed Iolaus out just as silently, but he gave Hercules a quick, reassuring grin before he left and that made Hercules feel just a bit better. Autolycus really did tend to see his friends for who they were and not what they did, which was likely a result of knowing that his own dishonesty wasn't representative of himself as a whole, or at least that was how Hercules saw it.

When Gabrielle stood she looked at Xena and something passed between them, the same sort of silent communication that Hercules and Iolaus shared on occasion. After a moment Gabrielle nodded and left. When they were alone, Xena came straight to the point.

"If you're looking for someone to judge you, Hercules, it's not going to be any of us. There isn't one among us, not even Joxer, who can claim to have never made a bad decision or kept on that same course regardless of the consequences. You have to assume responsibility for your actions, not rely on us as judge and jury, and you're going to have to decide if it's right or wrong for you." She left then, closing the door silently behind her.

Hercules made no move to get up. Brison would just have to accept the "legendary hero" being late because at the moment Hercules was trying to come to terms with what exactly Xena had just said, not her words so much as what had been implied.

He'd underestimated his friends. Not one of them had raised their voice in anger or disappointment. Even Iolaus for all that Hercules knew him to be angry, had kept it under control and likely wouldn't say anything until he'd worked through his own emotions enough not to damage their friendship. More important than the lack of blame or accusations though was what each one of them had implied through words or actions, something Hercules himself hadn't been able to admit until it sat before him like this: mistake or not, wrong or right, what he'd done with Strife would never be a one-time occurrence.

He only had to look at Strife and he wanted him. Even in a room full of his friends Hercules hadn't been able to keep his eyes off of Strife for long. The idea that they had to maintain a physical relationship to help fool Zeus, far from being repulsive, had made him deeply satisfied on a level he either hadn't been aware of or had deliberately ignored. It also made him ashamed.

Strife was a murderer. Serena was alive now but Hercules had memories of a past that no longer existed when Strife had seen to it that she'd ceased to exist. There had to be other deaths, assassinations that Hercules wasn't aware of and no doubt there would be ones in the future that he couldn't prevent. It didn't seem to make a difference though because the pain of Serena's loss had dulled with time and the knowledge that she was happy now, and knowing that eventually he'd end up once again on opposite sides with Strife did nothing to lessen the lust Hercules felt for him.

Strife was a killer; he was capricious, devious, deliberately cruel and almost certainly insane, and Hercules was suddenly very aware that despite all of it, regardless of everything and anything that was evil about Strife, Hercules owed him an apology. He didn't like Strife but no matter how much he tried, Hercules didn't hate him either.

Strife was...what he was. As Cupid had said, they were gods, not humans and Hercules could take that a step further: the gods were what they were meant to be, a physical representation of an emotion or condition. For all his strength Hercules couldn't stop the changing of the seasons and what was a god if not a force of nature? To change Strife would be tantamount to destroying him and then where would humanity be without a control for their more wicked impulses? Strife was necessary the way he existed now, as was Ares and every other god. Hercules didn't have to like it, didn't have to like them but he really had to stop thinking of them as humans who were subject to change because that way led to insulting a god by insinuating that his existence wasn't good enough for Hercules.

Of course it still didn't solve everything. Even if he accepted Strife and the rest for what they were, Hercules couldn't live with himself if he didn't try to stop the worst of the gods' plotting. They were aspects of nature itself, true, but they were also sentient and free-thinking, and as such, well aware of their own superiority and far too used to getting what they wanted, regardless of the consequences. Sometimes nature had to be tamed or at least curtailed in some aspects for humans to survive and that was how Hercules had to look at it here. It was his job, and the job of others like him with a love for humanity, to see to it that humanity wasn't overtly harmed when nature, the gods, got out of hand.

He was starting to feel like a gardener with an oversized flowerbed trying to prune the overzealous rose bushes.

He sighed in frustration with himself and the situation in general. Why did he always have to have epiphanies after he'd made the mistakes? Strife might well be impossible to deal with now and Hercules had never dealt well with him to begin with. And all of those flowery similes and metaphors aside, he still didn't understand what made him so attracted to Strife. He'd never felt anything remotely positive for Strife before all of this started; hadn't even wanted to admit they were related, really. But now.... Now he had to go to dinner and thinking would have to wait.

Hercules stood up and did his best to push his confusion and guilt aside. For the next hour or so he'd have to focus on being falsely polite and cheerful and he really was no good at acting so it would take all of his concentration not to lose his patience. Ending dinner by breaking the dining table wasn't usually considered good etiquette.

Part 11

The sun had gone below the horizon some time ago and it was getting difficult to see, even for a half-god. Still, Hercules continued to sit on the slowly cooling stone bench, staring at the carefully cultivated little garden in front of him without really seeing anything. The temperature was dropping fast and he was already chilled but he didn't want to go inside yet, wasn't ready to deal with other people.

Dinner had gone fine with no one showing a hint of reaction to what had taken place earlier. Autolycus would be dealing with Brison's security in the morning so Hercules had nothing more to do. Of course he'd have to make polite goodbyes later on and possibly tell one more story but there was no danger of Autolycus losing his hands or his life now. Not that Autolycus had thanked him for it, but Hercules didn't expect him to either. He'd expect the world to come to a crashing halt first and that was all right, that was simply Autolycus, accept no substitutes.

It would be good to get away from this town, away from.... Well, there was nothing he could outrun and too much he still had to deal with but he'd feel better about it on the open road. Out there Iolaus would be more likely to talk to him as well -- yell, scream, whatever; Iolaus could get it out of his system without attracting a crowd. Hercules doubted there would be much in the way of theatrics though; Iolaus had already suspected that something like this had happened and even if suspicions weren't the same as knowing for certain, he'd probably already come to terms with some of it a couple days ago. Hercules wished he could say the same for himself.

"Hi, Hercules."

Suppressing an exasperated sigh, Hercules tried to smile. "Hello, Joxer."

Joxer, still without his armor, walked out of the doorway leading into the back of the house. As usual he looked cheerful, although he was squinting a bit as he glanced around.

"I heard it was nice out here but I can't really see anything and it's kind of cold."

Hercules just nodded. He knew Joxer was impossible to get rid of if you didn't send him on an errand or simply resort to plain rudeness; Hercules had no errands to run and he'd hurt enough people's feelings lately, so he didn't protest when Joxer sat down next to him. The bench was big enough for two and Joxer wasn't crowding him so there really wasn't much to complain about, except that Hercules just didn't want to talk to anyone.

"Oh, Iolaus said you'd need this." Joxer held out a woven blanket. "I guess he knew it was getting cold; he could've told me."

Hercules took the blanket, resisting the urge to suggest that Joxer go back inside if he was cold. He just let the blanket sit on his lap.

"I was trying to tell Brison about how Xena and Gabby helped me defeat Bacchus because he seems to like stories about heroes, but he said he had to go to bed. Kind of early to sleep, don't you think? I tried telling that Tenes guy about how I helped Ares get his godhood back when someone stole his sword -- Xena and Gabby helped out a little too -- but he said he had to go do his taxes before the town collectors come for the balance. I didn't think this town had a tax collector. Xena and Gabby have heard all my stories and Iolaus is keeping an eye on Auto -- he says that takes all of his concentration -- so he told me to come and tell you a few."

Oh, so this was Iolaus' revenge. It was a good one, Hercules had to give him that.

"So what one do you want to hear? How about the time I single-handedly defeated the invading Scythians? I swear, every single word is true, no exaggerations." Joxer looked at him for a moment. "I cooked for their army and gave them all food poisoning."

Maybe he'd been depressed for too long but that was just ridiculous enough that Hercules smiled, chuckling slightly.

"Ha. Made you laugh." That didn't sound as cheerful or as triumphant as Hercules would've expected, in fact, there was an undertone there that was anything but playful.

Turning his full attention on Joxer, Hercules studied the man seated beside him. Joxer returned the regard silently, his earlier humor nowhere in evidence.

"It happens, you know," Joxer said quietly.

"What?" Hercules had the distinct impression that the subject had just done a complete about-face. He wasn't wrong.

"Sometimes you care about someone, someone really bad, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Oh, great. Someone, probably Autolycus, had filled Joxer in on earlier events and now Hercules was about to get an inspirational talk from Joxer the Mighty. Hercules was now firmly convinced that the Fates really weren't very fond of him. "Listen, Joxer--"

"It's not wrong," Joxer only raised his voice slightly but his tone was far harder than Hercules had ever heard from him before and it made him stay silent.

"It's not wrong," Joxer repeated. "It doesn't matter if that person's evil or--or just plain bad somehow, you can still care about them and it doesn't make it wrong. You might hurt sometimes, but if they care about you too, then it can be okay."

He sounded so firmly convinced of that and he'd obviously had his own bad experiences, but Hercules was shaking his head. "I know you want to help, Joxer, but it's not the same."

"It really is," Joxer insisted. "I'm talking about Jett."

Jett? It took a moment for Hercules' memory to supply the back story, heard secondhand from Gabrielle a year or so ago. Jett, the King of Assassins and Joxer's insane twin brother. Grudgingly, Hercules had to admit to the similarities. An insane family member who tormented Joxer but one that Joxer obviously still cared about; there were parallels here, but not enough for Hercules to concede everything or even want to talk further, but Joxer wasn't going away either.

"I heard about him," Hercules said. "I know it must be difficult, having your brother in jail. You care about him despite what he's done, but what's happening here, it's just not...." He wasn't sure how to put this and he was tired of trying to be delicate; finally he just gave up on polite and went for blunt. "There isn't a comparison, Joxer; I had sex with my nephew."

Surprisingly Joxer chuckled, a somewhat bitter sound. "Hercules, what do you think I do with Jett?"

Sitting there, staring at Joxer in shock, Hercules had to wonder how long he'd keep underestimating his friends.

There was a ghost of that normally quirky smile on Joxer's face but it was overshadowed by sadness. "I don't tell Gabby everything, you know. There's some things...well, you understand, but not a lot of people would."

Hercules wasn't at all sure he did understand, but he wasn't going to stop Joxer from speaking now because he had a suspicion that Joxer's advice was far from the useless commodity he'd originally thought it to be.

"I love Jett, okay? I love both my brothers but I don't like either of them. Jace...that's complicated, but Jett's evil and he always has been. He was killing when we were kids; he started with animals and worked his way up. He killed my best friend and told me it was because he'd seen Arion kiss me and I belonged to him, and he wasn't wrong. Jett scares me and he likes making my life miserable, but when we're alone, really alone, he never hurts me, never makes fun of me, and he makes me fly. Does that make sense?"

Hercules found himself nodding because for a few short moments, when Strife was on him, in him, he'd felt like only Strife's weight was keeping them on the bed.

"I'm not ashamed of what I do with Jett -- did, I guess, because he's in prison now and yeah, it hurts. I don't approve of what Jett did for a living but I couldn't change him; I tried. But you have to understand, none of that mattered when we were alone."

"I think I do," Hercules said truthfully. "At least you love him, though."

"You think that makes it easier?" Joxer gave him an incredulous look. "If I didn't love him then it wouldn't have hurt so much knowing what he did to people. The only time we were good together was when we were, well, having sex. Any other time...Jett enjoys what he does and I don't." Joxer shrugged, a small motion that conveyed more than a touch of hopelessness. "But I can't stop loving him, or wanting him."

Hercules placed a comforting hand on Joxer's shoulder. "Have you ever figured out why?"

"Why I keep wanting him? No. It's just one of those things; it just happens."

So they'd come back to that. Hercules left his hand on Joxer's shoulder and thought about it. He'd been looking for a set reason, an absolute answer to why, after everything Strife had done, Hercules still wanted him. Realizing that there may not be an answer wasn't at all comforting, but knowing he wasn't alone went a little ways towards making up for that.

"I'm sorry, Joxer," he said, squeezing Joxer's shoulder. "I can't say I wish Jett was out of jail, and I don't think you really want him out either, but I wish you could still have some time with him."

"It's okay. I mean, I'm never going to stop wanting him, I know that, but being away from him...I got to see things, you know? Live my own life. And now that I don't have to worry about running into him somewhere, I...I, um, I'm kind of interested in someone else. It's strange because I think I love him but I like him too and I've never had it both ways." This time his smile shone brighter.

"Good," Hercules smiled back, "I'm glad to hear it. I've been in love twice and I was friends with them both first; it's important to have that sort of relationship in your life, even if it doesn't last forever."

"I know. I'm hoping this works out but he's being stubborn about it. I think that's why you're confused too."

"Huh?" Sometimes Joxer could switch subjects in a way that left Hercules baffled.

"You're used to friendship going right along with love so when lust shows up and there's no friendship, you get confused. See, I'm used to that so having a friend that I think love is the strange thing for me."

"You're saying I should just accept it, not try to think it through?"

Joxer shrugged again. "Thinking about it never made me happy, just more confused. Besides, when Jett touched me, I forgot whatever I was supposed to be thinking about anyway."

Hercules nodded, this time understanding perfectly. He dropped his hand and picked up the blanket.

"I'm going to head on inside," he said, standing up. "It really is getting cold out here."

"Oh, okay. Could you leave the blanket? I think I wanna sit here for a while."

"You sure? It's almost dark and it won't be getting any more comfortable."

Joxer just smiled softly. "Yeah. I just...I'll come in soon."

"All right." Hercules handed him the blanket then walked back inside. Maybe thinking really didn't help anything but he did understand that sometimes it was all you could do.

Part 12

Xena finished tightening the last of the saddle bags, stopping to pat Argo's neck before leading her out of the stall.

"We're heading up to Amphipolis;" Gabrielle was saying to Iolaus, "Xena wants to see her mother. Maybe we'll go down to Potidaea after that, if there's time." The two of them stood near the front of the barn, Iolaus resting his weight against the door of an empty stall while Gabrielle leaned on her staff next to him, waiting for Xena to reach them.

Brison had offered the use of the guild's stables for Argo and Xena had been happy to accept, saying that it wasn't often enough Argo had a clean, dry place to stay. Hercules thought the same could be said for all of them.

"Sure you don't want to stay another night?" He asked, falling into step beside Xena. "It's comfortable here."

"If I get too comfortable, I get lazy," she said with a slight smirk.

Hercules doubted she'd ever get "lazy" but nodded anyway. "I'm not sure I'd care for another day of entertaining Brison myself," he admitted. While Autolycus had been going over the security with the guild guards, Hercules had spent all morning telling stories for Brison's amusement and his patience with that had long since worn thin.

"I wanted to let Gabrielle sleep late for once since it was...comfortable." Xena's smirk took on a gentler set. "We won't get far today but it'll be good to get back on the road."

He had to agree with that, especially after the past day. "I think Aphrodite or Cupid will let you know what's going on. It could be other gods too; sorry about that in advance."

She grimaced and he couldn't blame her. Neither of them had very good experiences with the gods just showing up and this probably wouldn't be any better.

"Hermes has been around lately," Xena said.

Hercules smiled. "Well, with Autolycus going his own way, that shouldn't be much of a problem for you anymore."

"Good. Between the two of them Gabrielle and I were getting tired of 'misplacing' our things. Last time Autolycus wandered off with her best ink and Hermes had my chakram, and they both say exactly the same thing."

"They were just 'borrowing' things?" Hercules guessed.

"Uh-huh. Funny how Joxer was never missing anything though." Xena's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as they stopped near Iolaus and Gabrielle.

At that moment, the men under discussion, two of them anyway, walked into the barn. Well, Autolycus walked, Joxer tripped and stumbled into him.

"Would you quit following me!" Autolycus said, shoving Joxer away. Brushing past Iolaus, he turned his attention to Hercules. "I'm outta here. It's been fun -- no, actually it hasn't -- but I'd rather be elsewhere before those idiot guards come up with more stupid questions."

"Where're you off to?" Iolaus asked, and he had a point, it was good to keep track of Autolycus as much as possible.

"Corinth. Sounds like a nice place; thought I'd do a bit of sight-seeing."

Hercules sighed. "Autolycus, try to keep in mind the little fact that my brother is the king of Corinth and I'd be very unhappy if I got a note from him telling me that the crown jewels went missing."

"Hercules! I'm surprised at you, thinking that I'd do anything to trouble your family like that!" Autolycus wore a look of such utterly fake shock that Hercules had no doubt that he'd just hit on Autolycus' exact plans.

"Very unhappy, Autolycus," he repeated.

"Fine, fine;" Autolycus rolled his eyes, "I'll just find something nice and legal and boring to do for a while."

"Yeah, right," Iolaus muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Autolycus glared at him and opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly insulting but was cut off by Joxer's enthusiastic voice.

"I know, I'll travel with you!" Joxer announced with a bright smile. "I'm looking to do something different too and I could use a sidekick."

A brief look of absolute horror crossed Autolycus' face before he managed to replace it with something more...diplomatic. "Uh...I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he said.

"Sure it is; traveling alone is no fun." Joxer's smile widened. "Hey! I bet I could teach you how to use a sword; I'm really good, you know."

"Forget it." Autolycus said firmly, then looked at Hercules again, his expression turning serious.

"Let me know if I can help out, okay? I can act like I think you're nuts for siding with Ares and that lot, but I just don't get too upset over other people's choices. It's not me."

"Whatever you do is fine," Hercules assured him.

"Okay, not a problem. Since Hermes is hanging around now," Autolycus winced at that, "I guess I'll hear about it if something big happens, but send word if you need me for something. Maybe I can steal Zeus a brain," he said that last under his breath but Hercules heard it and chuckled.

"Thanks, Autolycus." He held out his arm.

"Sure thing, big guy." Autolycus grasped his arm companionably.

Hercules tightened his grip. "Now give me back the dagger you just took from Iolaus."

"He--what?" Iolaus' hand flew to his belt and found his dagger gone.

"Sorry, Blondie," Autolycus pulled the dagger out of his own belt and handed it to Hercules with a put-upon sigh, "just staying in practice."

"I oughtta practice putting my fist in your face," Iolaus said, grabbing his dagger from Hercules. There wasn't any heat in his words though and the look he gave Autolycus, while annoyed, carried no real anger.

"You're just jealous that I'm far better looking." Autolycus smoothed out his mustache with his free hand, grinning at Iolaus.

"Be nice," Hercules said, cutting off anything Iolaus would have said.

"Think you can let me go now?" Autolycus asked and Hercules nodded, releasing him.

"Stay out of trouble." Hercules seriously doubted Autolycus would heed the words of caution but he had to offer them.

"I'll keep him out of trouble," Joxer said resolutely. "I won't let him out of my sight."

Autolycus turned to glare at him. "No. You are staying here." He over-enunciated each word.

"You're just not used to traveling with someone. It'll be fun!"

For a moment Autolycus looked as though he might strangle Joxer, but then he just shook his head. "Always a pleasure to work with you, ladies." He nodded to Xena and Gabrielle, giving them a charming smile. He glared once more at Joxer and then left the barn, walking away quickly as though trying to get a head start at putting some distance between them.

"Do you want to go with us, Joxer?" Gabrielle asked, obviously trying to be nice to Joxer after Autolycus' rude treatment.

Except that Joxer didn't exactly look upset. Still watching Autolycus stalk off into the distance, Joxer's smile, though remaining bright, seemed to take on a smirk-like quality. "It's okay, Gabby; I'm going after him."

"Are you sure? You know how he is; he'll probably try to leave you in the middle of the forest or something."

"Yeah, normally he would," Joxer agreed, "but I really think he'll want this back more." From under the breastplate of his armor, he pulled out Autolycus' grappling hook.

Iolaus snorted in abrupt amusement and Hercules found himself grinning, even Xena smiled.

"Is that why you never seemed to 'lose' anything around him while we were traveling?" Gabrielle asked with an appreciative smile.

"Sort of." Joxer shrugged. "It's more that I'm good at avoiding that 'wandering hands' thing he does -- when I want to."

The slight change of Joxer's tone at the end altered Hercules to something he realized he should've picked up on the night before after seeing how Joxer and Autolycus acted. He felt a little foolish because it was obvious now, but a quick glance at his friends didn't show any signs that they'd followed his conclusions. Then again, maybe he was only noticing because of what Joxer had said to him.

"Joxer." He got his friend's attention, then smiled at him. "Good luck."

The way Joxer returned the smile, the hint of gratitude there, showed that the message had been received. "Thank you," Joxer said, confirming it.

"I'd better go, before he gets too far ahead." He tucked the grappling hook back into its former concealed position. "I've got a whole new version of my song and I want Autolycus to hear it a few times, maybe he can help me with some of the lyrics because I think they could be better."

"I'm sure he'll be happy to help," Iolaus said cheerfully. "Don't let him sing though; I've heard dying crows that sounded better. Feel free to tell him I said that."

"Sure thing." Joxer grinned at him before turning his attention to Xena and Gabrielle. "I'll see you sometime, I'm not sure when though because I think it's gonna take a while to make Autolycus into a good sidekick."

"If anyone can do it Joxer, it's you," Xena said and there was...something in her tone, in her expression that made Hercules think that just maybe he wasn't the only one who knew what Joxer was doing.

With a nod to all his friends, Joxer hurried out of the barn, heading in the direction Autolycus had disappeared.

"We should go too," Xena said.

"Travel safely," Hercules said by way of goodbye.

She acknowledged it with a small nod before leading Argo out of the barn. Gabrielle followed with a wave of farewell and a smile.

That left Hercules and Iolaus there, alone. The remaining horses in the barn had all been fed and watered and the stables mucked out, so none of the stable boys were around, in fact it didn't sound as though there were anyone around at all. That made this the best time Hercules could think of to get a few things settled. Apparently Iolaus agreed because his smile had disappeared.

"I'm sorry, Iolaus." It was the first thing Hercules felt he had to say because he meant it, in so many ways. "I should've talked to you that night, told you what happened. Strife kissed me and neither of us expected what happened with that, or what happened at the betrothal. I was confused and I thought I could work it out on my own, but it just led to more of...this. You deserved to know what was happening and I'm sorry. I just...I should've told you," he concluded with a sigh.

"Yeah, you should've." Iolaus crossed his arms, not looking at Hercules when he spoke. "It's not...I'm not angry about Strife -- not anymore, okay? That's your decision and yeah, I have problems with it but they're my problems. I don't have to like everything you do to be your friend, but I am your friend, Hercules; you're my best friend and I like to think I'm yours."

"You are," Hercules quickly assured him.

"Then talk to me next time something this big happens. I would've been angry, yeah, but I wouldn't have taken it out on you because I've done some pretty stupid things myself and I don't have the right to judge you."

"Iolaus...." Hercules wasn't sure how to say this or even if he wanted to. He'd been getting the impression that Iolaus already understood but the way he was talking now didn't seem to confirm that. "It's not a one-time thing," he finally said, deciding to just lay it all out; it was only fair to Iolaus. "Even if it didn't make this whole charade look more real, I think I'd still sleep with Strife again."

"I know that, Herc. I'm trying not to think too much about it -- and never give me details, okay -- but I could tell there was...something between you two when I walked in on you at the inn. You've never been the kind of guy who just tosses common sense aside and 'lives in the moment' and even when we were teens you were thinking with the head on your shoulders, unlike the rest of us; I know this isn’t something you’re jumping into blindly."

Hercules sighed and nodded. “Yeah. I know what I’m getting into. But believe me, I didn’t go looking for this to happen.”

“I know,” Iolaus said. “And it’s okay, Herc. Whatever you do, I know you’ll do what you think is best, and you have pretty good judgment.” He stopped, frowning. “Well, normally you do. In this case -- you know, just don’t marry that psycho, okay? Then I’d have to do more than just say something about it. Like hitting you with something large and heavy and hoping it knocked some sense into you."

"Hey, if I ever do lose my mind that much, I'm counting on you and that heavy object," Hercules said and although he smiled there was some truth there. "So...are we okay?"

"Almost."

"Almost?" Hercules frowned. "Is there something else you wanted to talk about?"

"Well, no, but there is this." Iolaus stood up straight and grabbed the bucket hanging on the nearest stall door. Seconds later Hercules stood there dripping with the water the bucket had contained. Iolaus grinned. "Now everything's fine," he said.

"Is that right?" Hercules drawled the words as his gaze settled on the nearest horse trough.

"Don't even think about it, Herc," Iolaus warned, backing away slowly, but that wide grin was still firmly in place.

"Oh, come on Iolaus, it's kinda warm out there; don't you want a cool, refreshing bath before we head out?" Hercules made a lunge for his friend but Iolaus ducked under his arm and tore out of the barn with a whoop of laughter. Grinning just as widely, Hercules ran after him.

Part 13

When he was certain he wasn't going to throw up anymore, Hercules leveled a glare in Ares' direction. "You did that on purpose."

"You're always ready to think the worst of me, little brother; so disappointing." Except the wide grin on Ares' face showed just how right Hercules was this time.

"Uh-huh." Hercules stood up, wincing at the way his stomach still churned. "Next time I get sick I'll make sure to aim for you."

Ares snorted in contempt, but he did take half a step back.

Traveling the way of the gods had never bothered Hercules before, but then he hadn't ever allowed Ares to be the one transporting him, either. Technically he hadn't "allowed" it this time. He and Iolaus had almost made it to the next town; after two days of travel and even with their bad experiences in the last town, they'd been looking forward to a night spent in a bed instead of on ground still wet and muddy from the copious rainfall that'd only stopped the day before. Then Ares had shown up without all of the usual flashes and fanfare.

"Let's do this," he'd said and with only that as an explanation, he'd grabbed Hercules and transported them here. Where exactly "here" was Hercules hadn't been able to determine yet because he'd spent the last few minutes reacquainting himself with everything he'd eaten over the past day.

The few times before he'd traveled by godly means, it'd felt like a pull inside of him, grabbing hold of him and yanking him forward in a blur, but it hadn't been more than a vaguely unpleasant sensation, until now. This time he'd felt like something had grabbed hold of his guts and twisted right before hurtling him into some sort of freefall that had left him standing here, leaning against a black wall as his stomach tried to crawl out of his mouth.

It did seem to be fading, though, that horrifyingly sickening sensation, and he could glare at Ares without worrying that he'd throw up again just from moving.

"Where are we?" he asked. Now that he could spare the attention for something besides his stomach, Hercules looked around.

Black, black, and oh, look, more black. It was obviously a temple, but like none he'd ever seen before. The columns went up for what seemed like hundreds of feet, supporting a ceiling that was so high up Hercules had to squint to see it. There were no torches but there had to be some source of light because he could see -- and that was the only clue he needed.

"Olympus," he answered his own question with a weary sigh. Just the place he'd been hoping not to see again anytime soon.

At least Ares' idea of decor didn't seem to include the floating furniture motif. Actually, it seemed more along the lines of sharp lines and heavy construction. Every chair lining the walls looked as if it was sturdy enough to hold one of the Titans and there was nothing fancy about the build, it was functional all the way with no designs or coloration, other than black. Suits of armor lined the walls and weapons were displayed on racks; really, the only variation seemed to be the occasional tapestry that depicted famous battles, or at least conflicts Hercules recognized. He'd fought in a couple of them.

The wall he still leaned against wasn't black marble, he realized when he looked at it. It looked as smooth but it felt like glass. Obsidian; a volcanic rock that seemed somehow appropriate for the God of War's Olympian temple. The floor was made out of the same...except there were things in the floor. Squinting a bit, it took Hercules a moment to believe what he was seeing.

It was like the stone had melted around the bone and simply trapped it there, undamaged. It was flush with the floor, no protrusions, nothing to trip on. And it wasn't alone. As far as Hercules could see -- and the temple was too large for him to see to the end of it -- the black of the stone was broken by white and yellow skeletons, some full, some missing pieces. It was like some sort of battlefield, the dead permanently frozen where they'd fallen.

"Exquisite, isn't it?" Ares said with more than a hint of smugness. "It's the ultimate reward for those who die in my service. If I find them...tolerable enough, their remains decorate my home. Some of them are better conversationalists now than they were alive." He smirked in obvious amusement.

"It's morbid." Hercules pushed away from the wall. "Why am I here?" He wanted to get to the point and get out of here as soon as possible.

"Why do you think?" Humor gone from his tone, Ares suddenly sounded just as unhappy with Hercules' presence as Hercules was at being there.

A wave of Ares' hand, a flash of light and suddenly a large, stocky table appeared in front of them. It was, surprisingly, not black. A deep cherry color, it was covered with what looked like a miniature replica of a coastline. Curious despite himself, Hercules walked closer to the table -- stepping around the skeletons because even if they were dead, he just couldn't bring himself to walk on them -- and looked at the detailed set-up.

It was...impressive, he had to admit that. Every detail was clear from the trees right down to the grains of sand and the waves crashing against the shore -- waves that were...moving? Blinking in disbelief, Hercules reached down towards the miniature oceanfront, wondering if it was actually wet.

"Don't be an idiot." Suddenly Ares was beside him, smacking his hand away. "You stir that up enough and you'll flood Argos.

"This is real?" Hercules looked from the water to Ares, eyebrows raised high.

"It's the innermost coast of the Gulf of Arglois, and of course it's real," Ares said, his tone condescending. "How do you expect to plot a good defense if you can't scale down the area and work with it?"

"Well, normal people use maps, Ares," Hercules pointed out with more than a touch of sarcasm.

"Do I look like 'normal people' to you? This is more accurate." Ares dismissed the subject with a negligent wave of his hand and walked around the table, placing it between them. "This is only one of three places we need to look at so let's get on with it."

"Why would the Persians come up through here, anyway?" Hercules couldn't see any tactical advantage. "It passes right by Sparta which leaves a large army at their backs."

"Because they'll be landing in three places at once, plus leaving troop reserves on the islands in between." Ares sighed in obvious impatience.

"Where exactly?" Hercules started to brace his hands on the table, then stopped when he realized that he'd likely end up elbow-deep in the gulf.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Ares leveled a glare at him, and when he spoke, he used the overly-calm, measured tones one used when speaking to a particularly slow child. "The Saronic Gulf and the Gulf of Laconic, which, I'm sure you'll agree, will keep the Spartans busy. Now will you just shut up while I explain this? I promise I'll do it in words of one syllable or less, just in case it's too complicated for you."

Hercules clenched his jaw against the urge to retaliate for that snide comment. He told himself it just wasn't worth it. Ares was going to take every conceivable opportunity to get under his skin and he'd have to just try and not let it get to him. This wouldn't work if he did. So he nodded.

"Please, enlighten me," he said, unable to help at least one sarcastic reply. It got him a darker glare from Ares, but nothing further in response.

"We start here, at the apex of the Gulf, but they'll be all along the Eastern coast. Corinth is close, you can get that brother of yours to help set up a defense, that's your part in this area, but we don't need you there after that. Iphicles is competent enough on his own without you hanging over his shoulder and questioning his every decision."

"I don't--"

"You do. Shut up. Now the Saronic Gulf is where you're going to be of some actual use."

Hercules clenched his teeth against replying to that. He didn't get in Iphicles' way, not anymore. Maybe he'd been too interfering when Iphicles took the throne, but they were learning to get along better as brothers now and he knew when to back off. Iphicles was a good king and Hercules had no intention of getting in the way of that. He didn't say anything to Ares about that, though. He had no doubts that Ares would just respond with another sarcastic comment, which could so easily escalate into something violent. This would all work out better if one of them kept their mouth shut and it looked like it would have to be Hercules. Sometimes being the one who always took the high road got really tiresome.

Part 14

Time was a problem on Olympus, Hercules was discovering. Not a lack of it, but rather keeping track of it. There was no day or night that he could see, just a constant diffuse light came from no obvious source but shone throughout the temple and through the few windows -- windows that looked out over a disturbingly blank, featureless and colorless landscape with no discernable horizon. It made it nearly impossible to tell what time it was or how many days had passed. That was even assuming that time was passing at all. For all Hercules knew, it could be just the opposite. Time could be non-existent here, or at least passing in a way that had no meaning to mortals, and when he returned to the mortal realm it would be like he'd never left. It was all speculation on his part but he wasn't about to ask Ares for the truth. Maybe they had to work together, but truth in little things like this wasn't something Hercules expected to get out of him. More likely, Ares would take the opportunity to screw with him a little and Hercules just wasn't in the mood.

He'd always had a pretty accurate internal clock. He had to, traveling as much as he did. All too often it was so overcast, day and night that he had no sun or stars by which to gauge the time and he had to make his best guesstimate. He'd rarely been wrong. But he couldn't even do that here. There was something about the place, and whether it was being in Ares' temple or Olympus itself, he wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it was throwing off his inner sense of time's passage. He was tired. That was all he knew for certain. He'd been there for hours, that much he could guess at just from how long it had to have taken to read the scrolls.

Maybe Ares was a bastard, a continuous plague on Hercules' life, but he was a bastard who knew his job -- was his job, really. He reveled in it, the killing, suffering, and the destruction. And as much as Hercules hated that, hated Ares most of the time, he didn't debate that Ares was one of the leading authorities when it came to how to wage a war. If that meant he had to sit for hours on end in a cramped, stuffy room reading dry, musty scrolls -- and you'd think that being gods, there wouldn't be a dust problem on Olympus -- on battle history that Ares thought would be "helpful," then he'd do it and not complain. At least not too much and not in front of Ares.

Keeping his attention focused on it, though, was another thing entirely. Ares had pointed him towards the room full of scrolls what had to be hours ago, many hours, with instructions to find the scrolls dealing with the last Persian conflict and study them. Like Hercules hadn't been there himself? It had only happened a dozen years before. Even if Ares only wanted him to take note of the strategies and tactics used, Hercules doubted he'd find anything he hadn't already learned first at the Academy, then being in wars himself. He suspected Ares was just using this as an excuse to get him out of his sight for a while, and Hercules had no real objections to that idea, either, so he continued to read. At least until his eyes started to cross and the letters began to move on the parchment. At that point, he had to take a break.

Troop movements, command decisions, supply routes, nothing that Hercules didn't already know, he'd been right about that, so he had no problem with setting the scroll aside -- pushed away towards the two or three dozen others he'd already read or just glanced through. Getting up from the table, he grimaced as the muscles in his legs twinged, stiff from sitting there for so long. It was definitely time to do something else for a while. Maybe find someplace to take a quick nap. He'd thought about just putting his head down on the table for a few minutes, but if Ares showed up, Hercules knew he'd never hear an end to the insults and sarcasm and at the moment he was just too tired to deal with Ares and his attitude problem.

There was only one door in the room and it led out into a corridor, which was, fortunately, deserted. Hercules had no idea who else resided in this temple but he had his suspicions and he really wasn't interested in seeing any of them confirmed right now. All he wanted was to find someplace vaguely comfortable enough to let him get an hour or two of sleep. A bed was ideal, but hardly necessary. He’d slept in some strange places in his time and he had no objections to adding another to the list so long as it got him a bit of shut-eye.

Ares had brought him down the left side of the corridor, so he took that direction rather than risk getting lost in the other. There were doors staggered along the corridor, plain, but high and imposing all the same, all identically constructed of a wood so dark it was nearly lost in the black marble around it, and each one of them proved locked when he gave them a shove. He briefly considered breaking one open, but quickly decided against it. It was Ares’ home and he probably wouldn’t appreciate the damage, he’d also find a way to pay Hercules back for it and it wasn’t worth the annoyance. If he could make it back to the main room, there were chairs enough there. None of them had looked all that comfortable, but he’d make do.

Hercules took the first right he came to, thinking it was the corner Ares had brought him around before, and it certainly looked the same with fewer doors than the previous one, but after walking along for a few more minutes, he had to admit that either he’d been mistaken or the temple was changing its configuration. Which, all right, this being Olympus, was entirely possible. But he preferred to think that he’d just momentarily lost his way, the other possibility wasn’t anything he wanted to deal with unless he had to.

The crash echoed through the corridor and Hercules jumped, startled and on his guard in an instant. Spinning around, weight forward, ready to meet whatever attack came, he found himself looking at...nothing. Just an empty corridor. No one but him standing there and nothing anywhere he could see that would’ve made that sound. Nothing hung on the walls, no vases or statues standing against the walls, no decorations at all. Then where--

Another crash, just as loud and sudden and not, he realized, in the corridor at all. It came from behind one of the doors, although it took another, even louder crash to determine exactly which one. Bracing one hand against the hard wood, Hercules pressed his ear close, listening for anything else from the other side -- and the door suddenly swung outwards, towards him, silent on its hinges. He jerked his hand back, frowning. He didn’t think he’d caused that to happen, but the instant he took his hand off, the door stopped.

It was only open a crack, not even enough to see inside, but more than enough to hear the voices in there. Two men -- or gods, considering where he was, but they were talking over each other, one of them yelling and before Hercules could make out more than the end of a word or two, the door shook hard as something hit it with a ringing clang. The impact swung the door open even further, nearly completely open, and this time, Hercules had no trouble seeing into what turned out to be a weapons room. Or what was left of one. All of the racks were empty and overturned and weapons lay scattered about haphazardly, many of them broken. A large, heavily dented shield was still settling on the floor where it’d landed in front of the door, wobbling back and forth, the sound of metal rolling against marble high-pitched and grating until the shield came to an abrupt stop and the noise finally ceased.

“Wow. I’m totally underwhelmed with the maturity here, cuz.” Strife. Arms crossed, leaning back against the wall to the left of the door, he was the picture of unconcerned boredom, despite being surrounded by the destruction, even yawning widely after he spoke. “Anything else you wanna toss, or are you done with the hissy yet?”

A wordless noise of fury and that was Deimos, standing in the middle of the chaos, fists clenched so hard his hands shook, teeth bared as he glared at Strife. A mass of edged weapons, daggers, axes, swords and knives all rose around him, pointed at Strife. Deimos stabbed his finger at Strife with a snarl, and the weapons all flew in Strife’s direction.

For a moment Hercules thought they’d hit him, that Strife would allow himself to be impaled. He just stood there, looking at Deimos and ignoring the weapons -- or at least seeming to. But at the very last second, without bothering to uncross his arms, he raised a single finger -- and the weapons froze, just inches away from his face. Then they dropped as one, hitting the floor with a massive clatter.

“We can do this all day, Deimos. Won’t change anything,” Strife said, and there was something under his bored tone, a hint of...weariness, maybe? Hercules wondered how long they’d been at this, Deimos attacking and Strife doing nothing more than deflecting.

But, however long that was, whatever they were fighting over, it wasn’t any of his business. He backed away, intending to head back down the corridor, try to find the turn off he must have missed at some point.

Strife’s gaze jerked towards the door.

Hercules didn’t know if it was chance or if his movement had given away his presence, but either way, Strife was not happy to see him.

Eyes narrowing, lip curling up, Strife pushed away from the wall. “Fuck this,” he said, a definite undercurrent of bitterness in his tone. A blue flash surrounded him as he dropped his arms, consuming him and disappearing.

“Strife--no!” Deimos, sounding far more desperate than angry suddenly, jumped forward, made a grab at the space where Strife had been. But he ended up with nothing more than a handful of fading sparkles Strife had left in his wake. He made another wordless noise, this one higher-pitched, hurt sounding as the sparkles trickled away between his fingers, fading before reaching the floor. He watched them go, every trace of anger gone from his expression, replaced by something...vulnerable.

Hercules began to realize this wasn’t a regular argument between aggression gods he’d interrupted; this was personal, and whatever that entailed, he really had no business being here. Another step back, and although he was more careful this time, took it much more slowly, his run of bad luck held and Deimos’ head snapped up, to the side, eyes widening as he saw Hercules.

“You!” he yelled, fury once again taking precedence. His whole body tensed with it, fists reclenching, lips pulling back, baring his teeth.

Hercules held up his hands placatingly. “Look, I didn’t know anyone was down this way, and--”

Deimos vanished. No sparkles, no light, nothing but there one instant and gone the next.

And there again. Before Hercules could lower his hands or even take another breath, Deimos was right there, standing close enough to him that he instinctively fell back a few steps.

Deimos’ eyes were still wide, the vivid green of them reflecting so much malevolence that Hercules kept his hands up, this time braced for an attack. And he thought it would come, was certain of it when Deimos suddenly lunged at him. But it was an abortive move, Deimos pulling himself up short, hands up between them now, level with Hercules’ neck. He clenched and unclenched them, over and over, knuckles crackling loudly in the silence around them.

“You,” he repeated, his voice much lower now. “You ruin everything!”

Hercules frowned, shook his head. “I don’t know what--”

“Strife is--he was--” Deimos snarled, drawing his fingers into tight fists, arms quivering with restrained movement, fringe swinging lightly. “I was...and then he would’ve...but--but--you. And now--” Suddenly he jerked his fists in against his chest, his whole body drawing back away from Hercules, recoiling in a snake-like motion. “It’s all your fault!” he snapped the last word, bared teeth clicking together.

And he disappeared again. But this time he vanished in a show of blue bubbles, the largest one seeming to swallow him up before contracting in on itself and evaporating with a loud pop.

Hercules let out a long sigh, not exactly relief, but still a release of tension. He was fairly certain Deimos was gone, at least for now. He could be wrong, he knew, but he doubted it, not with that display. He still had no idea what he’d just witnessed; Deimos’ babble only made things more confusing. But he didn’t feel he needed to know, either. Whatever Deimos blamed him for, he was very obviously not wanted there and he was more than happy to stay out of it from now on.

He still needed to find someplace to rest, though. Given what he’d just stumbled on, it probably wasn’t the best idea to keep wandering around, hoping he’d somehow wander into the main hall; he needed to just pick someplace and stay there. And really, looking over the room before him, was this all that bad? Sure, it was a mess, but the gods were gone and he could just shove some things to one side. Marble as a bed wasn’t ideal, but he could use his arm as a pillow. Or maybe there was something softer somewhere under all that mess.

“That so wasn’t the way this was supposed to turn out.” The familiar voice was accompanied by a cascade of gold sparkles, as well as Hercules jerking back in surprise. Surprise that quickly gave way to tired exasperation as Cupid appeared beside him, frowning.

“I take it I was supposed to walk in on that,” he said, waving a hand at the mess inside the room.

“Not exactly.” Cupid shrugged one shoulder, his wing rustling with the movement. “When I unlocked that door, the spaz wasn’t in there, just Strife.”

“The spaz--? Oh.” Hercules nodded in understanding. “Deimos. He and Strife were--”

“Yeah, bro has some serious issues. I just didn’t think he had the guts to go all confrontational. Thought he’d sit around and pout for the next century or two.” Cupid’s frown deepened as he crossed his arms, gaze focused on the empty room consideringly. “I wonder if this could change things?” he said, though the words were soft, mostly under his breath, like he was talking to himself.

“How?” Hercules asked anyway, because if there was something, anything changing in his situation, he wanted to know about it.

For a moment Cupid didn’t answer him just continued to stare at the room, his lower lip caught between his teeth now, biting lightly. Then, abruptly, he shook his head and, releasing his lip, turned to look at Hercules.

“Hercules, you and Strife have to work things out, okay?” he said, although it sounded close to an order. “I thought this would do it, but then Deimos had to go and do a total freak out, so we’ll have to try something else.”

“Whoa, wait a minute.” Hercules held up a hand, not getting a good feeling about this. “Whatever you’ve got planned--”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cupid said dismissively. “Just wait here and....” He trailed off, head turning to look at the massive destruction in the room. “Okay, maybe here isn’t such a good idea. Weapons would be totally uncool. Wouldn’t be fair, then.”

“Fair? What--”

“Just hang for a few minutes, Uncle Herc. I’ll come get you.” And Cupid vanished without another word.

“Fine,” Hercules muttered as he stepped back, brushing away twinkling gold sparkles that landed on his vest and arms. “I’ll just...stand here and talk to myself. Maybe I’ll actually get to finish a sentence that way.” He shook his head -- then sneezed, blowing out more gold sparkles.

Part 15

“What is this?” Hercules asked, eyeing the door before him warily. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cupid, it was just that.... Okay, he didn’t trust him. Not when it came to this thing Strife had trapped him into. Cupid was flighty at times, no pun intended, and as dedicated to pursuit of pleasure as his mother, but when he set his mind to do something, it was his father’s heritage he tapped into and he let nothing, and often no one, stand in his way. He’d never shown any hesitation in trampling over people’s feelings or little matters such as right and wrong; he truly did believe that the ends justified the means. Hercules had that foremost in his mind and refused to move another step, even with Cupid’s hand on his shoulder, trying to jerk him forward.

Cupid was strong, possibly even a match for Hercules if he put his mind to it, but regardless of how well he could carry himself in a fight -- and Hercules knew that was well indeed -- unlike Ares, it usually wasn’t his first choice of methods of persuasion. At least he’d inherited that much from his mother. It was no surprise then, when he dropped his grip on Hercules’ shoulder with an impatient sigh.

“I got hold of Strife, okay?” he said, crossing his arms and giving Hercules a pointed look. “Now you need to get in there and fix things.”

“How? He’ll probably just disappear again,” Hercules pointed out.

Cupid sighed again. “Look, it’s all cool. He’s not going anywhere. You just have to go in and...make it work.”

“You don’t have him chained in there, do you?” Hercules asked with a raised eyebrow. The thought of Strife chained to a chair, maybe even gagged was actually kind of funny. He’d be so angry, pale eyes sparking with it. He might even be a little flushed if he’d been struggling, lips a little swollen around the gag, maybe a rip or two in his clothing from the struggle. Maybe no clothing at all, not with the amount weapons he kept hidden on him. It probably would’ve been safer to just strip him, leave him chained naked to the chair -- or the wall, hands held above his head, straining on the tips of his toes to keep the weight off his wrists, muscles standing out with the effort, all along his wiry body. Sweat from exertion dripping slowly down his chest, sliding down his stomach, damp trails moving lower until--

“Hey!”

Fingers snapping in front of his face as well as much as the sharpness of Cupid’s voice brought Hercules abruptly back to his surroundings. Blinking, realizing exactly where his thoughts had taken him, Hercules winced and shoved them away. That was...really not where his thoughts need to go right now.

“If you want chains, I’ll toss a set in there for you guys later,” Cupid said, even more impatiently now. “First, patch things up.”

He grabbed hold of Hercules’ vest and before Hercules could pull away, he yanked the door open with one hand and pulled Hercules through it with the other, sending him stumbling into the room beyond.

"Don't let that door shut!" But the shout came right on the hollow sound of the door shutting behind him.

"You idiot!" Strife stood only a few feet away, no chains and fully clothed, but very, very angry. "Now we're both trapped here, you fuckwit!" he snarled.

Trapped? Hercules turned away from him to look at the door, and quickly found that Strife probably wasn't exaggerating. He certainly didn't see a doorknob anywhere on the dark wood of the door. No hand holds at all, as a matter of fact, just smooth, unmarred wood that fit seamlessly into the doorframe, not even leaving enough of a gap to get fingers into. Cupid had just locked him into a room, a rather small room, with Strife, who hated him. Maybe they did need to talk, but not confined in a small space like this; they’d kill each other, or do major damage trying.

"Not how I'm planning to spend my afternoon," Hercules muttered under his breath, then shoved the door. He expected it to just break apart, fall to pieces beneath his strength, but instead, his palms slammed up against hard, unyielding wood...and nothing happened. The door didn't move in the slightest, not even a faint shudder under the force he’d put into the shove.

"Like I didn't try that already, moron! This place traps gods and half-gods, but, hey, you know, you've got a hard enough head. Maybe if you hit it against the door a few times, it might make a dent." Strife’s tone dripped bitter sarcasm.

Oh, this just got better and better. "There has to be a way out," Hercules muttered, running his hands around the edges of the door, looking for any hidden catches.

A contemptuous snort came from behind him. "Oh, and you think I've just been sitting on my ass in here all this time, huh? Think I haven't looked for some way out of this pit from Tartarus? Zeus' balls! You are brainless."

"I don't know how long you've been here; Cupid only said that he got hold of you, " Hercules said as calmly as he could, refusing to react to the insults. Strife sounded volatile enough without adding more fuel to the fire.

"So you just let that air-headed flyboy shove you in here, not knowing where you were going? Yeah, that's smart." The sarcasm was biting, mostly because despite the insults, Strife did have a bit of a point.

"I didn’t get much choice, either, okay?” Hercules said, annoyance starting to creep into his tone.

"Oh yeah.” Strife’s snort was loud in the small room. “That just makes me feel all kinds of better.”

Hercules sighed, grasping for more patience as he dropped his hands away from the door, giving that up for a lost cause. It was possible there was something hidden on the doorframe, but he doubted it. This felt too much like a well built prison, even if there were no shackles, or anything else for that matter. In fact, looking around the small space, Hercules saw absolutely nothing but four walls, floor and a tall ceiling, all that same black marble. Although, at least there were no bones in the floor here. A stark, bright light radiated from some invisible source, but other than that it was just him and Strife, who was currently glaring at him, a sneer twisting his lips.

"So, we're stuck here," Hercules stated, sighing again.

"Yeah, we're stuck. And color me thrilled, spending 'quality time' with the densest, most self-righteous, clueless, mindless twit, shit-for-brains, head up his ass...." Strife went on in an increasingly venomous tone, one that matched his level of insults, which, Hercules had to admit, went from crude to creative fairly quickly.

And there was really nothing to do but stand there and take it. That was the point, wasn't it? Or at least part of it. There was no way Strife would simply talk to him, not yet. He was obviously still too angry to be rational, judging from the heated and vile insults pouring from his mouth in a continuous stream. As the diatribe continued, Hercules just crossed his arms and settled in to listen. It wasn't that he thought he deserved it, not completely, it was more that Strife needed to get it out of his system before they could talk in any sort of civilized fashion, so Hercules let it go without interruption.

There was still no way of telling time and in such an enclosed space, time probably only seemed to move slower than it actually was, but either way it felt like a while before Strife reached the end of his tirade.

Strife's fists were clenched, wiry body trembling with obvious rage, cheeks flushed in a way Hercules hadn't seen before, not even in the brief fantasy he’d had. But then again, he didn't think he'd ever seen Strife truly angry before, either. Even the times they'd fought, Strife had shown no more than annoyance, sometimes more severe than others but nothing approaching real anger, nothing even close to this.

"...harpy-loving, pox-ridden, bastard son of a whore!" Strife finally finished, screaming loud enough that his voice bounced off the walls around them. And it was that final insult that actually made an impression.

"Hey!" Hercules dropped his arms, the resigned calmness he'd felt for the past few minutes abruptly disappearing. "Call me whatever you want but leave my mother out of this."

"Leave Alcmene out of this?” Strife gasped in mock disbelief, eyes wide with equally insincere shock. “Now how could I do that when you wouldn't be here, fucking up all our lives, if she hadn't been whoring herself out to Zeus?"

"Drop it, Strife," Hercules warned, taking a step forward.

"Damn, you really are a mamma's boy, aren't you, Jerkules?" Strife laughed, a high-pitched, malicious sound. "What's the matter? Going to start crying because someone's telling the truth about what a slut Alcmene really is?"

"That's it." It only took a couple more steps to put him nearly right up against Strife and Hercules didn't stop there, grabbing hold of the front of Strife's leathers and shoving him back against the wall. "No more, Strife," he said, anger lowering his voice. "You're angry, fine, I get that. Maybe I even deserved some of it. I let you have your say and it's over now. Let it go and just shut up." He shook Strife hard, once for emphasis.

Strife gave no warning, just slammed his head forward, his forehead hitting Hercules square on the nose. The crack was loud in the small room, echoed by Hercules' cry of surprised pain.

Reflexively Hercules let go, stumbling back a couple steps as his hands flew up to his nose. It hurt far more than it should've. He'd had similar blows before from both mortals and gods and it'd never once hurt like this. The pain was bright and sharp, radiating from his nose outward, leaving exploding stars behind his eyes and a sudden coppery taste in the back of his throat. And wetness on his hands?

"What?" Jerking his hands back, he squinted through involuntary tears brought on by too intense pain. Red coated his fingers. Blood? Since when was a simple headbutt enough to break his nose? He looked up at Strife in confusion -- just in time to see the fist flying towards his face.

This time Hercules found himself on the floor before he felt the pain. Strife had caught him on the nose again, but partly on his right cheek as well, spreading the pain and making Hercules' eyes tear up even more. His elbows hurt, too, from taking his entire weight on hard stone when he went down; they felt skinned, the bones beneath bruised and that had never happened before, either. It made no more sense than the next round of pain when Strife's boot caught him hard in the ribs. Breath suddenly knocked out of him, Hercules couldn't manage more than a silent gasp of shock.

He had a healthy survival instinct, though, partially thanks to Strife over the years, ironic as that was given the present situation, and despite the unaccustomed stabbing pain radiating from too many different places, Hercules forced back the haze of impending agony trying to creep over him. This time he was fast enough. Strife was going to kick him again, silver buckles catching the light as the boot came fast towards Hercules' head.

Hercules reached out, caught Strife by that foot and yanked.

Strife went down with a yelp, a clatter of metal and the even louder crack of his head hitting the stone floor. With that crack his yelp abruptly cut off.

Shoving Strife's foot away, Hercules tried to brace himself for the next attack, but it was difficult to concentrate through the shocks of pain from his face, ribs and elbows, hard to breathe. And after a few moments of struggling with himself, he realized that Strife wasn't doing much in the way of moving.

A pained groan said that while Strife was down, he wasn't out, but he should've been doing a lot more than just lying there. In every other fight they'd had, no matter how often Strife had gone down, he'd always hopped right back up, sometimes literally. For that matter, Hercules couldn't recall a single time when he'd been taken down this easily himself. In fact, it hadn't happened. He'd never been in pain like this, where it was a struggle just to sit up. He managed now but his head spun and he felt vaguely nauseous. Breathing was painful with his ribs and he wondered if any were cracked, or even broken.

Strife finally moved. "Ow--fuck." He groaned, one hand coming up to touch his head. Hercules could see his face, the look of pain there, magnified when Strife ran a hand carefully back through his hair. His fingers came back nearly as red as Hercules' had and he sighed. "That's a bitch," he muttered.

"Are you all right?" Hercules asked with real concern. He didn't like to seriously hurt anyone, not even one of the gods, even when they did their best to kill him. It just wasn't in his nature and realizing he could've cracked Strife's skull -- even though it shouldn't have been possible, Hercules was a little worried. A worry that began vanishing with Strife's snort of contempt.

"I'm immortal, you mental reject; what do you think?" And Strife kicked out at him, but missed when Hercules quickly jerked back.

The movement pulled at his ribs and Hercules hissed in pain. "What's going on, Strife? How is any of this possible?"

"Hera's tits, I've seen guttering torches brighter than you." The insult was accompanied by a soft gasp of pain as Strife pushed himself up onto his elbows. "It's the room. Standard punishment for a god; trapped with no powers." Glaring at Hercules, Strife's tone was utterly condescending, but at least he'd shared the information instead of starting in on another round of insults.

No powers. That definitely explained Hercules' lack of strength, and the way neither of them were healing. At least it seemed that someone had divested Strife of his weapons, too, otherwise Hercules probably would’ve had a knife or two sticking out of him by now.

"Great." He sighed. "Then maybe we'd better just sit here and...try and stop bleeding," he said ruefully, reaching up to gingerly touch his still seeping nose.

"What’s the matter? A little blood got the great Hercules feeling faint?” There was a wealth of contempt in those snide tones. “Just how much of a girl are you, Jerkules?"

Maybe he should've seen it coming given that this was Strife and he'd never known Strife to possess common sense, but Hercules didn't expect it and Strife's tackle sent him back to the floor. At least it was a short fall, and Hercules was able to go with the motion, despite the near agony in his ribs. He rolled, hands grasping at Strife's arms even as Strife's hands tried to get a grip on his throat.

Hercules ended up on top, gripping Strife's wrists tightly, barely managing to keep those agile hands from getting a good grip, cutting off his air. Strife's teeth were bared in single-minded concentration, pale eyes glittering with malice as fingernails scraped at Hercules' neck.

"Would...you...stop?" Hercules gasped out. His arms were starting to tremble with the effort of keeping Strife's hands at bay.

This time he expected Strife's "response." With his hands held captive, trapped beneath Hercules' greater weight, Strife only had one other good option, and Hercules felt it when the muscles of Strife's legs tensed. He wasn't about to let Strife go, wouldn't give him another chance to attack freely, so instead Hercules shifted his weight to the side. Strife jerked his knee up, but it caught Hercules in the hip and while it hurt -- and it definitely hurt -- it was nothing compared to what it would've been if Strife had kneed him in the groin.

"You're not getting anywhere," Hercules said, voice tense. The effort of keeping those grasping hands from his throat, of holding the squirming, wiry body pinned beneath him was taking a greater toll. Sweat broke out over his forehead, across his back, the pain from his injuries flared with each slight movement.

"Give it up!" Hercules demanded.

A bright splash of blood, stark against Strife's pale cheek. Then another, and another. Dripping from Hercules' broken nose, it continued to splatter across Strife's face, a gory mask that didn't seem so out of place on him.

Strife yelled, a wordless sound of frustration and anger, and he jerked his head up. Expecting another headbutt, Hercules was taken by surprise when Strife’s lips slammed into his instead.

It was more assault than kiss, lips crushing against his, trying to force his open, and Strife was pushing up against him now, writhing beneath him, no longer trying to pull away.

So it was Hercules who pulled back, shoving Strife’s hands away. He threw himself back out of Strife’s grasp, hissing at the pain in his back when he landed hard on his ass.

“That’s...that’s not why we’re here,” he said firmly, breathing hard. One hand came up, fingers touching his sore lips without meaning to. He quickly jerked it down, away as Strife sat up.

There was such a mix of emotions on Strife’s face that Hercules couldn’t be sure what he was seeing. Anger, certainly, frustration, maybe, but the rest...he didn’t know. But then Strife spoke, and it quickly became clear.

“Oh, I get it, Hercules,” he said, his voice low, furious as he sat up on one hip, hand braced on the floor. “We’re gonna talk, because anything else might just compromise your precious fucking standards!” And yeah, that was hurt in his tone, nearly buried beneath the anger, but still there.

Hercules sighed, reached up to rub a hand over his face -- and jerked back with a wince when he touched his broken nose. “I owe you an apology for that,” he said, wincing again as he leaned back against the door, his ribs protesting the movement.

Strife snorted, a sound of utter disbelief. “Yeah, right. You gonna try and tell me you didn’t mean it?”

“No,” Hercules said with a shake of his head that, slight as it was, still made his neck pop. “I meant it, then. But I was wrong.”

“Well, would someone stop the world and get a scribe in here to take this down!” Strife shoved himself up completely, arms spreading out wide. “The great Hercules is admitting he’s wrong!”

“Hey, I’m not ‘the great’ anything,” Hercules said, annoyed. “I’m just...me, and I make mistakes. Ask Iolaus sometime; he’ll be more than happy to tell you all about it.” That brought a brief, fond smile to his lips. Brief, because his bottom lip was split, probably from that kiss.

Strife didn’t say anything immediately. Dropping his arms, he rested his hands on his thighs, fingers spread, and just looked at Hercules, eyes narrowed, like he was assessing the truthfulness of Hercules’ words. Or maybe just Hercules himself. Strife’s hair was even more of a mess than usual, strands standing up every which way, a few hanging down over his forehead, some on the side of his head matted down with the blood that was slowly working its way down the side of his face, a thickening, clotting trickle, shockingly bright against his pale skin.

“Okay,” Strife finally spoke, his tone wary, “so, you’re...what? Down with screwing me now? Or is this all because of the plan and you’re just making yourself into some sort of fucking martyr?”

“No, Strife,” Hercules said with a long sigh.

“No to which one?” Strife crossed his arms, wariness mixed with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“Both.”

Strife frowned, obviously not expecting that answer. “What--?”

“I don’t see myself as a martyr for anything,” Hercules said, cutting him off, “and I’m probably never going to be ‘okay’ with--with...this.” He made a vague motion that encompassed both him and Strife.

Strife snorted, a sound that held a trace of real amusement. “You know, Hercules, if you can’t say it at your age....” It skirted the edge of a tease, the way his eyebrows went up, lips pursed ever so slightly. A pose he held for only a brief a moment before unfolding his arms, waving it all away dismissively with one hand. “But, I get you. You’re totally fly in the looks department, but the rest of it? Yeah, I dig where you’re coming from. Kind of a bitch, ain’t it?”

Not sure he understood even a fraction of that, Hercules could only shake his head. That seemed to be the response Strife was looking for, though, because he nodded.

“Here we are, hot for each other’s bods.” Rising up on his knees, Strife arched his arms up over his head, fingers locked together, stretching. Joints popping, muscles visibly tense under tight leather -- he leaned his head back, the long, pale length of his throat starkly framed by his black-clad arms. “And yet,” he slowly dropped his arms, head coming back forward, “we don’t even like each other. But, when you think about it,” he cocked his head to the side, “us, mortal enemies and all, fucking,” he over enunciated the sounds as he pressed one, widespread hand low on his stomach. “It’s kind of...hot.” He bit out the end of the word, and the clicking sound made Hercules jerk, made him suck in a sharp breath -- made him realize he hadn’t been breathing at all.

Strife smiled, eyelashes lowering, hands sliding down further, past his belt. “Do you hate me, Hercules?” he drew the name out, sing-song, tip of his tongue flicking over his lips as though tasting the syllables.

“Yeah,” Hercules answered, then had to say it again when his throat was too dry to get the word out.

“Oh, good.” Strife’s smile widened, a glint of teeth visible.

Somehow, Hercules wasn’t surprised when Strife threw himself forward, was ready for it, hands coming up, one catching his waist, the other landing on his thigh. But Strife didn’t slam into him, catching himself, one hand smacking into the door next to Hercules’ head. He slid just a little closer, the movement a sinuous writhe of his whole body that Hercules didn’t see so much as feel in the leather-clad muscles under his hands. Nose to nose now, Strife’s knees bracketing his thighs, Hercules’ vision filled by pale blue eyes and even paler skin. Strife’s breath was warm on his face when he spoke.

“That’s very good, Hercules,” he said, his voice low, dark. “Now say it. Say you hate me.” The blue of his eyes was disappearing rapidly, devoured by the inky blackness of his pupils.

“I hate you,” Hercules said, his voice breathy. He tightened his grip, fingers digging hard into leather and muscle, and said it again, steadier this time, “I hate you, Strife.” He felt the shiver that went through Strife’s body.

“Yeah,” Strife’s chuckle was almost too soft to hear, “I hate you too, Hercules.” He closed the last bit of distance between them.

Hercules thought it would be brutal, violent and possibly even bloody and he was braced for it, but when Strife’s lips covered his, it was so gentle that it took him by surprise. Just the barest touch, at first, no pressure, just a brush of lips against lips, pulling away slightly, then returning, lingering this time. Kiss after kiss, all gentle and soft; Strife’s eyes drifted shut on a moan that was more felt than heard, and Hercules felt Strife’s free hand slide through his hair, slip around between him and the door to cradle the back of his head. He let his eyes close.

It was Hercules who changed it, grew impatient enough first to tilt his head, change the angle, open his mouth. They both moaned at the first touch of tongue against tongue, but as good as it felt, the gentleness remained, kisses becoming wetter, slicker, but no faster. No urgency. Open-mouthed, tongues sliding, and Strife still tasted sweet, even with the coppery-bitter aftertaste of blood from Hercules’ split lip a constant, sharp presence.

When Strife’s teeth caught that lip, bit gently, Hercules gasped. It hurt, but not in a way he wanted to stop. Strife seemed to understand that -- maybe better than Hercules himself did, because he slid his tongue over the sluggishly bleeding split, licking it clean, soothing it -- before biting down again. Hercules groaned, hips jerking up involuntarily.

Strife laughed softly against his lips. “We really gotta explore this pain kink of yours, Hercules.”

Hercules didn’t bother saying anything, just slid his hands around to Strife’s belt and began pulling it loose. Or rather, trying to. After a few ineffectual tugs, he searched for the clasp of the buckle, fingers running over slick leather and metal warmed by both their bodies, but he found nothing. The belt had no ends to loosen and the buckle no clasp. He frowned, opening his eyes.

Strife had leaned back slightly, just enough that Hercules could see his whole face now, the half-amused, half-regretful smile he wore.

“There’s no way to get this off you, is there?” Hercules asked in sudden understanding.

“Nope,” Strife said, shrugging one shoulder. “I didn’t design it with mortal fastenings or laces. But, you know, I’m reconsidering that now. It’d be sweet, having you strip me out of my clothes.” The tip of his tongue flicked out, bright pink against lips reddened from Hercules’ blood.

Hercules wanted to grab the collar of that damn outfit and rip it from him, tear it from neck to groin, but he didn’t have the strength in here. He gave the belt one last, perfunctory tug before letting go with a frustrated grimace, both hands dropping to rest on Strife’s thighs.

“Yeah,” Strife agreed with a little sigh. Then he cocked his head to the side, pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Although...I could get you naked. Take my time, make it last.” His hand slid out from behind Hercules’ head, fingers trailing down his neck, leaving rising goosebumps behind. “Lick every bit of skin I uncover, suck on it, bite.” His nails dug into the base of Hercules’ throat, making Hercules gasp, his head tilting back seemingly on its own. He didn’t remember telling it to do that, but he was glad it had, Strife had more room now, room he used to scrape his nails upward over the length of Hercules’ throat, making him shudder, coming perilously close to a whimper when one nail pressed hard into a pulse point.

“I could lay you out under me, all naked and hot and hard -- you’re hard, aren’t you, under all this leather?”

Hercules’ eyes clenched shut, a hiss escaping him as he felt Strife’s other hand press firmly against him, and while he’d only been half way there a second ago, he was definitely hard now. He shivered when the pressure of Strife’s hand disappeared, replaced by the too-light feel of fingers gliding slowly up and down, tracing the outline of his cock through his pants.

“Knew you were.” Strife laughed, a breathy sound that held more arousal than humor. His nails disappeared from Hercules’ throat, leaving scratched, burning skin a reminder of their presence.

“You’d look so good, Hercules, naked and spread out for me on the floor, hard and wanting me. And I’d still be fully dressed, getting you off with nothing but my tongue and fingers. Think you’d like that? Me licking your cock, tonguing that spot right under the head, fucking you hard with my fingers at the same time? You could get them wet for me.” Fingers brushed over Hercules’ lips and he caught one, opening his mouth, catching the very end of it between his teeth. “Mmm, yeah, thought you’d want that. You know...I could slide more than my fingers in your ass. I could use my whole hand.”

That visual, and he could see it, practically feel it -- Hercules gasped, body clenching down reflexively. Strife pushed another finger into his mouth.

“Oh yeah,” Strife’s voice dropped even lower, “we’re gonna do that. But I wanna lick you first. Jerk you off with my hand, lick my way down, past your balls -- do you like those sucked on? Because I think I will, just a little, but not too much, I want to get to the main event.” His voice was so intent, Hercules could feel the words like a hand, stroking down him. “I can’t see your face like that, which bites, because I wanna see your expression the first time I lick your ass. You’ll love it, Hercules, me rimming you -- that’s what it is. Remember, you wanted to know? It’s my tongue on you, licking your hole -- I bet you’ll open right up for me. And -- fuck -- the noises you’ll make, maybe you’ll even start begging me when I’ve got my tongue inside you, begging for my fingers, my cock, my fist, anything I want to shove in you, because my tongue just isn’t quite enough.”

He would beg, Hercules knew that, was close to it now, sucking hard on Strife’s fingers, bucking up against the ones lightly teasing over his cock, held in by too much leather.

“I think I have to see your face, Hercules. You’ll look so fine, dazed and hot and desperate, and I have to see that. I’m gonna do you like that on your stomach, with a mirror in front of us, so I can watch you.”

That was it. Hercules didn’t care what it took, he was getting Strife out of those clothes. He grabbed at Strife’s belt again, fingers and the palm of one hand pressing against the bulge of his cock on the way there and Strife gasped, hips jerking forward. But then he was pulling away, fingers leaving Hercules’ mouth, hands grasping Hercules’ wrists, stopping him.

“What--?” Frowning, Hercules opened his eyes, tilted his head forward to give Strife a questioning look.

“I’m not coming when I’m wrapped up in this outfit,” Strife said firmly. His pupils were blown wide, cheeks faintly flushed and he was breathing hard. He was close, Hercules suddenly realized. A few more touches, a couple strokes were all it would take. But Strife was shaking his head, grip still firm on Hercules’ wrists.

“We’re going to do all of that, Hercules, and more stuff when I think of it, but no way can I have you, blow you, eat your ass and not come. And Fates know how long we’re stuck in here -- hey! Wanna let us out sometime this century?” he yelled suddenly, releasing one of Hercules’ wrists to slam his hand against the door. Hercules winced at the smack so near his ear.

There was no answer and Strife rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Like I was saying, wing boy might make us stay in here all day and I’m so not sitting around here all sticky and slimy and no way to clean off.”

Well, when he put it that way. Hercules nodded in understanding. “So...what now?” he asked, coughing when his voice came out deeper, rougher than he’d intended. Strife smirked, rubbed his thumb over Hercules’ palm.

“Keep that up and you’re going to get very sticky,” Hercules warned, pulling his hand back. Strife let him go with a shrug that was more a roll of his shoulders.

“I can’t help it; I’m a born tease,” he said, batting his eyelashes.

Hercules didn’t doubt that was pure truth. “Look, let’s just...talk, okay?”

“Well, I was talking, remember?” Strife pointed out, hooking one thumb in his belt, letting his fingers trail down over the prominent bulge in his pants. He held the pose for a moment, long enough for Hercules’ gaze to fix on those fingers, what lay beneath them, and then he pulled his hand up, crossing his arms with a resigned sigh. “But, yeah, we’ll pick that up later.”

“We can still talk,” Hercules said, resting his hands safely on the floor. He wanted to put them on Strife’s thighs again, feel the way his muscles moved and tensed under the touch, but Strife was right, now wasn’t the time.

“Talk?” Strife snorted. “About what? Oh! I know!” he exclaimed, his tone falsely bright. “How about all the times I tried to kill you! Or, wait! What about all the times you screwed over my plans and Ares kicked my ass for it! Wow, there’s just so much there I know we both want to talk about,” he finished, tone dripping with sarcasm. There was no cruelty in it, though, no bitterness, either. He was just making a point. But Hercules knew that if he pursued it, things probably would turn ugly quickly, so he shook his head.

“No, that’s not what I mean. We already know all that. How about...tell me something I don’t know.”

Strife smirked. “You have a century or two to spare?”

Of course Strife would make this difficult. Hercules sighed. “You know what I mean, Strife.”

Hands dropping to his hips, Strife gave him a pointed look. “This isn’t going to work, Hercules. Us, chatting away like we’re BFFs or something? I don’t see it.”

Hercules didn’t bother asking for a translation, he just reached up to brush away a stray curl of hair that had fallen against Strife’s blood-smeared forehead. “You don’t know something won’t work unless you try it first.”

Strife rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, don’t blame me when we’re trying to throttle each other again, okay? Because, this? Will be a total disaster.”

Part 16

“...so then Jason finally stops laughing long enough to tell me that I’m supposed to sacrifice the goat, not marry it. I didn’t translate the ambassador’s speech right.”

Sprawled out across Hercules’ lap, Strife’s whole body shook with laughter. “Jason speaks Babylonian? And he didn’t tell you?” His laughter grew more high pitched, the heel of one boot smacking hard against the marble floor with amusement.

“Yeah, well,” Hercules paused as a chuckle overcame him, then winced as it pulled at his ribs. “He told me that I deserved it for butting in on the negotiations. He still denies it today, but I think he intended to actually go through with it, perform the marriage himself, but he blew it when he started laughing. I knew something was fishy, then.”

“Some friends you have, Hercules.” Strife shook his head, rolling it against the floor, hair sticking out everywhere. “They got you in deeper than Discord or I ever did.”

That was...actually fairly true, he had to admit it with a nod. “But we got each other back out again,” he said, because that was just as true, still was.

Strife made a humming sound, agreement or just maybe acknowledgment. “Makes me all kinds of nostalgic,” he said, one hand coming up from its limp sprawl on the floor near his head to tangle around a curl of his hair. “For the Academy, I mean.”

The last few incidents Hercules had related had taken place in or around that time, so he nodded, understanding. At least, he thought he did. Or maybe he really didn’t, he reconsidered that with a frown. “How, exactly? You were only there a few days.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that,” Strife said with a faint smirk, still slowly twisting the hair around his finger. “Just...in general. Me and Discord, coming up with all these plans to make you guys miserable -- and we had some tight plans, even Ares had to give us some credit there. You were our favorite toys.” He sighed, a fond sound.

Hercules snorted, although whether he was amused or appalled, or both, he couldn’t have said. “I wouldn’t have thought we were your favorite anything,” he settled for keeping his tone mostly neutral, a touch curious.

Strife hadn’t volunteered much over the past...however long they’d been sitting here, or lying here, in Strife’s case. He’d let Hercules do most of the talking, occasionally just tossing out observations like this one, little glimpses into how things worked in his world, but ones he didn’t follow up on (and many times, depending on what exactly Strife said, Hercules was grateful for that lack of follow-through). But this wasn’t so bad, just...okay, maybe a little bad and Hercules wasn’t at all sure he wanted to hear what else Strife had to say about it, but it was doubtful he’d say more than a word or two anyway, so there wasn’t much danger there.

So, of course Strife decided this time to elaborate. “See, Ares was going through a war slump. Nothing but some of the city-states’ kings cat fighting about who was gonna make who his bitch, and he didn’t really need us for that, so we were really bored. Until he threw us at you guys. We got years of entertainment out of that.” He grinned widely.

“So happy we could help,” Hercules said sarcastically. That got him an even wider grin, one that quickly transformed into a coy look, Strife’s eyelashes lowering, his other hand coming up to tug at the fraying edge of Hercules’ vest.

“But, I have to admit, Hercules, you weren’t my personal favorite.” Strife’s tone was teasing enough to provoke a reluctant smile out of Hercules.

“Really?” he asked, drawling the word out a bit.

“Really,” Strife imitated his tone and drawl. “I liked Iolaus.”

Hercules snorted in genuine amusement. “Somehow, I don’t think he’d be too thrilled to know that.”

“Not that way -- your mind just goes straight to the gutter, doesn’t it?” His grin returned. “I like that in a man. But, no, not that Iolaus isn’t fine, but I’d rather fight him than fuck him. He gives back as good as he gets, know what I mean? It’s like he never cared that I was a god, he’d try to take me down anyway. That was fun.”

Hercules found himself nodding, knowing exactly what Strife was talking about. “I think he liked it too. But he’s more cautious now.”

“More aware of his own mortality, you mean,” Strife said, his eyes focused on the thread he was slowly working free from Hercules’ vest. “It happens when mortals grow up, hit a certain age. It sucks, because I’d love to go a few rounds with him again, but that’s the way things play out.” There was a disappointed twist to his lips as he spoke.

“You almost sound like you’re missing a friend,” Hercules observed, frowning as the thread Strife was tugging at came loose, and began unraveling a seam behind it.

“Mmm.” Strife sucked in his lower lip, bit down lightly on it as a frown creased the skin between his eyebrows. “Nah,” he shook his head once, releasing his lip, “never had any of those.”

“Not even one?” Hercules asked skeptically. “What about Fatuus? The god of prophecy?”

“Bad prophecies,” Strife corrected, rolling his eyes. “And that doesn’t count. I lost a bet and had to hang with him for a year, didn’t make us real friends.”

“So you really don’t have anyone, then.” Hercules found that a hard concept to grasp. He’d always had Iolaus, and Jason was there for him, and for all that they had their issues, Xena was definitely a friend, as were so many others throughout Greece. Making friends came easily to him. Not everyone was like that, though, he knew, and, thinking about it, it really didn’t surprise him that Strife was one of those.

“Well....” Strife dragged out the word, frowning again, fingers pausing in their task of removing a second thread from Hercules’ vest. “I have a Deimos.”

“You--what?” Hercules shook his head.

“I wouldn’t say he’s a friend, not really, but, well...it’s kind of complicated.” Strife sighed, hand dropping away from Hercules’ vest. “I was his first,” he said, sliding his hand back between the floor and his head.

“Oh...um, okay.” Hercules nodded slowly, not understanding, but not all that eager to pry into that subject, either. Strife, however, seemed to be in a sharing mood.

“I totally missed the clue chariot on that one,” he said ruefully, releasing the lock of hair he’d twined about his finger. “I mean, Deimos might as well have been wearing a huge, temple-sized warning sign: Danger! Do not fuck!” He spelled out the letters in mid-air with a flourish of waggling fingers. “But all I saw was him so into me, he was following me from Olympus to the mortal realm and back, for over a year.”

“A year?” Hercules’ eyebrows went up.

“Yeah.” Strife snorted at Hercules’ expression. “That should’ve been my reaction; I should’ve sent him off to Cupid or Apollo or someone else to nail his ass a few times until he figured out I don’t have the only cock on Olympus. But -- okay, here’s the thing;” he slid his other hand behind his head, met Hercules’ eyes, “I usually do the chasing. That’s just how it is. I see some guy too fly to pass up, and I’m all over him, sexing him up good until I’m tired of him. Guys don’t chase me.”

“But Deimos did.” And this time Hercules did understand, could see how Strife would overlook a lot of things to feel that wanted, because Hercules doubted, despite how many men he’d slept with, that Strife really did feel wanted.

“Yeah, he totally did.” Strife nodded. “He flirts better than me, too, looking at me all coy and shy and you-know-you-wanna-hit-this-but-don’t-touch kind of thing. I guess he got that from growing up with Aphrodite’s side of the family. It’s definitely where he picked up that fucked up idea about ‘saving himself for the right person’ -- said he saw too much sex growing up and decided it had to be all special for him or something. And he thought I was it for him. I mean, how much of a girl can you be?”

Hercules grimaced in sympathy, weirdly enough, feeling it for both Strife and Deimos. “That--you knew about that before you...and you still...?” he let it trail off with a shake of his head.

“No!” Strife gave him a disgusted look. “Fuck no. If I’d known Aphrodite screwed him up that much, I would’ve hauled ass over to the next country and stayed there until he found someone else to go all girly and mushy on!” He pushed himself up with one hand, grabbing Hercules’ vest with the other and using it to haul himself the rest of the way. Sitting firmly in Hercules’ lap now, he draped an arm around Hercules’ shoulders. “You know, he actually brought me flowers a couple days ago?” He shuddered in obvious disgust. “Do I look like his girlfriend? What’s next, poetry? Aphrodite’s got a lot to answer for. Whatever happened to ripping out some mortal’s intestines and using them to spell out, ‘Thanks for the fuck. Later, babe,’ on the bed?”

“I, uh, guess those...classy goodbyes are a thing of the past,” Hercules said, managing somehow not to sound revolted.

“Yeah, tell me about it. Kids these days.” Strife sighed, shaking his head. “So, anyway, he chases me that long and I finally figure, hey, might as well be caught. So I waited until Ares and everyone else were off celebrating a big victory, got Deimos alone and rocked his little world. Figured out pretty quick I was the first one to lay a hand on him. He was all tense and awkward and didn’t even know how to kiss. Almost didn’t let me fuck him. His eyes...he looked so shocked and a little scared when I slid into him, and Fates, he was so tight.... And then, when he started loving it, the noises he made....”

Hercules was going to interrupt, because he definitely didn’t need any more details. That was more than he wanted to know already. But Strife was staring past him, now, at the wall, but with that far away look in his eyes, likely not seeing it.

“I was just going to do him once, get me out of his head and all that shit, but the way he looked when he came, like he’d seen Elysia and I was it -- I had to fuck him again. Just once more, you know? But it was still that good and then it was just one more time, and then another, and it was never actually got bad, ever, it just kept getting...hotter.”

Hercules rolled his eyes, resisted the urge to bang his head back against the wall. “How long?” he asked, any sympathy he’d had for Strife disappearing.

“Huh?” Strife blinked, looked at him with a frown, then quickly looked away. “I don’t know, maybe a couple.” He shrugged one shoulder.

“A couple what? Weeks? Months?”

“Um, decades.”

“You led him on for two decades?” Hercules asked incredulously.

“Hey! I did not!” Strife protested, glaring at him, but the glare disappeared and he dropped his gaze. “Okay, I didn’t mean to.” He at least had sense enough to sound a little sheepish. If he hadn’t, Hercules probably would’ve pitched him onto the floor.

“It was just sex for me,” Strife said, drumming his fingers once on Hercules’ shoulder. “Maybe really fucking good sex, earth moving, heavens falling, dead rising -- and that was a total accident, by the way, no matter what Hades says -- but it was still just sex. I didn’t know it was more for him.”

“Didn’t know, or didn’t want to know?” Hercules didn’t bother to keep the disapproval out of his tone. It was Deimos they were discussing, sure, but no one deserved having their feelings toyed with like that.

Strife sighed, a defeated sound. “Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t want to know. He has the sweetest ass I ever got balls deep into -- except for yours,” a sideways, shaded glance, a half smirk that didn’t dim despite Hercules’ stern expression. “I didn’t want to give it up. But then this shit happened and I had to think fast and you were there, and here we are and there he is, going all stalker-boy on me.” He shrugged again, leaning back against Hercules’ arm -- which, at some point Hercules didn’t recall, he’d wrapped around Strife’s back.

“So, after two decades of letting him think you two were...whatever,” he gave up struggling to find a word for a relationship that screwed up, “you just dumped him and took up with me? Does that about sum it up?”

“Uh...yep.” Strife nodded.

This time Hercules did pitch him off. Tried to, anyway. Strife wasn’t big, but he was long and wiry and there was plenty of muscle under all that leather; without his strength, the best Hercules could do was yank one arm out from behind Strife’s back and give him a good, hard shove with the other hand.

Strife yelped, one arm flailing as he tried to regain his balance, the other locking tight around Hercules’ neck. Hercules managed to pry the arm away just as Strife lost his balance. Instead of rolling away, though, Strife simply dropped down, draping himself back over Hercules’ lap again. Arms crossing over his chest, he glared up at Hercules.

“What is your deal?” he demanded in a deeply annoyed tone.

“If you have to ask....” Hercules shook his head in disgust.

“What? You’re getting your leather panties in a twist over Deimos? I never knew you two were pals.” Strife laughed, a sharp, barking sound.

“We aren’t. But not even Deimos deserves this kind of treatment, Strife. You either need to break it off clean or figure something else out that you both can live with. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, and I’m losing sleep over not doing the right thing.” Strife rolled his eyes, but it looked half-hearted and his tone carried more resignation than stubbornness. “Look, I did tell him it was over, okay? I figured, with all this crap hanging over me, I didn’t need him clinging to me like some sort of fungus, right? He threw a shit fit; you saw.”

“That’s what I walked in on?”

“Yeah. And it’s not like it did any good. He doesn’t believe me. Thinks he can ‘win me back’ or something.” He sighed, uncrossing his arms and running one hand back through his hair. “He won’t listen to a word I say right now.”

Hercules nodded, not surprised. “Well, if you--”

The door swung open behind him, no warning, and he fell backwards with a yell of surprise. He managed to catch himself on one elbow before his head hit the floor. Lying half in, half out of the room, he stared up and found Cupid looking down at him. Raising one eyebrow, Cupid looked from him over to Strife and back again.

“Well, you two look a little rough, but no one’s dead, so I guess you worked things out.”

“Yeah, hours ago,” Strife said, his tone annoyed as he rolled himself off of Hercules -- knocking the wind right out of him when he jabbed an elbow into Hercules’ stomach -- and bounced to his feet. “What, did you decide to go off and preen yourself or something while we just sat here?”

Ignoring Strife, Cupid leaned down and held out a hand to Hercules, who was still trying to draw in a deep breath. Grasping the offered hand, Hercules let Cupid do most of the work, pulling him up while Hercules concentrated on trying to breathe and keep his feet under him.

And then he was standing outside the room and suddenly breathing was easy, at least through his mouth. His ribs still ached, but it was a gradually fading pain, and the sting in his lip was quickly disappearing, too.

“It’s part of the room,” Cupid said, and Hercules realized he must’ve looked as confused as he felt. “What happens in there, stays in there. The injuries, I mean. Although, sometimes you have to help it along a little.” And Cupid suddenly reached out, grabbed hold of Hercules’ nose and jerked it to the side.

Hercules felt more than heard the snap as his nose went back into place and the pain took his breath away. He stumbled back, caught the edge of the doorway with one hand and leaned back against it, wanting to touch his nose, cradle it, and not daring.

Strife slipped out of the room, sliding past him and brushing against him far more than was necessary considering the wide doorway. He smirked as he passed.

The pain was starting to fade, and Hercules could breathe through his nose again. He brought a hand up to test it, see if the skin around it was as swollen as it felt, but was distracted by the sight of Strife just standing there. Well, standing, head tilted back, eyes closed as every wrinkle in his outfit smoothed itself out, all traces of blood faded away, and his hair began to right itself, strand by strand until it was as spiked and curled as he usually wore it, not a hair out of place.

Sighing in satisfaction, Strife brought his head back forward, rolling his shoulders, one joint snapping loudly. “Hey, Cupie,” he said, opening his eyes, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Come over here a second.”

Cupid frowned, not moving. “Why?”

“Oh, no biggie, I just wanna talk,” Strife answered easily, smiling now.

Hercules didn’t trust that for a minute and he doubted Cupid did either, but still Cupid went. Walking over to Strife, he stood in front of him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Strife slid around to his side, slung an arm over his shoulder, fingers brushing the top of one wing. “You know, Cupid, I like you. Always have. You’re so, so fine.” He trailed his fingers down Cupid’s upper arm, lingering over the banded tattoo. “I even admire how you played me, making me think you wanted a piece, getting close, lifting my weapons, and me, never getting on the clue wagon. That was pretty tight. You’re a real smooth operator.” His smile lingered for a moment more before vanishing utterly, replaced by a serious look devoid of all humor, his tone turning dark. “But dig this, Cupid: tou ever do me like that again, try to throw me in that room, I’m gonna pluck out every single one of your feathers and make you eat them. Any of them you can’t get down, I’ll find somewhere else to shove them, follow me?”

Hercules could see the skin of Cupid’s shoulder turning pale where Strife was digging in his fingers. He debated stepping in, separating them, telling Strife to go cool off somewhere. But then Cupid...smiled. A bright, cheerful smile that never even came close to touching his eyes.

Hercules glanced down the corridor and wondered, if he ran fast enough, could he get out of range in time?

“Strife, cuz. I’ve always liked you, too.” Cupid sounded perfectly friendly.

Hercules started edging away.

Strife, apparently, didn’t see the danger. He just stood there and raised an eyebrow, fingers still digging into Cupid’s shoulder.

“You’re cute,” Cupid said, “fun to hang with, you’ve got a wicked sense of humor and you’re a pretty good lay. But, you know, you’ve never really been the brightest torch in the temple.”

Frowning, Strife made an inquisitive sound.

“Let me put it this way, cuz: who am I?”

“Um, you’re Cupid. Is this a trick question?”

“What do I do, Strife?”

“You’re the God of Love,” Strife said in a tone that said, “Duh!”

“Good. Now, who raised me?”

Visibly confused now, Strife gave him a bewildered look. “Aphrodi--no, Ares. What’s with the twenty questions, Cupid? You having a senior moment or something?”

Hercules figured, a few more feet to the left, and they’d never notice him leave.

Cupid’s smile vanished as abruptly as Strife’s had, and Strife, finally seeming to realize what he’d dug himself into, tried to step away from him. But Cupid was faster, arm coming down hard across Strife’s shoulders, his hand gripping just as hard as Strife’s had, judging from Strife’s wince.

“Let me ask you something, Strife. I’m the God of Love and Dad raised me way more than Mom did. So, do you really want to piss me off? Go ahead and think about it a little; we’ve got some time. I’ll just stand right here and wait.”

Strife swallowed hard, his complexion paling even further, fast approaching marble white. If he’d been mortal, Hercules suspected that he might’ve passed out.

Cupid’s expression was hard, his gaze intent, and Hercules froze in his attempt to get out of the way. It was better to not move at all right now, not draw any attention.

“I--uh--” Strife’s voice was little more than a high-pitched squeak. Swallowing again, he just shook his head.

“Good decision.” Cupid smiled again, but it was far from friendly this time and Strife winced.

“Now, get out of here, cuz,” Cupid said, his tone lightening as he released Strife. He didn’t push him away, just loosened his grip, even gave him a pat on the shoulder before pulling away. “Hera wants to see you at her place.”

“Hera?” Strife squeaked the name, somehow managing to go another shade paler.

“Yeah. We’ve got a show to put on. Dad’ll fill you in when you get there.”

“Ares is there? Oh, okay.” Strife looked deeply relieved, some of his color returning. He didn’t say anything more before vanishing in a flash of blue light, but he did look towards Hercules, caught his eye and gave him a quick nod. He was gone before Hercules could decide whether or not to return it.

That left him alone with Cupid, who was looking at him now with both eyebrows raised. “Planning on going somewhere?” he asked, casting an amused glance at the distance Hercules had put between himself and the room.

“I thought it was a good idea to get out of the line of fire,” Hercules said with a shrug.

This time Cupid’s smile was truly warm, amused. “Yeah, I know what it looked like, and someone really does need to give Strife a good ass-kicking, but it can’t be me.” He shook his head. “I just needed to put a little scare into him right now. Later, well, that’s the new part of the plan.”

“There’s a new part?” Hercules frowned. “Since when?”

“Since my brother lost the one brain cell he has and went straight to stalkerville.”

“Deimos? What does he have to do with this?”

Cupid didn’t answer, just shook his head again and walked towards him. “Look, I left you dudes in there that long because you’re good at getting people to talk. Even Strife.” Stopping beside him, Cupid leaned one shoulder against the wall, shifting his wing out of the way with a muted rustle of feathers. “I can’t pry anything out of Deimos and he’d rather kill you than talk, so I had to try this. I had to know what went wrong so I can fix it.”

“Fix what, exactly?” Hercules gave him a confused look.

“Don’t worry about it right now. It’s better if you don’t have it all figured out, and I still have a few strings to pull if I want the puppets to dance right.” He grinned, a fleeting, predatory expression that was gone before Hercules could react. Then Cupid was pushing away from the wall, grabbing hold of Hercules’ arm and pulling him along.

“Hera wants to see you, too,” he said, calmly.

Hercules instantly dug in his heels, refused to move.

“Uh, dude, you know I can just take you there, right?” Cupid gave him a pointed look.

“I think you’d better tell me what’s going on,” Hercules said, seriously. “Because I really don’t think the foundations of Olympus are strong enough to stand me meeting Hera, face to face.”

Sighing, Cupid let go of his arm. “Like I told Strife, it’s a show. You’re gonna go in there and make nice and so will she, and Ares and Strife are there to ‘show’ that you’re all together on this. It’s part of the original plan, remember?”

“The original plan didn’t say anything about me having a ‘chat’ with Hera,” Hercules pointed out acidly.

“Yeah, well, these things take some fine-tuning, detail work. Now, are you coming or what? It’d look way better if you came willingly, but I’ll drag you there over my shoulder if I have to.”

And he would, Hercules didn’t doubt it for a second. Oh, he could fight, and there was even a chance he could win, but what was the point? He’d agreed to this plan already and maybe he didn’t care for the “details,” but if it would get the job done, he’d do it.

“Let’s go,” he said, setting his jaw determinedly, body tensing in anticipation of the meeting, or fight, whichever it turned into.

“Cool.” Cupid placed a hand on his shoulder -- and hesitated, frowning at him. “Dude, unpucker and plaster on a smile. You’re supposed to look like this is a good thing. Like Hera is your new best friend”

Hercules gave him an incredulous look.

“Yeah, so maybe that’s asking a little much,” Cupid conceded. “Okay, just...try not look like you’re spoiling for a fight, and if it gets too weird, that’s why Strife’s there. You two are totally in tune -- when you’re not being jerks, so just look to him for your cues.”

“Cues?” Hercules asked, but they were already leaving. The familiar tug started inside him, not the violent yank Ares had used, but the gentle pull he was used to and the corridor began to dissolve around them in a shower of twinkling gold sparkles.

Part 17

Awkward, uncomfortable, nervous, tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop, the roof to cave in and life in general to come to a screeching halt; it all described -- and still wasn't enough to do justice to -- the emotions simmering beneath Hercules' calm expression, or what he hoped was passing as calm. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was more along the lines of disbelief combined with a touch of fear and a healthy dose of growing horror.

Hera was smiling at him. A true, bright, if somewhat strained smile. An honest to, well, "goodness" didn't really apply here, did it? A smile. At him. And she wasn't reaching for anything sharp at the same time, either.

Hercules felt another chill work its way through his body, joining its earlier siblings deep in his bones. This was...against all laws of reason. Unnatural. Wrong. So totally making with the bad vibes.

A sudden snort of laughter tinged with slight hysteria threatened to escape and Hercules had to bite it back, clenching his teeth. Yeah, Cupid and Strife both were definitely having a bit of an effect on him, or at least his vocabulary.

It was unconscious then, the way his gaze slid away from Hera, and by the time he realized he was doing it, he was already looking at Strife. It wasn't really a surprise; he couldn't have a simple thought concerning Strife anymore, not when Strife was in the same room, anyway. Hercules had to look. And strangely, right now that helped.

Leaning back against a cream colored marble column off to Hercules' left, Strife looked utterly relaxed. Arms crossed over his chest, feet crossed at the ankles, he wore a familiar smirk directed not so much at Hercules but at the situation in general. A single curl of brown-black hair fell over his forehead, teasing an eyebrow. Abruptly Hercules wished he could brush that lock of hair away, trail his fingers over the pale skin beneath, feel the heated smoothness of it.

As if in answer to his thought -- and it happened often enough now that Hercules had to wonder, in the small corner of his mind not preoccupied with taking in the sight, if maybe they were getting a little too "in tune" as Cupid had put it -- Strife's hand suddenly came up and long fingers flicked the curl away, sending it up to join the other massed in a riot of artfully tangled spikes atop his head. His hand didn't lower, though, at least not as quickly. Instead Strife rested his fingers on his temple for a brief moment, lingering, then let two fingertips slide ever so slowly downward, caressing his cheek in a manner that made Hercules’ breath catch. Black leather, wrapped around Strife's hand, up to nearly the first knuckle of his fingers; it was so stark against the bloodless color of his skin, and so very...appropriate on him. As much of a contrast as Strife himself was, cool leather against hot skin, light and dark, black and white, passion and cold cruelty, a dichotomy Hercules had yet to reconcile and realized he probably never would.

Strife's fingers had reached the corner of his mouth and there they paused, not quite touching those soft, parted lips. Parted and...moving? Hercules blinked. He heard nothing, it was as silent in the cavernous room as it'd been since he walked in, but Strife's lips were moving and he was definitely saying something, mouthing words it seemed. Frowning slightly, Hercules tried to make it out. Something about...watching? Watch what? Was there something he should be noticing or -- oh. "Zeus is watching." Once Strife repeated it, Hercules saw the words easily, and his eyes snapped up to meet Strife's.

Cool, pale blue, with an amused spark glinting there, and Strife just raised an eyebrow pointedly.

Hercules didn't need any more hints. Tearing his gaze away from Strife, he forced himself to take a casual look around, trying not to show any concern. Marble walls, marble chairs, marble everything, including columns supporting a roof that rose to the clouds, literally, and massive doors yawning open off to the right where Ares stood looking casually amused. But nowhere did Hercules see anything that remotely resembled Zeus. He wasn't sure that he'd expected to, not really. This was Olympus and if there was anywhere a god could simply "be" without putting on a mortal form, this was definitely it. Still, the thought that Zeus might be here, surrounding them all in some metaphysical sense was more than a little creepy.

But Hercules couldn't let himself think about that. In fact, if Zeus was here then this meeting was even more of a show than Cupid had let on. And that explained the alien expression on Hera's face, that smile. Finally understanding, Hercules tried to force his own expression into something a little less...disturbed.

Maybe it worked, or maybe Hera had just been waiting for him to quit ogling Strife, either way she was walking towards him now. Crossing the wide expanse of the stark, vast room, her footsteps made no noise, nothing to break the silence surrounding them, which seemed to grow more oppressive as she approached.

Hercules wasn't sure what to expect from her and it was a challenge to remain standing there, to try and stay somewhat relaxed, not tense for a confrontation he didn't think would happen, not really. There was too much at stake here for all of them to ruin it in a display of temper and old, as well as current grievances.

She stopped before him, just out of easy reach. Her dress of black silk and peacock feathers settling around her with a gentle swirl, not a single hair of her tight bun dared fall out of place as she stood there, hands clasped before her, studying him. For some reason he'd expected her to have green eyes, or aqua, something closer to the colors of the peacock feathers adorning the high collar of her dress, but her eyes were blue. A very pale blue, leaning towards white. Hercules was far too familiar with those eyes, he saw them every time he looked at Strife.

"Hercules." A surprisingly pleasant voice, low, husky, tone neutral. But he supposed she could make herself sound or look however she wanted. She probably didn't have pleasing him in mind, though, so maybe this was just her preferred form. He had to admit, however grudgingly, that the overall effect was a good one.

"Hera," he returned the greeting just as cautiously, keeping his own voice as...unemotional as possible.

"You're well, I trust?" she asked, still wearing that smile which made it all the more unnerving.

Hera asking after his health, no threat behind it, no double meaning; wasn't this one of the signs of the world coming to an end? It took Hercules a moment to force out an appropriate answer.

"Not bad," was about the best he could do. After a few more moments of uncomfortable, weighted silence, he figured he was supposed to say something. What, he had no idea, but he made an effort. "It's, um...it's...." Good to see you? Nice to be here? Great that we aren't trying to kill each other? Somehow none of those options sounded quite right and Hercules was at a loss. "Nice place," he finally settled on, lamely.

"I've always kept a separate residence from Zeus; I enjoy my privacy." Hera's smile took on a brittle edge and Hercules suddenly had the idea that she'd been making a point to their unseen observer.

"Oh," he said, searching for something else, something far more intelligent to say. "That's, um, good?" Obviously, it was a futile search.

"Yes, often." Hera's tone flattened slightly, becoming more...humorous? Hercules didn't quite believe that, mostly because he'd yet to see any evidence that she possessed anything resembling a sense of humor.

This time she didn't leave it to him to try to pick up the conversation and as odd as it felt, when she spoke again, he was a little grateful.

"Tell me, Hercules, how are you and Ares getting along? I know things have been...strained between you two in the past." A twitch of her lips, and Hercules wondered if he'd have to revise that thought about her lack of humor.

A glance over at Ares showed him still in the doorway, hand on the hilt of his sword in what was probably for him a relaxed stance. He still smiled with amusement, but now that expression was leaning more towards a smirk.

Hercules snorted softly, finally seeing some humor here himself, even if it was pretty dark. "We're both alive, I suppose that's good," he said honestly, because he was really getting tired of groping for polite, non-committal answers. He just wasn't any good at pretending something he didn't feel.

"Better than I'd expected, truly," Hera agreed. "But I suppose common goals can overcome many...difficulties."

Gaze snapping back to her, Hercules had to stop himself from automatically stepping back, putting even more distance between them. There really was no menace in her tone, or at least none that he could detect, but the suggestion behind her words made him want to protest. Agreeing with her, with Ares, on this level, it made his skin crawl. Still, she did have a point, at least as far as this ruse went. If he kept that in mind, that they were working together to stop this farce of a wedding from happening, then he could actually...agree with them, and it wouldn't be a lie.

Hercules nodded, once, not trusting himself to say anything.

Hera seemed to read his discomfort, or maybe she just shared it. "Allies can come in strange forms, Hercules, in places, and people, we least expect...or even want." Her smile was too pleasant now, forced.

"Yeah," he said quietly, sensing that maybe he needed to add something here, do more than nod and grunt, anyway. "Ares has...good ideas for defending Greece." It was far more than he'd ever wanted to admit in Ares' presence and he was certain that he wouldn't hear the end of it for a long while, either, but the situation required him to give a little, sacrifice a bit of pride to make things work.

"So I hear." Hera's gaze slid from Hercules, her head turning slightly as she looked in Strife's direction. "And what of the time you spend with Strife, is it everything you expected?"

Yeah, he'd definitely have to revise that assumption about her sense of humor. Still, Hercules found himself smiling, only slightly but it was still more real than the expressions he'd tried over the past few minutes.

"It's nothing like what I expected," he said truthfully, and with more warmth than he'd meant to put in his tone.

A soft laugh off to his left, low and familiar, and Hercules refused to let himself look, knowing he might not look away.

Hera raised a single eyebrow. "I see. That is...unexpected. But not displeasing." She looked back at him, amusement even more apparent now in the curve of her mouth, the glint in her pale eyes.

"It's interesting." Hercules wasn't willing to say much more than that. On the list of people and gods he'd discuss his sex life with, Hera didn't even make the top thousand.

A slight, momentary widening of her smile, but then it disappeared entirely and for a long, increasingly uncomfortable moment Hera simply looked at him. There was no indication of what she thought, no clue as to what she might be considering, until she spoke again.

"We won't be friends." A statement. "Any of us." And somehow Hercules suspected that included everyone in the room because for all that they worked together, he'd never seen that Strife and Ares were friendly, nor were they with Hera. It was simply a case of, "the enemy of my enemy is my friend," and this situation was no exception.

"No, I kind of doubt we will," Hercules agreed.

The corner of her mouth moved upward. "Perhaps then, we can be...polite?"

Oh, so "polite" was the word for it now. Well, it was better than declaring open war on Zeus, which would defeat the purpose here with him listening, somewhere around them.

"Maybe we can," Hercules agreed, and it was a statement of a truce, of sorts.

That seemed to satisfy her. She inclined her head towards him, a very slight movement, really, that said nothing of respect or even conventional politeness, it was more an acknowledgement of successful negotiations, because that's exactly what this had all been. It was over now, though, or so Hercules assumed from the way Hera turned from him and walked away.

She actually turned her back on him, which was more of a surprise than most of their..."conversation." Despite this truce of theirs, they were and always would be enemies. Hercules wouldn't have put his back to her, even now, so he wasn't sure what to make of Hera's gesture. But then he had no more time to consider it, at least not at the moment. A familiar hand slid around his wrist, jerking his attention away from Hera's retreating back.

"Time to go," Strife said quietly. Still smirking, his tone bordered on sing-song, taunting. His fingers told a different story, though, sliding back and forth along the inside of Hercules' wrist.

Hercules blinked; a shiver moved through him starting from his wrist and working its way up, until he though he could feel the ends of his hair tingling. Strife had figured out far too many ways to unsettle him.

It took a moment to register the meaning of Strife's words, then to get his feet moving. Strife had released him by then, walking towards Ares and the open doors, hips moving in that ridiculously fluid way that made it nearly impossible for Hercules to concentrate on anything else as he followed.

A good sense of self preservation did prompt him to glance up when Ares moved. After all, it was Ares' fault that particular sense had become so finely honed over the decades. This time, though, Ares was doing nothing more than turning and walking off into the corridor beyond the doors. A moment later he vanished in a flash of blue flame.

By then, Strife had entered the corridor and Hercules was close behind him. His attention focusing back on Strife, Hercules was taken by surprise when the doors abruptly shut behind him, closing with a sharp booming sound. He jerked at the sound, instinctively looking behind his shoulder. There was nothing there but the high, ornately carved marble doors.

He was nervous, understandably so given the meeting he'd just had, but it wasn't a state he cared to be in for long, certainly not as long as it'd been lately. From Ares to Deimos to Hera, it seemed like he was spending too much time jumping at nothing. They were probably having a good laugh at his expense by now.

Turning back to the corridor, he jerked back when he found himself nearly nose to nose with Strife. Strife smirked in response.

Rolling his eyes -- and he really was getting far to used to Strife's little quirks if he was just dismissing it like that -- Hercules sighed. "Well?" he asked. "How did we--"

"Shh." A whisper, just shy of inaudible, but accompanied by Strife's hand sliding inside his shirt; it was more than enough to silence Hercules.

The leather covering Strife's palm was as cool as Hercules remembered, those long fingers just as warm as they slid over the muscles of stomach. Despite the considerable distraction, Hercules thought he got the point. It wasn't safe to talk here about their little conspiracy; Zeus was likely still around somewhere.

Hercules nodded in understanding, then reached up to answer an earlier desire, running his fingers over Strife's cheek, following the path Strife’s own fingers had taken. "So, what now?" It was a safe enough question, Strife could take it as he wanted, maybe give him some sort of coded answer in response.

But Strife remained silent, smiling, his hand sliding up, over Hercules’ chest. Pausing at the base of Hercules’ throat, he dug his nails in briefly, just long enough to make Hercules gasp at the sharp, sweet pain, before moving on, his smile widening. He slid his hand up around the back of Hercules’ neck, then tugged, not hard, but Hercules got the message and leaned in. Strife met him halfway, lips brushing softly against his, fingers tangling in his hair.

Hercules reached up, cupped the back of Strife’s head and held him there for a longer, deeper kiss, partly for show in case they still had an audience, but partly because he wanted more than a brief tease of a kiss. For all that it was spiked and curled and held stiffly in place, Strife’s hair was surprisingly soft against his palm, but not nearly as soft as Strife’s tongue in his mouth. Just a hint of it, flicking out to touch the tip of his and disappearing again, but enough to make Hercules moan softly. But then Strife was pulling back and Hercules let him go, reluctantly, dropping his hand.

Strife didn’t release him, though. Frowning as he drew back, his fingers carded through Hercules’ hair, a slight tug Hercules could feel, again and again.

“Have you even heard of conditioner?” Strife suddenly asked.

“Um...no?” Hercules said, blinking at the apparent non sequitur.

“Yeah, you’re not a god, so I guess not.” Strife dismissed it with a casual wave of his other hand. He didn’t stop playing with Hercules’ hair, though, drawing the strands through his fingers just on the edge of Hercules’ peripheral vision.

“What do you do to this, anyway? It’s like you’re washing it with lye soap or something.” He chuckled at that, his gaze finding Hercules’, the tilt of his eyebrow an invitation to share in the humor.

But Hercules just stood there, frowning and not getting it. Strife quickly lost his grin, the humor vanishing.

“Uh, Hercules, now is when you laugh,” he prodded. “At the joke? Because what kind of heathen uses lye soap on his hair?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Hercules shook his head, feeling the pull of his hair still wrapped around Strife’s fingers. “Look, it’s cheap, okay? And it travels well. And what’s wrong with lye soap, anyway?”

The look that got from Strife could only be described as abject horror. “Are you shitting me? You--oh, Ouranos’ missing balls; you’re not. That’s just....” He trailed off, head shaking in disbelief as his hand fell away from Hercules’ hair.

“What?” Hercules spread his arms wide. “It’s just hair and as long as it’s clean, what difference does it make?”

Hands going to his hips, Strife let his head fall forward with a deep, despairing groan. “Fates have mercy,” he muttered, shaking his head, his hair waving slightly with the motion.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, head rising as he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay. I can deal with this.”

“Deal with what? What is so--”

“Just...gimme a second to think,” Strife interrupted, holding up a hand. “Because I don’t have the power or the supplies to deal with that rat’s nest.” He flicked his fingers towards Hercules’ hair.

“Rat’s nest?” Hercules protested. “Hey, I do actually know what a comb is, all right? I even use one,” he added with a touch of sarcasm. “So don’t--”

“There isn’t a single god on Olympus who’d believe I’m into a guy with hair like that,” Strife said acidly, reaching out to give a lock of Hercules’ hair a good yank.

Wincing, Hercules jerked away, but knew he’d lost the argument. Anything to make the show more believable. “Fine,” he said, grudgingly, probably looking about as happy as he felt to have Strife messing with his hair. But normally he wouldn’t let anyone do that -- except for Iolaus when there was a tangle he couldn’t get out himself some mornings -- so this counted as putting on a good show.

Strife nodded once, eyes narrowing as he stared at the top of Hercules’ head. “Ares has major wood for the Persians right now, so he won’t be hanging out in the Halls....” he trailed off, fingers coming up to brush his lower lip in a way that was somehow thoughtful, and yet still entirely too distracting.

Hercules forced his gaze up to Strife’s eyes, clinging to the annoyance of what he was about to let himself be dragged through. “What does Ares have to do with this?” he asked.

Dropping his fingers, Strife snorted in amusement. “Oh, please. Have you ever actually looked at his hair? He has an entire room in the Halls of War devoted to product.” He reached out and grabbed Hercules’ hand. “You and me, we’ve got an appointment there, five minutes ago.”

“Appoin--what?” This was moving too fast for Hercules to follow.

“Just try and--” Strife started to speak, then cut himself off with a frown. He brought Hercules’ hand up between them, transferring his grip to Hercules’ wrist as he studied Hercules’ fingers with a look of growing dismay.

“Sweet Gaia; don’t tell me, you’ve never heard of a manicure, either?”

Hercules wondered how it would affect their “show” if he were to start banging his head back against the door.

-------

“Hercules!” Iolaus’ welcoming cry was the first thing that greeted him when Hercules appeared on the roadway Strife had transported him to. A roadway that looked...pretty much like the one Ares had taken him from however long ago that was. But then, most roadways in Greece tended to look the same after a while. Iolaus could fill him in on the details of location and anything else he might’ve missed, later. When he was in the mood to listen. Because he definitely wasn’t in the mood for talking right now.

“It’s been almost two days,” Iolaus said as he came to a stop in front of Hercules, panting a little from his rush down the road. “I was starting to think I should give Cupid a yell, see if he knew anything. So what did--” He stopped speaking abruptly, frowning as he looked at Hercules. Then his eyebrows went up.

“So, Hercules,” he said slowly. “You’re looking...coiffed.”

Hercules grit his teeth and forced himself to take a long, deep breath. “Is there a monster or anything around here that needs killing?”

“A--what?” Iolaus shook his head.

“Anything would work. A couple harpies, maybe a hydra or three. Hey, didn’t we hear about a dragon down in Messenia?”

“Um...yeah,” Iolaus gave him an odd look, “but you said we should let it be. It’s not near any villages, only kills the occasional livestock.”

“Changed my mind. Messenia that way?” he asked, pointing the way Iolaus had come, but it was mostly rhetorical since he’d already started walking that direction.

“No, back that way,” Iolaus jerked a thumb in the opposite direction. “But--hey! Wait a second!” He grabbed hold of Hercules’ arm when Hercules started to turn in the other direction. “What’s going on, Herc? Why do you suddenly want to take on a dragon? I know spending time with Ares is--is...okay, maybe I’d want to kill something, too, but you can’t just go after the biggest thing--”

“Iolaus,” Hercules interrupted him, his tone overly patient, “I barely saw Ares. However, Strife just spent the past few hours doing my hair.” He reached up to yank at a strand of extraordinarily glossy hair that was styled in some sort of unnatural wave, and held that way by substances not known to nature. “And my nails,” he added, when the sunlight glinted off the clear finish on his now perfectly smooth and even nails brightly enough to make them both wince.

Iolaus stared at him for a long moment, eyebrows raised high as his gaze went from Hercules’ hair to his hands, then back again before he finally looked away with a shake of his head. “So,” he said with a long sigh. “Dragon?”

“Dragon.” Hercules nodded. And this time when he headed down the road, Iolaus fell in beside him without a word.

Part 18

“...and so then we went to Corinth anyway, even though you told him not to. He said he just wanted to pass through on his way to Tegea, and I’m sure that’s all he really intended to do, but he’s not too good at resisting temptation, so I stuck close. I almost lost him a few times -- he can really move fast, you know? But I know he didn’t mean to leave me behind, and it’s okay, because I’m a really fast runner -- he didn’t know that. Wow, you should’ve seen how surprised he was,” Joxer said with a laugh.

Hercules nodded, smiling easily in response. Next to him, Iolaus chuckled. Yeah, he was willing to bet Autolycus was surprised. He wondered just how many times Autolycus had tried, and failed to lose Joxer. A glance across the camp showed Autolycus still busy fixing dinner. Hercules wasn’t sure he trusted Autolycus’ cooking, Autolycus being the city boy he was, but Joxer swore he’d given Autolycus cooking lessons and, well -- okay, Hercules really didn’t trust Autolycus’ cooking now. But it was keeping him busy, poking at the fire, flipping the leaf-wrapped fish over when one side looked a little too done, and muttering inaudibly under his breath the entire time, casting Joxer dark glances occasionally. If dinner was a complete disaster, there were always trail rations to fall back on. Iolaus usually had something tucked away somewhere for emergencies.

They’d met up with Autolycus and Joxer purely by accident, at least Hercules thought it was an accident. The heartfelt, “Thank the gods!” from Autolycus upon rounding a bend and seeing them said differently, but then Joxer had showed up at a jog and hadn’t strayed more than a few feet from Autolycus’ side since, and Autolycus hadn’t said anything more. Actually, beyond a few mutters and one-word answers to direct questions, he hadn’t said anything at all. Hercules might’ve been more concerned, except the way Autolycus looked, the set of his shoulders as he walked, it spoke more of a long sulk than anything truly wrong. A quick exchanged glance with Iolaus had confirmed that Iolaus was of the same opinion, so neither of them had bothered Autolycus overly much in the two hours since they’d met. Besides, with Joxer there, they didn’t exactly lack for conversation. He talked enough for him and Autolycus combined, and frequently added his own observations of Autolycus’ actions and motivations, which, while obviously misguided, weren’t without merit if looked at in the right light.

Hercules didn’t doubt that Autolycus really had intended to pay Iphicles a visit and Joxer’s presence had stopped him, and for that, Hercules was more than willing to spend the rest of the evening listening to Joxer ramble. Iolaus, relaxed and reclining at his side, didn’t seem adverse to it, either. Or maybe it was the thought of Autolycus saddled with Joxer, unable to shake him off no matter how hard he tried; Hercules had to admit, the thought improved his mood considerably, certainly more than the dragon had.

“So is it true? About the dragon, I mean,” Joxer asked, as though reading his mind. “Not that you’d lie or anything, but things get exaggerated.” And coming from Joxer, that brought a wider smile to Hercules’ face.

“There was a dragon a few days ago,” he admitted. “A small one.”

A snort from Iolaus and Hercules reached back to whack him lightly on the leg. He got a light kick to the rear in response.

“It was small,” he insisted.

“‘Small’ as in ‘not much bigger than your average castle,’” Iolaus added, and Hercules felt something hit him in the back of the head, catch in his hair -- which had yet to fall out of its new “style,” despite repeated washings. Reaching up, he tugged loose what turned out to be the partial shell of a walnut.

“So, did you kill it?” Joxer asked, armor creaking as he leaned forward eagerly, clasping his arms around his knees.

More like...worked out a compromise,” Hercules hedged as he tossed aside the shell.

He truly had planned on killing the dragon, at least he had so long as anger and frustration had carried him along. But that had worn out less than halfway there and he’d had plenty of time to think. Days. It wasn’t the dragon’s fault he was having a bad few months, making bad decisions, having a really bad hair day. The dragon was mostly minding its own business -- her own business, as it turned out. And she hadn’t appreciated a well-known hero showing up in her territory, so there had been a fight, but only a brief one, lasting only a few minutes, until, between ducking and throwing himself out of the way of fire blasts, he’d been able to convince her he wasn’t there to hurt her. Just to talk. And she, Alaerth, had been very talkative once she stopped trying to kill them.

She wanted some place of her own, not as crowded as Tarsus where most of the dragons lived, so she’d found a relatively unpopulated area and staked it out as her territory. Once they established that she wasn’t interested in eating people, Hercules managed to convince her that things would be much more comfortable for her in the long run if she left the livestock alone and just ate whatever wildlife she found in the forests. She only needed to eat a couple times a year, so there would be enough game to last her a long while. They’d parted on good terms, actually, with an invitation on Alaerth’s part for them to return some time for a visit, especially if they heard word of any lonely, single male dragons wandering about.

As Hercules told the story -- Iolaus adding his own commentary from the sidelines around mouthfuls of walnuts -- Joxer watched him raptly, eyes wide with interest, and Hercules could understand why, as annoying as he could be, Gabrielle didn’t mind having him around; he was a good listener. He responded in all the right places with all the right reactions and looked eager to hear more; Hercules found himself lingering over descriptions the way he might not normally. Iolaus was a good enough audience, but he always had to put in his two dinars, and Hercules didn’t mind that, that’s how Iolaus was. But he did appreciate having a quieter, more receptive audience every now and then. He was no bard, not by a long shot, but everyone liked to tell a good story once in a while, especially if that story happened to be true.

“That’s...wow,” Joxer said with a shake of his head when Hercules had finished. “I thought there would be a lot of fighting and risking death and the dragon dying in the end, but that’s...huh. I think that’s better,” he said with a slow, considering nod. “Xena’s always saying that you should avoid a fight when you can -- which is kind of odd because she doesn’t really do a whole lot of avoiding, you know? But, I guess she has a point and -- hey! I’ll tell Gabrielle this story. She’ll love it! It’s got a fight and a monster who really isn’t a monster and a happy ending; it’s her favorite kind of story. She’ll put it in one of her scrolls and -- um, if that’s okay with you, I mean,” he said hesitantly, pausing as he gave Hercules a slight, questioning frown.

Hercules dismissed his concerns with a shrug. “Fine by me.”

“I--well, good, because I’ll remember it, word for word,” Joxer promised with a firm nod.

“I bet,” Iolaus said in a low voice that was only meant for Hercules’ ears, as was the accompanying amused snort.

Hercules nodded in agreement, letting Joxer think it was a response to his vow. He had to wonder just how much the story would change by the time it made it to Gabrielle’s ears. Not that Joxer would deliberately change it, he didn’t think that, it was more that Joxer would likely forget bits and pieces and end up filling them in with his own imagination. Well, however it turned out, Hercules didn’t doubt it would be...interesting.

“Great!” Joxer grinned widely -- and stuck his hand out to the side at the same time. At nearly the same instant, Autolycus dropped a wrapped fish into his palm. “I heard Xena and Gabby were near Prasiae, so that’s where we’re headed now,” he said, bouncing the fish from hand to hand, blowing on it between words.

“That’s...a long way from Amphipolis,” Hercules observed, remembering the last conversation he’d had with them. “Wasn’t that where they were going?”

Only good reflexes saved him from taking a wrapped fish to the face. He caught a movement on the edge of his vision, and long years of deflecting things flying at him had his hands up defensively before any conscious thought went into it. The fish smacked into his arm, then tumbled down onto his lap.

Iolaus wasn’t fast enough, or, more likely, just wasn’t in a position to see it coming, and his fish landed right on the crotch of his pants. Those fish were hot, and Iolaus was up in an instant, yelping as he shoved it off.

“Dinner time, Blondie,” Autolycus said with a smirk as he walked past them.

“Yeah, thanks,” Iolaus said testily, glaring as he gingerly sat down again.

Hercules shot him a glance, eyebrow raised. Iolaus nodded as he grabbed the fish off the ground where it’d fallen. Reassured that he was fine, Hercules turned his attention back to his own fish, and to Joxer who was speaking again.

“Well, see, there’s a funny story about that,” Joxer said as he unwrapped his fish. “Yeah, they were going to Amphipolis, but the way we heard it from Hermes who heard it from Salmoneus who knows these two twin dancers who swear they were at the warlord’s fortress when it happened....” Joxer talked pretty continuously as he ate, barely pausing to swallow, which resulted in a few garbled words he had to repeat.

A warlord, a cyclops, a fake basilisk, two even more fake priestesses of Ares, a misplaced sacred scroll, and Argo throwing all her shoes. Hercules was fairly certain, given the dubious origins of the story and some of the more...wild turns it took, that it wasn’t very accurate. But, then again, he’d heard even wilder tales, true ones, from both Gabrielle and Xena, so there was no way to know for sure.

However, it was Joxer himself who caught more of Hercules’ attention, or rather, the way he and Autolycus were acting. It wasn’t anything overt, not unless you knew what you were seeing. When Autolycus sat down to eat, it was just a bit closer to Joxer than should’ve been allowed by the strained acquaintance they, to all other appearances, had. Closer than friendship, really, because when Joxer stretched out one leg and his foot brushed Autolycus’, Autolycus didn’t draw away. Joxer passed him a water skin without Autolycus having to ask and already had his hand out for it when Autolycus passed it back. When they were done eating, Autolycus was already reaching for the remains of Joxer’s meal just as Joxer started to hand it over. Autolycus didn’t offer to dispose of Hercules or Iolaus’ remains. When he came back from tossing that in the garbage pit, he sat just as close to Joxer as before, but this time he reclined back on his elbows, stretching his legs out with a long sigh. Joxer, still in the middle of his story, one hand waving about in a description of a fight involving Xena, the warlord, a fake priestess, and large amounts of flying, rotted fruit, draped his other arm casually across the tops of Autolycus’ boots.

At that point, Hercules had to nudge Iolaus, just a brief touch of elbows to catch his attention. Meeting Iolaus’ gaze, Hercules raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Joxer and Autolycus, asking if Iolaus saw the same thing, or if he was reading too much into it. But Iolaus nodded once, then sighed heavily, his own eyebrows going up; he saw it too, he just wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe it, or maybe he just didn’t want to think about it. The translation was a little shaky, there.

“So, after they returned the sacred -- although, I guess technically it isn’t the real one since Gabby wrote all over that one, but it’s not really her fault because the writing was invisible until the Cyclops cast that spell, and how was she supposed to know? Anyway, they put a scroll back and it looks just like the old one -- Gabby could have a pretty good career as a forger, you know,” Joxer added with a wink and a grin. “So after they did that, then they headed down this way, following the fake priestesses who kidnapped the warlord. I think they’re only a few days to the south, so we’ll catch up soon.”

Hercules nodded slowly. “Well, that’s, um, certainly an interesting story. I’m looking forward to hearing how it comes out.” And maybe he’d hear it from Xena or Gabrielle and be able to straighten out some of the...less plausible details.

“You’re done?” Joxer leaned forward, hands out for the remains of their dinner.

“Oh, um, yes, thank you,” Hercules said, handing over the leaves and bones, Iolaus doing the same. “That was,” he glanced at Autolycus, “surprisingly good.”

“Heavy on the surprise,” Iolaus said under his breath. When Joxer sent him a questioning look, he just smiled.

“See, I told you Auto was a good cook,” Joxer said, a self-satisfied look on his face as he stood. “Well, now that I taught him a thing or two.”

Hercules thought the choked off sound beside him was Iolaus biting back a laugh, but he might’ve just been sneezing.

“I’ll be back in a couple minutes,” Joxer said, directing that at Autolycus. “I’m gonna...you know, as long as I’m there.” Autolycus just nodded, waving him away with a languid flick of one hand.

“So, um, Autolycus,” Hercules started as Joxer walked out towards the edges of the camp. But he really wasn’t sure where to go from that lead in. Autolycus seemed sullen one minute and laid back the next, but not at all talkative, no matter which extreme of mood he was occupying. However, a moment later, the instant Joxer vanished from the circle of light provided by the campfire, actually, Hercules found that he didn’t really need to make conversation at all.

One second Autolycus was just reclining there, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world beyond drifting off to sleep, the next he was a blur of motion, launching himself at Hercules. Autolycus was fast, Hercules had always given him credit for that, Iolaus, too, for that matter, but this was faster than anything Hercules had seen from him before and he couldn’t even get his hands up in time to ward off...well, he just didn’t believe Autolycus would attack him, so he probably wouldn’t have tried to defend anyway.

Iolaus yelped, both at the sudden movement and the way Autolycus half-crashed into him to bring himself to a stop, knocking Iolaus backwards. All his attention was on Hercules, though, kneeling in front of him, hands gripping the front of Hercules’ vest hard, face shoved close to his, and Autolycus’ eyes were wide, panicked.

“You have to get me out of here!” he demanded, shaking Hercules, or trying to, rather. Hercules could be pretty unmovable when he wanted to, and now was one of those times.

“Hey! You want to back off a little, here?” Tensing his muscles, not letting Autolycus rattle him, physically, anyway, he planted one hand in the middle of Autolycus’ chest and pushed him back. Autolycus tried to resist, planting his knees firmly in the dirt, and he never let go of Hercules’ vest, but he went sliding backwards, leaving trails in front of him where his knees dug in.

“Just what is your problem?” Iolaus demanded, annoyed as he sat back up, dusting himself off.

But Autolycus ignored him completely, looking even more panicked as he spoke again, breathing faster now, skirting the edge of hyperventilation. “Look, Hercules, I don’t care how you do it -- knock me out in the middle of the night and carry me off, whatever, but if our deep and abiding relationship means anything to you, then get me out of here!”

“Wha--relationship?” Hercules looked at him incredulously.

Autolycus rolled his eyes. “Ah, come on, you know what I mean! I plan the perfect theft, you stop me and lecture me, I pretend to listen and we do it all again a few months later. We’re obviously well on our way to being best friends, now get me the Tartarus out of here!”

“Is Joxer also teaching you how to hit your head and have delusions?” Iolaus asked, shaking his head.

Autolycus made a wordless, desperate sort of sound. “All right, all right, so maybe we’ve had our problems, but come on, Hercules, you and I both know that you wouldn’t hang even your worst enemy out to dry if he needed help. Now, maybe we aren’t the best of pals, but we aren’t mortal enemies, either. So help me!”

Autolycus had a point. Exchanging an exasperated look with Iolaus, Hercules reached up and began to carefully pry Autolycus’ fingers off his vest. He didn’t want to break Autolycus’ fingers, true, but really, he just didn’t want to have to repair the vest.

“Fine,” he said with a sigh, “what’s the problem?”

“Oh, come on, you couldn’t see it?” Autolycus asked, giving him a disbelieving look. “Now, you tell me, would I let him cling to me like some sort of fungus if something wasn’t seriously wrong?”

Hercules couldn’t recall any clinging, some draping and leaning and more than casual touching, sure, but that was pretty mutual, at least from his point of view. He looked at Iolaus, who shrugged and shook his head, indicating that it’d looked the same to him.

“Maybe you’d better explain that a little better,” Hercules said, and caught Autolycus’ hand when it reached out to grab him again.

“I can’t--” Autolycus started to yell, then quickly cut himself off, glancing back the way Joxer had disappeared with a hunted look. Yanking his hand from Hercules’ grasp, he rubbed his wrist pointedly as he lowered his voice to an intense whisper. “I can’t leave.”

“Really.” Iolaus sounded just as skeptical as Hercules felt.

“Yeah, really, Shorty,” Autolycus snapped at him, acknowledging him for the first time with a glare, but it was a pathetic, pleading look he turned on Hercules an instant later. “You don’t get it, I can’t, and I’ve tried!”

Hercules sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “So, Joxer is stopping you how? Is he tying you up at night?” And, in retrospect, maybe that wasn’t the best question to ask. But really, how could he have known?

Autolycus opened his mouth, but nothing came out and he shut it quickly. His face was starting to redden as he looked away, shrugging one shoulder uncomfortably. “Well, yeah.”

“Too much information,” Iolaus said with a groan, face smacking into the palm of his hand.

“Against your will,” Hercules clarified through his teeth, because Iolaus was definitely not wrong.

“Oh, well, when you put it that way, um, no,” Autolycus said, reaching up to shove his hair back away from his face. “Listen, it--it’s more complicated than that, okay? It’s just...he’s not mortal!” he accused, his expression determined as he finally looked back at Hercules. “I don’t know what he is, but he’s definitely not mortal!”

Iolaus snorted and this time Hercules did roll his eyes. “Trust me, Autolycus, Joxer is as mortal as they come. I think I’d know if he wasn’t, don’t you?”

That seemed to take some of the wind out of Autolycus’ sails, and for a few moments he looked taken aback, lost and a bit confused. “He can’t be,” he muttered, eyes taking on a far-away look as he reached up to smooth his mustache. “No way is any mortal that flexible.”

“Autolycus!” Hercules snapped, really not caring to hear any more, nor did Iolaus, judging from the dramatic gagging sound next to him.

“What! Oh, right.” Autolycus shook his head, seeming to pull himself back from whatever memory had just occupied him. “Well, if he’s mortal, then he’s using magic! He’s a...a witch, or a sorcerer, or something. He’s cast some sort of spell on me! So, find me a cure!” Autolycus ordered, jabbing a finger at Hercules’ chest.

“Autolycus,” Hercules said with a long-suffering sigh, “I really doubt this has anything to do with magic.”

“Magic would be if you couldn’t talk anymore,” Iolaus said, then added, “I think I’d pay for that kind of magic.”

“Now wait just a minute, Curly--”

“I think Kirke owes me a favor or two,” Hercules mused.

“Whoa, there! That’s not--”

“I thought you didn’t want to go near her again.” Iolaus frowned at him.

“You know, as fascinating as this is--”

“Yeah,” Hercules shrugged uncomfortably, “she’s a little...hands-on.”

“Come on, here--”

“Hands-on?” Iolaus snorted. “Herc, you said she tried to rip off your pants last time.”

“Will you two just--”

“True,” Hercules nodded, “But, you know, for the right cause....”

“Hey!” Autolycus grabbed them both, one hand fisted in each of their vests, shaking them hard. Shaking Iolaus, anyway, Hercules just raised an eyebrow.

“So, this is your idea of help, huh?” Autolycus glared at them both.

Hercules sighed again. “Look, Autolycus--”

“No, you look. I’m desperate, here, Hercules! I tried to leave, okay? I’ve tried every day since he started...doing...what he’s doing.” Thankfully, Autolycus didn’t elaborate on that, but he did keep going. “I sneaked out of the camp the first night. I ran off before we even made camp the next night. I stole--er--found an abandoned horse and rode away the day after that! I even had Hermes drop me off miles away a couple days ago. But every single time I end up turning right around and heading back! There’s some sort of spell--there has to be, because there he is, every time, waiting for me like he knows I can’t get away. Smiling at me and acting like I was never gone at all and--and--there’s something wrong here, Hercules! Can’t you see that?”

Autolycus looked so honestly bewildered that Hercules almost had sympathy for him. Almost. The urge to laugh was, frankly, a whole lot stronger. Iolaus wasn’t even fighting it, chuckling loudly, completely ignoring the glare Autolycus gave him.

“You know, Autolycus,” he said, not bothering to repress a smile as he once again began prying Autolycus’ hand off of his vest, “as much as I’d like to help you, I really think that -- Joxer.”

Joxer was walking into the camp, only just now reaching the edge of the firelight. When he saw the dramatic scene Autolycus was presenting, he stopped and with an amused tilt to his lips, simply crossed his arms and watched.

“You think Joxer what?” Autolycus prompted, staring intently at Hercules -- and then went very, very still, paling, eyes widening when he realized that Hercules was looking at something behind him.

In one of those surprisingly fast moves, Autolycus let go of both of them and was on his feet, facing Joxer in less the time it took Hercules to draw a breath.

“Joxer!” Autolycus said, in a tone that was far too bright. “You’re...you’re back, and so soon.”

Joxer just nodded, still wearing that half-smile as he pulled off his helmet and let it drop on his bedroll.

“I, uh...I’m just gonna....” Autolycus made vague motions back the way Joxer had come, beginning to cautiously inch his way forward as he spoke. And while he could’ve made a wide circle around Joxer, avoided coming anywhere close to him, Hercules was amused to note that Autolycus passed very close by him, well within touching distance. He wondered if Autolycus even knew he was doing it.

“I’ll, um, be back...soon,” Autolycus said as he squeezed by Joxer, seemingly oblivious to the sheer amount of open space around them.

Joxer’s smile morphed into something bright and warm. “I know,” he said simply.

Autolycus made...some sort of sound that bore more resemblance to a mouse squeaking than anything human, and bolted out into the trees.

Shaking his head in what looked to be fond amusement, Joxer unhooked his belt and armor and let it all drop to rest next to his helmet.

Iolaus, his chuckles having died off as Autolycus fled, was shaking his head, too, although, Hercules noted that his expression as he looked at Joxer bore a close resemblance to admiration.

“So, um, what was it this time?” Joxer asked as he crossed the camp. “The not mortal thing or witchcraft?” He dropped down next to Hercules with a curious look, angling himself just enough to the side that he could see Iolaus, too.

“Both,” Hercules said, returning the look. “How did you know?” Because he would’ve noticed Joxer trying to sneak up on them to eavesdrop, that much he was certain of.

“He said the same stuff to Hermes a few days ago,” Joxer said with a roll of his eyes. “I had to convince Hermes that I wasn’t cursing his son or something like that.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Nah.” Joxer shrugged. “I figure he’ll get over it soon. He just needs some more time to panic. Talking to you guys probably helped a lot; thanks.” He smiled at them both.

Hercules traded a confused look with Iolaus. “The only thing we did was refuse to knock him out and carry him out of here,” he said, looking back at Joxer.

“Huh.” Joxer raised an eyebrow. “That one’s new. I wonder what he’ll ask Xena to do?” He seemed to think that over a moment before dismissing it with another shrug. “Maybe he’ll be over it by then.”

“Are you sure?” Iolaus asked with an amused grin. “It looks to me like the only thing he’ll be over is the next hill that way.” He nodded towards where Autolycus had disappeared. “He was really moving.”

“Yeah,” Joxer said, shrugging again. “He still does that at least once a day, but he’s not going as far anymore. He’ll be back soon.”

“You sound...pretty sure, there,” Hercules observed.

“It’s just--it’s something Jett taught me,” Joxer said, his gaze moving to the place out beyond the firelight where Autolycus had vanished.

Remembering the last time Joxer had talked about Jett, Hercules was suddenly sure he didn’t want to hear any specific details. But Iolaus didn’t know about that and made a questioning sound before Hercules could warn him off with a shake of his head or a gesture of some kind.

“Oh, well, Jett likes horses; he has a really good eye for them and he used to try and teach me.” Joxer’s smile was soft, fond. “Not much stuck, but I tried, and one thing I remember really clearly was what he said about taming the wild ones. You have to have a lot of patience and go pretty slowly, or they’ll bolt. And sometimes you just have to let them have their head, panic a little. If they know you’ll let them run, they’ll start trusting you and eventually they’ll want to stay.”

“Huh,” was Iolaus’ only comment, but in an interested tone.

Hercules’ eyebrows went up. That was actually fairly...deep. Considering this was Joxer speaking. And not bad, really, certainly not the overshare that Hercules had been dread--

“There was some other stuff, too, about giving them special treats and petting them and how to tie them up so they could get loose but wouldn’t want to and I had to do a lot of adapting with that, but it’s pretty straight forward with the whole riding--”

“Whoa! Okay, I think we get the picture!” Hercules said quickly, holding up his hands in a “please stop now” motion. He was just thankful that he didn’t have an overactive imagination, otherwise he suspected his mind might’ve threatened to shut down at that point.

“Sure,” Joxer said with an easy shrug and a friendly smile. “I think I’m gonna get some sleep now,” he said as he stood. “See you guys in the morning.”

Hercules just waved, his smile on the tight side as Joxer walked back over to his bedding. He turned to share a rueful glance with Iolaus -- and abruptly remembered that Iolaus had more than enough imagination for the both of them.

Iolaus was sitting there, rocking back and forth, head in his hands, a muffled, “Ow, ow, ow, makeitstop, ow, ow,” just barely audible.

Wincing, Hercules reached over and patted his shoulder sympathetically.

It was a good hour or more before Iolaus finally managed to stop complaining -- “Can’t you ask Hades to give us some Lethe water, Herc, because I can’t get that image out of my mind!” -- and drift off into an uneasy sleep. Hercules was stretched out near him, eyes closed but unable to sleep, really, as he contemplated whether he really wanted to follow Joxer and Autolycus tomorrow. It would be nice to see Xena and Gabrielle, but they’d probably have to spend some time lecturing him on his “choices” for the benefit of Zeus, just in case he was listening in, and right now Hercules would rather avoid that. As...annoying as both Autolycus and Joxer could be, especially together, at least they weren’t expected to give a performance like that.

As though thinking Autolycus’ name conjured him up, at nearly the same moment, Autolycus came trudging back into the camp. His approach was silent enough, but he made no effort to maintain that silence once he was within the camp, feet dragging on the ground, sticks snapping when he, likely deliberately, stepped on them. The first snap yanked Iolaus out of his sleep with a startled grunt. His hand was on his sword and he was half way towards sitting up before Hercules placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Oh,” Iolaus muttered when his gaze fell on Autolycus. “Took him long enough.” And he dropped back down.

Hercules just nodded, although, he’d actually thought it would be longer. Maybe Joxer did know what he was doing.

“Well, isn’t that just peachy,” Autolycus said, hands on his hips as he stood over the bare spot where he’d laid out his bedding.

There came a pointed clearing of the throat from where Joxer was bedded down -- where Autolycus’ bedding now lay right up against his.

Autolycus groaned, but instead of protesting or making any further comments, he walked over there, feet still dragging, and dropped down onto the bedding. He started to lie down, pull part of it over him, but another, sharper clearing of Joxer’s throat stopped him.

Sighing, with a shake of his head and an inaudible mutter, Autolycus pulled off his belt and vest. After a few more moments and Autolycus removing his shirt before starting in on the laces of his boots, Hercules realized he was going to strip completely. He decided it was past time to look elsewhere. Like up at the sky. The stars were nice and bright tonight.

There was a muffled rustling from over...there, something that sounded like whispering, a quickly cut off hiss.

Yep. Ursa was looking very...bear-like up there.

More rustling, a soft gasp.

“Hey, Herc?” Iolaus’ voice was a low whisper. “What do you think about sleeping somewhere else tonight? Like, say, maybe over the next hill?”

A louder gasp this time.

“Or maybe the next mountain range?”

A badly muffled cry and those rustlings were getting more...rhythmic.

“Make it the next two ranges,” Hercules muttered, pushing himself up.

“Yeah.” Iolaus was already getting to his feet, silently buckling on his belt and obviously not looking anywhere near the other side of the camp.

Well, that solved that problem; he’d see Xena and Gabrielle some other time. No way was Hercules traveling with these two, not until they were well past this...stage. Maybe Autolycus couldn’t run, but Hercules had absolutely no problem putting as much distance as he could between them. Now, if he could only manage to get certain sounds out of his head....

“Well, it could’ve been worse,” Iolaus said, voice still low as he walked swiftly by Hercules’ side.

“Oh really?” Hercules raised his eyebrows, because he didn’t see it.

“Yeah,” Iolaus grinned, “at least they didn’t try to give you a makeover.”

He wasn’t quite fast enough to duck out of the way of the light smack Hercules aimed at the back of his head, but it didn’t diminish his grin any, either.

Hercules just rolled his eyes and kept walking.

Part 19

He was going to have to stitch it, Hercules decided with a sigh, turning his vest over in his hands. Between Strife pulling loose the threads and Autolycus yanking on it a couple nights ago, more than one hem was coming loose. If he didn’t take care of it soon, the leather would start fraying and ripping and he’d end up having to make a whole new one. He might anyway, if they couldn’t find anyone between here and Corinth to trade them a good leather needle, the last one having broken a few months back in an unfortunate incident involving a satyr, two barrels of wine, and a herd of stampeding goats; really, he tried not to think too much about that. They’d had no luck at the last two farms they’d gone past, but he held out hope that this time Iolaus would come back with something useful.

They’d both decided that it was better if Hercules remained up the road a ways, maybe that way, if it was just Iolaus handling the purchased goods, things wouldn’t keep...happening to them.

The sound of familiar footfalls approaching from down the road had Hercules pulling on his vest and sliding off the fallen tree trunk he’d been using as a seat on the side of the road. By the time he finished tucking the ends of his vest into his pants, Iolaus was coming into view around a nearby curve in the road.

“Any luck?” Hercules asked hopefully.

“Yep, and all good this time.” Iolaus grinned, holding up a small sack.

“About time.” Hercules smiled back.

“I got two good needles,” Iolaus said as he pulled loose the ties holding the sack closed.

“Two?” That raised Hercules’ eyebrows. “How did you manage that? Those aren’t cheap and we only had a quarter of a deer haunch to barter. I wasn’t sure a farmer this far out would trade you even a single needle for just that.”

“Yeah, well,” Iolaus’ grin turned into something a little more...wry, “the farmer wasn’t home. I bartered with his wife.”

“Ah.” Hercules nodded in abrupt, amused understanding. “So, what exactly did you...barter?”

“Well, not that!” Iolaus protested, although his grin widened. “No, really, Herc, it was on the up-and-up. She’s married, you know.”

“Which has stopped you when, exactly?” Hercules crossed his arms, giving him a knowing look.

“Oh, come on! That only happened a couple times, and I didn’t know they were married! I really don’t like getting chased naked down the street by a big guy with an even bigger sword, you know.”

“None of the townspeople ever seemed to mind much,” Hercules said, and grinned at Iolaus’ answering eye roll.

“Seriously, Herc, the winch on their well was stuck and I got it loose. I helped her finish up feeding the livestock, too, and herded the sheep back into their pen. She seemed to think throwing in another needle was a fair trade.”

“All right,” Hercules nodded, “if she thought so, then it must’ve been. At least now we don’t have to worry about breaking our one needle.” He hesitated a moment, taking a quick glance around and lowering his voice before speaking again. “So, did you get anything...else?”

Iolaus nodded, smiling triumphantly as he reached into the open sack. “She’d just finished making a fresh batch of lye soap this morning.”

“Yes!” Hercules grinned widely. “And it’s still okay?”

“I checked three times on the way here, and it was still the same, good old lye soap,” Iolaus said as he pulled out a roughly shaped bar of gritty looking, greyish soap -- that abruptly shimmered, the shape going...blurry for a few moments.

Hercules and Iolaus both blinked, Hercules bringing one hand up to rub at his eyes, hoping desperately that it was nothing but a trick of the hazy, mid-afternoon light. But when he lowered his hand, still blinking, the soap had...stabilized. Now Iolaus held a perfectly oval shaped, smooth looking bar of black soap. The distinct, heavy scent of tropical flowers wafted up between them.

Hercules sighed in frustrated disappointment, a long, drawn out breath that was nearly as loud as Iolaus’ curse.

“This is useless,” Iolaus said in disgust as he shoved the soap back into the sack. “We’ve bought or bartered for more soap in the past week than we could use in a year--two years! And it all turns into...this!” He held up the bag with a grimace.

“I know,” Hercules said tightly. “It’s connected to me, obviously. Strife really has a thing about lye soap, don’t ask me why.”

“Perfectly good stuff,” Iolaus said resentfully.

“Exactly. But try telling him that.” Hercules shook his head.

“All right,” he said with another sigh, “this obviously isn’t going to get any better, so...maybe you should travel on ahead. You can move faster than me, anyway; get to Corinth, let Iphicles know what’s going on -- if he hasn’t heard already, and get a bath with some real soap while you’re there.”

“Quit being ridiculous,” Iolaus said, giving him an exasperated look as he tied the sack closed with hard, rough jerks of the leather ties. “I’m not going to run off because of something like this, okay? Now, I may not like smelling like a fruit or flower or whatever the rest of this turns into, but at least it gets us clean, and you’re right, we’ll find some real stuff in Corinth.”

“Assuming that every bar of soap in the castle doesn’t turn into a perfumed disaster the instant I set foot in the place,” Hercules said gloomily.

Iolaus winced. “Yeah, well, if it does, I don’t wanna be around when you explain it to Iphicles. Wait--no, on second thought, I do. I want to see his face when you tell him why everything smells like the inside of a whorehouse.”

Hercules couldn’t help a slight smile at that, one that Iolaus matched. Maybe it was pretty vile, but Iphicles’ reaction would bring some humor to the situation.

“Well, at least this batch doesn’t smell like a bunch of pomegranates, like the last one,” Iolaus said with a heavy sigh, swinging the sack over one shoulder as he began walking down the road, Hercules falling in beside him. “I’m getting sick of smelling like a fruit basket.”

“Flowers are more ‘you’ anyway,” Hercules said, giving him a light slap on his free shoulder, grinning when Iolaus gave him a disgusted look.

“Wanna bet on whether or not your hair washes back to normal with this batch?” Iolaus asked, smiling in a way that was more reminiscent of a smirk.

Hercules gave him an unamused look, and now that really was a smirk.

Using a comb got some of the...wave...style...whatever it was out of his hair, but it seemed to come back after only a few minutes, and by now he was pretty certain that the transformed soap was maintaining the spell. But the only option he had was to not bathe, or just use water, but that was hardly any better and considering some of the messes they got into, literally, in some cases, those weren’t real options at all.

“I guess we’ll just have to...make do,” he said with a resigned shrug, “at least until we--”

He stopped speaking, stopped walking, guard up instantly at sudden flash of light next to him.

“What is it?” Iolaus’ tone was tense, and Hercules realized that Iolaus wasn’t seeing anything. So this was a private visit from...oh. He’d wondered when they’d get to this.

As the light dissipated, drawing in around the familiar form and eventually vanishing, Hercules forced himself to relax, to appear unconcerned, even to begin walking again.

“Zeus,” he said as calmly as possible, nodding once in greeting.

“Oh.” Iolaus’ tone was knowing. “I’ll just....” He made a vague motion back the way they’d come. He’d follow, Hercules knew, but at a distance. Close enough to hear but not to appear to be overhearing.

“Hercules,” Zeus said, matching his pace, elaborately embroidered white and purple robes flowing easily about his feet, brushing the ground without stirring up dust or gathering any dirt into the fabric.

“Where are you headed?” Zeus asked after a minute or two when Hercules said nothing else.

“Corinth,” Hercules answered simply, but after a moment’s thought, added, “Ares wants me to help Iphicles set up a defense against the Persians.” He suspected Zeus knew that, but he wanted some control over the direction of this conversation and that was a good starting point.

“So, you’ve decided to take part in his plans?” The look Zeus gave him wasn’t quite...curious, more like a mask of it, hiding some other emotion behind there.

“It wasn’t anything I decided,” Hercules said with a shrug. “He has a good strategy and when he laid it out, it made sense to do my part.”

“Athena came up with most of that ‘strategy,’” Zeus said, linking his hands behind his back. “I take it Ares forgot to mention that.”

Hercules nodded. “Can’t say that I’m surprised; strategy isn’t usually one of his strengths. But he’ll carry out the plan, and you know Ares, he’s...dedicated to his job. Which is a good thing, right now.”

“Yes, right now,” Zeus emphasized, “but what of later? Ares serves a purpose, I admit that,” he said grudgingly, “but when that purpose isn’t required, he becomes...reckless. You well know that.”

“Reckless, that’s a...word for it, all right,” Hercules agreed.

“And yet...you don’t seem overly concerned about that,” Zeus observed, a very slight frown drawing down his thick, white eyebrows. “I know you’re a patient man, Hercules, but I do wonder how long that patience will hold out when you’re living on Olympus, around Ares day in and day out.”

And if Strife hadn’t filled him in on his suspicions, Hercules would’ve found that comment rather thoughtful, taken it for Zeus expressing concern about him instead of the manipulation it was.

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh, forcing out a thoughtful tone. “I was worried about that too, but I think we have it figured out.”

“We?”

“We all talked, when I was on Olympus last week, Ares, Strife and I -- oh, and Hera. That was,” he chuckled, shaking his head slightly, “definitely an experience. I didn’t think we’d ever have a face-to-face meeting like that without a lot of violence.”

“I heard about that,” Zeus said, one hand coming around to tug lightly at his beard. “I have to say, I was...surprised at how peacefully it went.”

“Heard” about it. Right. Hercules suppressed a snort. “I think it’s a good sign for the future,” he said, taking a deep breath instead, giving Zeus a quick, brief smile. “We can’t have open war on Olympus, we all agree on that, so we need to settle our differences, or, at least learn to be civil. Polite.” Hera’s words, and it got the reaction he was looking for.

“Oh?” Zeus’ frown was deeper now, and seemed far more genuine.

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, because it’s definitely not,” he chuckled at the understatement, “but the alternative isn’t anything any of us want, so...we’ll find a way to make this work.”

“I see.” Zeus’ tone was flat.

They walked in silence for a few moments, Hercules watching the road ahead, appearing as unconcerned as possible. He considered whistling for a second before dismissing it as overdoing things. He needed this believable, not theatrical.

“I hear you’re having...difficulties with your betrothed,” Zeus said, breaking the silence. He motioned to Hercules hair before clasping his hands again. Which meant that he’d already been here before showing himself, perhaps the way he’d “been there” on Olympus during the meeting with Hera.

“What, this?” Hercules reached up to lightly touch the dreaded waves his hair was contorted into before dismissing it with a shrug. “I can’t say I like it, but next time I see Strife, I think we’re going to do some compromising. We agreed we’d have to do that to maintain the relationship.” And he didn’t even choke over the word; he was a better actor than he’d thought.

“Compromise.” The word was clipped and Zeus wasn’t looking at Hercules anymore, his focus seemingly on the empty road ahead of them, lips pressed together tightly.

“Hey, it’s one of the foundations of any good marriage.”

“As is trust, or so Hera tells me. Hmph.” He said it dismissively with a single shake of his head. “Do you trust them, Hercules?”

It seemed an innocent question with the light way Zeus asked it, but it was probably the most important answer Hercules would give in this “discussion.” He had to be very, very careful, here. Too much and Zeus wouldn’t believe it, would start to see the act. So Hercules didn’t answer right away, pretended to think it over, give it deep consideration. But he’d had an answer for this, or a question like it, planned out for days.

“I trust them to do what’s best for them,” he finally said in utter seriousness, looking at Zeus. “They know how bad things could get if we don’t learn to compromise and tolerate each other, and they don’t want that. Neither do I. We all trust each other not to tip that balance, because there’s nothing in it for any of us in that direction.”

And the beauty of that answer was that it was the absolute truth. They could work together and do it well, for the moment, because the other way would end up in disaster, for all of them.

Zeus came to an abrupt halt, staring hard at him. Hercules stopped a pace ahead, half turning to raise a curious eyebrow.

“You think this would work indefinitely?” Zeus asked, hands falling to his side, hidden under his sleeves.

“I think it has to. And we won’t be living on top of each other, we know better than that. Ares has his job, Strife has his own...thing, and Hera has her life; unless they’re actively looking to cause me trouble -- and that won’t be happening anymore -- we don’t have much cause to see each other.

“I know you want me to become a god,” he said quickly, holding up a hand before Zeus could protest, “to spend time on Olympus and live with Strife. But my place is down here, helping people. Now, maybe I can do that as a god, and I’m willing to try, but I can’t do it if I’m always on Olympus. None of the other gods spend all of their time up there, and I won’t, either. I’ll keep my home with Strife and we’ll see each other. I doubt we could stay away.” He had to smile at that, ruefully, because he suspected that was truer than he might want. “But we’ve all agreed, this is how it’ll work out the best. And we’re good with that.”

Zeus said nothing, just continued to look at him, his gaze intent, assessing. Then he vanished. A quick, bright, white flash of light expanding around him and swallowing him, gone in seconds.

“And goodbye to you, too,” Hercules said with a shake of his head.

“Is he...?” Iolaus was approaching tentatively, giving him a curious look.

“Gone? Yeah.” Hercules nodded, although, he wasn’t really so sure about that. They still needed to be cautious. “I think so,” he added, and for the briefest moment, Iolaus frowned, obviously wondering at the unnecessary addition. But then the frown disappeared and he nodded once, meeting Hercules’ eyes, understanding in his gaze.

When Hercules started walking again, Iolaus fell into step beside him, not saying anything. But silence between them wasn’t normal and might be suspicious if there was still anyone “listening.” Hercules tried to think up something natural sounding to say, but trying to make “natural” conversation was somehow more difficult when he had to do it, rather than it just happening on its own. He was still mentally flailing with it when Iolaus spoke.

“So...do you really think that will work?” he asked, glancing up at Hercules with a frown. “With Ares and the rest of them,” he clarified. “Because I really can’t see it. Not with all the history between you. All of you.”

Hercules barely caught himself before he sighed in relief. Trust Iolaus to come up with the perfect thing to say. It’s something they would have talked about anyway, and it still played right to their “audience.”

“I know how it sounds,” Hercules said, keeping his tone serious instead of grateful. “But what other choice do we have? I’m not saying it’ll work out perfectly all the time. Ares is, well, Ares. I’d be surprised if he didn’t try something every once in a while -- I think it’s his idea of fun.”

Iolaus snorted at that.

“But he knows it can only go so far, and I doubt he’ll cross that line. It’s not in his best interest.” They traded a knowing smile at that truth.

“And Hera?”

“We’ll be avoiding each other as much as possible. Maybe we’ll hate each other for the rest of eternity, but we can be civil about it. We’ve proved that.”

Iolaus gave him a skeptical look, then looked away with a shake of his head. “If you say so, Herc. Can’t say I’d want to be in your boots.”

“Can’t say I want to be here, either.” Hercules sighed, then shrugged. “But you have to make the best of a bad situation and I’m all about avoiding conflict, however I can.”

“Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you, Hercules. I couldn’t.” Iolaus shuddered dramatically.

Smiling at that, Hercules reached over to clap him on the shoulder, but the sack was in the way. He settled for giving Iolaus’ arm a friendly squeeze.

A cool breeze suddenly blew up from behind them, rushing over them, dropping the temperature dramatically in its wake.

This time Iolaus’ shiver was genuine as he looked back over his shoulder. “Huh,” he said with a frown.

“What?” Following his gaze, Hercules saw clouds building on the distant horizon. Rising up high, they were white and billowy at the tops, fluffy looking, but the lower they came, the darker they grew, looking black, roiling at the base. Lightening spiderwebbed across the horizon. It was moving fast, speeding across the sky, headed right towards them.

“It might just be me,” Iolaus said, “but it looks like Zeus isn’t happy about something.”

“It’s not just you,” Hercules replied. “Think we can make it back to that farm in time?”

“Not even if we ran.” Iolaus shook his head.

“Well, we can at least dry off when we get there. Maybe trade some work for a place to sleep until this blows over.”

They turned and headed back down the road, picking up their pace until they were at a fast walk. No point in running if they couldn’t outrun it, but no point in lingering, either.

The sun was blotted out quickly, a deep gloom falling over them. It wasn’t quite black as night, more like twilight but they still had to slow down in case there was anything in their path hidden by the faded light. Rain followed quickly, fat, cold drops, slow at first, picking up fast until it was like standing beneath a waterfall. At that point, Hercules grabbed hold of Iolaus’ arm and tugged him towards the trees at the side of the road. Maybe being under trees wasn’t the safest thing in a storm like this, lightening flashing constantly above them, but this was undoubtedly Zeus expressing his “opinion” of their conversation and Hercules doubted they had much to worry about. He wasn’t ruling out a lightening strike to a nearby tree, but not anything aimed directly at them.

The canopy of tree branches did the trick and while they were in no way completely out of the rain, at least they weren’t risking drowning in the drizzle that fell through the leaves.

“Well, that was...unexpected,” Hercules said as he leaned against a tree trunk, looking out at what appeared to be a solid sheet of rain.

“Oh, this is just...great,” Iolaus said bitterly, tossing his sack to the ground where it landed with a wet slap, soaping water leaking out of it at the seams. “That soap is all over me now, Herc! My clothes are gonna smell like this for weeks!”

Hercules made a noise of sympathy even as he stepped to the side so the soapy water wouldn’t touch his boots.

“You know,” Iolaus stuck his hands on his hips, “I almost wish Strife would show up right now. I’d love to give him my...opinion on this crap.” He curled one hand into a fist as he spoke, knuckles cracking.

Hercules nodded, completely understanding the sentiment. He half expected Iolaus words to conjure up Strife, but nothing happened. Maybe Strife was busy, or, more likely, making himself scarce until Zeus’ “displeasure” blew over. But...it did conjure up an idea, something Hercules remembered from one of his conversations with Strife.

“Iolaus, next time you see Strife, you should do that.”

“What? Hit him?” Iolaus gave him a disbelieving look. “He’s a god, Herc, and I’m not you. I can’t take the kind of punishment he deals out.”

“But you could at the Academy?” Hercules raised an eyebrow.

“I--” Iolaus stopped, frowning. “Well, I was a lot younger, we’re talking twenty years ago.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I bounced back better even ten years ago.”

“You still bounce pretty well, Iolaus,” Hercules said with a slight grin, one that Iolaus returned.

“Maybe, but against a god?” He shook his head again.

“When did Strife ever use his powers on you? When you went one-on-one, I mean. Because I don’t remember it ever happening,” Hercules pointed out.

“Well, he must’ve, right?” Iolaus frowned. “I know there was that time with Mia -- no, wait, that didn’t happen until you, me and her were back to back and Ares and Discord were with him. But...there was that thing with the Amazons and--no, he was aiming at you. What about when Lilith and you were--oh, right, he was trying to hit Jason.” His frown deepening, Iolaus was silent for a few moments, the sound of the rain loud as it pounded down against ground and trees alike. The trees were starting to bow under the force of it.

“He never did,” Iolaus finally said, looking at Hercules, confusion easy to read in his expression. “And I don’t remember ever having any serious wounds. I bled and I was bruised,” he chuckled, “Tartarus, I was nothing but one big bruise a few times, but it was never any worse than that. He was holding himself to human strength, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Hercules said.

“Okay, but why? I don’t get it.”

“You’ll have to ask him. All I got out of him is that he misses beating you up.” That wasn’t entirely accurate, but if Strife wanted to, he could explain it all himself, Hercules just wanted to prod Iolaus, and it worked.

“Hey! He did not beat me up! I took him down every single time!” Iolaus protested, there was no anger to it, though. A hint of a smile was actually beginning to turn up the corners of his mouth.

“And you think you can still do it?”

“I know I can.” Now Iolaus did smile. “Okay, Herc, what’s this about? You’re pushing.” But his smile didn’t disappear.

“I know.” Hercules shrugged one shoulder. “I just think it’d be good for you. For both of you,” he added under his breath.

“Huh.” Iolaus gave him a thoughtful look. “Well...I’ll think about it. Maybe picking a fight with a god seemed like a good idea when I was young, but that’s something I want to spend some time thinking about now.”

Hercules nodded in understanding, looking out at the driving rain. “Time’s one thing we’ve got.”

“Think it’ll be a while?” Iolaus followed his gaze.

“I’m not willing to bet against it.” Hercules sighed. “You’d think, at his age, Zeus would be over throwing temper tantrums.”

Iolaus nodded, crossing his arms. “I guess we should try to get comfortable.” He sounded dubious at the prospect.

Hercules didn’t think much of their chances at that either, even less so when Iolaus sack abruptly split open and soapy water splashed out everywhere, cascading over their boots and soaking the ground around them, filling the air with the cloyingly heavy scent of flowers.

“Wonder what would happen if we moved under another tree,” Iolaus said, staring down at the soapy mess, nose wrinkling at the stench.

Lightening split the sky, shooting down and spearing the nearest tree, splitting it open with a crack that was nearly as loud as the crash of thunder that followed hard on the lightning’s trail.

“Right,” Iolaus said a few moments later as he took his hands off his ears. “I’m good with flowers.”

His own ears ringing, Hercules just nodded.

Part 20

A light, steady drizzle was better than hard, pounding rain. You could travel in this, even sleep under it, maybe not comfortably, but it could be done. Hercules and Iolaus had done it countless times in the past. But any rain, regardless of how gentle it was, got old after a few days. The torrential downpour of days before hadn’t lasted out the night, but ever since, the rain hadn’t let up. No more lightening or crashing thunder, but a constant grey sky and rain, turning the land about them into a muddy mess and making traveling difficult. If it wasn’t swollen, impassible rivers, it was roads turned to mud that added hours to their travel time as they slogged their way forward. They’d barely covered a league in the last two days alone.

In light of the non-progress they were making, when they came upon the abandoned but still structurally sound farmhouse, they’d both agreed that maybe it was time to stop for a while. At the very least, there was enough of a roof left to give them a semi-dry place to sleep and maybe even enough dry space for a fire. The prospect of a hot, cooked meal was the deciding factor.

There was no fireplace left, and one wall was partially gone along with the roof in that area, but a quick look at the rest showed that it would hold up fine. The part of the dirt floor still covered by the thatched roof wasn’t exactly dry, but it wasn’t pure mud, either, which was a massive improvement over their sleeping accommodations the past few evenings. Iolaus was able to find enough wood, broken off from the house itself, for kindling, even if it was damp. He said he could get a fire going, and Hercules didn’t doubt him.

“I’m just gonna go clean up a bit,” Hercules said, motioning vaguely to his mud-covered arms. So long as they weren’t sleeping in mud tonight, he wanted to get some of it off.

“Yeah, I’ll do the same once I have dinner on,” Iolaus said from where he was crouched down by the carefully stacked wood. He didn’t look at Hercules when he spoke, mud-tangled hair sticking to his face and neck as he focused all his concentration on trying to get a spark from the two sticks he was rubbing together.

Hercules suspected Iolaus was going to be there for a good long while, but he just nodded and headed back outside.

He quickly stripped off his vest and boots in the shelter of the extended side roof. A donkey or goat had probably lived under here at some point; there was a broken post where it’d likely been tethered, but now it made for a good place to drape his vest once he’d rinsed out the mud as best he could. His boots he left leaning against the wall of the house, along with his belt. None of it would dry; even under the shelter of the roof, it was just too damp, but they stood less chance of rotting if they weren’t pressed up against the heat of his body. He’d need to do his pants, too, but for the moment, he just stood out in the rain and let it wash off the last of the mud from his skin. Not from his hair, though. Whatever else he may have hated about his new “style,” it seemed to repel mud.

At least it was relatively warm out, the temperature having risen since the initial breaking of the storm, as though Zeus’ anger had spent itself quickly and now, with the continued light rain, he was just being peevish. Hercules doubted Zeus wanted to stop them from reaching Corinth -- none of them would benefit from the Persians winning a toehold in Greece, after all, but Zeus likely had no problem with making their journey trying, was probably receiving some satisfaction out of it. Hercules thought that there was at least a chance that a night or two spent here would wait out the last of Zeus’ annoyance and the rain would let up, letting them continue on and try to make up some lost time.

Sighing, he let his head fall back, closed his eyes against the falling rain and just let it wash over him. Now that they weren’t dragging themselves though mud, complaints and curses the nearly the only thing keeping them going, he could appreciate the better parts of the weather. The warmth of the air around him, the feel of water sliding down his chest and back, taking the mud with it; it was...pleasant. For a few moments, anyway. But with only the occasional chirps of birds from nearby trees to break up the sound of falling rain, Hercules felt abruptly alone in the world. Of course Iolaus was just a shout away, he knew that, but the illusion was still there, uncomfortable in its suddenness.

Shaking his head, shaking off the feeling, he opened his eyes, brought his head back forward with another sigh. One that was cut off when he realized, contrary to what he’d felt a second before, he was very much not alone.

Strife had copied him, in dress, at least. Pale skin bared to the elements from head to waist, narrow, pale feet partially obscured by wet grass and mud; his pants weren’t the skin tight black leather he normally donned, but something that, while still black, was far looser, giving him room to move. Which, judging from the short sword he carried, balanced on the flat of the blade over one shoulder, he intended to need that room.

He stood to Hercules’ right, just outside of arm’s reach, but not looking at him. Strife’s gaze was fixed on some undefined point out past the sopping, half-overgrown field. He didn’t appear to be looking at anything in particular, at least, there was nothing intent in his gaze. He wasn’t doing anything godly to stop the rain from touching him; he was as drenched as Hercules, his hair flattened and dripping, rain slicking chest and arms that weren’t nearly as skinny as they appeared in his usual outfit. He was built nothing like Hercules, true, but that was still solid muscle, there, just a far more wiry version of it.

As if Strife were giving him time to look, it wasn’t until Hercules’ gaze slid back up to his face that Strife moved. Still not looking at Hercules, he began walking forward, out into the field at a leisurely pace. One hand curled loosely around the sword hilt, the other at his hips, one thumb hooked into the waistband of his pants. There was no belt holding up those pants, just the basic leather lacing in the front, but loose as they were, they hung low on hips that swayed as Strife walked.

Hercules couldn’t help a slight smile as his eyes fixed there, on the rear view Strife was presenting him. Strife was a walking tease, and he was overdoing it just enough that Hercules could see the humor and not have his mind go straight to pulling those pants the rest of the way off of him. But, if Strife wasn’t here for that, then.... Hercules gaze moved back to the sword. Plain and functional, no elaborate etchings in the blade and from what Hercules had seen of the hilt, nothing but a simple leather wrapping. It was meant to be used.

Nodding in at least partial understanding, Hercules followed him, caught up in a few long strides. “So,” he said, falling into step beside Strife, “I take it Iolaus is going to have a lot of trouble starting that fire.”

Strife pursed his lips, shrugged his free shoulder in a loose, rolling motion. “For a while, yeah. Don’t want him giving up, though, so he’ll get it in a few minutes. But it’ll take him a while to keep it going, and he’s gonna have a bitch of a time finding the food.”

Hercules nodded again. “Will he become hard of hearing, suddenly?” He cast a pointed look at the sword.

“Nope. It’s easier to just put up a wall between the noise and him.”

“A wall?” Hercules frowned.

“Not like you’re thinking. It’s a god thing.” Strife dismissed the subject with a little flick of two fingers he wasn’t using to balance the sword.

“So....” Hercules prompted as they strolled further away from the house, the rain soaked ground squelching beneath his feet, mud squelching slick and thick through his toes with each step.

“So,” Strife drew it out, turning it into something resembling a hiss. “Ares gets a stick the size of an obelisk rammed up his ass right before any war starts -- I think it’s nerves, but I don’t like replacing teeth, so that’s between you and me.”

Hercules expected a characteristic wink or smirk with that, but Strife still didn’t look at him, and his expression remained cool, calm.

“He comes up with all kinds of useless shit work for everyone to do,” Strife went on in an airy tone. “Discord is checking supply routes, Deimos is doing a head count of our troops, and me...well. Ares thinks it’s such a waste for you to be slacking off, doing nothing around here but hanging out.”

“We’re trying to wait out this weather,” Hercules pointed out, “maybe rest up a little.”

“Nothing but excuses.” Strife waved Hercules words away with his free hand, letting it fall back to rest on his hip. “‘Strife,’ Ares says to me, ‘get your skinny ass down there and make sure the idiot still knows how to swing a sword. He probably hasn’t picked one up since he shattered that last batch Hephaestus sent me; the Fates only know when he actually used one last. If he’s as incompetent as I think, then beat him back into shape.’” Strife dropped his voice, doing a fair impersonation of Ares’ growl. “‘And no excuses, Strife, or I’ll knock you straight down into the mortal world, see how many times you bounce.’”

Hercules thought that over a moment, wondered if Strife’s lack of expression was an indication of him being upset with Ares’ orders, or simply not caring about them. Strife certainly wasn’t going to go against them, that was obvious, so there was no point in arguing about it. Hercules wasn’t exactly worried about it, however; he’d wielded a sword more often and more recently than Ares likely knew about, since Hercules had been out of Greece at the time.

Shrugging his unconcern, he dropped back half a step, just enough to give him a very good view of Strife’s back, the wet leather clinging to him. “It’s not that skinny,” he observed before moving back to match Strife’s pace.

That got him a change in expression, the corner of Strife’s mouth pulling up in a half smile. “Flattery will get you...everywhere,” he said, coming to a stop. “Except out of this.” He swung the sword off his shoulder in an easy motion, letting it dangle down from his hand. “But keep it coming; your mouth just gets prettier every time you say stuff like that.”

Hercules stopped a few paces in front of him, turning to face him with an expectant look. He wasn’t sure what Strife had in mind, but Hercules was already tensing, weight going onto his back foot, falling into a position that would let him move easily, duck and roll if he had to.

Strife tossed the sword up and caught it with the same hand, blade first. “So, Hercules, why don’t you show me what you know about...handling a sword.” Smirking, he held the sword out between them.

“Well, wow, I don’t know, Strife,” Hercules said with dry sarcasm, taking the sword by its hilt. “I guess you swing it as hard as you can until you hit something, then you start stabbing with the pointy end.”

Strife snorted, his smirk widening. “Something like that.”

Stepping back a few paces, giving himself a bit of room, Hercules took a few practice swings with the sword, testing the weight and balance. Strife crossed his arms and watched silently.

The sword was as perfectly functional as it’d looked. The balance was excellent and even if he’d only had normal mortal strength, Hercules suspected he wouldn’t have found it too heavy to wield efficiently. The blade was well polished and cared for and it gleamed in a familiar way.

“Hephaestus’ work?” he guessed.

“Like I’d use anything else?” Strife raised an eyebrow pointedly.

“This is your sword?” Hercules pulled short his last swing so the tip pointed right at Strife.

“Of course.” Strife smiled sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes. “As if I want to see your playing with some other guy’s sword.”

Rolling his eyes, Hercules dropped his arm, letting the blade fall to his side. “So now what?”

“Now,” smile disappearing, Strife uncrossed his arms and held out one hand, fingers curled inward; a sword appeared in his grasp with a muted flash of light, “you try to hit something.”

He came in fast, and as Hercules barely managed to get his sword up in time to block, he realized that he’d never seen Strife fight with anything but his fists, random objects, and power before. It had never occurred to him to think that Strife might know how, or that he’d be good. Very good.

Strife wasn’t using anything but strength and reflexes equal to Hercules’ own, but he knew how to use both and for a few moments, until Hercules adjusted to the idea of Strife fighting fairly, Hercules was hard pressed to block all the attacks. He fell back a handful of steps, metal ringing out against metal, clashing and screeching as the blades slid off each other, then fell back more when Strife abruptly changed his tactics, kicking out at Hercules’ legs at the same time as he swung his sword.

So that’s how this would go. Hercules suddenly felt like he’d stepped onto more familiar ground. Hitting and kicking, trading punches, that was what he knew with Strife, and it gave him a comfort zone to work from. He had to be careful; as wet and slippery as the ground was, one wrong step could send him sliding off balance, but he suspected Strife was limiting himself to the same handicaps.

He caught Strife’s next swing with little effort, pushing it aside with his own sword, and taking advantage of the opening that made to throw a punch right at Strife’s face. Strife used the rain-slicked grass to slide himself out of the way, avoiding the blow, another smile playing around his lips now as he brought his sword up.

There was a strange rhythm to it, a dance of sorts in the gently falling rain; sword against sword, metal crashing together, and fists still flying, feet trying to connect with anything vulnerable. But not a single blow landed, not a single sword thrust got through. They were evenly matched like this, Hercules realized as he ducked back from a fist aimed at his throat. He didn’t know if it was a god thing or not, if Strife was “cheating” by drawing on his powers to have this kind of skill, but as Strife easily blocked yet another of his swings, he looked no more winded or tired than Hercules felt. There was little effort to this for either of them. Given that Strife was a god, however, he could probably well outlast Hercules, if he cared to, but that would take hours.

“You never fought this well before,” Hercules said, falling back enough to put a bit of space between them.

“Never had permission to before,” Strife replied, taking the opportunity to shove dripping hair back out of his face. “Wasn’t allowed to scratch Zeus’ baby boy, remember?”

“That’s changed?” Hercules asked skeptically as he reached up to push his own hair back out of habit, but he found that it wasn’t necessary. The “style” was still holding it up and back, despite being drenched. He grimaced and Strife smirked at him.

“You don’t have to primp, Hercules, you look tasty enough as it is.” His smirk widened, showing a flash of teeth, but he went on before Hercules could say anything in return.

“It hasn’t changed, exactly,” Strife said, swinging his sword in a slow arc. “It’s more that Zeus is -- hmm, how should I say this?” He made a show of looking thoughtful, his free hand on a slightly canted hip, fingers drumming on the loose waistband, biting down on his lower lip as he frowned, eyes focusing on the ground momentarily. When he looked up again, the smirk was back. “Very slightly annoyed.”

Hercules glanced up at the continuously falling rain. “You think?”

“Yeah, well, whatever his deal is, doesn’t seem like he’ll get too bent out of shape if you get a few marks on you right now.” Strife shrugged, twirling his sword in a full circle. “Folding, spindling and mutilating are probably still out, but a few bruises and cuts aren’t gonna bother him. Unless you’re a total girl and go crying to daddy about it.”

Hercules gave him an unamused look.

“Didn’t think so,” Strife said with a chuckle, then held up his sword. “Ready?”

“Are you using your power?” Hercules had to ask, he didn’t think so, but still....

“Hmm?” Strife tilted his head to the side, giving him a questioning look -- one that abruptly changed into a completely false expression of shocked surprise. “Oh!” Strife placed a hand over his chest. “You think I’m cheating! That’s just...I can’t tell you how much that hurts me, Hercules. The lack of trust,” he sniffed, reaching up and brushing away non-existent tears with the back of his sword hand, “it’s just crushing. What’ll this mean for our relationship? Oh, Fates!” He gasped in mock horror. “What’re we gonna tell the kids!”

Hercules just shook his head. He tried, but failed to stop the smile working its way onto his face. But he didn’t let the theatrics distract him. “Well?” he prompted.

Strife dropped his hand from his chest -- actually, “drop” really wasn’t the word Hercules would choose, there. Strife slid his hand down over his wet chest, smile vanishing the lower his hand went, until he was looking at Hercules with an utterly serious expression, thumb tucking into the waistband of his pants, fingers spread wide across the front.

“How about a little wager, Hercules,” Strife said, his voice dropping.

“Like what?” Hercules gave him a wary look, tapping the flat of the sword against his leg.

“Like....” Strife drew the word out, copying Hercules’ move with his own sword. “How do you like the ‘do?” He flicked his gaze up to Hercules’ hair.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Hercules said sourly.

“Mmm. Pity; looks fly on you.” Pulling his sword up, resting the flat of the blade against his shoulder, Strife began a slow, hip-swinging stroll forward towards Hercules. “But, since you’re getting your leather panties in a twist over it, maybe I’ll give you your old, dull, disgustingly flat hairstyle back. Maybe.”

“Under what conditions?” Hercules raised an eyebrow at Strife’s approach, trying to project unconcern, show he was unaffected. Which was a lie -- he had to force himself not to let his gaze slide down Strife’s bare chest, look at where Strife was pressing his hand, what he was deliberately outlining -- but it was better not to give Strife anything that easy to use.

“We’re gonna throw down, you and me. No powers, just strength, mine against yours. God against half-god. If the blades break, we go hand to hand.” Strife stopped just a few paces in front of him. “Whoever draws first blood, wins.”

“Wins what, exactly?” Hercules let his suspicion show, because Strife had to have an angle.

“If you win, I destroy that absolutely bitching hairstyle and you get your old one back. But, if I win, I get to redo your wardrobe.” Strife smiled, letting his gaze drag down over Hercules’ body, ever so slowly.

“I don’t look good in black leather,” Hercules said firmly, remembering the brief glimpse he’d had of the Sovereign in the vortex.

“Well, that would depend on the kind of threads we’re talking about, wouldn’t it?” Strife wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Chaps, I’m thinking. Assless.”

“Um, I don’t think so.” Hercules reached up to tug at a strand of his hair. “You know, I think I could get used to this.” If he never had to look into a mirror again. But it was still better than letting Strife dress him.

Strife gave him a considering look. Silence fell between them for a long moment, only the sound of falling rain to keep it from being absolute, water splashing into little puddles forming in the too-soaked field.

“You’ll get your lack of style back,” Strife said abruptly, quietly. “I’ll promise not to mess with it or what you’re passing off as clothes, and....” He took a step forward, bringing his sword down low between them. “You manage to poke me with your sword,” he clinked the tip of his sword against Hercules’, lowering his eyelids, “and I’ll let you...poke me with your sword.” He smiled, a come-on and a challenge in one. “How’s that work for you, Hercules?”

It was a flash, a sensory image of Strife spread wide under him, gasping, clawing at him, trying to pull him closer, deeper, and Hercules knew it was just his imagination, that Strife would never beg like that with words or hands, but his mind didn’t care, his body didn’t either. Half hard in seconds and as still as Hercules forced his expression, Strife’s smile widened anyway, like he knew what Hercules was thinking.

Hercules honestly didn’t know what his answer would’ve been. Part of him was eager to say yes, thinking that he could take Strife, in every way. Logic argued desperately against it, reminding him that this was a god, an old enemy, not a friend he could trust. Maybe Strife would hold to the exact terms of the wager, but maybe he’d find a loophole Hercules didn’t see. And maybe, without the restriction of causing Hercules no harm, Strife would really be good enough to win. Or, maybe not. Hercules couldn’t say for certain, didn’t know anything except it was an unsafe wager and he was leaning towards taking it anyway -- but then it became a moot point.

A bright flash behind Strife, a growing bubble of blue light that expanded rapidly, burst with a loud pop, and before Hercules could do more than bring up his sword, before Strife could turn completely around, Deimos had an arm around Strife’s neck.

“What’re you--hey!” Strife tried to jerk away, but Deimos’ fingers curled around the wrist of Strife’s sword hand. Another flash of light, a pained yelp from Strife, and Strife dropped the sword.

When Deimos pulled his hand back, smiling triumphantly, one end of a shackle was fastened around Strife’s wrist.

“What the fuck!” Strife kicked back at Deimos, but even though his heel made contact with Deimos’ shin, Deimos didn’t make a sound, just smiled wider. “What did you do, you fuckwit?” Strife demanded, moving his hand down to yank at the dangling shackle on his wrist. “This is Hephaestian, moron! Get it off me, now!”

Hephaestian? But that meant--

Strife pointed a finger at the shackle and there were a couple sparks at the tip of his finger, but they were tiny and died away quickly. “No!” He yanked at the shackle again, his expression, his movements more desperate now.

Hercules wasn’t sure if he should try to help Strife or try to get out before Deimos took notice of him. Not that Deimos scared him in any way, but if this was something personal, between the two of them, or some aggression god thing, he wanted no part of it.

Smirking, Deimos released his hold on Strife’s neck and grabbed both of his wrists, yanking them behind Strife’s back hard enough to draw another yelp from him.

“Watch it, you dweeb! That fucking hurt!” Strife half turned his head, glaring at Deimos.

A loud click, another curse from Strife as he strained his arms, and Hercules knew Deimos had locked Strife’s arms behind his back. That was probably his cue to leave.

“You’re a real drama queen, Strife,” Deimos said, his smirk widening as he yanked Strife back against him, sliding an arm around his waist.

“Hello! Do the words ‘pot’ and ‘kettle’ mean anything to you?” Strife said disgustedly, trying to squirm out of his grasp.

That just made Deimos giggle. “Love the way you move, cuz. You’re gonna do that when I’m fucking you, right?” He licked the back of Strife’s ear.

“Ugh! You wish! Get off!” Strife rammed an elbow into Deimos’ chest, but shackled like that, even if he’d had access to his strength, there wouldn’t have been much force behind it.

“Yeah, I’ll get off, all right,” Deimos said with another giggle, but it and his smirk vanished, replaced by a look of loathing. “Right after I take care of your ex-boyfriend.”

Hercules froze as Deimos’ gaze found him. He’d taken a few steps back, but now there was no escaping. This was all about him after all. Bracing himself, he tightened his grip on his sword.

A cascade of gold sparkles, a flash of light next to him -- Hercules jerked back reflexively, but the instant Cupid appeared fully, he grabbed hold of Hercules’ arm, yanked him close.

“Okay, it’s like this,” Cupid said in a low voice, his eyes on Deimos even as he spoke near Hercules’ ear. “There’s this really old Titan law Mom and I dug up: if two gods are courting another god, they can fight it out and the winner gets the god in question. Got it?”

“That doesn’t sound like anything the Titans would have come up with,” Hercules said suspiciously.

Cupid rolled his eyes. “Duh!” He gave Hercules a pointed look.

“Oh.” Hercules nodded, looking over at Deimos in sudden understanding. “Zeus is actually buying this?” he asked dubiously.

“Probably not,” Cupid said with a shrug. “But after your last meeting, he’ll take whatever out that won’t make him look bad. Just go with it.”

Hercules nodded again and Deimos gave him a smile that was equal parts anticipation and predatory.

“Just sit over here and watch, cuz,” Deimos said, and pushed Strife to the side.

Strife stumbled aside with a startled cry, lost his balance and fell to his knees. He cursed Deimos long and loudly as he tried to regain his feet, failed, and fell backwards onto his ass.

“Well, might as well get this over with,” Hercules said with a sigh, taking a step towards Deimos -- only to be yanked back instantly.

“No weapons,” Cupid said, reaching across to give Hercules’ sword a tap with one finger. The sword vanished in a flash of gold light, as did the one Strife had dropped. “And no powers!” he yelled at Deimos, right in Hercules’ ear, making Hercules wince.

“And one more thing.” Cupid dropped his voice again, nearing a whisper. “Make it look good, but go down when you see me signal you.”

“Um...why then? I understand how it has to look, but why right then?” Hercules asked with a slight frown, his gaze shifting from Deimos to Cupid.

“I’ve got a wager with Mom. She says you can’t make it look real for more than two minutes; she promised to keep her nose out of my job for the next month if she’s wrong, so just go down when I give you the signal, okay? Good.” Not giving Hercules any chance to reply, to ask what the signal was, Cupid shoved him forward.

Deimos was already there to meet him, swinging hard. Hercules barely ducked out of the way in time to avoid a fist to his nose.

Making it look “real” wasn’t exactly a problem as far as Hercules could see. Maybe Deimos wasn’t the best fighter, but he was determined and for the first time, he had a personal grudge against Hercules. It was motivation enough to make up for lack of skill, apparently.

Fringe and fists flying, Hercules spent more time ducking and dodging than trying to land any blows of his own. Then Deimos seemed to get tired of Hercules moving out of the way, and simply tackled him. That Hercules couldn’t dodge.

They went tumbling across the field, wet grass sticking to them, mud smearing across skin and leather, water splashing up when they hit puddles. And Deimos was still trying to hit him, even as they rolled, trying to bite at one point, and finally Hercules got a good blow in, his elbow knocking straight into Deimos’ mouth, making them both pull away with grunts of pain. Teeth against a bare elbow was not fun. Rubbing his mouth, Deimos glared at him for a bare second before tackling him again with a snarl.

More rolling, kicking now as well as punching, mud and rain and Deimos got a good grip on Hercules’ hair, pulled his head back, straining his neck. Teeth clenched against the pain, Hercules swung blindly, felt his fist hit something, no way of knowing what, but it was sensitive enough that Deimos let go with a pained gasp. Hercules quickly slammed his head forward. He missed Deimos’ nose, but caught his cheek hard enough that it sent a stab of pain through his own forehead.

“You bastard!” Deimos pushed away from him, hand coming up to cradle his cheek, eyes watery.

Strife’s laugh was loud, high-pitched and grating. “You’re a total pussy when it comes to pain, Deimos!” he called out from somewhere off to their right. Hercules had lost his sense of direction and time while rolling around; he had no idea how long they’d been at it, or where Cupid was. He couldn’t risk looking away from Deimos long enough to check, to see if Cupid was signaling him in some way yet.

“Come on, Hercules! Take his sorry ass down!” Strife yelled, laughing harder.

That seemed to really piss off Deimos. Face reddening, he dropped his hand, fingers closing into fists. Teeth bared, he threw himself at Hercules again. But this time, Hercules was ready for him.

Hercules fell back, hands up and bringing one knee up. Deimos landing on him nearly knocked the breath from him anyway, but he still had all the leverage he needed to throw Deimos off of him, hard.

Deimos cried out in surprise as he flew up in the air, arms flailing, fringe waving about like leaves in a high wind. Hercules sat up in time to see Deimos land some ways away, face down in the muddy grass, with a loud squishing sound.

Strife whooped loudly and a quick glance at him showed him sitting up, mud splattered and dripping and grinning maniacally in Deimos’ direction. Cupid squatted a few feet away, wings extended and held up away from the mud, arms braced on his thighs as he too watched Deimos intently. There was nothing resembling a signal from him, so Hercules turned his attention back to the “fight.”

Deimos was pushing himself up, spitting out mud and grass, his entire front covered in a thick layer of it from the tips of his spiky blond hair to the toes of his brown knee high boots.

Hercules quickly pushed himself up, tried to wipe the mud off his hands as he got to his feet, but found more mud on his pants. He was probably as much of a mess as Deimos.

He had to make this look good, he reminded himself, and that meant doing more than just defending himself. He didn’t dare run in this mess; he’d probably end up slipping and falling and Deimos would definitely take advantage any way he could. But he found enough traction to walk fast, crossing the distance between him and Deimos just as Deimos regained his feet.

Deimos’ eyes widened, bright and green surrounded by a mask of mud, but he didn’t duck as Hercules swung at him. Now this was the Deimos Hercules was familiar with, the one who froze up when he should get out of the way. His fist slammed right into Deimos’ face, sending him flying backwards with a choked off cry.

Another loud yell of approval from Strife as Deimos landed, on his back this time, with another sloppy squelching sound.

Hercules walked towards him, not rushing as Deimos began extricating himself from the mud with a groan. He wanted Deimos to get up before he got there. Assuming Zeus was watching this, it would look like overconfidence on Hercules’ part, but really, it just gave Deimos a better chance to set up another attack.

“He--ow--Strife’s mine--ouch,” Deimos said insistently as he struggled to his feet, looking more than a little wobbly as he stood up straight. He rubbed his mud-covered nose, glaring at Hercules.

“Only if you win.” Hercules shrugged, keeping his tone casual as he stopped just out of Deimos’ reach.

Deimos’ eyes narrowed. “You don’t deserve him!” He stabbed a finger at Hercules. “He--I--” he cut himself off with a frustrated, angry noise, and suddenly threw himself forward.

Expecting another tackle, Hercules braced himself, hands out to catch Deimos’ body. But Deimos actually managed to surprise him. Instead of using his body, Deimos threw all of his forward momentum into a single punch. Hercules saw it coming too late to avoid it, barely managed to turn his head aside enough to avoid damage to his nose and eyes. The side of his face took the entire force of the punch and in an instant he was airborne, the ground gone from beneath his feet.

The pain in his cheek and jaw didn’t hit until a second before the ground hit him. The impact was enough to knock the wind right out of him, leaving him gasping and wincing at the ache in his back, the stabbing pain in his face.

Then something was shoving at him, his side, rocking him.

“Come on, get up!”

Strife.

Hercules opened his eyes, found himself looking up at Strife, kneeling over him, balanced precariously with his hands behind his back, pale eyes shining with excitement. That was pretty good distance Deimos got with that last swing.

“Get up!” Strife repeated, then dropped his voice into a whisper. “And Cupid filled me in, so ignore him when he signals you; I’ll do the signaling, okay?” He grinned widely, teeth showing.

“Why?” Hercules asked suspiciously as he shoved himself up with one arm.

“I wagered that you’d last three minutes,” Strife said with a satisfied chuckle. “Cupid has to give me one of his arrows when I win and have I got plans for--oh.” His grin vanished at the look Hercules gave him. “I, uh...I mean, I’m gonna do something good and sweet and nice with it. Something...something involving flowers and fluffy bunnies.”

Hercules made a disgusted sound, shaking his head as he began climbing to his feet, wiping rain-diluted mud from his face.

“Oh, come on! Can’t you let it go, just this once?” Strife’s tone came close to a whine.

Hercules might’ve said something pointed about that, but a blur of motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention -- Deimos was coming at him, faster than Hercules would’ve dared on this terrain.

Hercules threw himself to the side, the best he could do to avoid the attack, but Deimos managed to correct his aim in time and barreled straight into him.

Rolling over grass again, sliding through mud, no way to get good traction, boots and feet slipping. They couldn’t get a good grip on each other, either, too muddy, to wet for hands to grip. Hercules finally managed to shove Deimos off him, throw a punch at the same time, catching Deimos in the chest.

Deimos gasped silently as the air left him in a sharp huff of sound. It wasn’t a hard enough hit to knock him completely away, though, and he only fell back. But it was enough distance for Hercules to get a foot up and kick him, in the chest again, and this time it got him plenty of distance. Deimos went sliding back fast, arms windmilling, trying to find some way of stopping himself. Finally, he just threw himself to the side, ending up face down in the muddy grass again.

They both staggered to their feet at the same time, both of them breathing harder, now, and Hercules met Deimos’ glare with one of his own.

“I....” Deimos gasped out the words, “I...am gonna...make you...beg for mercy!”

Hercules managed a breathy, skeptical snort. “Bring it,” he said with as much contempt as he could muster.

Deimos snarled, a sound that barely carried over the dozen or so feet between them.

A sudden movement in his peripheral vision had Hercules splitting his attention, trying to keep an eye on Deimos as he glanced to the side. Cupid was flapping his wings, giving Hercules a pointed look. But just a few feet to the side, Strife was shaking his head vehemently, waving his hands in a definite no manner. Hercules would’ve been...well, not happy to give in, but willing enough, because no way was he going to win a wager for Strife, but Deimos moved, ran at him, and instincts born from years of fighting gods, kicked in.

He caught hold of Deimos, used Deimos’ own momentum to throw him aside. But Deimos caught hold of him at the same time and they both went flying, landing hard, pulling pained grunts from them both. Mud splattered everywhere, into their faces, their eyes, and mouths. They shoved away from each other; Hercules barely heard Deimos’ coughing and spitting above his own, barely wiped his eyes off in time to see Deimos’ foot headed right for his face.

Hercules caught Deimos’ foot, twisted it aside, shoved him back.

“Hercules!”

Iolaus’ yell yanked Hercules’ attention away from Deimos.

Iolaus was running across the field, feet slipping, but he kept his balance enough to push forward, a determined look in his eyes. Cupid appeared without his usual flash or sparkles, caught Iolaus by the arms before Iolaus could jump into the fight.

“Hold up, dude!” Cupid said when Iolaus tried to shake him off. “There’s something you have to know.”

“Listen to him, Iolaus!” Hercules said, then cried out, half in surprise, half in pain when Deimos’ foot slammed into his shoulder.

He rolled away, cursing under his breath. He hadn’t seen that one coming. He needed to keep his focus, here, find a way to end this very soon, and believably. Maybe if he let Deimos get him a couple more times, faked an injury? That sounded good.

Getting to his feet -- and Hercules didn’t have to fake his unsteadiness -- he faced Deimos who was already up, already coming at him, swinging wildly. Hercules could have avoided it, ducked aside or even caught it, twisted Deimos’ wrist and used it to put him on his knees. Hercules knew he could win this easily, and that made it harder to just stand there, look dazed and take the blow.

It sent him stumbling backwards, hands going up automatically to cover his nose. Not broken, no, but it hurt, brought tears to his eyes.

He managed to push the pain aside, knowing that Deimos wouldn’t give him more than a second or two to deal with it. And Deimos was already there, lunging at him, hands grasping at his throat.

This time Hercules caught him. He didn’t want to go down too easily, so he pulled Deimos to the ground, rammed his knee into Deimos’ stomach. Deimos grunted, coughed, but didn’t stop struggling. He managed to get one leg between them, and Hercules let him, didn’t try to do anything but keep hold of his hands. When Deimos shoved him away, Hercules let go, let himself fall back, although he quickly got back to his feet, but deliberately not quick as Deimos.

He pushed aside the first punch Deimos sent at him, but let the second connect, let it throw him backwards -- where he landed at Iolaus’ feet.

“Figured out it was taking too long to start the fire, huh?” Hercules said as he began pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Yeah, and the food kept hiding itself,” Iolaus said wryly as he dropped into a crouch, water starting to drip from his hair. “Listen, Herc,” he said, lowering his tone, “Cupid explained it and if this works--”

“I’m off the hook, I know.” Hercules grunted in pain as something in his back crunched. Felt like a rib.

“Right. So just hold out a little longer, okay? Make it about one more minute.”

“Why?” He stopped in the middle of trying to sit up, giving Iolaus a wary look.

“Because if you go down now, Strife wins. But if you make it four minutes, Hermes says I’ll win the pool.”

“Hermes...pool--what?”

“Hermes.” Iolaus hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

Sitting up fully, Hercules looked around Iolaus and -- yeah, that was Hermes all right, standing there, quill moving rapidly over a piece of parchment, eyes focused on his writing as he muttered to himself.

“Apollo: Hercules loses a limb and goes down at five minutes. Ares: Hercules loses two limbs and goes down at six. Discord: Deimos accidentally kills Hercules at seven. Hera: Hercules is eviscerated at eight.”

“Isn’t anyone betting that I won’t lose something important and painful?” Hercules grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I did,” Iolaus said with a slightly apologetic smile. “I just wagered that you’d be down and out at four.”

“Thanks.” Hercules rolled his eyes -- then yelped when his foot was grabbed and he was hauled forward.

The world abruptly started spinning and the ground suddenly wasn’t under his back anymore, Deimos’ hands were tight around his ankle and Hercules realized that he was being spun, hard. Faster and faster and he had to close his eyes or risk getting sick, and faster still -- and then Deimos let go.

Hercules had the brief impression of great speed, wind and rain rushing by him, against him, then his stomach seemed to drop down to his feet and he was falling and falling and -- ouch. At least the ground wasn’t hard in this weather, and the mud made for a much softer landing than he would’ve had otherwise, but it still hurt. Shaking his head, he tried to sit up, tried to push away the disorientation, the dizziness and various pains and aches -- but then Deimos was there, standing over him, reaching down and grabbing his hair.

“Strife is mine!” Deimos said with a snarl, and punched him.

Hercules could have blocked it, he was aware enough for that, but he just mentally braced himself and managed to get his head turned just enough that the blow didn’t land on his sore nose.

Deimos didn’t let him go, didn’t let him fall. Fringe dripping mud and water, breathing hard, Deimos continued to hold him there, hold him up, and hit him again. Hercules brought one hand up in a deliberately poor attempt to deflect the blow, hissing in pain when Deimos hit him in the same spot. He wanted to ask Deimos to pick somewhere else to hit, but Deimos was taking this too seriously to listen, and it abruptly occurred to Hercules to wonder if Deimos knew this was a sham, a staged fight, or if he truly bought into it. Not that it mattered right now. Hercules grunted as yet another blow landed, and another one, and after the fifth, it was easy to go limp, let his eyes close like he’d lost consciousness. His head was ringing, his face felt bruised and stung with deep pain, and when Deimos finally let him go with a triumphant shout, Hercules was grateful to let himself drop to the ground, sprawl out loosely. It felt like now he could finally rest.

“Yes! I win! Deimos, God of Terror, beat Hercules! This will be on urns from one side of Greece to the other!”

Hercules wanted to groan, roll his eyes, but besides ruining the act, he was just too tired.

Deimos giggled, a loud, raucous sound. “Strife!” It sounded part order, part threat, and all anticipation.

“Oh, thrill me,” Strife said dryly, with just enough volume to carry it across the field.

“Hercules!” Iolaus was suddenly there, dropping to Hercules’ side, hands on him, searching for wounds.

“Deimos gone yet?” Hercules asked in a whisper.

“Um...sort of. He’s not looking over here, anyway.” Iolaus snorted.

Hercules cracked an eye open, saw that they were alone -- well, except for the flash of a wing in the corner of his vision, but Deimos was nowhere in sight, which was all that mattered.

“It’s finally over,” he said with a long, relieved sigh, opening his eyes fully. And then he winced; yeah, he was going to have some nice bruises around his left eye.

“Here, I can do something about that, Uncle Herc.” Cupid was kneeling beside him, reaching down to place a hand over the side of Hercules’ face. He was grinning. He was also completely dry. The rain seemed to veer off, detouring around him.

“Way cool show, dude,” Cupid said, his voice a whisper as a light, pleasant tingle took up residence alongside the pain in Hercules’ face. “Would’ve been nice if you’d taken a dive at two minutes, but at least you played it real and Zeus won’t have any problems swallowing this.”

“That was four minutes, I was counting,” Iolaus said, looking up, focusing somewhere above Cupid’s head.

Hermes. At least that was what Hercules assumed. With only one eye to look out of and Cupid’s wings blocking most of his vision, all Hercules could see was a hint of a white chiton, but that still might’ve been Cupid’s wings.

“Yeah, it was.” That was Hermes’ voice. “But you still didn’t win, man. No one did. Herc was never really ‘out,’ and you said down and out. So, no go. And I gotta bail now; Aphrodite’ll want to party hard to celebrate this. I need to go wax my surf board.”

Hercules had no problem seeing the gold-white flash of light that signaled Hermes’ disappearance.

“Figures,” Iolaus said with a disgruntled sigh.

“Almost got it--” Cupid started, but a yell interrupted him.

“Hey!” That was Strife, sounding affronted. “What do you think you’re--are you damaged--do you want me to do some damage? Get your hands off--no way! I don’t--! Have you even heard of lube? Want me to spell it out for you? Lamda-Upsilon--” Strife cried out, cutting himself off with a sound that was/wasn’t pain.

“Could we hurry this up?” Iolaus asked, clenching his eyes shut, looking a little green.

“I need to fix his ribs,” Cupid said, pulling his hand away. “Sit up, Herc.”

The pain in his face had faded to nothing more than a vague throb; he doubted he’d even have a bruise, now. It still hurt plenty to sit up, though, and he gasped at the effort it took, a sound that did nothing to drown out the grunts and groans coming from across the field.

“Thanks,” he muttered when Cupid raised a wing to block the view of whatever was going on over there. Strife naked was one thing; Hercules had no problems seeing that, but Deimos naked and doing...things, was something he could happily live without.

Cupid chuckled as he pressed a hand against the sorest spot in Hercules’ back, seeming completely unbothered by any of the noises and that were making Iolaus cringe and look ill.

“Could you at least try to find a rhythm, here? Something good and hard and is leverage a foreign concept to you?” Strife’s annoyed tones came through clearly, and Hercules completely sympathized with Iolaus. He was getting way more of a picture than he either wanted or needed.

“You know what? You’re completely clueless! A total noob! Would you just--here--fucking shackles--let me--just move! Flip over--yeah, like that--now lie back, shut up and let me drive!”

Deimos’ startled, strangled gasp-cry drowned out whatever else Strife had to say.

Cupid chuckled again. “You know, I doubt it matters what position Strife’s in, he’ll always be on top.”

“Too much information!” Iolaus clapped his hands over his ears.

Hercules grimaced at the increasingly high-pitched cries from Deimos. “What Iolaus said.”

Cupid just chuckled again, smiling widely. “You two have no appreciation for a happy ending.” But he snapped the fingers of his free hand, and suddenly they were surrounded by silence.

“Thank the gods,” Iolaus breathed out, hands falling to his side shoulders slumping in relief.

“You’re welcome,” Cupid said with a wink.

With the noises gone and the pain rapidly fading from his body, Hercules felt the tension drain right out of him. It really was over, now. No pending marriage hanging over his head, no more trips to Olympus, no reason to play nice with Ares anymore, or with Hera. Not that the cease fire hadn’t been good, but things going back to the status quo would be welcome right now. Although, he wouldn’t mind if the gods all found something and someone else to focus on for a while.

“I need a vacation,” he muttered as Cupid drew his hand away.

“Tell me about it,” Iolaus agreed with a long sigh.

“I’d better head up to Olympus,” Cupid said, closing his wings with a snap. Which unblocked the view of what was happening a few yards away.

Hercules managed to shut his eyes in time to avoid seeing anything that might scar him for life, but he heard Iolaus make a horrified choking sound next to him, and winced in sympathy.

“Come on, let’s get back to that house,” Hercules said, getting to his feet and quickly putting his back to Deimos and Strife. Opening his eyes, he held out a hand for Iolaus.

Looking fairly green now, Iolaus grabbed his hand and used it to yank himself up. He was fast to follow Hercules’ example, turning his back to the display behind them.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you guys around,” Cupid said with a smile as he rose to his feet, arms crossing over his chest.

“No offense,” Hercules said ruefully, “but try not to make it too soon, huh?”

Cupid laughed, his smile widening to a grin. “I got you, Uncle Herc. Later.” And he vanished in a shower of gold sparkles.

Hercules was already moving before the sparkles began to fade. He had a suspicion that wall of silence was going to come down the instant the last traces of Cupid vanished, and he wanted to be well away from there when it happened. Maybe Iolaus had the same suspicion, because he was outpacing Hercules, well ahead of him in after just a few seconds.

“Maybe we can get a fire going now,” Hercules called after him as he splashed through a puddle.

An incredulous snort answered him. “You really want to stay around here?” Iolaus called back.

At that moment, whatever barrier Cupid had put up came down and the air was suddenly filled with the cries of the gods behind them. It was more distant now that they’d crossed half the field, but Hercules thought that it would probably still be audible at the old house. And there was no telling how long they’d be at it.

“Point taken,” he said.

“I’ll go gather up our stuff.” Iolaus took off at a trot, and Hercules couldn’t blame him.

It wouldn’t be any easier going on the roads than it had been for days and they wouldn’t make good time, but it was better than being an audience for this. And, he realized, looking up at the sky with a frown, it looked like the rain was starting to let up. The clouds were lighter and it was more of a drizzle now instead of a steady rain. Maybe Zeus was finally getting over himself, or thought it wouldn’t make him look bad if he stopped this. Either way, it was good for their travel prospects.

Part 21

“That is...one incredible story,” Iphicles said, sitting back in his chair with a small huff of astonishment. “It sounds so unbelievable. If it were anyone but you, I probably wouldn’t believe it.” He raised an eyebrow at Hercules.

Sitting on the edge of his own chair, one arm braced on his knee, Hercules gave Iphicles a slight smile, shrugging one shoulder. “Hey, I’m still having problems believing some of it myself.” He swirled the last bit of wine around the bottom of the goblet he held before drinking it down. It was one of the better vintages he’d had and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the light, nutty aftertaste.

There was an amused snort across from him and Hercules opened his eyes in time to see Iolaus, slumped down in his chair, toss back the last of his wine.

“You should be grateful he’s leaving out the details,” Iolaus said with a shake of his head, letting his goblet dangle from two fingers.

“Details?” Iphicles’ other eyebrow went up as he glanced from Iolaus to Hercules.

“You don’t want to know,” Iolaus said vehemently. “I wish I didn’t know.”

“And he doesn’t even know all of the details,” Hercules said, grinning at Iolaus’ shudder.

“Please don’t ever fill me in.” Iolaus gave him a horrified look.

That got a chuckle from Iphicles. “All right, I won’t even ask.” Sipping at his own wine, he stood and walked across the room to one of the open windows.

Iphicles’ bedroom wasn’t the largest room in the castle and the chairs weren’t the most comfortable, but when Hercules and Iolaus had arrived, Iphicles had wanted the full story behind the rumors he’d been hearing for weeks. His bedroom was the one place he could guarantee they wouldn’t be disturbed or overheard. It was more than a little cluttered, clothing draped over the bed, over the backs of the chairs, parchment strewn about, plates and goblets here and there -- “I don’t let the servants in here,” he’d said. “Gives me some privacy.” But it felt...homey, and both Hercules and Iolaus had relaxed within minutes. The excellent wine wasn’t hurting anything, either.

“So, Ares -- the God of War, Ares, that one?” Iphicles glanced back at Hercules with a faintly skeptical look.

“Yeah, that’d be him.” Hercules nodded.

“Right. So, Ares wants you to help me set up a defense against the Persians.” Iphicles looked back out the window, leaning a shoulder against the window frame, bunching up the fabric of his plain white shirt.

“I’m supposed to...do whatever you need me to do and then, um, get out of the way.” Hercules shook his head with a light chuckle.

“Well, that’s a change,” Iphicles said, drawing a snort of amusement from Iolaus.

Hercules frowned. “I got in your way before?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Iphicles said, the corner of his mouth drawing up.

“Damn,” Hercules said under his breath, bringing one hand up to rub at his mouth, to further obscure the curse. Ares was right, and he’d probably never let Hercules forget it, either.

“I’m sorry,” Hercules said aloud, dropping his hand and giving Iphicles an apologetic look. “You know what you’re doing, I know that, and...I’ll just keep out of your way.”

“I want your advice, Hercules,” Iphicles said, turning to look at him, sunlight reflecting off the gold highlights in his hair. “You and Iolaus. You’ve both fought the Persians before.”

“So have you,” Iolaus pointed out.

“True, but we’ve probably all noticed different things about them, their tactics. We need to talk, share what we know and see if we come up with anything new or helpful.”

Hercules met Iolaus’ considering gaze, they both nodded in agreement. “Sounds good to me,” Hercules said.

“Good.” Setting his goblet on the windowsill -- right next two other goblets that were busy gathering a coating of dust -- Iphicles walked over to the small table by his bed and picked up the circlet he’d tossed there when they’d first come in.

“The servants should have your rooms ready about now, so I’ll show you there, let you both get a good bath and a change of clothes.” He gave them a pointed look as he slid the circlet back down onto his head, flattening his hair on top.

Hercules chuckled, a sound echoed by Iolaus as they both looked down at their mud-stained clothes. They’d found a well just outside of Corinth that morning and they’d managed to wash off the worst of it. With the rain gone and the sun out, they’d even been dry by the time they’d shown up at the castle, but they still looked nowhere near presentable.

“You, uh, wouldn’t happen to have any lye soap?” Iolaus asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Hercules looked at Iphicles, trying not to let hope show too much in his expression, but something must have shown, because Iphicles gave them both an odd look.

“I’ll send down to the kitchens for some. This...wouldn’t be one of those ‘details’ you mentioned, would it?”

“Something like that,” Iolaus said as he stood, looking around for somewhere to put his goblet.

“Just toss it in that urn,” Iphicles said, waving a hand at a large urn against the back wall near Iolaus. At some point a plant had grown out of it, but there was nothing left of it now save dead leaves on a dead stalk, surrounded by desiccated bits of food, a knife, and some crumpled parchment. Iolaus shrugged and tossed the goblet on top of the mess.

“I don’t suppose,” Iphicles said hesitantly, “this sudden urge for lye soap has anything to do with why you two look like you dragged yourselves through a field of mud, and yet your hair is...well, it’s not muddy. What kind of style do you call that, anyway?” He frowned as he looked at Hercules hair.

Hercules winced, stopping himself before he could reach up in what had become a nearly automatic gesture, to poke at the stubborn waves in his hair. “Just...don’t ask,” he said, curling his fingers in towards his palm and forcing his hand to stay on his knee.

“Uh-huh.” Iphicles’ eyebrow went up. “And why do the both of you smell like a bed of tropical flowers?”

“Ask Herc; it’s his fault,” Iolaus said with a groan.

“Now wait a minute,” Hercules protested. “It’s not like I asked for this.”

Iolaus rolled his eyes. “Do you think you get around to asking for it to go away?”

“Well if you really want me to--”

“Okay, you’re right,” Iphicles held up his hands. “I don’t really want to know any details. I’ll just have the soap sent up with the baths.”

“Thank you!” Iolaus said fervently.

“We’re very, very grateful,” Hercules added as he stood. He left his goblet balanced on the right arm of the chair.

“Now let’s just hope it stays lye soap,” Iolaus muttered.

Iphicles frowned at that, started to say something, but a sharp rap on the door interrupted him.

“You know,” he said, casting a displeased look at the door, “I’m thinking of having a large sign made up to hang on my door, ‘Do Not Disturb.” Maybe that will get the point across.” Shaking his head, he walked over to the door and yanked it open.

“What is it now?” he demanded of the guard standing there. His tone was less than pleased, but the guard didn’t so much as flinch.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but we caught intruders in the lower levels. Two men; it looks as though they came in through one of the barred windows -- you have my oath that we check those daily for weakness, Your Highness, but the bars were dug straight out of the stone. We never heard a thing.” Red colored the guard’s face, his dark eyes bright with something that looked like humiliation. “It shames me to say it, but we might never have known they were here if the one with the bad armor hadn’t been talking so loud.”

“Bad armor?” Iolaus mouthed the words, raising an eyebrow.

“They tried to run, but the loud one tripped up his companion and we caught them. They’re both claiming innocence, but I wouldn’t have disturbed Your Highness if they hadn’t claimed to know your brother.” The guard’s gaze moved briefly, flicking towards Hercules before settling back on Iphicles.

“Hercules?” Iphicles half turned to give him a questioning look. “Do you know anything about this?”

Hercules sighed, feeling very put-upon. “The other man, the one without the armor, is he about so tall,” he held up his hand to the height of his forehead, “dark hair, mustache, really big opinion of himself?”

“Yes, that would be him.” The guard nodded. “My men said he was bragging about how lax security was here.” He clenched his jaw as he spoke.

Iolaus rolled his eyes and Hercules sighed again. “That would be Autolycus.”

“Autolycus? As in the King of Thieves?” Iphicles’ other eyebrow went up. “What exactly is he doing here? I need everything in my treasury to fight this war.”

“Yeah, I know. And he knows he’s not supposed to be here, ever.”

“Like that would ever stop him.” Iolaus shook his head in disgust.

“Him, no, but...I got the impression Joxer was having an influence.” Hercules frowned.

“Maybe not enough of one.” Iolaus shrugged.

“Joxer?” Iphicles asked, giving them a look that invited someone to fill him in.

“The guy with the bad armor,” Iolaus said.

“I think he’s trying to be Autolycus’ conscience,” Hercules added.

“Sounds like it’s not working out,” Iphicles said, crossing his arms.

“Maybe, maybe not. We’d better go find out.” Hercules shook his head.

Iphicles nodded to the guard, receiving a bow in return before the guard backed away, turned and strode off down the corridor. “And if Autolycus is here to steal from me?” Iphicles asked, turning his full attention to Hercules.

“Then go ahead and throw him in the dungeon,” Hercules said with a dismissive wave. “It won’t hold him long, but if you use enough locks -- oh, and chain him, too -- it’ll keep him out of the way for a few hours.”

“It’ll really annoy him, too,” Iolaus said with a grin that wasn’t exactly nice.

“Yeah, there is that, isn’t there?” Hercules returned the grin.

“Do I want to know the story here?” Iphicles asked.

“It’s a long one,” Hercules started.

“Autolycus stole something, got me blamed for it, almost got me executed, then got away before he could be punished,” said Iolaus.

“Okay.” Hercules shrugged. “Maybe not that long.”

“I think I do want those particular details, later,” Iphicles said, smiling at Iolaus. A smile that quickly vanished as he smoothed down his shirt and walked out into the corridor.

“What about this Joxer person?” he asked without looking back.

“He’s harmless,” Hercules answered, following.

“Completely deluded,” Iolaus put in, walking behind him.

“But harmless. He just wants to do the right thing.”

“Don’t we all,” Iphicles said with a shake of his head.

Hercules didn’t know why he’d expected Autolycus and Joxer to be waiting quietly to see them. Well, okay, so he hadn’t expected quiet out of either of them. He’d thought there’d be some shouting, maybe lecturing on Joxer’s part with accompanying dry sarcasm at full volume from Autolycus. But he thought they’d be restrained by the guards.

Joxer was. Two guards had hold of him, one on each arm while he tried to shake them off. His helmet had fallen over his face at some point, muffling his yells, which were still audible enough to tell they were directed at Autolycus. Autolycus, who was...dangling from the top of the drapery rod in the back of the throne room, high above the guards who were trying to find a way to get hold of him again.

“Oh, come on now, is that the best you’ve got?” he said with a mocking laugh as one guard jumped, reaching for his leg. Autolycus pulled his leg up, making a rude gesture with his free hand as the guard fell back, crashing into two of his fellow guards and sending them sprawling. “Give me a second, Jox!” he called out. “I have to do something about the rodent population in here.”

It was hard to say exactly what Autolycus did, Hercules didn’t have the best view, but it involved yanking the drapes off their rod at the same time as he shoved himself away from the window. He flew over the guards’ heads, executing a perfect tumble mid-air as the drapes fell over the guards, completely covering them. He landed on his feet in a move that looked easy -- right up until he winced and slapped a hand over his lower back.

“Okay, Auto, you are not getting too old for this,” he said, wincing again. “Just...think young.” He forced himself to stand up straight, which made his back crack in a way that was loud enough to make even Iolaus cringe in sympathy. “Right then, where was I?” Autolycus shook his grappling hook out of his sleeve into his hand. “Oh yeah; why don’t you two let go of my friend there, and we’ll forget all about this.” He began swinging the hook lazily by its rope as he advanced on the guards holding Joxer.

Exchanging an exasperated look with Iolaus -- and giving Iphicles and apologetic one -- Hercules started towards Autolycus. Only to stop when, at that moment, Joxer’s feet slipped out from under him and he went down fast and hard, pulling the guards with him. Instead of going straight down, though, they fell inward, their helmeted heads knocking together with a resounding clang. As one, their eyes rolled up and they slumped to the floor, unconscious.

“Ha!” Joxer exclaimed as he shoved his helmet up, saw the guards out cold. “That’s what you get for thinking you could hold Joxer the Mighty!”

“...the Mighty?” Hercules heard Iphicles say in disbelief.

“Well, now, I...guess you showed them,” Autolycus drawled, stopping in front of Joxer. Sliding his grappling hook back beneath his sleeve, he reached down and held out his hand.

Joxer took it with a wide, triumphant grin, letting Autolycus help him up.

“You saw that, right?” he asked as he staggered to his feet. “How I took them down? So Gabby will have to believe me when I tell her, because I’ve got a witness!”

“Yeah, I saw it, all right.” Autolycus tone was tolerant, and he didn’t step back when Joxer finally stood up straight, right in front of him. “It was...something else. A sight to see.”

“Uh-huh.” Joxer reached up to pull off his helmet, letting it drop at his feet, his eyes never leaving Autolycus’ face as the metal in his helmet clanged against the stone floor. “I should add another verse to my song about this. Want to help? The way you...helped a few nights ago?” His grin took on an edge that Hercules would have called naughty, but fortunately for his sanity, he couldn’t manage to put “naughty” and “Joxer and Autolycus” into the same train of thought.

Either the two of them didn’t know they weren’t alone, or they didn’t care -- probably the latter, since the guards near the back were making plenty of noise as they tried to free themselves from the heavy drapes -- but given a few more seconds, judging from the looks they were giving each other, they’d be busy doing things Hercules really didn’t care to see.

He cleared his throat. Then cleared it again with more volume when they continued to lean in towards each other. That finally seemed to get through to them.

“Oh, hey, Hercules!” Joxer said brightly, pulling away.

“Yeah, great, it’s Hercules,” Autolycus muttered sarcastically, just loudly enough to be heard, rolling his eyes.

“What did I tell you about showing up here?” Hercules asked pointedly, crossing his arms as he gave Autolycus a steady look.

“Oh, now, just wait a minute, here,” Autolycus said, holding up a hand. “This isn’t my fault--”

“It was my idea!” Joxer said, grinning. “When we met up with Xena and Gabby a few days ago, they said they were headed here to help out against the Persians, and I thought that we should come too. I mean, Hermes said the whole thing with you and the wedding was taken care of, so--so we should all do our parts and concentrate on getting rid of the Persians!”

“So Xena and Gabrielle are around here somewhere?” Iolaus asked, making a show of looking around, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from his tone. “They must be invisible, because I don’t see them.”

Joxer rolled his eyes. “Of course they’re not invisible -- I don’t think they are.” He suddenly frowned. “I guess maybe they might be. We haven’t seen them for a couple days since Auto wanted to get here ahead of them, and they could have run into a god or something that would turn them invisible. We shouldn’t have left them all alone.” He looked at Autolycus with concern. “I bet they got into trouble without me there to help them.”

“You know, Jox, call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure those are two ladies who can take care of themselves,” Autolycus said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Joxer gave him a dubious look and started to say something, but Hercules interrupted him, not wanting to get any further off track.

“Why exactly did you want to get here ahead of Xena and Gabrielle?” he asked, looking at Autolycus knowingly.

“Wait, wait, you think I...?” Autolycus took on a surprised expression that might have fooled anyone who didn’t know him. “Oh, ha, ha, you’re such a kidder, Hercules,” he scoffed, dismissing the insinuation with a wave of his hand. “Pfft. Like I’d do something like that after all those warnings you gave me.”

“He said he wanted to make an ‘impressive entrance,’” Joxer said sardonically, hands on his hips. “But I think that--”

“Yeah, yeah,” Autolycus cut him off in the same tone, walking past him towards Hercules. “Now, I know what this looks like, Hercules,” he spread his hands out, smiling, the picture of innocence, “but trust me when I say that the last thing on my mind was casing--er--causing any problems here.”

“Autolycus,” Hercules sighed, “you and ‘trust’ don’t belong in the same room, let alone the same sentence.”

Iolaus snorted in amused agreement. Autolycus threw him a dark look, but that vanished the instant he spoke again. “Now, that really hurts.” He stopped in front of Hercules, placing one hand over his heart, giving him an earnest look. “You can say that after everything we’ve been through together?”

“You mean, after everything you put us through,” Iolaus said, glaring at Autolycus. Autolycus ignored him.

“Look, I had completely honest intentions, coming here,” Autolycus said as he stopped in front of Hercules.

“Honest?” Hercules gave him a skeptical look.

Hands going to his hips, Autolycus lowered his voice when he spoke, low enough that Iolaus had to move closer to hear. “It’s like this: Gabrielle was going on about the last time she and Xena fought the Persians, and Joxer got it into his head that he wants in on this round. Decided he wants to be on the front lines.” There was no derision in his tone, no mocking, just utter seriousness in both his voice and his expression. “He’s got himself convinced that he’ll make out like Xena, or something, and there’s no talking him out of it. Gods know I tried.” He shook his head, frustration creeping into his tone. “So that’s where you come in, or maybe his Highness over there.” He nodded at Iphicles who was watching him suspiciously. “Find something for Joxer to do--anything, just make it look important and keep him out of the fighting.”

Exchanging a frown with Iolaus, not sure if he should believe this or not, Hercules shook his head. “That’s why you’re here, Autolycus? Just to keep Joxer out of danger? Nothing else?”

“Because, last time we saw you,” Iolaus said, taking a couple more steps, bringing him right next to Hercules, “you were trying to get away from Joxer. Why the sudden urge to save him from himself?”

“Someone has to,” Autolycus said in exasperation.

“But why you?” Iolaus prodded.

Autolycus just shook his head again, one hand moving up to smooth his mustache as he glanced back over his shoulder. Joxer was busy watching the guards by the wall trying to extricate themselves from beneath the drapes. He had one hand on his sword and a determined expression on his face, as though he’d take on the first guard to emerge.

“Ah, I must be nuts.” Autolycus said, but he smiled as he spoke.

“Autolycus,” Hercules reached out, grabbed a handful of Autolycus’ vest and pulled him close, drawing a startled grunt from Autolycus, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing this time, but Joxer is a good man. A little deluded maybe, but he means well, and if you--”

“Whoa, there!” Autolycus held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Now, I’ll admit that I might not be the most trustworthy person around, but I’m better than that. Okay, maybe I did have...other things in mind for coming here, but none of that was first thing on the agenda. I....” He hesitated, glancing back at Joxer again. Joxer was looking a little concerned, now, but not like he’d try jumping in to rescue Autolycus. Not yet. But Hercules suspected that Joxer might actually do that, take Autolycus’ side if Hercules pushed this too far. It was kind of...sweet, in a twisted sort of way.

“I don’t want to see him hurt,” Autolycus finally said, his voice down to a whisper as he looked at Hercules again. “So, just...do your hero thing and stop him from getting himself killed, all right?”

Hercules released him with a tired sigh. “Let’s say I believe you -- for the moment. I’ll talk to Iphicles, see if we can’t come up with something to keep him busy.”

“Well, good.” Autolycus said, raising his voice as he made a point of straightening out his vest. “I knew you were a reasonable man, Hercules, no matter what anyone else says.”

Iolaus rolled his eyes, started to say something, but Autolycus spoke right over him. “Now that we’ve got that straightened out, I’ll go find something useful to do.”

“Autolycus.” Hercules put a heavy amount of warning into his tone, giving him a pointed look.

“Hey, I’ll behave, all right?” Autolycus said in exasperation, shaking his head. A movement he abruptly stopped, a frown creasing his brow as his gaze dropped.

“What?” Hercules asked suspiciously, looking down and seeing nothing of interest, other than the state of his clothes. But Autolycus was looking a little travel-weary too, as well as ruffled from the brief fight, so he had no room to comment.

“So...who are you seeing? Adonia in Thebes, or Pyrena in Beroea?” Autolycus asked, reaching up to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

“Adonia? Pyrena? Autolycus, what are you talking about?” Hercules asked in annoyed confusion.

“The manicure.” Autolycus said, jabbing a finger at Hercules’ hands. “Decent work.”

Hercules reflexively crossed his arms and tucked his hands under them, hiding his hands. Despite over a week of travel and the fight a couple days before, there wasn’t a single chip or crack in either his nails or the clear polish. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. He heard a noise next to him that sounded suspiciously like Iolaus smothering a chuckle.

“Although, for my dinars, I prefer Mandron in Delphi,” Autolycus went on with a casual shrug, holding up one hand. The light glinted off even, shiny nails. “After all, a thief’s best tools are his hands, and you have to take good care of them.” He buffed his nails on the front of his vest.

Iolaus wasn’t doing a very good job of smothering anymore.

“Hey, Auto?” Joxer said hurrying up beside Autolycus, stopping with a loud clatter of his armor. “I was gonna take care of them for you, but I thought maybe you’d want a couple of them.” He pointed to where most the guards had finally found their way out from under the drapes and were advancing, weapons drawn, expressions furious.

“Gee, thanks,” Autolycus said sarcastically. “Next time you’re thinking about doing me a favor? Don’t.”

“Well, if you’re going to be that way about it,” Joxer gave him an offended look, “I’ll just take care of them myself.” He tried to yank his sword out of its sheath, but fumbled it and ended up dropping it -- fortunately hilt first -- onto his foot.

“Ow!” Joxer yanked his foot up, clutched at it, overbalanced and fell, sprawling out with a loud clatter.

Hercules could feel a headache coming on.

“Iphicles?” he turned to look at Iphicles, reaching up to rub at his temple.

Iphicles was leaning back against the door frame now, arms crossed, the expression on his face...well, Hercules couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Iphicles look that entertained.

With a smile that verged on becoming an outright grin, Iphicles snapped his fingers to get the guards’ attention, then waved them off. The guards instantly bowed, although they all gave Autolycus unpleasant looks before they sheathed their weapons and went to assist both the still unconscious guards on the floor, and the one still tangled up under the drapes.

Autolycus had managed to get Joxer up off the floor without getting pulled down himself -- although, it was a close thing when Joxer’s feet caught his and tripped them both. When Joxer tried and failed twice to sheath his sword -- nearly cutting the sheath off his belt the second time -- Autolycus grabbed it from him with a, “Ah, just give it here, already,” that wasn’t nearly as annoyed as Hercules would’ve expected, and shoved it smoothly into the sheath.

“I guess I need to polish my sword better,” Joxer said, glaring down his sword hilt. “It must’ve gotten oil on it or something, otherwise I wouldn’t have had any problem.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem, all right,” Autolycus said with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh! Hercules!” Joxer suddenly fixed his gaze on Hercules, eyes wide with excitement. “I wanted to ask you something. Your--” He stopped just as abruptly as he started, hand going up to his head as he frowned.

“Where’s my--” He looked around, expression lighting up when he saw his helmet on the floor some ways back. “Ah-ha! There it is! Hey, Auto? Get my helmet for me, huh?”

Hercules expected a refusal from Autolycus, maybe a sarcastic retort, at least another eye roll, but instead Autolycus just nodded and immediately turned and went after the helmet. He muttered something under his breath as he walked away, it was low, but it sounded suspiciously like, “Yes, dear.” Hercules had to work not to laugh.

“Nice job,” Iolaus said with an amused grin.

“Huh?” Joxer frowned as he turned his attention to Iolaus. Then, “Oh! That. Thanks.” He smiled, glancing back at Autolycus. And, thankfully, he didn’t go into any explanations this time.

Pulling his gaze away from Autolycus with obvious reluctance, he looked at Hercules again, the excitement returning to his expression. “You’re brothers with the king, right? Do you think he’d let me join the Corinthian army?” he went on, not giving Hercules any chance to respond. “I was thinking that I could be one of the foot soldiers, or--or maybe command a unit myself! I’ve got a lot of experience and you couldn’t find a better swordsman. I bet, under my leadership, my men and I could take out the Persians all on our own!”

He was so earnest, so convinced, and Hercules had to force himself not to show too much amusement and risk hurting Joxer’s feelings. “You know,” he started, mentally sifting through his options, trying to figure out something appropriate to say. Iolaus was no help, smiling up at him with a raised eyebrow that said all too clearly that he was going to let Hercules field this one on his own.

“Um, why don’t I just introduce you to Iphicles,” he finally said, turning and motioning to Iphicles as he spoke. “I’m sure he’ll come up with something appropriate for you to do.” Hercules gave Iphicles what he hoped was a look that conveyed both apology and a plea for help.

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” Iphicles said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“You--you’re Iphicles!” Joxer grinned -- and held out his hand just as Autolycus came to stand next to him. Autolycus handed him his helmet without a word.

“I’ve got so many ideas for defending Corinth!” Joxer said eagerly. Shoving his helmet onto his head, he brushed past Hercules and Iolaus, headed right for Iphicles.

“Thank you!” Hercules mouthed at Iphicles.

“You owe me,” Iphicles mouthed back.

Hercules gave him a thumbs-up. Iphicles didn’t have any time to respond; Joxer descended upon him, babbling plans and ideas, gesturing wildly. Autolycus followed with a sigh that sounded more fond than exasperated.

“Good dodge,” Iolaus said, still smiling as he watched Iphicles try to calm Joxer down enough to get a word in edgewise.

“Couldn’t think of anything else,” Hercules admitted. “Besides, it’s Iphicles’ army; Joxer would’ve been his problem either way.”

“Huh.” Iolaus shook his head. “I guess some days it’s not good to be king.”

Part 22

The furious scratch of quill on parchment was loud, even over the clank and rattle of the guards’ armor as they rushed past. Their weapons weren’t drawn, and while they were in a hurry, there was no sign of panic, so Hercules just watched them run by with a curious frown.

“Furniture...white...floating...okay, I have it,” Gabrielle said from her seat at the table. The afternoon sunlight shone through the nearby window, helping to dry the half a dozen scrolls she’d already written out and sanded. “I just wish you could be a little more specific,” she said, looking up at him with a touch of frustration. The end of her quill brushed against her mouth and she twitched it aside.

“Specific how?” Turning his attention back to her, Hercules unfolded his arms from the top of the table and sat back in his chair. “It was furniture and it floated. It’s Zeus’ thing. I don’t know what else to tell you.” Between the drying sand that had scattered across the table and the dust collecting on the multitudes of scrolls on the shelves around them, he was feeling the urge to sneeze again. He’d been doing a fair amount of that since Gabrielle had dragged him into the library a few minutes before.

She and Xena had only been an hour or so behind Autolycus and Joxer, having picked up their travel pace when the men had disappeared on them. Xena had guessed, correctly, where they were headed and, for the most part, why. She’d been ready to tie up both of them when she reached Corinth, to keep them out of the way and, at least when it came to Joxer, safe. But, apparently Iphicles had already found something important-sounding and benign for Joxer to attend to, and Autolycus was...well, actually Hercules hadn’t seen Autolycus since he left the throne room with Joxer. That worried him. Either he was with Joxer and Hercules really didn’t need to know what he was doing, or he wasn’t, and Hercules needed to go after him. He was leaning towards the latter the more time that passed.

“Hercules?” Gabrielle’s tone said it wasn’t the first time she said his name, and Hercules gave her an apologetic smile as he shifted his attention back to her. But he needed to find a way of ending this little interview soon. A quiet, unobtrusive Autolycus raised the hairs on the back of Hercules’ neck.

“Can’t you give me a bit more description?” Gabrielle asked, tapping the end of her quill against her cheek.

“Like what?” Hercules shrugged, spreading his hands out in a helpless gesture. “It was white. Very, very white. And there was gold in the woodwork. I think. But, the furniture, that...outfit Zeus made me wear. White.”

“I get that, but what kind of white? Was it soft or glaring? What shades of white are we talking about?”

“Shades?” Hercules hoped that sounded as confused as he felt, because he was clueless.

“Well, yeah,” Gabrielle said, as though it were obvious. “Every color has different shades. A sunset isn’t just purple and pink; it’s a brilliant shading of violets and fuchsias, like summer flowers in a field. And white is never just white. There’s eggshell white, cream white, stark white, dingy white -- there’s so many shades!”

Hercules just...looked at her. A sunset was pretty, sure, and he took time to appreciate things like that when he could, but he’d never given any thought to the colors beyond, pink, purple, red and pretty.

Seeing his incomprehension, Gabrielle sighed, a sound that carried a touch of frustration. “All right, let’s try this. Um....” She looked around for a moment, then her gaze settled on her quill and she abruptly stuck it out at him. “What color is this?” she asked.

“It’s...black,” Hercules said. The quill had seen better days, broken at the top, the tip whittled away until it nearly met the feather, and the feather itself clotted with bits of dried ink. It was definitely black, he was certain of that. And it seemed to be the answer Gabrielle was looking for because she nodded, looking satisfied.

“Okay, good. Now, what color is this?” Setting the quill next to the parchment she was currently writing on, she held out her hand. Her thumb, the first two fingers and the skin between them were stained dark with ink, the fingers down to the middle knuckle.

“Black?” Hercules said, although it was more of a question because he couldn’t see what he was supposed to be noticing.

“But what sort of black? See the difference between the colors? The subtle shading here?” Gabrielle insisted, pointing to the join of two fingers. “It’s night black here, you know, with that touch of blue, but here it’s more of a true black, and here it’s heading towards grey, but not quite there yet. See?”

Hercules looked closer, tried to see what she was talking about, but it was all black to him. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

Groaning, Gabrielle dropped her head into her inkstained hand.

Not sure what he was supposed to do at this point, Hercules was considering offering to take another look, maybe even making up a “shade” of white to add to his description of Zeus’ home if it would make her happy, but his efforts at creativity were cut short by a familiar voice.

“Hey, fumblefingers! Watch the clothes! I put a lot of effort into steal--er--buying these, you know! And you, Moronicles, wanna be a little more careful there? Those, my hamhanded friend, are the highest quality tools a man in my profession can possess. Designed most of them myself. It takes a certain level of genius to come up with ideas like that, and I won’t see my fine work ruined by some slackjawed throwback who -- whoa, whoa, hold up there! Did I say throwback? Heh, heh -- no of course not. I meant dedicated, because you’re obviously a man dedicated to your job.”

Autolycus’ voice was audible long before he was carried feet first into the library by two very unhappy looking guards. One other, very large guard accompanied them, with what looked like a few of Autolycus’ tools shoved into his belt. He was busy cracking his knuckles as he looked at Autolycus the way a butcher looked at a side of goat he was about to carve.

“Hercules!” Autolycus hailed him with a bright, friendly smile, as though he weren’t being held in an armlock by one guard while the second held his legs in a way that would ensure easy breaking with just a simple twist. “Now, would you tell these jokers--”

“King Iphicles,” said the guard trapping Autolycus’ arms at his sides, “requested that the next time we found this...person with his hands where they didn’t belong, that we ask you what to do with him.”

“If you don’t have any suggestions,” said the guard holding Autolycus’ legs, “we’re instructed to remove his hands, and anything else we think appropriate.”

“Please don’t have any suggestions,” the large guard said, giving Autolycus a nasty smile.

“No, no! Suggest away!” Autolycus laughed nervously. “I’ll even toss in a few of my own.”

Hercules sighed. “All right...put him in the dungeon.”

“He already escaped twice,” said the guard at Autolycus’ head.

“Of course he did.” Hercules reached up to rub at his temple; that headache was coming back. “And you tied him up?”

“And chained him last time.”

“Great.” Hercules didn’t think Iphicles was serious about the dismemberment, but the guards probably were. He’d just have to come up with something creative -- and talk with Autolycus about this later.

“Do you have any Scythian double-latch locks?” Gabrielle asked, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

“Now wait a minute.” Autolycus frowned at her. “How did you know about--”

“There’s a barrel full of them in the dry goods storeroom,” the same guard said. “The Scythian’s sent us extra last time we traded with them. Why?”

“When it comes to Scythian locks, Autolycus has...performance issues.” Gabrielle smiled sweetly.

“Oh, now that’s low,” Autolycus said in an aggrieved tone.

All of the guards were grinning now, unpleasant expressions all around.

“I’ll go get the barrel,” the large guard said, motioning to the doorway they’d just come through.

“We’ll have him chained when you get there,” said the guard at Autolycus’ legs, nodding to him as he and the other guard started to carry Autolycus out towards the opposite door.

“Oh, hey,” Hercules said, stopping them. “You might want to try holding him upside down and shaking him for a while. I’ve found that gets most of his tools off him -- you’ll probably find some things you don’t even know you’re missing, too.”

“We’re just going to strip him, it’s easier,” said the guard at Autolycus’ head.

“Yeah,” Hercules looked at Autolycus knowingly, “shake him a few times anyway.”

“Well, just go and give away all my secrets,” Autolycus said in an offended tone. “You know, Hercules, if we weren’t such good friends, I’d feel very betrayed right about now.” He might’ve gone on, but the guard shifted his grip to clap a hand over Autolycus’ mouth. It didn’t stop Autolycus from talking, but at least it was reduced to an incomprehensible mumble as he was carried from the room.

Hercules watched him go, shaking his head in resignation. “I suppose I’m lucky that he didn’t just grab the treasury, tie Joxer to a horse and run.”

Gabrielle made a sound that was half snort, half chuckle. “You think Joxer would give him permission to do that?”

“You may have a point there,” Hercules said, sharing an amused smile with her.

“So, how did you know about those locks?” he asked curiously, leaning one forearm on the tabletop.

“Apparently, he let it slip a few months ago to this friend of Joxer’s. She told him, and he told Xena and me. I knew it would come in handy some day.” She sat up, her smile turning satisfied.

“I’d say so,” Hercules agreed.

“Yep. So, back to the story,” she said, picking up her quill again. “Now, I have everything I need on the ceremony and the reception,” she motioned to the drying scrolls, “and I think I’ve got all the details I need -- or that I’m going to get on the furnishings.” She gave him a pointed, disgruntled look.

“I’m trying!” Hercules said earnestly.

“I know, I know. And I appreciate everything you’re telling me, really. It’s just...I’m so used to writing in detail and I didn’t see this first-hand, so it’s doubly important for me to get it all down right. But, I get that you’re remembering it the best you can.”

“I’m sorry, but my mind really wasn’t on furniture and refreshments,” he said.

“Of course it wasn’t.” She gave him an understanding smile. “So, we’ll just move on. How about fashion? It was a formal event, right? Just tell me everything you remember about what everyone was wearing. Oh, and the jewelry -- and the hairstyles, too! Don’t forget that.”

Hercules...blinked. At a loss for words, he just stared at her.

“Oh, for --” Gabrielle turned her eyes upward, as though appealing for godly intervention. “Okay. Let’s just go with one thing first: hair. Tell me if any of the gods and goddesses did anything other than their usual styles.” Dipping the quill quickly in the nearby inkpot, she held it poised and ready over the parchment.

“Um....” Hercules tried to remember anything from that event that didn’t involve things he’d rather not have immortalized in prose. “I suppose maybe...there might have been a few different styles, but, Gabrielle, I wouldn’t even know how to begin to describe something like that.”

“It’s not that difficult. Well, you, for example.” She pointed the end of her quill at his head. “I’d say your hair was layered with subltle blond highlights and a double wave, with--”

“Gabrielle,” Hercules cut her off flatly. “Let’s just skip the hair.” The soap Iphicles had had delivered to Hercules and Iolaus had stayed lye soap, thank all the Fates, but it still hadn’t washed out the..style Hercules’ hair had been tortured into.

“Oh. Okay.” Gabrielle gave him a confused look, but moved on anyway. “Then, tell me everything you remember about the clothes, starting with yours.”

Sighing, Hercules dredged up what he could remember of that. Not that the all white outfit he’d been forced into hadn’t been horrifying enough that he’d hoped to never talk about it, but at least he wasn’t stuck with it the way he seemed to be with his hair.

Some three hours later, when Gabrielle had finally finished squeezing every little detail she could out of him, Hercules went looking for some breathing space. The top turret of the castle seemed like a safe bet, with only a couple guards patrolling the small, flat roofed area. He took a circuitous route, making a side trip down to the dungeons to check on Autolycus -- and to refasten the dozen locks Autolycus had managed to open, tuning out Autolycus’ protests the entire time. But after that, he found the long, winding staircase that took him to the top of the turret, where he could look out over sprawling Corinth and a hint of the countryside beyond.

There were still a few clouds in the sky, mostly wispy, insubstantial things, but a couple of the smallest still had that grey, heavy look to them, a reminder of the days of rain and Zeus’ displeasure. The sun was shining brightly now, though, giving the air a pleasant warmth as it headed slowly towards the horizon. The castle stone had already dried out, and down below, Hercules could only make out two or three lingering puddles, the sunlight glinting off them in the crowded streets. Given another day or two of sun, even those would be gone. The harvest had already been brought in, so, while the rivers and creeks may’ve been lapping over their banks, at least no one would go hungry from this unseasonable downpour.

“They look like bugs when you’re this high up.”

Hercules didn’t think he’d been expecting...company, but he wasn’t startled by the voice, so maybe he’d been anticipating something.

“They look like people, to me,” he said, looking over at the black-cloaked figure who now stood beside him.

“Yeah, well, imagination isn’t exactly your forte.” The hood was pulled far enough forward that nothing of Strife’s face was visible, giving the impression, even in broad daylight, that there was nothing there but a faceless voice. It was...eerie.

“You know, it quit raining almost a day ago.” Hercules reached out to pull back the hood. But his fingers barely grazed the soft fabric before Strife’s arm emerged from beneath the cloak, long fingers wrapping around Hercules’ wrist, stopping him.

“I’m not big on sunlight,” Strife said, angling his body so Hercules could just see beneath the hood. Pale face framed by black fabric; it made the blue of his eyes stand out, the surprising pink of his lips. “It messes with my delicate complexion.” He smirked as he released Hercules’ wrist.

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Hercules asked, crossing his arms.

“Do I need a reason?” Strife returned, raising an eyebrow.

“You usually have one.”

Strife hummed something that might’ve been agreement, but said nothing more. He turned away and, bracing one arm on the top of the wall, just stood there, looking out over the city. The decorative metal rings on his sleeve and fingerless glove glinted brightly in the sunlight.

“Is--is there a problem, my Lord?”

The hesitant question from behind him surprised Hercules the way Strife’s appearance hadn’t. Turning, he found one of the guards standing there, his young face a study in confusion.

“It’s just Hercules, not Lord,” Hercules corrected automatically.

The guard nodded, but the confusion didn’t disappear. And then Hercules understood.

“Oh.” He glanced back at Strife, who hadn’t moved. “I’m just...talking with family,” he said. He thought he heard a snort from Strife, but it was too low to say for sure.

“I see,” said the guard, although, it was clear from his tone that he didn’t. “Well, um, so long as everything is...all right.”

“About as good as I can expect,” Hercules said with a nod.

“Right.” Giving him an odd look, the guard turned and walked straight towards the second guard on the other side of the turret, who was also looking at Hercules strangely. They immediately began talking in low tones, never taking their eyes off Hercules.

Smiling uncomfortably, Hercules gave them a small wave before turning back to Strife. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked dryly.

“Me?” Strife asked innocently, “now why would you say that?”

“You could make yourself visible.”

“Hmm, you’re right, I could.” But his tone, the playful sarcasm, said that he had no intention of it.

“Fine.” Hercules sighed, moving to lean his arms on top of the wall. “What do you want?”

“I’m hurt, Hercules, really. After everything we’ve been to each other, you can be so suspicious? Where’s the romance gone?” Strife sniffed dramatically.

Hercules just rolled his eyes. “Autolycus is a better actor than you; why are you here, really?”

“Appearances, partly,” Strife said, shrugging lightly. “Maybe Zeus did buy into that whole ‘declaring a truce’ crap, but no way will he buy us never hooking up again. Have to keep him from cluing in too much, know what I’m saying?”

“I think I’m getting the general idea. So, you’ll be...what? Dropping in unannounced, being a nuisance occasionally?”

Strife laughed softly. “A ‘nuisance?’ Well, if that’s what turns your crank. Me? I was thinking I’d show up and...rock your world a little.” He turned his head enough to give Hercules a glimpse under the hood, let him see the heavy lidded look Strife was giving him.

“That, um....” Hercules had to swallow, trying to find moisture in a suddenly dry mouth. “I like that idea better than mine,” he admitted, lowering his voice. The guards were still on the other side of the turret, but voices carried and he didn’t care to have this overheard.

“Mmm, thought you might.” Strife hooked the fingers of his free hand into Hercules’ belt and hauled him forward, turning around so that he was caught between the wall and Hercules’ body.

“Fuck appearances,” he said, his voice deepening as he slid his other hand inside Hercules’ vest. “I don’t need any reason, except wanting to do you.”

It was definitely the wrong place and time, but even the thought of what the guards behind them must be thinking couldn’t stop Hercules from reacting to that touch, Strife’s hand moving up his chest, fingers finding and rubbing against his nipple.

Despite all of the blood in his body rapidly heading south and his mind threatening to follow suit, Hercules managed to reach up and take hold of Strife’s wrist, stopping that hand from any further exploration. He even managed to sound coherent when he spoke, although there was a tremor in his voice.

“What about Deimos?” he asked.

Strife chuckled. “Isn’t it hinky how suddenly, now that your sweet ass isn’t on the sale block, Zeus is making all kinds of noises about how guys can’t marry other guys? Deimos is pouting about it, but I’m not gonna argue.”

“So you still have to find a bride?”

“No, I’m pretty much off the hook. I got that much out of this.”

Hercules frowned, not seeing what Strife was getting at.

Strife gave a long, theatrical sigh. “Deimos won that little staged fight, remember? Of course, he’s not exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver, so he thinks all that was on the level and you got punked. Now he’s got this freaky idea that he owns me and he’s telling anyone who’s stupid enough to stand still long enough to listen. You think any girl would get with me now? He’d tear her to bloody pieces. I guess Zeus figures I’m settled down enough.” He snorted, shaking his head. “You know, whatever. Just so long as I don’t get shackled to some chick with no dick.”

“Right.” Hercules started to step back, but Strife didn’t let him, yanking him forward, pressing them chest to chest and trapping their arms between them.

“Going somewhere?” his voice bordered on a purr.

“I think I’d like to avoid another fight with Deimos, thanks,” Hercules said, trying, and failing to pull out of Strife’s grip. “I’m not about to let him win every time, and the instant I come out on top, Zeus might start getting...ideas again.”

“Oh, give me some credit, why don’t you?” Strife said with an exagerated roll of his eyes. “Deimos isn’t going anywhere for a while. He’s a little tied up right now, and he’s gonna stay that way until he learns who’s really wearing the pants, dig?” He deepened his voice. Twisting his wrist out of Hercules’ grasp, he splayed his fingers wide against Hercules’ chest, his thumb just brushing against Hercules’ nipple.

Given Deimos’ jealousy, Hercules really didn’t think that it was a lesson Deimos would learn any time soon, but he didn’t have a chance to voice that opinion. The instant he opened his mouth, Strife lunged forward those last couple inches, like a viper striking, and covered Hercules’ mouth with his own.

Tongues sliding, slick and wet and their lips were damp with it, and -- oh gods, teeth. Strife was biting him. Nipping sharply at his lips, even at his tongue, and Hercules moaned into Strife’s mouth, pressing closer, pushing Strife hard against the wall. Strife pushed back, rocked his hips against Hercules’; the rub and tight friction of leather against rapidly hardening cocks made them both groan. Hercules could feel the shudder that went through Strife, the way it rocked Strife into him again. Slipping a hand inside the cloak, Hercules slid his free hand down Strife’s side, over slick leather and cool metal. Strife made an approving humming sound, muffled against Hercules’ mouth.

Leaning further into the kiss, deepening it, Hercules tried to work his hand between Strife’s ass and the wall. There was no room, not with how hard he was pressed against Strife, but that didn’t stop him from trying anyway, wanting to get a better hold on him, get a good handful.

“Hercules! There you are! Wow, I’ve looked all over this place.”

Hercules pulled free of Strife’s mouth with a frustrated sound that segued into a muttered curse. If there was one thing Joxer excelled at, it was bad timing.

“Gabrielle said you vanished a while ago -- oh, I’m supposed to tell you that she has a couple more questions for you -- and said I should check the dungeons. Did you know that Auto’s down there all chained up? The guards let me see him and he wanted me to sneak him a couple of his lockpicks -- um, not that I carry any or anything. But he’s already got three of them open and I told him he needed the practice. He knows some pretty interesting curses; I didn’t know his vocabulary was that big.” Joxer’s voice was coming closer, the sound of rattling metal accompanying him as always.

Reining in his frustration and brief flash of temper, Hercules took a deep breath and let go of Strife, working his hands free and taking a step back. But Strife didn’t let him go. Kiss-swollen lips curling upward in a smirk, he worked another finger into Hercules’ belt, slid his other hand up Hercules’ chest.

“Wait for it,” Strife whispered.

“For what?” Hercules started to ask, but his words were muffled when Strife’s hand came up, pressed fingers against his lips.

“This’ll be sweet.” Strife winked, and Hercules was instantly suspicious.

“What’s going on?” he asked against Strife’s fingers.

Strife merely widened his smirk.

“Anyway,” Joxer went on, “King Iphicles put me in charge of inventorying the broken weapons, so the blacksmith knows everything that needs fixing -- you’d think things would be more organized around here, wouldn’t you? Shouldn’t the smith already know this kind of thing? But, he says he doesn’t -- oh! He also said he’d give me some of his higher quality scrap when I was done. A couple parts of my armor are a little rusty and I’ve been trying to save up enough to replace them, but now I don’t have to!”

“Now,” Strife said, releasing his grip on Hercules, giving him a light shove backwards.

Hercules went with the shove, but not before pausing to give Strife a close look, searching for a clue in Strife’s expression as to what game was being played now. But Strife’s smirk revealed only amusement, the pale blue of his eyes giving away nothing but a sparkle of anticipation.

“That sounds...great, Joxer,” Hercules said, turning around, forcing an interested look on his face.

Joxer was right there, helmet dangling from one hand as he scratched at his head with the other, mussing his hair. Stopping just a foot or so from Hercules, he smiled widely. He was an open scroll, his expression showing a bright happiness that managed to dissipate the last of Hercules’ annoyance.

“It sounds like you’ve got an important job,” Hercules said, a true smile easy enough to manage with Joxer beaming at him so eagerly. “We’ll need every weapon we can get soon.”

Joxer nodded. “I know, and I still have a lot of stuff to go through, but Rasmus -- the smith -- said I’ve done enough for a while and I--I should...take a...break...but....” His voice trailed off, his smile disappearing.

“Joxer?” Hercules prompted with a frown. But Joxer didn’t answer him, just continued to stand there, staring -- but not at him.

Turning slightly, Hercules saw that Strife had moved out from behind him, stepped off to the side. He’d let his hood slide back, not enough to fall off, but more than enough to show his face. Arms crossed, he was leaning back against the wall, just...looking at Joxer, smirking widely.

Why had Strife decided to show himself? What was going on? Hercules looked from one to the other, but saw nothing save amusement on Strife’s part, and an odd mix of anxious resentment on Joxer’s. There were no answers, just a certainty that there was some sort of history there.

“What--?” Hercules started to ask, but then one of the guards walked by on his way to the other side of the turret.

The man nodded to Hercules, glanced at Joxer’s “armor” with a contemptuous raised eyebrow, and kept moving. His eyes slid right over Strife as though no one were there, and to his view, there probably wasn’t.

Strife wasn’t visible. Not to...to....

Hercules looked at Joxer, looked at Strife, back again, and it was like he could hear the clicking as everything fell into place, like pegs into fitted holes. Their faces weren’t similar, the shape wrong, eyes different, but their complexion was the same, their build, and their hands. Those hands...long fingered, elegant -- Joxer was a klutz, true, but his hands, the way he gestured, it was the one truly graceful thing he did, and all too familiar.

“Oh,” Hercules said, his voice soft, filled with dawning understanding.

Joxer flinched. The slight movement broke the silent standoff -- if that’s what it was -- between him and Strife and suddenly they were both moving. Strife took a step forward, slid an arm around Hercules’ waist. Joxer tore his gaze from Strife and focused pointedly on Hercules, eyes fixed on his face.

“I--I didn’t know you were busy. Sorry.” All of his previous cheerfulness gone, his tone was subdued. “I’ll just, um, go.” He backed away. One step, then two, then started to turn away.

“What, that’s it?” Strife’s taunting tone stopped Joxer in his tracks. “Nothing to say to your dad?”

The set of Joxer’s shoulders stiffened; he didn’t look at Strife when he spoke. “My dad is in prison in Miramus.”

“That’s cold, Joxer.” Strife shook his head, clucking his tongue.

Hercules had a brief thought of interrupting, but it was very brief. He didn’t think Joxer would thank him for “rescuing” him from this conversation. Judging from the hard set of his jaw, it was likely Joxer didn’t want any reminders that there was someone listening in on this.

“What a way to treat your own father.” Strife sighed dramatically.

“You didn’t raise me -- any of us. You didn’t show up until we were almost grown. You’re no father.” Now Joxer did turn. The glare he leveled on Strife was pure resentment.

“Oh. So that’s how it is, huh?” Releasing his hold on Hercules, Strife took a step forward, smirk widening. “You’re...what? Feeling neglected? Wishing I’d hung out more? Been something more than just the baby daddy?”

Joxer didn’t back away, didn’t even back down. “No. We wish you’d never shown up at all.”

“‘We?’” Strife raised an eyebrow, took another step forward. “Funny, Jett was all over me showing up. Got off on what I taught him. Jace got a kick out of it, too, remember? He’s copying a few of my moves, now.” He did some sort of...hip swivel that was visible even with the cloak draped around him.

“Fine,” Joxer said, his voice strained. “I wish you’d never shown up.”

“Because I didn’t have anything special for you, nothing to teach you like your brothers?” Strife cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow.

Joxer gave him a disgusted look, shook his head, but Strife was already moving, speaking again.

“You don’t have to be jealous, Joxer,” he said, tone full of false sympathy as he moved to Joxer’s side in a step-slide motion that sent his cloak billowing out around him. He dropped an arm over Joxer’s shoulders. Joxer immediately tried to pull away, but Strife must’ve tightened his grip, because Joxer winced and went abruptly still.

“I never bothered to show you anything because I didn’t have to,” Strife said, smiling at Joxer. And suddenly there was nothing fake in his expression or his tone; his words sounded completely sincere. “You’re my favorite, you know.”

Joxer stared at him in disbelief.

“Oh, sure, Jace is fun and Jett has a kill count like whoa, but you? Wherever you go, whatever you do, you cause trouble. You don’t even try and it happens; that’s some serious talent. I like your bros, Joxer, but you’re a chip off the old block, and that rocks.” Strife’s smile widened into a grin as he spoke, even as Joxer looked at him in horror.

Hercules figured that it was time he stepped in. Joxer still wouldn’t thank him for it, but he couldn’t just stand there and watch a friend be made progressively more miserable.

“Strife,” he started, “maybe you should--”

Strife cut him off with a hiss, raising a hand sharply as his gaze went unfocussed. He was staring at nothing, brow crinkling in a frown, and yet he seemed to be paying attention to something, just nothing that Hercules could see. The two guards were still walking their routes, passing by occasionally -- and giving both Hercules and Joxer odd looks now -- but there was nothing else to be seen or heard.

“Well,” Strife lowered his hand, blinking once before focusing back on both Joxer and Hercules, “much as it’d fletch my arrows to keep this up, Ares is bellowing and I gotta bail. See you around, kid.” He gave Joxer’ shoulders a visible squeeze. Joxer winced and made a squeaking sound of discomfort.

“And you, Hercules,” Strife dropped his arm from around Joxer, let his hand fall to his hip, “I’ll be seeing you...soon.” He put a wealth of innuendo into those few words, his eyes taking on a heavy-lidded, sultry look.

Before Hercules could respond to that -- although, what he was going to say, he didn’t know -- Strife vanished in a column of icy blue flame, the same color as his eyes.

Both Hercules and Joxer just stood there for a few moments, staring at the spot where Strife had stood until the last traces of flickering blue had vanished. Even when all traces were gone, they didn’t say anything. Hercules just wasn’t sure what to say. It would be all too easy to say the wrong thing and hurt Joxer or anger him without meaning to. He had to let Joxer lead the way in this conversation. Assuming they had one at all. He wouldn’t blame Joxer in the slightest if he simply turned around and left.

But Joxer didn’t do that. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he crossed his arms and looked at Hercules. His whole posture was defensive, from the sudden, stiff set of his shoulders to the way he seemed to brace himself before speaking.

“Could...could you not tell anyone about this?” he asked.

“Of course,” Hercules promised. “I unders--”

“I’m mortal,” Joxer said quickly. “I--we all are, me and my brothers. We’re just plain mortals.”

“I know.” Hercules nodded. “About you, I mean. I’ll take your word on your brothers.”

“Oh. Well, sure, of course you would know. I knew that.” Joxer chuckled nervously. “But, um, about that. My brothers. Jace. Xena and Gabby don’t know about him.”

“Then I won’t say anything.”

“I’ll tell them -- about Jace, not about...this.” Joxer glanced around warily as though Strife might appear at any time.

“I think they’d understand,” Hercules felt compelled to point out. “They know you can’t choose your family. If they were going to hold that against someone, I doubt they’d count me as a friend.”

“Yeah, I know.” Joxer’s smile was brief, but real. “I just.... I don’t even think about him most days. I’ve only seen him two other times -- Jett says he sees him way more; not a big surprise.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I meant what I said; my dad is the man who raised me, not him. But, if it got out that Mom had another man’s children, even if it was a god...?” The look he gave Hercules pleaded for understanding.

And Hercules understood completely. “I know,” he said seriously. He did know, what it was to have your mother called a whore and worse. It was better now, so many years later with Hercules being who he was, but there were still enough people out there who had no problem insulting her behind his back. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not Joxer and certainly not his mother.

Joxer nodded, but he didn’t look relieved. “Xena and Gabrielle are my best friends--more like family, and I know I should tell them, but I don’t want them looking at me differently. I don’t want them seeing me as the son of a god--because it doesn’t mean anything. I just...I want them seeing me the way I really am, the way they do now, even if I’m...well, I know what I am,” he said in an utterly self-deprecating tone.

“I know what you are, too,” Hercules said. Unwilling to just stand there and let Joxer say or believe something like that, he stepped forward, moved close enough to reach out and place a gentle hand on Joxer’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend,” he said. Joxer rolled his eyes, but Hercules didn’t let him speak. “I know Xena and Gabrielle think of you as family, too, and they wouldn’t if they thought as badly of you as you seem to think they do. Iolaus and I don’t think of you that way, either.”

“Oh, so you’re happy to have someone like me as a friend?” Joxer gave him a completely disbelieving look. “I cause trouble wherever I go, remember?”

“If that were true, none of us would want to be around you. You can’t believe everything Strife says.”

“He meant it,” Joxer pointed out.

“He meant to cause strife. It’s what he does.” Giving Joxer’s shoulder a light squeeze, Hercules let go. “You’re a good man, Joxer, you have a good heart and the best of intentions -- and do you really think you would have hooked Autolycus if you were that bad to be around?” he asked, deliberately lightening the tone of things with a smile.

Joxer responded to it with a small smile of his own. “Well, maybe.”

“Definitely. I don’t know anyone else who could’ve managed that as fast or as well as you did. Iolaus is impressed, so am I.”

“Gabrielle thinks he’ll be a bad influence on me.” His smile widened and the stiffness began to leave his posture.

“I prefer to think that you’ll be a good influence on him.”

That got an actual laugh from Joxer, a small, soft one, but there was real humor there. “I think that’s what he’s really worried about. But I don’t want to change him...much.”

Hercules grinned at that and Joxer echoed his expression for a few moments. But then he looked away, his good humor vanishing entirely.

“I told Auto about Jett and he gets it. He was a little...weird about it for a while, but he’s okay now. Maybe he’ll get this, too.”

Not knowing Autolycus well enough to speculate on what he would or wouldn’t understand, Hercules didn’t respond. Joxer didn’t seem to need a response anyway. After a moment of staring off, somewhere over the wall, he blinked and shook his head.

“Um...I’m gonna go see if Rasmus wants any help cleaning up those barrels of spear and arrow heads that dumped over,” he said, looking at Hercules again. “I told him he shouldn’t keep things out where people can just fall right over them. You’d think he’d appreciate good advice.” He shrugged as he shoved his helmet on, then turned and began walking away.

“I’m sure he does,” Hercules said, repressing a sudden laugh. The return to normality was reassuring.

It occurred to him then, that he’d nearly ended up with Joxer as a stepson, of a sort. That was...a little hard to wrap his mind around. He liked Joxer, of course, but he didn’t think either of them would’ve been comfortable with that relationship. It was...interesting enough that they were related at all, albeit not directly. But it wasn’t a distant relation, either, and Hercules was abruptly grateful that Joxer wasn’t interested in claiming kinship with Strife. Joxer calling him “uncle” didn’t sound any better than Hercules having to call him “son.” “Friend” worked just fine, and that made him family by default, anyway, no other labels necessary.

Turning back to the wall, Hercules leaned against it and looked out over Corinth again, its crowds of buildings and people. There were still a couple hours until sunset, but he couldn’t justify standing around for that long. He couldn’t even justify a few more minutes. Iphicles would want to speak to him before dinner and he’d need to bring Xena into that discussion, get her opinions on a few things. Gabrielle apparently had more questions, but that could wait until after dinner. He needed to do another check on Autolycus, fix whatever he’d unlocked, and then find out what Iolaus was up to. Actually, if Iolaus hadn’t found his way to either the smithy or the kitchens, Hercules would be very surprised.

Pushing away from the wall, Hercules decided that, given where Joxer was headed, it was safer to check the kitchens first. He nodded to the guards as he passed them; they both nodded back, both giving him dubious looks. That was becoming familiar enough that Hercules just shook his head and smiled as he headed down the stairs.

Part 23

The door clicked shut and immediately the raised, angry voices were muffled behind it. Hercules sighed in relief, bringing one hand up to rub at tired eyes. He thought about leaning back against the door, maybe resting for a moment or two, but then a particularly loud insult came through clearly, the sharp tone not at all dulled by the thick wood of the door, and he nixed that idea.

“They’re still at it?” Iolaus sounded as weary as Hercules felt. After two days of this, it was no surprise.

“Yeah,” Hercules said, dropping his hand. “Well, it’s just Ares and Xena, um, ‘talking’ now.”

“That would do it.” Leaning against the opposite door in the dimly lit, narrow corridor, Iolaus gave Hercules a tired, but understanding smile. Then he yawned.

Hercules nodded in agreement, with both the observation and the yawn.

Planning out strategy with Iphicles and Xena was one thing, and it’d been productive. Not so much when Ares had shown up late yesterday, a bored looking Strife in tow. Iphicles had been smart enough to excuse himself earlier that day when they’d hashed out most of their plans. But Hercules, instinctively wanting to stop conflict when he saw it, had tried to mediate when Xena and Ares began arguing the finer points of defense. “Argue” had long since turned to insults, sarcasm, snark and yelling, and regardless of what words they said, it was obvious that they weren’t really talking about the plans anymore. Hercules figured it was best to leave them to it. Gabrielle was still in there, after all, she’d come get them if things got too out of hand.

“Sorry,” Iolaus muttered as he yawned again, wide enough that the right side of his jaw audibly popped. Although, that probably had less to do with age than it did the impressive multicolored bruise covering the right side of his face from his split lip all the way back to his ear.

“It’s late; we should all be trying to get some rest,” Hercules said, waving off the apology.

Iolaus nodded, pushing off of the door. As he stood up straight, there were more cracks and pops of bone and joints. He winced, but otherwise didn’t seem too bothered by any of the many bruises and scrapes Hercules could see clearly along his arms and chest. Who knew how much other damage Iolaus had taken where it wasn’t visible.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Hercules asked.

Iolaus rolled his eyes, although there was less exasperation there than fondness. “Yeah, just like the last half dozen times you asked.”

“If you say so.” Hercules shrugged, letting the subject go.

He couldn’t even pinpoint when it’d happened. Strife’s contribution to the meeting ended with his recitation of the current numbers of the Persian army and there’d been no reason for him to stay, but he had, and not looking at Hercules for once. Iolaus hadn’t had anything more to say after they’d finalized the defensive plan, but he hadn’t left, either. Hercules wasn’t unaware of the speculative looks Iolaus and Strife were trading, but he’d still missed it when they’d slipped out of the room, somewhere between Xena and Iphicles discussing troop deployment ideas and Ares’ mocking commentary on limited mortal perspectives. No one else had noticed, either, but everyone was well aware of when they returned. It was hard to miss the door slamming open as two filthy, battered and bloody, grinning figures staggered in, arms around each other for support.

Neither of them would admit that anything had actually happened and claimed to be perfectly fine. Iolaus gave everyone a thumbs up before collapsing into the nearest chair; Strife just shrugged, wincing at the movement, with a, “I didn’t see any fight, did you?” which he directed at Iolaus. Eyes wide and innocent, Iolaus shook his head, sending bits of dust and a couple drops of blood flying. That was all anyone got out of them and hours later, long after Strife had vanished to check in on the Persian king, Iolaus had cleaned up, but still hadn’t bothered to explain. Hercules doubted he ever would, which was fine. He had a pretty good idea what had happened and if Iolaus was happy with it, so was he.

“I’m off to bed,” Iolaus announced, voice muffled as he covered another yawn with a bandaged and splinted hand.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Hercules agreed. “Maybe they’ll be finished by morning.” Although another loud yell from inside the room gave him doubts.

“And maybe they’ll bring the castle down around us,” Iolaus said with a disinterested shrug. “Either way, I’ll probably sleep through it. See you at breakfast.”

“Sleep well,” Hercules said as Iolaus limped his way down the corridor.

Iolaus nodded in acknowledgment and offered a short wave of farewell in return.

Their rooms were close together and Hercules was very tempted to follow him, to just fall into bed and forget about things in favor of a few hours rest. But he knew, no matter how tired he was, he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t know exactly where Autolycus was and what he was doing. So far Autolycus hadn’t managed to get out of the dungeon, but only because nearly everyone had taken a few trips down there to bring him food, news, and to relock whatever Autolycus had managed to open. Hercules was fairly certain they could come up with something productive for Autolycus to do in the coming war, but until then, it was better if Autolycus stayed right where he was. Autolycus had taken to expressing his opinion of that in great length and with much snark, so going to see him wasn’t exactly high on Hercules’ list of fun things to do. But, the faster he got it over with, the sooner he could get to bed.

It took a couple mintues just to make it down to the first floor of the castle. They’d been meeting in an airy, many windowed room in the bottom of the south turret, out of the direct path of the sun, and while it was comfortable enough, it was still a long way down. When he finally reached the door that led down to the dungeons, however, Hercules was relieved to run right into one of the guards coming up.

“Have you seen Autolycus recently?” he asked, backing up a couple steps to give the man some room.

“That the one who keeps picking the locks?” the guard asked in return, as he pulled the door shut behind him.

“Yeah, that’d be him.” Hercules nodded, crossing his arms.

“I’m trying to forget I saw him,” the guard said with a disgusted snort.

“I take it he’s still being his annoying, loud self.”

“Not...exactly.” The guard grimaced, an uncomfortable expression.

“Oh?” Not sure how to take that, Hercules frowned.

“The other one -- bad armor?”

“Joxer,” Hercules supplied.

“Yeah, him. He spends the nights down there. Brought a gag tonight. We thought that was great, at first,” the guard said with a small chuckle and a shake of his head. “No more bitching from the prisoner. But then it got too quiet and we decided to check in on them. They were....” He shook his head again, more slowly this time, his expression a mix of disturbed and disgusted. “Tartarus, I didn’t even know...that...was possible!”

“Okay, I think I’ve got the idea,” Hercules said, holding up a hand to cut off any further explanation. “Just--do you think Autolycus is...?” How did he want to word that? “Safely occupied for the night?” he settled on after a moment.

The guard snorted in amusement tinged with disbelief. “I’d be surprised if it took them any less than half a day to get out of that--”

“Right.” Hercules quickly cut him off. “That’s all I need to know. Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” the guard said. “Now, I’m off duty and I’m going to go drink until I forget what I saw.”

“I...can sympathize. Good luck with that.”

The guard nodded once before walking away.

Shaking his head, glad that he’d been spared that spectacle, Hercules headed back upstairs. His room was in the wing with all the other guest rooms, on the second floor to the east, which was, fortunately, not too far. He’d had enough of traipsing all over the castle for one day.

It was a nice room, fair sized, good furniture and a lot of it, but the only interest Hercules had was in the bed. Fortunately, that was also nice and big, the mattress stuffed with goose down instead of the straw he was used to, the covers a tight weave of Egyptian cotton. Hercules quickly stripped down, leaving his clothes where they fell, more interested in getting some sleep than being neat -- and dropped straight down into the bed. Soft mattress, even softer sheets; he let out a deep sigh of relief. He hoped Iphicles took pity on him and let him sleep past dawn.

Hercules dreamed. That wasn’t unusual; he dreamed often and, as far as he knew, never anything unusual. Well, not unusual for a guy who fought monsters and had gods popping in and out of his life constantly. Nightmares were rare, surprisingly, given what he’d seen in his life. He liked to think that Morpheus was cutting him a break, giving him the peace in sleep that he didn’t often find in life.

His friends usually played parts in his dreams; he often dreamed them happy and settled and never in danger again, things he knew would likely never happen in waking life, but they were nice thoughts anyway. If he dreamt of monsters, they were harmless in some way, friendly and tamed, no threat to life or property. His enemies tended to show up only in his few nightmares, not in his regular dreams.

He wasn’t sure where Strife fit anymore, definitely not a friend, but was he still an enemy? Hercules didn’t know. He’d claimed to hate Strife not too long ago, but, while he didn’t particularly care for him, he thought hate was a little strong. But what did that make Strife, now? How could Hercules classify him? Having Strife show up in his dreams, did that make it a nightmare or not? Of course, Hercules’ enemies generally didn’t appear naked in his nightmares, didn’t straddle his thighs, slide hands down his chest, lean down to kiss him -- Strife tasted as sweet as always, his tongue slick and agile as he flicked it between Hercules’ parted lips, just a tease, never lingering.

It wasn’t a dream.

Hercules tried to open his eyes, found them already open, wondered how long he’d actually been awake. But other questions quickly became more immediate, because Strife was grinning down at him, just barely visible in the moonlight coming through the windows, eyes nothing but faintly glinting shadows in a pale face.

“Strife--what?” Hercules blinked, trying to focus as Strife leaned down, coming so close that Hercules had to close his eyes.

Awake, aware that he was awake now, Hercules didn’t just lie there and let Strife kiss him. “Wait,” he said, turning his head away.

Strife didn’t pause, didn’t answer. Lips ghosted down Hercules’ cheek, the wet tip of his tongue briefly touched the edge of Hercules’ mouth.

“Strife....” Hercules drew in a shaky breath as Strife’s mouth pressed firmly against his neck, wide open, sucking at his skin.

Hercules reached up, maybe to push Strife off, he wasn’t sure and it didn’t matter. The instant he touched skin -- one hand on Strife’s side, the other framing his hip -- Strife gasped softly against his throat, slid a hand down from Hercules chest, in between them. Hercules’ gasp was far louder than Strife’s, his grip tightening reflexively as Strife’s hand wrapped around him, stroked him once, too light, but more than enough to get him half hard. Another stroke, harder this time, and he pushed up, groaning when Strife’s thumb rubbed just under the head. His fingers were slick with something, sliding up and down, tight and easy and Hercules couldn’t help rocking up into each stroke, falling into a rhythm.

Strife was kissing his way back up his throat, and this time, when Strife reached his mouth, Hercules didn’t turn away. He shoved his tongue into Strife’s mouth even as he shoved up into Strife’s hand. It wasn’t a long kiss; Hercules didn’t want to stop, wanted to keep kissing Strife, open mouthed and wet, but it was Strife who pulled away, mouth and hand, he drew back.

Hercules protested, a wordless noise in the back of his throat. He dug his fingers into Strife’s side, his hip, tried to urge him back down, but Strife just grinned at him again, moved, but not to lean back down for another kiss. He rose up on his knees and Hercules couldn’t maintain his grip, let his hands fall to Strife’s thighs.

Strife licked his lips as he moved up, one hand pressing against Hercules’ chest for balance. Knees pressing against Hercules’ sides, he reached behind him -- Hercules gasped as Strife’s hand closed back around him, stroked him once.

“Don’t move,” Strife said, his voice low and deep.

Hercules didn’t, held as still as he could, even when he wanted nothing more than to rock up as Strife slowly, very slowly, lowered himself. It wasn’t easy, for Hercules to keep still, or for Strife, not judging from the hard push it took, or the pained gasp it drew from him. Hercules immediately tightened his hands on Strife’s thighs, ready to stop him.

But Strife shook his head, pressed both hands on Hercules’ chest, head dropping. His hair obscured his face; the sound of his shallow, harsh breaths was loud between them. Steady pressure down, pushing gradually, tight enough that Hercules nearly finished it with one hard thrust. But Strife’s fingernails dug sharply into his chest, stilling the impulse.

It seemed half of forever before Strife was finally seated on him. Buried as deep as he could go, Hercules was breathing hard, sweat beading on his skin, legs starting to shake. Strife’s skin was just as slick beneath his hands, his breathing just as ragged.

“Okay,” Strife said, voice shaky. “Okay.” He brought his head up, the smile he wore tight, strained, but triumphant in some way.

Hercules wanted to ask what was going on, because there was something -- Strife moved and all thought left Hercules’ head. A slow rise and fall, almost as slow as the first push down, no rhythm to it. He’d come close to finding one, rocking steadily, but then he’d pause, the look on his face intent, focused, breathing in short, sharp pants. It took everything Hercules had to stay still, not move, not thrust up like he ached to, but every time he made the slightest movement, Strife would stop, shake his head, sometimes whisper a single, “No.” And he’d wait until Hercules obeyed before starting again. His expression bordered on a smirk every time he did it.

Then Strife sat up, hands leaving Hercules’ chest, taking his full weight on his legs. He reached up, slid his hands back through his hair as he began to move a little harder now, a little faster, and no more stopping.

“Better?” he asked, and this time he really was smirking.

Hercules cursed in answer, and Strife’s smirk widened.

“Want to move now?” Strife’s tone was teasing.

Yes, Hercules wanted to move, he wanted to get a better grip on Strife, dig in, thrust up, hard and fast until he came. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to, Strife was grinning knowingly.

“Well,” Strife said, speeding up just a little, not nearly enough, “too bad. Stay still, or the ride’s over.”

“Strife--” Hercules started to say, his voice rough and strained but Strife cut him off.

“No talking,” he said, placing a finger against his lips. “No talking, no moving, or no getting off, got me?” And he meant it, Hercules could hear the resolve in his voice.

Always on top -- it flashed through Hercules’ mind as Strife grinned down at him. That’s exactly what Strife was doing, what he’d been doing from the start of this -- of all of this. Controlling it, and when he couldn’t, doing everything he could to control Hercules. And here, in this moment, Hercules had had enough of it.

“Strife,” he said again.

Instantly Strife stopped moving, balanced there, halfway down. “Didn’t we just cover this?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“The rules just changed.”

Hercules gave him no time to process that. He tightened his grip on Strife’s thighs and rolled them over.

Strife yelped, hands going down to grab at Hercules’ arms. But Hercules had him flipped over and on his back before Strife could get a grasp on anything, Hercules or the situation. It wasn’t a smooth roll, Strife’s legs kicking out, his whole body trying to twist in the other direction, and by the time Hercules had him pinned, his cock had slipped out.

Strife’s whole face was visible now, a moonbeam slashing across his face, showing wide, startled eyes, a mouth open in soundless shock. Hercules couldn’t resist a satisfied smile of his own as he braced one hand on the mattress, hooked an arm around Strife’s leg and pulled it up, raised Strife’s hips at just the right angle to push back in. Slick and hot and still tight enough that he had to work to get in and Strife’s gasp was high-pitched, his nails digging into Hercules’ arms. There was pain in that gasp, not much, more surprise than anything else, but Hercules still stopped, held still and gave him a few seconds.

At first Strife just stared up at him, but then he let out a shuddering breath. “W--What--what are you doing?”

The question was so obvious that Hercules answered the most obvious way, he pushed completely in. Strife’s gasp was soundless this time, his back arching; that didn’t look like pain. A couple more thrusts, slow and deep, and Strife shivered beneath him.

Hercules quickly fell into the rhythm he’d been wanting, a slow slide out, a hard, slightly faster push back in, Strife making small, wordless exclamations with each snap of Hercules’ hips. It felt so damn good to finally move, to set his own pace, to use his weight and his grip to hold Strife down. Strife never quite lost that stunned expression, even when he raised his free leg, hooked it around Hercules’ back, even when his gasps turned into encouraging moans, his eyes were still wide, mouth still slightly open. But his cheeks were flushed now, his lips damp from the flick of his tongue. He released his grip on Hercules’ arms, moving one hand up, fingers sliding over the side of Hercules’ face, brushing the corner of his mouth; he dropped his other hand between them.

There wasn’t enough light to see it, see Strife take hold of himself, begin to stroke, but the movement of his arm was unmistakable. “Oh...oh fuck, yeah,” he gasped out. “Harder.”

It was an order and Hercules ignored it; the steady pace was good, felt better than good; he could keep it going for a long time, not indefinitely, but long enough.

“Come on, come on,” Strife insisted, hand sliding from Hercules’ face to his chest. “Harder, and--and faster.”

Hercules ignored that, too.

“Can’t you just--what is your deal--move it!” Strife ordered, grabbing Hercules’ arm again, tugging at him pointedly.

A steady, slow withdraw, a hard shove back in, and Hercules didn’t alter it, the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh loud around them. But he did shift the angle. Letting go of Strife’s leg, he leaned just a little more forward, bracing his other hand on the mattress and tilting Strife’s hips further up. Another long, deep push and Strife’s startled cry told him he’d found what he was looking for. Every thrust drew another cry from Strife, his hand tightening convulsively on Hercules’ arm. He kept trying to talk, demands broken by cries and gasps, garbled and breathless. And Hercules ignored it all, kept the pace steady and deep, sweat dripping down his face, falling onto Strife’s chest.

Strife didn’t shut his eyes when he came, still staring, wide and shocked, but he was silent. All the words, the demands and orders, all of it draining away on a sharp, high gasp as he froze, every muscle tense, tight. White beaded across his chest, luminescent in the moonlight.

Hercules wanted to keep it going, get Strife hard again, see if Strife would ever learn to ask, or to beg, but he didn’t get the chance. He didn’t even know he was that close. But two more long, deep thrusts and the feel of Strife tightening down around him -- he was gone. Slamming into Strife over and over, vision whiting out.

They were both gasping, Hercules realized some indeterminate time later, Strife no louder than him. Hercules was still holding himself up, braced over Strife, on him, a faint tremble starting in his stiffly locked arms. At some point he’d closed his eyes. When he opened them, raised his head, he found Strife watching him, expression unreadable.

Strife didn’t say anything, he just lifted one hand and trailed two sticky fingers down Hercules’ cheek. Hercules didn’t even think, the instant those fingers reached his lips, he opened his mouth and took them in, licked them clean.

Strife smiled.

It was tempting, to let go of Strife’s fingers and lean down and kiss him, to kiss until they were both hard again, to just start thrusting again. But when Hercules released Strife’s fingers, he made himself sit up, pull away and out. Strife gave a slight hiss of pain at the withdraw, but he unhooked his leg from around Hercules’ back, didn’t try to keep him there.

Hercules fell to the side, hitting the bed with a soft groan. Beside him, Strife stretched out with a small, satisfied sound.

“Good thing I’m a god,” he said, arching his back, spine popping, “otherwise I’d still be twisted up like a pretzel.”

Pretzel? Hercules dismissed Strife’s strange reference with a shake of his head. There were better questions to ask. “So, what’s all this about?”

“Well,” Strife dropped flat onto the mattress with a snort, “just kill the mood, why don’t you?”

“That wasn’t just about you wanting me,” Hercules pointed out.

“Wasn’t it?” Rolling onto his side, Strife propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at Hercules. His back to the windows, his face was shadowed now and Hercules couldn’t see enough to make out his expression.

“Give me some credit, Strife,” he said. “You told me once that you didn’t do...this. Why would you now?”

“‘This?’” There was just enough illumination to make out the shape of Strife’s raised eyebrow. “Bottom, you mean? Catch? Get fucked? Take it up the ass? Ride cock?”

“Okay!” Hercules cut him off.

“You know, Hercules,” Strife reached out, trailed a finger down Hercules’ chest, “either you pick one and say it,” his finger dipped into Hercules’ navel, “or you don’t get do it again.”

“Stop avoiding the question,” Hercules said, grabbing hold of Strife’s wrist before his fingers could move lower.

“Oooh, now who’s doing the avoiding?”

Hercules didn’t have to see the smirk to know it was there.

“Besides,” Strife said, pulling his wrist out of Hercules’ grasp, “I was getting around to letting you do it anyway. Before.”

“Before?” Hercules prompted when Strife didn’t immediately continue.

“Before your little cat fight with Deimos. Swords and poking, remember?” Strife slid his fingers down Hercules’ shoulder.

“Uh-huh.” Hercules pushed an arm back between his head and the pillow. “So, this has nothing to do with anything else?”

“Like what?” Strife’s tone sounded far too innocent. The tips of his fingers trailed back up Hercules’ shoulder, slid across the front of Hercules’ chest.

“Like...Deimos?” Hercules raised an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look.

“Deimos.” Strife snorted. “Yeah, well, Deimos has a few things he needs to learn.” Fingers vanishing from Hercules’ skin, Strife pushed himself up.

Hercules didn’t say anything this time, just watched as Strife slumped back against the headboard, moonlight giving his pale skin a silvery glow.

“Deimos has...ideas,” Strife said, crossing his arms over his chest, a move that managed to look both defensive and sulky at the same time. “Just because he got to do me, he thinks he’s special or something. I mean, he only got to top the first time because the little bastard chained me and I was powerless -- and Fates, did he ever suck at it. I only let him do it that second time so I could teach him a few things, and the time after that was to see if that one brain cell he’s functioning on actually let him absorb anything. The time after that I just wanted to see if he could improvise, or if I was stuck with a one trick pony, you know? But, I guess the dweeb’s trainable, because he’s not half bad now, so I let him do me one more time as a reward.”

“Gee, I wonder where he could’ve got his ‘ideas,’” Hercules said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

“Yeah, exactly!” Strife said, either missing the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it, Hercules suspected the latter. “He draped himself all over me, clinging like wet leather,” Strife went on with a visible shudder. “Then he starts going on and on about love and forever and soul mates and fuck, that kind of insanity could be contagious or something! Ugh! So I chained him up and gagged him, and here I am.”

“You said two days ago that he was tied up,” Hercules said with a suspicious frown.

Strife shrugged, and although it was hard to make out his expression in the darkness, it seemed like an uncomfortable gesture and Hercules had the impression that Strife was deliberately not looking at him.

“He still hasn’t learned his lesson.” Strife drew one knee up, wrapped an arm around it. “Every time I go to check on him, the way he looks at me...it’s like he thinks this is romantic or something. I’d start carving him up, but he’d probably think I was declaring my undying love.” His tone had...softened. Just a little, and this time Hercules really didn’t think Strife had noticed it; Hercules decided not to point it out.

“So, I figured maybe I should just show him.” Another shrug of one shoulder. “I don’t do monogamy, dig? Deimos is all about it, but I’m all about hitting whatever fine piece of ass comes my way. He needs to get that, that I’ll fuck whoever I want, whenever and however I feel like it, know what I mean?”

“And that’s why you’re here.” Hercules nodded. He’d suspected...well, nothing quite like this, but he knew it would be something that made perfect sense only to Strife.

“No--well, maybe a little. Okay,” Strife sighed, one hand flicking up in a “whatever” gesture, “so maybe you were the first guy who came to mind. But just the first. I’m planning on working my way through every god in the pantheon after this, and then some of the more fly mortals -- hey, does your brother bat for the other team? Because, when they were handing out the hotness in your family, you may’ve been at the front of the line, but he was a pretty damn close second.”

Hercules couldn’t say how he knew Strife was playing with him, he sounded perfectly serious after all, but he knew. And when he chuckled, a hint of moonlight glinted off Strife’s teeth as he grinned in response.

“Really, Hercules,” Strife move, shifting and sliding in a fluid motion that ended with him pressed up against Hercules’ side, leaning over him, one hand braced on the mattress next to Hercules’ head. Their faces were close, Strife’s eyes glittering. “You were the only guy who came to mind,” he whispered, then closed the small distance left between them.

Strife’s kiss was as soft as his whisper, a gentle pressing of lips against lips, no pressure, just a soft, lingering touch. When Strife drew slowly back, Hercules felt his smile.

“So.” Strife kept his voice a whisper, his breath warm against Hercules’ lips. “I got what I wanted. What do you want?”

That raised Hercules’ eyebrows. “Anything?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“That’s...a lot to offer, Strife. Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m feeling real generous right now.” Strife lowered his head again, brushed his lips over the corner of Hercules’ mouth. “What do you want, Hercules?” Another brush of his lips. “Wanna ride me again? I loved the way you flipped me over, got on, got in -- just took charge, pinned me down and made me come.” The wet tip of his tongue flicked over Hercules’ bottom lip. “Fucking hot.”

It was more than tempting. Strife’s words, his light, teasing touches -- Hercules thought about grabbing him, shoving him over and down, and Strife would fight just enough to make it good. He’d struggle even as he wrapped his legs around Hercules’ waist, pulled him closer, deeper. Hercules could see it in his mind, could almost feel it, Strife beneath him again, around him. The temptation was as sweet as the taste of Strife’s mouth.

But it was a momentary desire, and one, Hercules suspected, that he’d have a chance to indulge some other time down the line. For now, there was something else he wanted more.

“All right,” he said, bringing a hand up to slide around the back of Strife’s neck. “There is something I want. I’ve wanted it for a long time now, so badly.”

“Do tell.” Strife brushed their lips together.

“What I want, Strife,” Hercules tightened his grip fractionally, fingers pressing into the side of Strife’s neck, “is for you to put my hair back the way it was.”

Strife went perfectly still, not so much as a single indrawn breath disturbed his momentary impression of a statue. There was just enough illumination to see him blink once, a few seconds later, and then he was pulling away. Hercules let him go, dropping his hand as Strife rolled away.

“You really are a total thrill kill,” Strife said, a distinct sulk in his tone as he sat up.

“Well, you did say ‘anything,’” Hercules pointed out with a smile. That got him a rude noise in response; his smile widened.

“Oh, come on -- the soap wasn’t enough?” That was definitely a whine in Strife’s tone.

“Hey, Iolaus and I are both very grateful for that, don’t get me wrong.” Actually, Iolaus’ gratefulness was loud enough that the whole castle had heard. Not that Hercules hadn’t done his best to echo the sentiment, but Iolaus had the better set of lungs.

“But you want the old, dry, stringy hair back,” Strife said, his tone disgusted.

Hercules rolled his eyes. “At this point, I’d settle for just getting rid of this...style thing, okay?” Strife was right, of course, Hercules just wanted his hair back the way it had been, but Hercules sensed that a compromise was the best way to go here.

“Hmf.” Strife didn’t look at him, at least not right away. He was silent for long moments, crossing his arms again. And then he glanced over at Hercules, just the briefest turn of his head, the glint of moonlight on his eyes as he looked at Hercules’ hair.

“Fine, whatever.” Strife said it dismissively, but the instant the last syllable left his lips, Hercules felt his hair...relax, somehow, falling out of the tight waves, the ends brushing his shoulders for the first time in weeks.

His hand, pressed between the pillow and his hair, was suddenly touching familiar dry, thin strands instead of the foreign, silky smooth...stuff he’d been touching just a fraction of a second before. Blinking in surprise, Hercules pushed himself up with one hand, the other busy carding through his hair. His smile gave way to a grin as he realized it was completely back to normal. Strife had reversed it all.

“Yes!” Hercules said with a short laugh, running both hands back through his hair, letting it fall through his fingers.

“Please, spare me.” Strife let out a huff of air.

“Thank you, Strife,” Hercules said, even knowing -- or perhaps because he knew that Strife wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Oh, you’re gonna thank me, all right.” Dropping his arms, Strife did one of those ridiculously fluid moves that wasn’t possible if someone had bones, and ended up straddling Hercules’ legs, hands sliding down Hercules’ chest.

“You got what you wanted,” Strife said, leaning close enough for their noses to brush, “now it’s my turn again.”

“Strife,” Hercules shook his head, “I need to get some sleep.” He reached out to push Strife away, but Strife gasped at his touch, arched into it, and Hercules just left his hands there, spread wide over Strife’s ribs.

“Is that right?” Strife whispered, one of his hands leaving Hercules’ chest. A sharp sound, the snapping of fingers, a flash of blue sparks in the darkness -- and suddenly the lamp flared to life.

Bright orange light, too bright. Hercules clenched his eyes shut with a grunt of pain.

“Sorry,” Strife said with complete insincerity. But the light did dim.

Hercules cracked open his eyes, very slightly, just enough to let the light in, adjust to it.

Strife was smirking when Hercules was finally able to fully open his eyes. He was also completely healed of the bruises or cuts he’d had a few hours before. It wasn’t a surprise -- Strife wouldn’t have been as...flexible as he was if he’d still been that beat up, but Hercules still sighed, shook his head again.

“Nice, Strife,” he said sardonically. “I don’t suppose Iolaus is going to wake up looking just as good?”

“Just as good? Not a chance.” Strife ran a hand back through his hair, spiky curls springing back into place in its wake. “Shorty can dream all he wants, but he’ll never look this fine.”

Hercules rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything else, Strife went on.

“But he’ll look the same as he always does, not a scratch on him.” Strife shrugged easily, his expression showing complete unconcern.

That made Hercules raise a skeptical eyebrow.

Strife sighed. “You know, Hercules, I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t trust me.”

“Now, I wonder why that is?” Hercules said, rhetorically, but Strife answered anyway.

“Lack of communication. We’ll work on it.” Strife winked. “See, Iolaus might be a little guy, but he’s a better fighter than most mortals, so it’d be kind of on the dumb side to have him on the walking wounded list, wouldn’t it? What, with the Persians breathing down our necks and all.”

Hercules nodded reluctantly, seeing the sense in that.

“So, he’ll wake up,” Strife snapped his fingers again, but this time there were no accompanying sparks, “and everything’s good.” He lowered his hand, rested it back on Hercules’ chest, thumb sliding against Hercules’ nipple. “Just like you’re gonna wake up all nice and rested in the morning, feel me?”

Hercules felt a lot of things, the brush of Strife’s thumb, the weight of Strife on his legs, the half-dried come, sticky and smearing the insides of Strife’s thighs, the growing length of Strife’s cock pressing into his stomach, but trust? Not so much. But, maybe...just this once, Hercules thought he could take Strife at his word.

“All right,” he said, and Strife grinned in response. A grin that took a decidedly wicked turn a moment later.

“So, Hercules,” he said, raising up on his knees, “why don’t you lie down and flip over?” The tip of his tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. “I remember making a promise, a little something about my tongue and your ass; ring any bells?”

Hercules wanted to say something to that, thought that he should say something, but for a moment he couldn’t breathe, the images Strife’s words conjured enough to take his breath away. By the time he could form words again, Strife had given him a shove and Hercules was already going down. His head hit the pillows and Strife’s grin was wide and hungry. Hercules decided words were overrated; he turned over.

-------

At first Hercules thought the pounding was in his head. Considering that dawn was lighting the sky when he’d finally gotten to sleep, when Hercules pried his eyes open and glimpsed the morning sun still working its way across the floor, he fully expected stabbing pain in his eyes and a matching throbbing headache. But...staring at the sunlight only gave him spots behind his eyelids when he closed them again, no accompanying pain, and no headache at all. In fact, despite what appeared to be only an hour or so of sleep, he was rapidly coming fully awake, the fuzziness of sleep falling away quickly, leaving nothing behind. No exhaustion, no urge to burrow back beneath the covers and go back to sleep -- he was feeling more alert by the moment. Strife had kept his word.

But, even if he had been tired, he wouldn’t have been able to go back to sleep. That pounding that wasn’t in his head was still...pounding.

“Hercules.” The pounding had a voice attached to it. “Come on, Hercules.” A voice that sounded like his brother. “I’m not going away.” His very annoyed brother.

“Right.” Hercules sighed, sitting up and swinging his legs out from under the covers. His hair was in his face, and when he reached up to shove it back, his fingers encountered more than a few knots and tangles. Just like it always was in the morning; back to normal. He was grinning as he stood up.

A grin that vanished with a shocked, sharply indrawn breath when he looked down at the bed, saw the...state of the covers.

“That’s just great, Strife,” Hercules said, disgusted. But there was no answer. He was alone in the room; Strife probably thought...this...spoke for itself.

“Hercules, I can hear you in there. I know you’re awake.” The knocking grew louder, more insistent.

Hercules shook his head, grimacing as he forced his gaze away from the bed. He’d expected to be sore, at the very least after what they’d done last night, but there wasn’t so much as a twinge as he bent down to grab his pants off the floor. There didn’t appear to be any marks on him either, despite what Strife had done with teeth and nails; not even the slightest scratch was visible. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about confronting Iphicles with the evidence of how he’d spent his night clearly visible.

He pulled his pants on as he walked towards the door, hopping on one foot half the way while trying to shove his other leg into his pants.

The door was latched closed, he saw when he got close. He hadn’t done that, so it must’ve been Strife. Given the condition of the bed, Hercules was grateful. He threw the latch open, still tugging closed the laces of his pants with his other hand.

“Iphicles.” He nodded in greeting to his brother, making sure that he blocked Iphicles’ view into the room.

Iphicles looked like he’d been up a while now, fully dressed and sleeves rolled up as though he’d been hard at work on something. “It’s about time,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’ve been knocking for almost five minutes.”

“Sorry.” Hercules leaned against the doorframe, keeping one hand on the door, ready to shut it quickly if he had to. “So...what’s up? Is everyone ready to go back over the plans?”

Iphicles gave a slight snort. “Not likely. Ares and Xena are still...using the room.”

“Still?” Hercules frowned. “Are you sure Xena is all right?”

“Reasonably sure,” Iphicles said wryly. “They used the, uh, oldest method in the book to settle their differences a couple hours ago.”

“And the castle’s still standing?” Hercules raised an eyebrow in surprise. “How badly did they damage the room? Is the turret even in one piece?”

“No, Hercules, the other oldest method,” Iphicles said, the corner of his mouth turning up in amusement.

“Oh--oh!” Hercules nodded in sudden, surprised understanding. “Huhn. Didn’t see that one coming. And Gabrielle?”

“Asleep in her room. According to the guards, she left right after you.”

“Iolaus?”

“Probably back asleep already. I tried to talk to him, but he said to take it to you, muttered something about defenestration. Not sure if he meant it, but given how is he about mornings, I thought it was safer to wake you up.”

“Really.” If this early morning visit was about anything important, Iolaus would’ve been up and here at his door, no matter how tired he was. Which meant that while this wasn’t urgent, it was probably annoying. Annoying...and that generally meant-- “Autolycus?” Hercules asked, sighing in resignation.

“That’s one of the problems.” Iphicles nodded as he pulled a piece of folded parchment out of his belt, held it out.

“Just one, huh?” Hercules took the parchment, noting that it had been crumpled and folded enough to wear it thin. The crease of the fold tore slightly when he opened it.

A quick glance at the contents answered most questions. Hercules had never seen either Autolycus’ or Joxer’s writing before, but he was betting this was Joxer’s. Autolycus was too concerned with his image to spell or write this badly. It was a bit of work to translate it through the blotted ink and “creative” spellings, but it was definitely Joxer’s:

“We’ve decided to head back west. Auto says he wants to keep me out of trouble, but I think he’s going to try to steal something. Don’t worry, I’ll keep him out of trouble. Tell Iphicles thanks for the nice room, even if we didn’t get a chance to use it, and hopefully he won’t miss the chains. He’s got a whole lot of them down here, so he can probably spare these.”

“When did they leave?” Hercules asked, refolding the note.

“Hard to say. The guards checked this morning and they were just gone, nothing but that note left behind. I’m having someone go over my treasury right now,” Iphicles added and Hercules nodded in agreement.

“I doubt Joxer would’ve let Autolycus near it without protesting enough to bring the guards running. Still, it’s a good idea to check anyway. Oh, do you want those chains they took returned, because I’m sure if Xena or I said something--”

“No!” Iphicles said quickly. “Considering the...stories I heard from down there, they can keep the chains with my blessings.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been my suggestion.” Hercules couldn’t help smiling slightly, even as he had to repress a shudder. “So, if this was just one problem...?” he prompted.

“My best steer was found dead this morning, disemboweled. The entrails are missing.”

Hercules didn’t quite manage to disguise his sigh of relief and Iphicles frowned.

“What’s going on, Hercules?” he asked, suspicion coloring his tone.

Hercules shook his head. “Remember those details Iolaus mentioned a couple days ago?”

“The ones I probably don’t want to know?”

“Yeah. Just...think of your steer as a sacrifice to the gods and leave it at that.”

Iphicles raised his eyebrows. “I...see. Well, that actually brings me to the last thing. When I came back from viewing the remains, I ran into Strife.”

“Imagine that,” Hercules muttered under his breath.

“He....” Iphicles glanced away, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the picture of discomfort. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of what he said to me. It was either an insult or a proposition, but his words--I just don’t know what to think. He called me ‘fat’ and said something about wanting to ‘hit that,” but he never said what, exactly. I’d think it was a threat, except for the way he...looked at me. Should I be worried?”

Groaning softly, Hercules let his head fall back, closing his eyes momentarily. “No,” he said, sighing heavily, looking back at Iphicles. “He’s toying with me; it doesn’t have anything to do with you. I think this is his idea of carrying through with a joke.”

“Oh.” Iphicles’ eyebrows went up again. “Is this another one of those details I shouldn’t ask about?”

“Probably better if you didn’t,” Hercules agreed. “Just...ignore it. I’ll have a talk with him.”

“And I know I don’t want any more details than that,” Iphicles said with a nod. “Thank you, I suppose.” He gave Hercules a dubious look.

“Uh-huh. Do you know where he is?”

“He did that vanishing thing gods do right after he spoke to me.”

“Right. Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up again sometime soon.” Standing up straight, Hercules sighed again. It was way too early for dealing with Strife and his “sense of humor.” “Is there anything to eat yet?” he asked hopefully. He was already up and awake, might as well get started on the day.

“I’ll have the cook prepare something,” Iphicles said. “See you downstairs.” He turned away with a nod of farewell, one that Hercules returned before shutting the door and relatching it.

It could’ve been worse, he thought as he leaned back against the door, staring at the mess on the bed. He’d have to take care of this himself before it started to smell any worse -- it was already getting...fragrant; he wouldn’t ask any of the castle servants to clean up what was basically his problem. But, at least none of it had turned out to be human.

Spelled out using what were likely the missing entrails of Iphicles’ steer, was a short message, bloody on the white sheets:

“Thanks for the ride. Catch you later. S.”

“Romance is alive and well,” Hercules said sarcastically. Then steeling himself for the task ahead, he pushed away from the door and walked back over to the bed.

Yeah, it was definitely shaping up to be one of those days.

Fin

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