Reality Squared 12

ecoalescing in Strife's old temple, Joxer had to steady himself, gripping the side of the nearest column hard enough to crumble bits of the stone. Relief went through him like a tidal wave, leaving him shaken, head hanging down as he breathed in deep lungfuls of air. The exertion he'd just put forth when he wasn't used to limited power, was draining in more ways than one.

"Fates," he murmured, resting his forehead against the cool black stone, closing his eyes as his breathing gradually slowed. "You're with me today, aren't you, girls?" He grinned then, chuckling low, under his breath. "I've still got it. I'm still the man -- the god, whatever." This time his laugh was pitched much higher, a shaky sound that echoed off the cracked and dusty walls.

He hadn't pulled a con job like this in decades, centuries even, and for all that he knew he was good at his job, this really didn't fall under that purview and Joxer hadn't been sure he still had the acting skills to pull this off. But he had. He'd played it like any good con, tell the truth wherever possible, but use it to make the half truths and ommissions look even better. And Ares had fallen for it. The game was set in motion now, the opening gambits had been made and all the way Joxer had planned them, now he just had to keep it on track.

"Things not going like you wanted?"

Loud in the relative silence of the temple, the bitterly hopeful voice made Joxer's smile dim a bit. Opening his eyes, he stood up straight with a long sigh. There was one more thing he had to deal with before putting another piece into play, but he wasn't looking forward to it. It had to be done though, for his own sake if nothing else.

"Thought I left you gagged," he said, turning to look at his captive.

Still seated on the floor, Cupid looked as though he'd put up one Tartarus of a struggle. The pillows Joxer had left him on were scattered around him in a splatter of red and blue, and somehow Cupid had managed to not only pull out his gag, but free his hands from the shackles as well. Impressive, especially considering the fact that no god should've been able to free themselves from Hephaestian forged metal. Not alone, anyway.

Instantly on alert, Joxer didn't take his eyes off Cupid, didn't tense or change his expression, nothing to give away what he suspected. Instead he sighed, a tired sound that wasn't all faked, and began to gradually scan the inside of the temple with his power. Just a small touch, a narrow tendril, flitting over the floor, the walls, around the columns, and as he explored, he walked over to Cupid.

Cupid's ankles were still tightly shackled and held to the floor via the spike Joxer had driven through the links earlier. The stone around that spike was far more cracked than when Joxer had left it, likely from Cupid's struggle. Even without his powers, Cupid was strong. With help he would've had himself free in minutes. With godly help, seconds. Joxer had arrived just in time.

"Cupid, Cupid, Cupid." Joxer shook his head as he squatted down in front of his captive. A quick look showed no sign of the manacles that had been fastened around Cupid's wrists. Joxer sighed again and ran his hand back through his hair.

"Your hand's trembling." Cupid sounded viciously satisfied at the observation.

Curious, Joxer held out his hand and stared at it -- and Cupid was right. The tremor was very visible, more of a steady shaking actually. A result of the combination of his earlier ordeal and the power he was expanding now, searching for an intruder. Joxer snorted in faint amusement.

"Well, would you lookit that." It hadn't done that since he was very young, back when he'd been uncertain of his ability to pull off his plans. That was the case now though, wasn't it? The plan was good, but could he make it work, here in this world that wasn't his? With his powers so severely limited? When things weren't going exactly as he'd plotted them out? If he'd arrived any later, Cupid might've been gone and everything would've been lost. Even now he was likely being stalked by an unknown god. Could he really pull this off?

Of course the answer was "no," not if he kept questioning himself.

Joxer clenched his hand into a tight fist, then crossed his arms on top of his knees, his eyes still focused on his actions.

He was the God of Mischief, a real power in his own world, not just because of the number of worshippers behind him, but because of his own mind. He'd lost his power base by coming here, but he hadn't lost his wits. His plan was good, as were his instincts. The game had already started and the pieces were in play. If there was someone here, he'd face them and he'd win. If they'd already left, then he'd just have to move Cupid, something he'd planned on doing already. There was nothing here he couldn't deal with. The only way for him to lose was by doubting his own abilities. He was better than that.

When Joxer looked up at Cupid again, he smiled -- and Cupid pushed back towards the wall, just a little. There wasn't really any place for him to go, but the action, likely involuntary, told Joxer that he was back on track. Still...it wasn't really necessary for Cupid to be frightened or hurt, not yet anyway.

"Oh, Cupid," Joxer cocked his head to the side, "what am I gonna do with you?"

Cupid straightened pulling back from his recoil and facing Joxer eye-to-eye, no fear showing now. "You're gonna pay for doing this, dude, and like, way sooner than you think."

Joxer let his smile change, segueing into an amused smirk. "Yeah, sure, Cupid. Listen, I'm gonna have to move you outta here. Your Dad lied to me."

Cupid's frown betrayed his confusion.

"He said Strife didn't have any temples, but I'm guessing that if you knew about this one, then Pops has to," Joxer explained. "Means it won't be long before he's checking this place out and I'm not gonna hang here to meet him. Gotta find a better place to stash you; I'm working on a few options. But, you know, other than that, things are pretty tight. Plan's working and you," Joxer paused, his smirk widening, "you, Cupid, you're gonna be what makes it all happen."

"I don't think so," Cupid said with absolute certainty.

If Joxer hadn't been expecting it, the attack might've succeeded. He felt it in that brief second before the attack, the feel of another god so close behind him. Then Cupid was lunging forward, making a grab for him and an instinctive reaction would've been to fall back, to avoid Cupid's grasp, but instead Joxer threw himself to the side. A startled yelp that wasn't Cupid's confirmed that Joxer had made the right decision. He quickly rolled to his feet, remaining crouched down to present the smallest target as possible as he took in the situation.

The new god was sprawled face-down on the floor right where Joxer had just been. He'd probably dived forward, expecting to grab Joxer.

"Well, surprise, surprise," Joxer said under his breath, grinning.

This newcomer was even blonder than Cupid, although his hair was far shorter, and his fashion sense was desperately in need of help. Actually, Joxer recognized that outfit. Brown leather, fringed sleeves, bare knees; in his world, Deimos wore that. But he couldn't just assume the identity of this new god based on an outfit. Things were much the same here, but there were also enough differences to make him cautious.

"So which one are you?" he asked aloud, letting amusement creep into his tone.

"Ouch," the new god mumbled as he pushed himself up.

"Phobos?" Cupid looked worried and he reached out, like he wanted to help his brother up, but he couldn't reach that far.

Then Phobos turned on one knee to look at Joxer -- and Joxer froze on a gasp.

That face. Oh, it made perfect sense, if Deimos and Phobos were Joxer's near-twins in his world, then why wouldn't they be the same for this world's mischief god? Even if they were his cousins instead of his brothers, they shared close relatives in common. Joxer had considered the possibility, in a vague way, when he'd heard about this world's gods of fear and terror, but he'd never thought to find himself faced with it, literally.

His hesitation, that brief moment he was too shocked to move, it cost him. He barely dodged the fireball Phobos sent his way, the heat of it searing too near his face, and then Phobos was on him before he could stop it.

The instant Phobos touched him, bone-chilling terror shot straight through Joxer, making him cry out involuntarily. If instinct hadn't kicked in, Phobos would've had him, turned him into a gibbering wreck, easy pickings. But back in his world Joxer had learned to deal with his own version of Phobos centuries ago and the key was to keep moving. He kicked up, shoving Phobos back just enough to give him the room to roll away, stopping Phobos from pinning him down.

When Phobos came at him again, Joxer was ready for it, teeth clenched against the unnatural fear generated by the blue shards of power dancing along those long fingers. Joxer kicked at him again, but Phobos was quick, sliding to the side enough to avoid the boot to the groin, catching it on his hip instead. He hissed in pain but never stopped moving, coming down hard on top of Joxer, hands scrambling for a grip on Joxer's throat. Joxer slammed his hand, palm upward, into Phobos' face, catching him in the nose. The direction was off though and instead of breaking Phobos' nose, it just made him yelp and try harder to get a grip on Joxer's neck.

The terror was still coursing through Joxer and he knew he couldn't fight it off indefinitely, not when he had to try and fight Phobos himself off as well. Phobos had the edge and Joxer couldn't directly counter it; his talents didn't lie in that direction. The utter, near-paralizing terror Phobos' grasping hands was sending thorugh him scattered his concentration, made it impossible to focus enough to even create a simple knife. Joxer had to rely on physical force here and that wasn't going to last for him.

He slammed his head forward again, right into Phobos' forehead, making them both gasp in pain. But it was distraction enough to make Phobos pause in his clutching. It gave Joxer a chance. For all the fringe on Phobos' outfit, Joxer still had one Tartarus of a time getting a grip on him, Phobos was still a slippery bastard. It seemed like every time Joxer got a hold of something, leather, skin or hair, Phobos slithered right out of his hands. Phobos' hair was too short to get a grip on, his leather too slick, skin too smooth. It was more than frustrating; Joxer knew it could cost him the battle.

Joxer was no good at hand-to-hand combat, not unless he had access to his knives and daggers. He could defend himself for a minute or two, he might even win if he had the element of surprise, but he'd already lost that with Phobos and this was dragging on longer than was safe. There was no guarantee he'd win like this, in fact there was an excellent chance he'd lose.

An elbow to his chest knocked the breath out of Joxer and made his aim faulty when he tried to headbutt Phobos again. His head hit Phobos in the shoulder, getting no reaction from Phobos and leaving Joxer with an aching head. He had to end this and fast, before Phobos got in even more well-aimed blows, or the raw terror in his touch forced Joxer into even worse mistakes.

Using his own power in a fight this up close was dangerous. There was every chance he'd hit himself just as much as Phobos, but Joxer didn't see any other choice. Then Phobos jammed the palm of his hand into Joxer's cheek, making Joxer gasp in pain and the terror generated by Phobos' touch, all of it stunning him.

"How dare you come in here, in this place!" Phobos' voice was a hiss near his ear, filled with hate and anger.

Joxer could've shaken off the dazed feeling from Phobos' attack, but instead he just lay there, letting Phobos hold him down, whisper to him, let Phobos think that he'd won.

"Just walk right into our world, kidnap Cupid, bring him here, torture him here, and you think you're just gonna get away with it?" Phobos pressed his arm down hard on Joxer's throat, and Joxer heard a familiar sound, the jangle and clank of manacles. He'd been waiting for that.

"I'm gonna make you so fucking terrified, you're gonna piss your pants and forget your own name! Then, if Cupid doesn't want a turn, I'm gonna hand you over to Dad."

Cold metal against his wrist -- and Joxer struck. Not struggling had given him a chance to focus, to gather his own power, and more, to touch the power this temple held dormant. He let it lash out, a ball of blue flame that lifted Phobos, searing the infinitesimal space between them, burning them both. Joxer gasped at the pain, but didn't let his concentration flag. He flung the ball of flame from him as hard as he could, and it took Phobos with it.

Phobos' scream echoed through the temple, pain and anger mingling.

"No!" Cupid's cry joined the noise and his chains rattled, but he wasn't going anywhere on his own so Joxer kept his attention on his true opponent.

He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the pain of burned skin, and quickly walked over to where Phobos was sprawled against the far wall, his body smoking.

Phobos had taken the brunt of the heat and with the impact added to that, he wasn't moving yet. A low groan emitted from his prostrate form though, signaling that he was, if not awake, then very close to it. Joxer didn't have much time.

Standing over Phobos, noting with satisfaction the charred skin, blackened outfit and crisped hair, Joxer took a quick look around the floor of the temple. Cupid was struggling with the manacles binding his feet to the floor, but Joxer passed over him with barely a glance, instead focusing on what Phobos had dropped when he'd been taken by surprise.

The manacles lay in the middle of the floor, open and ready for use. They'd been used for Cupid's wrists and Phobos had intended to use them on Joxer.

Joxer smirked and used a trace of his power to call the metal restraints to him. He knelt beside Phobos and flipped him over onto his stomach. Phobos groaned again, a pained sound, but already Joxer could see the damage healing, as fast as he himself was healing his own wounds. Phobos' hair was growing out, blond and straight, the skin of his hands turning tanned and healthy. Too much longer and he'd be ready to take Joxer on again.

Joxer put a stop to that in the most efficient way possible, snapping the manacles shut around Phobos' wrists, one after another. When Phobos came to bare seconds later -- and that was cutting it closer than Joxer would've liked -- it was to the realization that access to his powers was cut off.

"Fuck!" Phobos yelled, and kicked out.

Joxer had to fall back to avoid the kick and in that moment Phobos sat up and kicked again, this time connecting with Joxer's leg, making him yelp. An inch or two higher and it would've taken out his kneecap, as it was, he'd have to heal a cracked bone.

And Phobos was still moving, trying to work his hands out from behind his back by sliding them up under his legs. He was fast too, already half way there when Joxer tackled him, yanking him back down to the ground.

"You know, I've had just about enough of you!" Joxer said with a snarl as he held Phobos down. Lying on top of him, cheek pressed against cheek, Joxer dropped his voice.

"What's so special about this place, huh? What's getting your panties in a twist about me being here?"

Phobos' answer was to try and throw him off, shoving his knees up hard. Joxer just went with the motion, sitting up, pulling Phobos with him. But he kept Phobos pressed close, sliding an arm back around his neck. He didn't make the mistake of looking at Phobos' face again, instead he kept his cheek pressed firmly against Phobos', lips close to his ear.

"It's not the place, is it?" he whispered. "It's who it used to belong to."

Phobos tensed against him, probably an involuntary reaction judging from how quickly it passed, but it told Joxer all he needed to know.

"Yeah." He sighed, and despite the trouble Phobos had caused him, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy, because he understood perfectly. "It's because this was Strife's place, right, his crib? Maybe the only place he could crash? Did you use to hang with him here? Maybe more? Were you knocking boots with him?"

Phobos twisted in his grasp, the movement sudden and it almost dislodged Joxer's grip, but he tightened his hold just in time. He tightened his arm around Phobos' neck and the other around his back, pinning his arms in the process. That sharp movement had meant something though and Joxer thought he had it.

"So you weren't playing house with him, huh? But you did come here to hang with him, so I'm guessing you were warm for his form too. But you never did anything about it. So, what's up here, huh? Is this like, some sort of penance or something? You show up here all the time, drag your ass around in misery for a while? Kind of like metaphorically flogging yourself because you never had the balls to say anything when he was alive, right?"

"Stop it." The words were barely audible, but so close to his ear, Joxer could make them out.

"So I'm hitting the mark then. Lemme guess, you weren't just hot for his bod, you were in love." He deliberately layered his tone with scorn and sarcasm.

"Stop!" Phobos jerked in his arms, trying to kick, to pull away, and he just didn't have the leverage.

"So the God of Terror was too afraid to speak up, huh? That's sad, you know, in a seriously pathetic way."

Joxer felt something touch his shoulder, something damp that soaked through the charred material of his shirt. He quickly pulled back, but he closed his eyes at the same time. He couldn't see Phobos, couldn't look at that face, not and do what had to be done.

"Phobos," he sighed the name, and pressed his forehead against Phobos'. "You're so totally a lot of trouble, Phobos." He brought his hands up to frame Phobos' face. "I can see why he let you hang with him. Bet he liked you. And...you gotta wonder, if you'd ever had the backbone enough to say something, you think maybe he might've felt the same way too?"

A sharp twist of his hands and the crack was loud, a harsh sound, and for one of the first times in his existence Joxer found the words of an apology on his lips. But nothing he could say would make up for this, so he swallowed them down. He forced his expression to remain cool, untroubled as Phobos' entire body went limp, leaving him held up by the hands around his head.

"Phobos!" Cupid's scream was somehow less resounding than the snap of Phobos' neck, the clamor of his chains as he struggled far softer.

Joxer let Phobos slip from his grasp, let him collapse to the floor. Joxer turned him over by touch alone, and only when he was safely face down did Joxer dare open his eyes.

Sprawled as he was, Phobos had every appearance of a lifeless body. But this was a god, not some fragile mortal, and it would take far more than a broken neck to kill him. He was helpless now, though. With the Hephaestian manacles cutting off his powers, his healing abilities were gone too. Until the manacles were removed, he'd stay wherever Joxer positioned him. Alive, conscious, and trapped in an unresponsive body.

"Here's how things are gonna be," Joxer said quietly, leaning down close to Phobos' head. "I'm a mischief god and that's what this world needs, someone to fill the void. But you know, seems to me that there's another void here. You're missing the god that used to be here; you had a hard-on for him and didn't do anything about it. Now, I'm gonna do you a favor and fix that.

"See, back on my world, you and Deimos are my brothers and I got you trained real well. They're my bitches, dig? So, I'm gonna expect that in this world too. Makes sense, you know? Besides, you've got a pretty mouth; bet the rest of you is just as sweet. Why don't we get these rags off and find out?"

Joxer shredded the remaints of Phobos' clothes with a flick of power, careful to make sure the pieces of brown leather framed Phobos' body nicely, though, because appearance would be everything when Phobos was found. He deliberately kept his gaze focused on the back of Phobos' head, refusing to look at a naked body that had every chance of resembling another he'd once known well. Instead he positioned Phobos by touch, spreading Phobos' legs wide so whomever found him would have a good show.

"You're definitely a pretty thing to look at, Phobos," Joxer said. "Wonder if Deimos is as pretty? Are you two complete twins? Guess I'll have to strip him too and find out. What d'you think, Phobos? Should I do him the first time in front of you? When you're like this? All sweet and helpless? Think he'll scream for you? Oh, I'm so gonna love it here."

Leaving it at that, Joxer stood up, immediately looking away from the limp body at his feet, and rolled his shoulders. The fight had hurt him more than he was used to, and for all that his wounds were healed now, a lingering tenseness remained in his muscles. He stretched his arms up over his head briefly, not at all happy with the strain he felt in his back. He needed to find a good battle and get some exercise, but first things first.

Walking away from Phobos, doing everything he could to put him from his mind, Joxer headed towards Cupid.

Cupid had stopped struggling at some point and was instead staring at Joxer in utter horror and disgust.

"What kind of game--" Cupid started to speak, but Joxer reacted fast, his fist connecting hard with Cupid's jaw.

The dull smack of flesh connecting with flesh was almost as loud as the snap of a neck had been and this time Joxer did wince. But Cupid didn't see it, was in no position to note that slip of control. He was sprawled out on the floor amongst the scattered cushions, unconscious.

Joxer really hadn't wanted to do that, but if he'd let Cupid speak, something he said might well have ruined some of the ideas Joxer had worked so hard to put into Phobos' head. He couldn't risk that.

But this made things easier anyway. He'd been wondering how he was going to transport Cupid when Cupid had his hands free. As it was, he was going to need another set of manacles to resecure Cupid in another location. He'd only found the two pair in Cupid's temple, so he'd have to make a little side trip before settling Cupid in a new hideaway.

Joxer was silent as he unchained Cupid's ankles from the floor. He'd made an error or two in judgment here, a miscalculation. He never should've left Cupid in this place. Cupid knew about it so it stood to reason that other gods would as well. It looked like one of those "other gods" even made frequent trips here, and that had almost cost Joxer the entire game.

He'd salvaged the situation, had even put an unexpected piece into play, a pawn, to be sure, but possibly a useful one as a further influence. But he couldn't afford anymore "missteps," he had to play out the rest of this far more carefully, and that meant stashing Cupid somewhere other gods wouldn't think to look.

The next moves in the game were up to the other side, but Joxer had a good idea of the angle their strategy would take and he could be in position to take advantage of that in plenty of time.

It was a tense moment, unlocking the manacles from around Cupid's ankles to relock them around his wrists, but it was necessary to secure him better and in the end Cupid didn't even twitch an eyelash. He was out cold.

"Let's blow this joint," Joxer said as he lifted Cupid over one shoulder and stood, but there was little enthusiasm in his voice. The past few minutes had taken more out of him than he'd planned, emotionally and power-wise.

Cupid's wings were an annoyance, one dragging on the floor and the other smashed against the side of Joxer's face, pushing his hair up at odd angles, but it was better than having it draped right over his field of vision. It wouldn't last long anyway.

His back to the limp figure behind him, Joxer risked a last look around the temple. He didn't think he'd be back and he couldn't help committing the place to memory. The feel of who used to be here still permeated the walls.

Moments later, dying sparks of blue flame were all that remained to mark their departure.

he pounding of horse's hooves grew louder, far too loud. Gabrielle crouched further down behind the bushes, hand tightening on her staff.

"How many?" she whispered, looking up at Iolaus. He knelt beside her on the hard ground, peering through the brush.

"Trust me, you really don't want to know," Iolaus whispered back, frustration evident in his tone.

The horses were coming to a stop just bare yards away from their hiding place and from the amount of noise, hoof beats, the clatter of weapons and armor, there had to be dozens of men. Gabrielle risked a quick look, rising up on her knees and squinting to see through the brambles concealing them.

"Oh, Tartarus." She sighed in resignation. She'd been hoping that there was some chance she and Iolaus could fight their way past whoever was out there, but it was easy to see the impossibility of that now. They were stuck here.

"Has to be two full companies out there," Iolaus murmured. "Maybe more."

"That's bad?" Gabrielle whispered back. Xena had tried to teach her military jargon, but Gabrielle hadn't quite grasped all of it.

"Yeah." Iolaus' eyes narrowed as the men began to dismount. "C'mon." He motioned for her to go ahead of him as he dropped back down onto his hands and knees.

It was more difficult for Gabrielle to move like that when she had her staff to carry, which was why she was going in front. With Iolaus behind her, he could cover her tracks. She crawled as best she could away from the bushes and the occupied road beyond, staying as quiet as possible. She knew she wasn't doing as good a job as Iolaus, but thanks to Xena's training, she wasn't doing as badly as she could've.

The ground only had a few dry leaves to be wary of, mostly it was the spiny twigs from the surrounding bushes they had to avoid, and Iolaus was definitely better at that. The thorns caught at Gabrielle's clothes and she had to stop often to untangle herself. Her fingers were sore from puncture wounds and wherever her skin was bare, thin red lines were visible, some with drops of blood welling up, others just irritated and swelling. She didn't slow though, moving as quickly as she dared, stopping only when necessary.

It took them long, tense minutes to reach the small, shallow cave they'd set up camp in. It wasn't a traditional cave in the sense of being hewn out of rock, instead it was a hallowed out point in the brush that had probably been used as a burrow by some animal in the past. It was abandoned now though and it made for an adequate hiding place.

"I'm going to be so sore tonight," Gabrielle said with a groan when she was finally able to sit down, relieved at not having to whisper anymore. They’d already cleared the ground of prickly surprises, so she was safe enough stretching out her legs. Legs that were painfully scratched and bruised from crawling on the ground.

"I've got something for those." Iolaus nodded to the wounds. He started to dig through the pack they'd left here when they'd gone scouting, and Gabrielle realized that Iolaus hadn't escaped unscathed either. He wasn't nearly as scratched up, but he had a fair number of shallow cuts and the like.

"Here." He tossed her a small, waterproof pouch.

Looking inside, Gabrielle frowned at the sharp, minty scent rising from the thick salve the pouch held. "What is it?"

"Old hunter's remedy for cuts and scratches. It'll keep them from getting inflamed."

"I shouldn't ask what's in this, should I?" She looked at him dubiously.

Iolaus grinned slightly. "Um, no. You'll be a lot happier not knowing."

He'd said that with the armed men they'd just seen and he'd been right; Gabrielle would've felt a lot better not knowing the incredible number of men out there. So this time she just trusted him and didn't ask.

"So what did you see out there?" she asked as she began rubbing the smooth, milky salve into the cuts and scratches on her legs. She knew Iolaus had to have picked up more than just the number of men and now that they had the relative safety to talk it out, she wanted to hear it.

"Their armor matches, their weapons are well forged and well kept, their horses are good and they were looking to a leader; those aren't mercenaries," Iolaus said with a long sigh, stretching out his own legs. There was just enough room for them both to get comfortable.

"Ares' men, you think?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense. They're the only ones who would have the discipline left to remain that orderly. Well, maybe Athena's might, but her soldiers don't dress in black leather." Iolaus grinned.

Gabrielle returned the grin, but her expression quickly turned to one of intense relief. The salve had some sort of numbing properties, stinging for a few seconds when it went on but bringing numbness afterwards and Gabrielle moaned gratefully.

"This is wonderful, thanks." She quickly moved on to her arms and the back of her hands.

Iolaus nodded. "I didn't recognize any of those men out there, so they're not the ones from the Halls of War, but they had to have picked up our tracks leading away from there. They wouldn't have come this far otherwise."

"Maybe they're on their way to a battle? Doesn't Ares still have a few of those going on?"

He nodded again. "It's a...possibility," he conceded. "I guess at this point I'm just willing to believe the worst of everything. At least I'm not disappointed when I turn out to be right."

Gabrielle shot him a worried look, but he didn't seem depressed, just tired, and that she could understand. After the fight at the Halls of War -- which had gotten them nowhere considering that both Ares and Joxer's imposter had disappeared -- they'd all vacated the area before reinforcements could arrive. The Halls of War appeared to be a converging area for every sane general and warlord left in the area, which meant it wasn't safe for them to stick around any longer than necessary.

An hour away from the place, they'd split up, just temporarily. Iolaus had wanted to go off and scout the area ahead of their path, uncomfortable with simply walking blindly into whatever could lie ahead, something the rest of them agreed with. They'd divided the work, Xena scouting ahead of them, Hercules going back to make sure they weren't being followed, and Iolaus and Gabrielle had gone to find a good place to lay low for a while, until they had news back from their friends about the area.

Fortunately Iolaus had found this place by following old animal tracks. If they'd passed it by, they would've been caught out in the open by Ares' men and there was no telling what their orders were. Whether the soldiers were really after Hercules and the rest of them, or actually on their way to a battle, it just wasn't worth the risk to find out, especially not the hard way.

"They've been gone a long time," Gabrielle said, thinking of their friends.

"Maybe they ran into more problems, like the one out there." Iolaus motioned in the direction of the occupied road. "But you know Herc and Xena; they'll be fine," he said dismissively.

And he was right, Gabrielle knew that, she just couldn't help worrying a little about Xena, even knowing that Xena was more than able to fend for herself.

"It's only been a few hours," Iolaus said, scratching at a cut on his arm, "but if they're not back in a couple more, I'll take a look out there, okay?"

She nodded in thanks. "Could you get this on my back?" She'd already taken care of her face, neck and stomach, but she couldn't reach some of the scratches running along her back.

"Yeah, sure." Iolaus took the pouch from her, then scooted around until he could reach the area in question.

Gabrielle let him work in silence for a moment or two. She had another question, one that'd been on her mind since last night, but she wasn't sure if she had the right to ask. Finally she decided to risk it. If it wasn't her business, Iolaus could just tell her that, and it would likely be easier for him to talk about it now, without Xena or Hercules listening in as they had been before.

"I...I wanted to ask you something, Iolaus," she started hesitantly. "If you don't want to answer, I understand, but I'm curious."

"Go ahead." Iolaus' touch remained steady but his tone held a hint of reservation.

"Last night, when you were talking about what you saw...about Strife--" Gabrielle stopped speaking immediately when she felt Iolaus' hands go still on her back. "I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, sincerely. She'd had a suspicion that it wasn't her place to ask, but as a bard she often couldn't bridle her curiosity when she sensed a good story.

Iolaus sighed and began tending to Gabrielle's back again. "You know, the most vicious, bloodthirsty soldier I ever knew had a family."

Gabrielle wasn't sure where that non-sequiter had come from or where it was going, so she remained silent and let Iolaus say what he would.

"He'd come home after weeks or months of killing, raping and pillaging and his family would greet him with open arms. It wasn't an act, even his daughters adored him. He treated them all like royalty, gave them everything he could including his love. He was the kind of husband and father you think only exists in stories.

"I, um, didn't know that about him until after I'd killed him. I didn't have a choice; he was going to kill me. But afterwards some of his fellow soldiers told me about the guy's family, so I did the right thing. After his funeral pyre, I took his belongings home to his family, and I told them what I'd done."

Gabrielle closed her eyes, biting back words of sympathy that rose to her lips. She'd seen Xena confront more than enough families and loved ones of people she'd killed to have a good idea of what Iolaus must've gone through.

"His death didn't leave them destitute; he had a younger brother who took over the farm, married his widow so she'd have a home and the children would have a father, but...that didn't make up for anything. I'd taken away her husband and the father of her children, and I made sure I stayed there and listened to her tell me about it."

"So you wouldn't take killing lightly," Gabrielle said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. But Iolaus didn't take offense.

"Yeah," he agreed, his tone low and sad. "So I'd remember, and so I'd never be jaded or callous about taking a life. But I learned something even more important from that, that the face someone shows you isn't the only one they have."

Gabrielle forced herself not to speak immediately, to think that through first. In the silence of those moments, Iolaus finished her back and with a friendly clasp to her shoulder, moved back over to the other side of the burrow to tend his own wounds.

"So...everyone has some good in them?" she finally asked, not quite sure if she was grasping the point entirely.

Iolaus shook his head. "No, I've known plenty of people without a trace of goodness. I meant, just because you see one thing, one aspect of someone's personality, no matter how long you've known them, that doesn't mean that it's the only part of their personality, or their lives. There's always something more than what people show you on the surface. No one is one-dimensional."

Now Gabrielle nodded, seeing the truth in that. "Everyone hides something, or just doesn't show it to everyone."

"Exactly."

"And that was Strife?" She hoped she wasn't pushing too hard, getting the conversation back where she wanted it, but she kind of felt that it hadn't drifted much off topic at all, and Iolaus confirmed that.

"That's everybody." The corner of his mouth turned up in something that resembled a smile, but was far smaller, sadder. "But yeah, that was Strife too. If there's anyone who definitely wasn't one-dimensional, it was him. But...I think all the gods are like that, so much more complex than what we, mortals, get to see." Iolaus paused in his application of the salve to his arms, a thoughtful look on his face.

"You've met a few of the gods." He turned that look on her. "Do you see what I'm talking about?"

"I've seen them at their worst," Gabrielle said. "When Ares and Aphrodite were mortal and we had to deal with them. It was different than when they're just...being gods. I know that sounds obvious, but even when they were whining and complaining like two year olds...." She paused, the memory still pulling a smile to her face. "Even then, there was something else there, like who they *really* were was starting to show through."

Iolaus nodded. "Herc's said that about Aphrodite before, Cupid too. He gets along with them best so he sees them more often, gets to know them better. They're just different beings when they're not performing for the mortal masses. He doesn't see that about Ares' side of the family though, probably because they just don't get along. Why would Ares or Discord or any of them show Herc any side but their aggressive one? I think that's all he'll ever see from them -- all they'll *let* him see -- because of who he is, who they are."

"But you've seen something different?" Gabrielle prompted curiously.

That small smile again. "Only with Strife. You know that Ares and his underlings used to torment Herc, me and our friends when we were younger, right?"

"When you were at Chiron's Academy?"

"Yeah, then. I guess because there weren't many big wars or battles happening at the time, Ares and his flunkies had time to kill, and Herc and the rest of us were stationary entertainment. They always knew right where to find us, or our families.

"Strife introduced himself by pretending to be mortal and becoming our friend. Problem is...I kind of liked him. Herc and Jason, well, they thought he was a dork -- and he really was," Iolaus grinned briefly, "but there was something about him that made me...like him. Even when he tried to frame me as a thief and we found out who he really was, I was still sort of attached."

"Because you'd thought of him as a friend?"

"At first, yeah. But after that he made it a point to pick on me in particular. I got tired of it eventually and called him on it, accused him of acting like a mortal child, taunting me because he didn't know how else to say he liked me."

Gabrielle smiled at that. She could just imagine a young version of Iolaus standing up to a god, having the guts -- or the sheer stupidity of youth -- to taunt Strife right back.

"Funny thing is, Strife admitted it." Iolaus sighed, drawing one knee up and resting his crossed arms on it, pouch still clasped in one hand. "I never asked, but I think he was waiting for me to make a move, because he really *didn't* know how. I don't know if it was youth or inexperience with mortals or what, but if I hadn't said anything, we would've just kept right on needling each other. Instead, we...talked."

Gabrielle couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. Iolaus chuckled in response.

"Well, yeah, we did that too, but not as much as you'd think. He had his job and I had my life -- friends and the Academy --and the two weren't going to meet anywhere, not peacefully, anyway. There wasn't a whole lot of time to spare between the responsibilities we both had, so it was just talk most of the time. I think that was better, though. When you're young, sometimes you don't put as much importance on communication as you should; leaves you with some relationships crashing by the wayside."

"And this was a...relationship?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it was. I mean, I wouldn't say we were friends -- how could we be with all the stuff going on with Herc and Ares? But we had more in common than we thought and we liked to talk -- and other things." Iolaus flashed her a quick grin. "It lasted a few years, at least for a while after I graduated from the Academy. And Herc did find out. I guess if I'd been older I just would've told him, faced up to it, but at that age, keeping secrets just seemed the easiest way to deal with things."

"Did Ares know?"

Iolaus chuckled, shaking his head. "You've seen how Herc reacts to it, can you imagine what Ares would've done? No, Strife never told him and he was careful enough about sneaking around. It's kind of strange, in a way, because Ares might've hurt him for it, but he would've killed me, just to punish Strife. That's what Strife told me."

"He cared about you," Gabrielle said quietly.

"Yeah. He never came right out and said it, but he talked his way around it a few times." Iolaus sighed again, dropping his knee and sitting up straighter. "But, he moved up, became Ares' second in command, and I started traveling with Herc. No time left for anything like before. That's just the way things played out."

"Were you there when he died?"

A small nod was her only answer.

"Did he know you were there?"

Another nod in silence.

"That's something then. I don't know -- I can't know what he felt, but that has to be something, knowing someone you...care about, is there," Gabrielle suggested.

"Maybe." Iolaus shrugged listlessly. "It just.... We hadn't been...not for years, so why does it still...bother me?"

"Because you cared, too. I think there'd be something wrong if it didn't still bother you."

"I guess it's like Joxer, huh?"

Gabrielle frowned, not following.

"I mean, he never stopped annoying me, but now that I know he's missing, I keep worrying about him," Iolaus said.

At first Gabrielle didn't pick up on it, but then suddenly she understood. "Um, yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm worried too." It was possibly one of the most poorly handled change of subjects she'd heard, but she got the message; Iolaus was done talking about Strife and it was time to move on to something else.

"That...that man -- I just can't think of him as 'Joxer,'" she admitted.

"I have a few interesting names for him when I think about him," Iolaus said with a small grin.

Gabrielle grinned back. "Me too. It's just...he said some things to me at that town yesterday. He..he made me doubt myself, for a while, who I am, will be." Her grin faded as she remembered the imposter's words, how they'd cut far more deeply than they should've.

"But you're all right now?" Iolaus frowned at her, concern coloring his tone.

She nodded. "It took a while, I had some thinking to do last night, but when Hercules got us up this morning and that man was gone...I don't know. I think I was just too angry to be worried about what he'd said, and now I see what he was trying to do."

"Yeah, I'm sure he conned someone into drugging our food too, or doing something to help him escape -- good thing Herc was immune, whatever it was. I think that's just the way that guy is, don't take it personally."

"But it felt personal, Iolaus. Like he was enjoying what he'd done to me; I saw it when he looked at me after we...talked. I think he has something against me."

"Could be. I know he hates Herc because of something that happened in his world. Maybe he has a problem with you there, too."

"I think someone like him has problems with a lot of people. And he left Joxer in that place, when he probably has enemies running around all over." Gabrielle sighed. "I know I'm not as nice as I could be to Joxer, but I do like him, and I'm worried."

"Yeah." Iolaus nodded in agreement. "Joxer's probably the most annoying man I've ever run across." He chuckled lightly. "You know, the first time I met him he tired to take credit for teaching Xena everything she knows?"

"Oh, that's just like him." Gabrielle smiled. "He tried to kidnap me the first time we met. He wouldn't give up either, not even after I knocked him out. He's...well, you're right, he's annoying."

"He makes up the most outrageous stories."

"He throws himself into the worst situations and you have to rescue him every time."

"That 'armor'...where did he come up with that outfit?" Iolaus wondered incredulously.

Gabrielle snorted in amusement. "He's an absolute klutz sometimes, tripped over his own sword once."

"Says the worst possible things at the worst possible times."

"He's absolutely clueless."

"Not very bright, either."

"And...he, um, he really does mean well," Gabrielle admitted, shrugging one shoulder.

"He can't fight, but...he tries to help." Iolaus nodded.

"He does what he thinks is right, even if it gets him in over his head."

"He doesn't let anyone else's opinion of him get him down."

Gabrielle traded a meaningful, slightly guilty look with him. "He tries so hard not to disappoint his friends. Us."

"I've had friends worse than him," Iolaus agreed, his grin gone now.

"I don't think I've had many as good as him, as...loyal." Gabrielle had ceased to see any humor in the discussion and she dropped her gaze to the ground between them.

"Damn." Iolaus sighed. "If we don't get him back, I'm gonna feel like crap."

"You? Last time I saw him, I hit him in the nose with my staff! I don't even remember why I did it. He was just...."

"Being annoying?"

"Yeah." She chuckled mirthlessly.

"Well, when you think about it, it's part of his...charm, I guess."

Gabrielle looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "Charm? Well, um, yeah, I guess. It's just...how can someone be so annoying and still be such a good friend?"

Iolaus snorted. "When you figure it out, let me know."

"Right." Gabrielle shook her head hopelessly.

"Shhh!" Iolaus held up his hand in warning, his other going to the sword at his belt.

Gabrielle gripped her staff and froze, listening for whatever had alerted Iolaus. She didn't hear anything, but seconds later Iolaus relaxed.

"They're back," he said, nodding at something over her shoulder.

Turning, Gabrielle smiled in relief when she saw Xena and Hercules both making their way towards the burrow. Xena looked perfectly at home sliding through the thorny underbrush on her hands and knees, and Gabrielle didn't doubt that Xena would barely have a scratch on her. Hercules though, well, the occasional branch was breaking off against him. Gabrielle was sure his parentage would protect him from something as miniscule as a scratch, but she hoped he hadn't left too big a trail for someone to follow.

"It's gonna be a tight fit," Iolaus commented.

Seeing that he was right, Gabrielle quickly scooted over next to him, crossing her legs and resting her staff in her lap, and partially in his.

Xena slid in next to her and Hercules next to Xena. Somehow they all managed to cram into the burrow, although they were a bit hunched over.

"Found the signs you left back there," Hercules said to Iolaus, pointing back over his shoulder. "Good place."

"Best we could find before that parade out there started." Iolaus motioned out towards the road.

"Ares' men," Hercules said with a nod, then he narrowed his eyes slightly, before grinning. "Got scratched up a little, huh?"

Iolaus mock-glared at him. "Just because you have thick skin doesn't mean the rest of us are as fortunate."

Xena shrugged, glancing over her unscratched arms and legs. Gabrielle just rolled her eyes.

"We'll be fine anyway." Iolaus held up the pouch with the salve.

Hercules nodded. "Oh, yeah. Isn't that the stuff you made with the pregnant yak membrane, spearmint leaves, and deer mucus?"

"Uh, yeah." Iolaus glanced over at Gabrielle who stared at him in horror, a look she quickly transferred to the salve covering large portions of her body.

"Sorry," Iolaus said with a shrug.

Gabrielle shuddered. Xena patted her on the shoulder consolingly.

"There's a battle a few days ride up the road," Xena said, and Gabrielle sighed in relief, both at the distraction and the information.

"At least they aren't looking for us," she commented.

"But they wouldn't have a problem taking time to deal with us either," Iolaus pointed out. "How long do you think they'll be there?" he asked Xena.

"It looked like they were just stopping to rest the horses; maybe an hour, maybe less."

"Then we can get moving soon," Iolaus said.

"To where?" Gabrielle looked at all of them for an answer. "Does anyone know where that...imposter went with Ares? We can't search every temple in Greece."

"They might not even be at a temple," Iolaus agreed. "And why did he go to Ares alone anyway? He didn't want us there for some reason."

"We might never know," said Xena. "And right now we have other things to worry about. We can't move ahead because Ares' men are going that way."

"There's a couple companies behind us, too," Hercules added. "Maybe half a day, less probably."

"Then it's one side or the other," Iolaus summed it up with a sigh. "Which one's safer? Or is there a safe way?"

"Not really." Xena leaned one arm on her upraised knees. "We'll encounter trouble wherever we go. It's just a matter of where we can do the most good. There are villages on either side of the road, a few hours off, and they'll probably be attacked sooner or later. We can go there, try to help."

"Why?" Gabrielle was surprised that the question had come out of her mouth. She hadn't even known she'd been thinking it. The others were frowning at her and she didn't blame them, but...she had to explain.

"It's all related to the bigger problem, right? The fact that there isn't a mischief god to put things back to normal?" she asked, then went on before anyone could reply. "Then isn't it just going to keep getting worse? Regardless of what we do? I mean, I know we should try to help where we can, but just running around, helping whatever settlement we run into won't be enough. Eventually everyone is going to start acting crazy, right? Including us?"

Xena sighed. "Gabrielle--"

"No, she's right," Hercules cut in, his tone serious. They all looked at him, Xena raising an eyebrow. "I've been thinking about it," he went on. "Things are just going to keep getting worse and we're doing no good this way. It's like putting a patch on a gaping wound that's only getting bigger. We have to do something about the cause of the problem."

"How?" Iolaus asked, shaking his head. "I'd become the next mischief god myself if I thought it would save Greece...the world, but I've been getting the impression that it's not that easy."

"It's not," Hercules confirmed. "You have to be born into the job. But...there's another way. I'm thinking it's time I had a talk with Hades."

Gabrielle nodded in sudden understanding and she could see comprehension light in Iolaus' eyes.

"Do you need us to help?" Xena asked, flicking her gaze towards Gabrielle before looking back at Hercules. "Hades owes us more than one favor and it might be the leverage you need."

"No, not yet, anyway." Hercules shook his head. "I've always had a pretty good relationship with him, especially after helping him with Persephone. I'll see how far I get talking to him, but keep those favors in mind. If he refuses me, I'll have you two try."

Xena nodded and Gabrielle smiled in response. She wasn't looking forward to another "adventure" in the Underworld, but she'd do it in an instant if it became necessary.

"Uh, Herc?" Iolaus said with a nervous smile. "If you don't mind, I think I'll sit this trip out. I've seen more than enough of the Underworld lately."

"Oh, come on, Iolaus," Hercules said, chuckling. "It's such a nice place."

Iolaus rolled his eyes.

"Wimp," Hercules accused good-naturedly, then the humor disappeared. "I'm going to head out that way," he pointed in the direction opposite the road. "Once I get out of hearing range of those guys over there, I'll give Hades a shout, see if he'll listen today."

Xena nodded again. "Gabrielle and I will circle around, a mile or two down the road and cross it. We'll see what we can do in that village right now."

"I'll follow you two," Iolaus said. "Give me something to do other than worry about Herc pissing off Hades and becoming a permanent resident down there."

"Your confidence in me is simply overwhelming, Iolaus," Hercules said dryly. Iolaus just grinned at him.

"Hercules." Xena rested a hand on his wristguard, catching his attention. "When you're down there, ask Hades...ask him if Joxer came through."

Hercules frowned. "Joxer? Why? That other version of him is alive and running around somewhere; wouldn't he be dead if Joxer was?"

"Not necessarily," Iolaus said. "Remember the Sovereign?"

"I try not to." Hercules winced. "But yeah, I see your point. If that psychotic version of Joxer was stuck in that in-between place and our Joxer was killed here, there'd be no reason for him to have died too. I'll check with Hades," he promised.

"Good luck," Gabrielle said.

He nodded to her, smiling slightly, then moved out of the burrow.

Xena didn't wait for him to leave their sights. She was up on her hands and knees and moving right after him. Gabrielle followed behind her, grumbling under her breath as she once again had trouble balancing her staff.

"I'm going to one big welt when this is over," she complained in a whisper as the brambles again caught at her clothes and skin.

"Don't worry," Iolaus whispered back from behind her. "I've got plenty more salve."

Gabrielle just shuddered.

-------

"Hades!" Hercules shouted for the third time. Just like the last couple times though, there was no response.

Technically Hercules wasn't at one of the "official" entrances to the Underworld, but it would take days to reach the nearest one and he'd been hoping that Hades wouldn't stand on formality this time. Or maybe that wasn't the problem at all. There were any number of reasons that Hades wouldn't respond. It was possible he wasn't in the Underworld right now, out collecting souls or something, or maybe he was too busy, or just possibly he was having a bad day and didn't want to deal with visitors. It wasn't Persephone’s time of the year to be there, so the chances of Hades being in a bad mood were good. There was just no way of knowing. Whatever the reason though, Hercules couldn't afford to just stand there shouting for his uncle's attention.

He'd left the two companies of Ares' men a good league behind him, but standing in a forest in the middle of nowhere, alone and shouting was still an excellent way to draw trouble. It wasn't just Ares' followers he had to worry about anymore, or Hera's, with half the people in Greece giving into whatever impulse crossed their mind, there was no telling what kind of trouble could wander his way. Hercules had no problem defending himself, but most of those people would be innocent, unable to help themselves, and he didn't want their harm, or their deaths, on his conscience.

It looked like he was going to have to make the trek to one of the entrances to the Underworld. Possibly even to Lake Olympus itself if Hades refused to answer at any of the other entrances, and that would take weeks. He'd have to find a horse to cut down on the travel time either way. But first he had to go back and find Iolaus and the others, tell them this was going to take far longer than he'd hoped for.

"Hades," Hercules said with a frustrated sigh, hands settling on his hips, "this was not a good time for you to get picky about--"

The world shifted, seeming to stretch and compact all at once, a twisting sensation that Hercules recognized from the times before. It only lasted the briefest of moments before everything settled again, but it still gave him a slightly queasy feeling. A feeling he didn't have time to dwell on as he found himself suddenly in the middle of a crowd.

"Whoa! Sorry," Hercules apologized out of reflex, stepping back to avoid a woman and child he'd arrived almost on top of. Or at least he tried to step back, that resulted in him backing into someone else.

"Sorry," he said again, turning to look at the soldier he'd knocked into. He quickly saw that the armored man was paying no attention to him though, and a look at the woman and child, both dressed in the drab clothes of farmers, showed that they too had no interest in him or his words.

In fact, everyone in the crowd around him had the same vacant, far-off look Hercules had come to recognize from his visits here as the stare of the recent, unsorted dead. He was in Asphodel.

"Great." He sighed, looking around and seeing nothing but silent souls stretching out in all directions across the vast, gray plain. They all stood eerily still, not a single movement amongst the hundreds that had to be there. It wasn't the most pleasant thing to be standing in the middle of and Hercules didn't doubt for a moment that Hades had put him here to make a point.

"You could just say you're busy, Hades," Hercules muttered under his breath. Looking around for a way out of the crush and not seeing one, he resigned himself to making his own path. The only question was, in which direction?

The answer came after he took a few moments to just stand there and listen. At first it seemed like there was nothing but the silence of the dead surrounding him, no murmur of voices, no rustling of clothing, no shifting of feet, just...the complete lack of sound that gave meaning to the term "dead silence." But gradually Hercules became aware of it, something, some sound far in the distance, maybe only audible because of his heritage. He couldn't make out whether it was words or not, but it gave him something to focus on, something to head towards.

He had to push his way through the crowd. None of the dead listened to his initial requests for them to move, or his apologies when he finally just had to squeeze past them. Eventually he just quit saying anything at all. They let Hercules push them aside with out a comment, without the slightest change in expression, and they remained wherever the push left them, not moving to regain their former positions. It went beyond simply eerie and into creepy. Hercules just tried to ignore it as best he could and keep moving.

Some time later, minutes he thought -- but it was hard to tell in a place so featureless and bland, with no sun to gauge time passage -- Hercules was able to make out words in the noise, and it was noise. More than one voice actually, combining and clashing into something that grew louder as Hercules neared it. It was somewhat comforting too, after the unnerving silence he'd just been subjected to.

Hercules became reasonably certain what he was heading towards before he saw it. He was able to make out single voices, one sided conversations that told him all he needed to know.

"Medos of Athens, for the murder of your brother Macar you're sentenced to an eternity in Tartarus. Next. Lukos of Thebes, for hoarding your wealth and refusing to help those in need, you're sentenced to an eternity in Tartarus. Next. Kebes of Mende, for the killing of...," one voice droned on.

"Peteos immigrant from Gaul, for betraying your fellow soldiers to the enemy, you've won an all expense paid, one-way trip to the lovely land of torture: Tartarus. Enjoy. Daphne, slave to Paris of Elis, it's your lucky day. For defending your master's home and family in his absence, you get to spend eternity frolicking in the fields of Elysium. Have fun, doll. Iole, servant of Ephyra of Olympia, for the murder of...." At least that voice sounded a bit less bored than the first.

"Get in line! The one to the right is for the Elysian Fields, the line to the left is for Tartarus. Don't try to switch lines 'cause we'll only sort it out later. No cutting in the line and wait your turn!" That voice was louder than the others and off to the right.

None of the voices belonged to Hades, but it was a starting place. Hercules headed for the first two, moving faster now that a goal was in sight, or hearing rather. The crowd of souls was so thick that he didn't see the table until he pushed aside a pair of mercenaries and suddenly he was standing right in front of it.

The three judges of the Underworld sat there, parchment piled high between them and around them and they never once looked up as they spoke to the souls that approached them. For each soul they had a piece of parchment and they scribbled notes as they spoke. Brown skinned Minos, the original king of Crete whose decendant of the same name now ruled the island, droned on in obvious boredom, his notes done in a tiny, conservative hand. Fair haired Aeacus wore a perpetual smirk as he seemed to entertain himself with his words, writing in large flourishes the entire time. It was Rhadamanthys, eyes exotically slanted, who directed the souls to their destinations, barking out orders when the directions weren't followed exactly. None of the three looked up when Hercules stood before them. But Minos spoke.

"You aren't on the list, Hercules, and neither is Iolaus."

"Quit holding up the line," Aeacus added.

"I know we're not on there. I'm looking for Hades," Hercules explained before Rhadamanthys could say anything.

"He's out helping to collect souls." said Minos. "Next."

Hercules moved slightly to the side as the next soul shuffled forward, but he didn't give up. "He's the one who sent me here, so I assumed he'd be around somewhere."

"That's because he loves dumping his problems on us," Aeacus said. "Phalinos, former slave to Socus of Crete; my, you've been a bad, bad boy. For the crimes of escaping your master, murder, rape, thievery, adultery, bestiality, necrophilia, cursing the gods, pissing on Zeus' temples -- all of them; that's impressive -- kidnapping, hoarding money, crossdressing, treason, and just being a general, all around asshole, you get a tour of Tartarus. You'll probably like it though. Bye-bye now."

The soul, a man about Iolaus' height with far less muscle and an innocent looking face, turned mechanically and headed towards the line of souls waiting at the entrance to Tartarus.

Hercules watched him for a moment with raised eyebrows, then shook his head and pressed on. "Do you have any idea where I can find Hades? I need to talk to him."

"Wasn't my day to watch him," Aeacus said. "Next."

"Try over by the Styx," said Rhadamanthys, pointing back the way Hercules had come. "He's been popping in to check on the souls coming across. Hey! Get back in line!" He pointed at a soul that had wandered out of the Tartarus line-up and towards the one for the Elysian Fields. The richly dressed child obediently turned and resumed his place in the proper line.

Hercules sighed in resignation. Of course it would be another trip back through the souls. "Thanks," he said dutifully, but received no acknowledgement, the three gods having already resumed their work.

He began pushing his way back through the mass of souls, the sounds of judgment fading behind him. It was a longer trek this time, seemingly endless with blank faces staring through him and past him the entire time. The faces changed but the expressions never did and Hercules ended up staring down, towards their shoulders so he wouldn't have to see those unnerving faces. Maybe they were dead, but it just felt wrong to see something like that on a person's face.

The souls were packed right up to the riverbanks themselves, it turned out. Hercules nearly found out the hard way when he pushed past a young man and woman and almost put his foot right into the Styx. That would've made a bad day even worse.

"Well, great." He sighed again as he looked around. Nothing but souls and a river and so sign of Hades. "Now what?"

The other side of the river looked just as bad, packed tight with souls waiting for a ride to this side, or ones that would never get that ride due to the lack of a coin or a proper funeral. Charon was probably in misery over this. In fact...Charon was headed right for him. Hercules actually heard him before seeing the boat.

"...over and over. And do I get a vacation? No! Just back and forth, back and forth for eternity. So I ask for some time off, just a day, a few hours, and what happens? He steps up the workload! I tell you, I'm going to file a complaint." The grievances continued non-stop as the boat approached shore. When it touched land, Charon stood and motioned with his oar.

"Okay, last stop, everyone out! Just wander up onto the banks and find a place to stand. The judges will get to you in a millennium or two."

The half a dozen souls all stood as one and filed out of the boat in a straight line, walking around Hercules who stood, arms crossed, watching.

"Hello, Charon," he said with a slight smile. He wished he sounded more cheerful, but this place and the circumstances were all wearing on him. It looked like any effort would be wasted on Charon anyway.

The cowled god jumped, making the boat slosh in the water. "Hercules!" Charon's voice sounded accusing. "How did you get over here? Nevermind. I'm not taking you back and I haven't seen Iolaus, so don't bother asking either way!"

"I'm not looking for Iolaus, I'm looking for Hades and since he brought me down here, he can send me back."

"Well if he brought you here, why didn't you just stick around with him? You wouldn't be looking for him now if you'd done that, would you? Some people." Charon shook his head, his tone condescending.

Hercules rolled his eyes. "He just dropped me here, Charon, I haven't seen him yet. I was hoping you'd know where he was. I mean, you do know everything that goes on around here, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Charon said, sitting back down. "I see everyone that comes through here, hear all the gossip."

Unless the souls were normally more talkative than Hercules had seen, he kind of doubted that, but he just let it go, not wanting to upset Charon and lose out on any possible information. "Then if Hades were anywhere around here, you'd be the one to know about it," he said.

Charon nodded. "Yeah, I would. He's been here, on and off, checking to see how many souls have crossed. And look at this!" He motioned to the mass of souls stretching out beside and behind Hercules. "I've got twice this many left to ferry over!"

"That's...that's terrible," Hercules tried to add a touch of sympathy to his tone.

"That's exactly what it is! And I can't just do my job in peace, nooo, I've got a group of souls back there making trouble!" He jerked his head back towards the far banks of the river.

"Sounds serious. You know, I bet Hades would sort it out for you," Hercules suggested.

"Oh, yeah, he's a big help. He's the one that keeps bringing more souls down here! When it isn't Hermes doing it anyway. You know, at least Hermes stops and says 'hello' once in a while, lets me know what's going on up top. But can Hades be bothered? Of course not!"

"And if you'd quit sitting there complaining, we might get more of these souls ferried across." The words, complete with dry tone, were accompanied by a muted flash of light signaling the arrival of the Lord of the Underworld.

"Finally," Hercules said under his breath.

Hades stood near him, helmet tucked under his arm, staring pointedly at Charon.

"You could've asked what I wanted before just dropping me here," Hercules said.

"I thought you just wanted a visit with Deianeira and the kids." Hades glanced at him with a frown.

"No, I need to talk to you. And Deianeira is in the Elysian Fields, which this isn't," Hercules pointed out.

"I'm a little busy, Hercules, in case you hadn't noticed. And I was distracted when I sent you here." Hades shrugged, then looked back at Charon.

"Don't you have work to do?" Hades pointed at the far bank.

"I've got problems!" Charon said indignantly. "I'm overworked and one group of souls is refusing to come across."

"Refusing?" Hades frowned again.

"They say they're from some country far up North. Taken as slaves or something. Anyway, they say their souls should be returned to their own gods, that they don't belong here." Charon shook his head. "Like our Underworld isn't as good as some other Pantheon's."

Hades sighed in a put-upon fashion. "Oh, very well. I suppose the last thing we need right now is a dispute with another Pantheon. Find out what gods they're talking about and let me know; I'll talk to Zeus about it later."

"Good." Charon nodded, but didn't make any move to put his oar back in the water. "As long as you're doing things, do you think you could get me some help here? I've been at this for two millennia and I could use it. Some decent conversation too." The last bit he muttered in a low tone.

"We're all busy, Charon, just deal with it," Hades said and there was a finality to his tone.

"Fine." Charon jabbed his oar back into the water and began turning the boat around, muttering under his breath the entire time. "It's just not right. He can't work us this hard. You know what? I'm talking to the other gods next time I see them; we're forming a union!"

Hades sighed and started rubbing his temple with his free hand.

"Now can we talk?" Hercules asked.

"Huh?" Hades looked at him in confusion. "Oh, Hercules. You're still here? I haven't seen Iolaus."

"I'm not looking for Iolaus! Why does everyone always assume that? And how am I supposed to leave anyway?" Hercules spread his arms, indicating the souls and the side of the river they were on.

"I'll take care of it." Hades started to gesture with his hand, probably to send Hercules back to the mortal realm, but Hercules shook his head.

"I still need to talk to you, Hades."

Hades dropped his hand with another sigh. "I just don't have the time for a chat, Hercules. I'm sorry. Maybe once this is all sorted out. With things in Greece the way they are...our workload just keeps getting bigger by the day."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, a way to put a stop to all this."

That seemed to catch Hades' attention. He focused completely on Hercules, dark eyes narrowing slightly. "Okay, I'm listening."

Grateful to finally be getting somewhere, Hercules crossed his arms and continued. "It's pretty simple, isn't it? Greece is suffering from the lack of a mischief god, so we need Strife back."

"Right, and?" Hades prompted.

"So you give him back," Hercules finished with the obvious. Or at least he'd thought it was obvious. The way Hades snorted and looked away said something else entirely.

"I thought you knew, Hercules." Hades shook his head, reaching up to rub at his temple again. "I don't have Strife."

That was a surprise. Hercules' eyebrows went up. "What? But all the Greek dead come to you."

"Not all of them," Hades corrected him. "Special groups like the Amazons have their own Land of the Dead."

"So the gods have their own too?"

"Hardly." Hades smirked, a bitter expression devoid of humor. "Gods don't have souls, Hercules. We just are. And when we die, that's it, we cease to exist. So, no Strife."

Hercules couldn't find words for long moments. He hadn't known, hadn't even suspected. It was a shock, realizing that for all their invulnerabilities, gods were far more fragile than mortals like this. In a way, regular men and women were actually the immortals, it was the gods who were mortal in the end. It left Hercules with no plan, no idea of how to fix what was going wrong. He was at a complete loss for a plan.

"If there's nothing else, I have a job to do." Hades lifted his hand.

But again Hercules stopped him. Even with his plan crushed, there was still one more matter that had to be addressed. "Just...one more question. I'm looking for someone -- not Iolaus -- and I was wondering if he's come through here in the last few weeks."

"Who is it? I might know him but I can't know everyone who passes through, remember that," Hades cautioned.

Hercules nodded. "His name's Joxer. He's--"

"Tall guy? Kind of on the thin side? Long face, a little clumsy, goofy smile and bad armor?"

For the second time in minutes Hercules felt disappointment and horror grip him, but this was far more personal. For all that Joxer had gotten on his nerves, Hercules had truly liked him and this...this wasn't the kind of news he'd been hoping to take back to his friends. Friends who also considered Joxer one of them.

"I see," he said quietly. "Did he at least make it to the Elysian Fields? If not, there are more people than just me who'll argue his case for him."

Hades frowned at him. "He's not dead, Hercules. He's Greek and he doesn't belong to any groups, so I'd have him. But he's not here."

"Not--?" Hope flared in Hercules' heart, but he had to be sure. "Then how do you know who he is? So much about him?"

"That's the odd thing. I normally wouldn't, but the other gods down here mentioned him, his description, who he is, all that. Apparently, you're not the first to be down here asking after him."

"Who else was here?" Hercules asked, unable to think of anyone with access to the Underworld who knew Joxer.

Hades looked a little confused himself when he answered. "Ares."

utting off the stream of power, Ares watched impassively as Discord fell from where he'd had her pinned to the wall, hurtling good three stories down to come to a crashing halt on the hard floor. He really hoped she hadn't cracked the marble. It was so hard to find decent repairmen these days.

Seated in his throne, one leg hooked over the armrest, Ares studied Discord as she pushed herself up slightly on her elbows, shaking her head with a faint groan. She didn't get up, though. A good move, considering that Ares would have no problem hitting her with a few more energy bolts. Her hair was looking frazzled, her leathers singed and her arms were trembling as she held herself up, so maybe she'd had enough. Only one way to tell.

"Have anything to say to me?" Ares asked casually, brushing a speck of dust off the leather of his pants leg.

There was no answer save another groan, although he thought he saw something that might've been a glare, kind of hard to tell with that pile of fritzed, black hair draped in a tangle over part of her face.

"All right." He shrugged and lifted his hand again, orange sparks of power dancing along his fingers.

"No!" Discord shoved herself up onto one hip, holding out a hand to forestall another assault.

"Oh, then you do have something to say?" Ares raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Blowing a strand of hair away from her nose, Discord sighed resignedly. "I may've...disposed of something of yours."

"Is that right?" Admiring the way the sparks jumped from finger to finger, Ares let his tone take on a false air of indulgence. "Please, do tell."

"It was just a mortal!" Discord said indignantly. "Nothing but a worthless screw up in a pile of scrap metal." She sat up fully, shoving her hair out of her face.

"Really? Then...why did you bother 'disposing' of him?"

"I was doing you a favor!"

"A 'favor?' I see." Ares flicked his fingers and the sparks flared brightly -- making Discord jump -- before disappearing entirely. "And how, exactly, does messing with my property translate to doing me a favor?"

"You were getting attached, Ares," Discord said and for a fraction of a second, the barest trace of a condescending smile touched her lips. "The dork said he loved you," she sneered the word, "and you didn't kill him for it."

Ares smirked. So that was what lay behind all of this. Discord would never come right out and say it of course, but her jealousy was more than obvious to him. Time to diffuse that. "As much time as you spend eavesdropping, Discord, I'd think you'd know how to read me better."

"What're you talking about?" She frowned, wrinkling her nose prettily, but Ares had long since become used to and bored with her...charms.

"Do you have any idea who that mortal was?"

She shrugged. "I don't know; Jester, Joker, something like that. What's it matter?"

"Joxer was one of Xena and Hercules' little friends," Ares explained in an overly-patient tone.

"Yeah? So what? You're not telling me you're afraid of those twerps now, are you?" Discord asked with a smirk.

"Hardly. But why don't you try thinking for once instead of just reacting, hmm?" Ares swung his leg off the armrest and sat forward. "How better to get at those two, to cause Hercules pain, to manipulate Xena, than through one of their friends? Think about it, Discord. If I had a hold on one of those mortals they cared so much about, if that mortal was all love-struck over me, think of all the uses I could put him to! Spying on Xena and Hercules, interfering with their plans, delaying them when necessary; the possibilities are...endless," he said with a wicked smirk, one that quickly faded. "But of course, since you just tossed that mortal away, all my plans are useless now, aren't they?"

Discord was looking a little pale now, more so than usual. "Oh," she said quietly, her tone laced with trepidation.

"Yeah, 'oh.'" Ares' words were clipped, his anger unfeigned, just not for the reasons he'd led her to think.

"Well...you know, if you'd just tell me what you're doing once in a while, these little...miscalculations wouldn't happen!" she pointed out.

Ares snorted. "Since when do I have to clear my plans with you?" He asked scathingly, and was gratified to see Discord flinch.

"You don't, of course," she was quick to reply. "It would just make things less complicated. Especially when it's something involving those idiots."

"You mean the ones you're not supposed to be messing with without my direct permission? Now why should I have to clarify anything about them? If I want you in on it, you'll know. I think it would be less trouble all around if you'd keep that cute little nose in your own business, don't you?" Ares asked reasonably, his tone as fake as the smile he gave her.

Discord's lip curled; she hated being referred to as "cute" in any fashion and Ares knew it. But she nodded anyway, an agreement Ares had no doubt that she'd forget to adhere to the next time it was inconvenient for her. He had no problem repeating this little "lesson," though, whenever it was necessary.

"So glad you agree," he said, adding a touch of false sweetness. A tone that he quickly dropped, his words becoming flat, hard. "Now get out of my sight. Go down to the Halls of War, and stay there. See what you can do about keeping my warlords in line and sane. Most of them should be conscious by now; at least those four idiots didn't kill any."

"What am I supposed to do with them?" Discord asked, pulling herself unsteadily to her feet.

"I'm sure you'll think of...something." Ares deliberately let the innuendo creep into his voice, smirking at her. "Shoo." He waved a hand dismissively at her.

She clenched her fists and he could see the clenching of her teeth behind the fake smile she gave him in return, but she said nothing, just nodded and disappeared in a flash of red light.

A quick check to make sure that she really had left, and certain that he was alone now, Ares let himself slump back into the throne. That had gone about like he'd expected, no surprises. He knew Discord, how her mind worked, what he had to tell her to get her to believe what he wanted her to, so of course she'd bought it. He'd given her no reason not to. He'd also laid the groundwork for her accepting Joxer's presence, assuming Ares ever got him back.

And that brought him right back to the problem still hanging over his head. As entertaining as it was to punish Discord, it hadn't accomplished anything towards solving the current situation, and that's what he had to be concerned about.

If this new, godly version of Joxer could be believed, he was the solution to the problem of a lack of a mischief god. But Ares was also absolutely certain that this would be a perfect case of the solution being worse than the problem. The last time they'd had a god willing to kidnap and torture another god, it'd been during the war with the Titans and Ares had been the captive. Not only didn't Ares want Cupid going through that, he didn't want a god in their Pantheon who operated this way, who had absolutely no respect for superior gods, more powerful ones.

Normally Ares would've a considered a god with that attitude to be either stupid or insane, but in this case he had a feeling the attitude was backed up with far too much cunning for the safety of anyone in the Pantheon. There was always the possibility that this Joxer was a complete moron blessed with a viciously creative streak, but Ares wasn't willing to count on that. Everything he'd seen so far pointed to intelligence, not luck or a reliance on pure instinct. Kidnapping Cupid, using him as leverage to stay Ares' hand took some thinking, planning, and most definitely one incredibly big set of balls. And then there was the trail Joxer had left.

Ares hadn't been able to just sit around and do nothing, even after considering Joxer's words, his demands, and their implications. He'd waited just long enough to let Joxer think he'd been cowed, and then Ares had set off after him.

Every god left a trail of power with they moved through the eather; it was as clear to another god as signs on the ground were to a mortal tracker. What gods left behind though was far more personalized, like an impression of themselves that gradually faded over minutes or hours. Ares had picked up on the last vestiges of the trail left by Joxer and he'd followed it.

Any god could suppress their powers, try to conceal them when they moved, but when they used them it always left something behind. Joxer had concealed what he could, but it was still detectable to Ares, especially when the feel of the power signature so closely resembled the one Strife used to have. That had Ares more than a little disconcerted, but he'd pressed on, following the trail as it wound its way through Greece, jumping from one spot to another, from Corinth to Olynthus, Seriphos to Delos. It wasn't until he'd ended up in Potidaea for the third time in four hours that he finally admitted defeat, or at least a temporary setback.

Joxer had done some very clever things with his power signature, doubling back on himself, leaping large distances, and looping the signature back in on itself at points so that there was no way of telling when exactly he'd been somewhere, or if he was even still there at all. Ares had to admire that, grudgingly, even if it frustrated him with a complete lack of progress.

Not one to waste time on futile tasks, Ares had returned to his Olympian temple to try and think of another way of tracking Joxer. When he'd arrived, though, Discord had been there and he'd proceeded to allow himself a rather pleasant distraction. But now he was back where he'd started.

Trying to follow Joxer was as much direct action on his part as he'd dare risk, and asking the other gods for help was out of the question, so that left Ares with other...less pleasant options. Like having a little chat with Hercules. He was willing to consider that though if he absolutely had to. He certainly wasn't coming up with any other--

Before the thought had even fully played itself out, Ares was shouting, "Deimos! Phobos!"

Maybe he couldn't ask the other major gods for help, but there was still a good chance, better than good really, that a couple of the minor ones would succeed where more powerful gods couldn't. Specifically, Deimos and Phobos. They were Cupid's brothers and closer to that side of the family than Ares had ever cared for, but right now it might be the advantage he needed.

Joxer would no doubt spot a major god coming long before they became a threat; their power signatures were too large to conceal well. But Deimos and Phobos not only had easily concealable ones, they could actually be subtle, sneaky when they had to. Added to that the fact that they were closely linked with Cupid, and that made them the perfect choice to send on a little reconnaissance
mission.

Except...they didn't respond. The echo of his shout still resounded faintly around the dark temple, but there was no response to his summons, and that was highly unusual. Deimos and Phobos weren't the type to ignore any sort of order from him; they were normally prompt regardless of what they'd been doing at the time of his call. Ares couldn't think of anything that would make them disobey him; they knew he didn't tolerate this kind of thing.

Frowning, uncertain what was going on but determined to find out, Ares transported himself to Aphrodite's Olympian temple.

It was an educated guess, showing up in Aphrodite's temple looking for his sons, but Ares figured that in the unlikely event that they weren't there, Aphrodite would probably have a good idea of where they were. She tolerated far more of their natures than Ares did, their seemingly constant need to touch each other when they were together, so when they weren't working for Ares, Deimos and Phobos spent most of their time lounging around Aphrodite's place.

That...codependence of theirs was a habit Ares had been trying to break them of over the last year or so, with limited success. They could spend time apart without Deimos becoming overly twitchy or Phobos too homicidal, which was better than it'd been a few years ago, but the separations seemed to make them cling even more tightly to each other whenever they were reunited. Ares didn't understand it, hated that Aphrodite indulged it, but he was starting to accept that it might be something that ultimately, he could do little to alter.

"Phobos!" Ares shouted the instant he appeared in Aphrodite's temple.

Deimos was the more visible of the twins, always in motion, always talking while Phobos stood quietly in the background, but it was Phobos who held the power between them. Deimos looked to his brother for every major decision and all too often seemed lost without him, bordering on incompetent, really. Phobos, well, without Deimos he didn't do so well either, but he could at least be trusted to complete a job on his own, even if he did screw up along the way. Being the dominate one of the pair, Phobos would be the one to ask for an explanation of why they weren't answering Ares' summons. Deimos would likely just cower and cringe and not say anything worthwhile. Phobos, as quiet as he could be, when he did talk, what he said mattered.

"Phobos, get your ass in here now!" Ares shouted again when his first summons went unanswered. But the results were the same this time. The words died with no response, falling to silence in a room splashed with white, pink and gold, curves and softness.

Ares had long ago learned to tolerate the "decor" Aphrodite insisted on surrounding herself with, if he hadn't, he likely wouldn't have three sons running around. But his tolerance didn't go very far when his patience was stretched as thin as it was now. He managed to restrain himself from blasting one of the nearest naked statues. Regardless of how much better that might've made him feel, it was never advisable to piss of Aphrodite. Instead he pulled out a dagger.

"Phobos!" He shouted again, then drove the dagger into the top of an overstuffed pink couch next to him, snarling in frustration.

The sound of a door slamming open behind him finally answered his call. He turned quickly on his heel, prepared to demand that Phobos explain both this delay and his previous failure to answer the first summons, but the words died on another snarl when Ares saw Aphrodite approaching him.

The look on her face didn't bode well for any questions he wanted answered. Her beautiful features were set in a hard mask of anger as she strode quickly towards him, bare feet slapping against marble, the pale pink and white gauze of her "dress" fluttering out around her as she moved. Undoubtedly she was angry with him for coming into her home uninvited and for damaging her couch, but at this point Ares wasn't very concerned with her displeasure. These were small annoyances that she'd get over in a day or two. The only problem would be trying to get some answers out of her now when she was unhappy with him. There was always the chance that if he stood there for a few minutes and let her rant about her little problems, she'd be more willing to tell him where the twins were, if she knew. At that point Ares was willing to give it a try because he had no more ideas for figuring out where the little idiots were.

Aphrodite stopped right in front of him, fists resting on her hips as she glared up at him. Ares raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to get on with it. What he didn't expect was for one of those small, delicate looking fists to swing up and connect hard with his jaw.

For all that Aphrodite was a love goddess, she was still a goddess and she packed as much power behind her punch as any of the rest of them. Head snapping back at the force of the blow, Ares staggered back a step, running into the couch and automatically grabbing the back of it to steady himself. Wincing at the sharp, throbbing pain taking up residence on the left side of his face, his other hand came up automatically to rub his jaw as he stared at her in a mix of shock and growing anger.

"Are you out of your mind?" he asked, voice low and tense.

"Where's my son?" Aphrodite's tone held just as much barely-leashed fury, and Ares suddenly realized that he'd badly underestimated her mood. This wasn't a simple annoyance, she was truly angry and there were far worse, and far more effective things she could do to him than a simple punch. Then the meaning of her words registered.

Ares had hoped to keep this all as quiet as possible. One of the last things he wanted was for the other gods to know just how quickly he'd been outmaneuvered by some foreign god, but if Aphrodite knew about Cupid's disappearance, and knew enough to question him about it, then he'd have to explain or risk dealing with her misguided vengeance on one side and this new mischief god's trickery on the other. Fighting a battle on two fronts was usually a very bad idea, so Ares forced back his own anger and nodded.

"Sit down;" he said, "you need to know a few things."

"I'll stand, and get that knife out of my couch," Aphrodite said, crossing her arms under her partially bared breasts. For once, Ares didn't take much notice of that.

"We've got a problem." Ares pulled the knife from the couch, leaving a deep gash that exposed the stuffing inside. The sight of the pure white feathers made him wince. "Another god came through the vortex the last time it opened. He looks like...like that moron who follows Xena around." He'd almost slipped there. If he admitted knowing Joxer by name, that might give Aphrodite far too much information to speculate on.

"Joxer?" She frowned, anger still plainly visible but curiosity now joining it.

Ares nodded. "Yeah, him. He's a mischief god."

"Joxer is a god?"

"No," he rolled his eyes, "the god who came through the vortex. In his world he's the God of Mischief. Acts like Strife, looks like Joker."

"Joxer," Aphrodite corrected testily, "and quit pretending you don't know him."

"Of course I know him, sort of." Ares shrugged, hoping it looked as non-chalant as he was trying for. "The two times I got turned mortal and stuck with Xena, I couldn't turn around without tripping over the twit. You were there that last time, you remember how it was. Never bothered to learn his name though, unlike you." He sneered.

Aphrodite began drumming the perfectly manicured nails of one hand on her forearm. "Ares, this is me losing my patience and you about to become the God of Bad Poetry."

That sounded...very bad. But Ares wasn't about to just confess his innermost thoughts and feelings when he had no idea just how much she really knew. "Fine, Joxer." He shrugged again. "Getting back to the original subject," he said pointedly, "This new god calls himself that, too, and he knew we were short a mischief god, so he--"

"Hold up, bro." Aphrodite held out a hand, palm facing outward. "Rewind and quit trying to blow smoke at me."

"What?" Ares frowned.

She sighed sharply, the puff of air ruffling the blond curls laying against her forehead. "Okay, listen up, Leather-boy. See this?" She pointed a finger at him, the tip of her shiny pink nail a hairsbreadth from his leather vest. Suddenly a small stream of pink sparkles shot from her finger and seconds later black leather became bright pink.

"Hey!" Ares would've backed away but already pressed against the couch, he had nowhere to move.

"That was a warning, Ares. Now start at the beginning."

"I did! The little bastard shows up out of the vortex and starts making himself at home here!"

Another zap of pink sparkles, this time tinged with gold and suddenly Ares' head felt different. He reached up and instead of his usual thick black curls, he encountered...braids? Holding one out, his eyes widened in horror at the blond braid tied off with a fuzzy pink ribbon.

Dropping the offending...thing, he glared at her, curling his lip. "What in Tartarus do you think you--"

"Shut it, bro! Next time you try shoveling more of your bull my way, not only will this be your new favorite look, you'll start decorating your temples in fuscha!"

Ares blanched and held up his hands placatingly. He had no doubt she'd do exactly what she threatened and he had absolutely no desire to become the reigning joke on Olympus and amongst his own worshipers.

"Okay! Fine, enough already! What d'you want to hear?"

Eyes narrowed, Aphrodite leaned forward raising up on her toes to bring their faces close. "The truth, and because I know you're not best buds with that, let me make things a little clearer for you, Ares. I've used Joxer a time or two in my plans; he's annoying, yes, but he's a sweet guy and I keep an eye on him. So believe me, I know exactly whose bed he's been warming the past few months. And I knew when he disappeared."

Ares sighed. "Did you know why?"

"I guessed. The vortex?"

He nodded, then lifted a hand to return his appearance to normal.

"Leave it, bro," Aphrodite ordered, backing off a couple steps. "I want you to have a good idea of the consequences if you even think about 'forgetting' something in your little story."

"I thought you wanted to know about your son!" he said, anger rising again.

"Our son, and we'll get there. Don't let the blond hair fool you, bro -- especially since you have it now too." She smirked at him and Ares snarled in response. That just got him a wider smirk in return. "I'm not stupid, Ares. I know this all has to do with you somehow and I want the whole story, all of it, got it?"

"Yeah." Whatever would get him out of there with some of his pride still intact. "Joxer's mine. Leave it at that."

"For now." Aphrodite waved a hand at him. "Keep going."

"Discord tossed him through the vortex the first time it opened a couple weeks back. I already 'discussed' that with her," he said in response to her raised eyebrows. "He wound up in some other world where his counterpart's the God of Mischief. I have no idea what went on there, but now we've got this other Joxer running around our world deciding that he might want to stay. Thinks the gods on his world -- the me in his world -- will groom my Joxer to be the God of Mischief."

Aphrodite snorted. "Joxer? I don't think so. That mortal is like, so not god material."

"You haven't met the god version yet," Ares said, his jaw clenching reflexively.

"I'll be paying him a little visit, right after you and I finish this up."

"You can't. He'll hurt Cupid if he thinks we're interfering at all."

Aphrodite's eyes widened. "What?"

Holding out his hand, palm up, he summoned the feather he'd left back in his temple. "He's the one that took Cupid, gave me this as proof."

Aphrodite snatched the feather from his palm, cradling it between her small hands. "This is one of his flight feathers. It was yanked out! He would've bled!"

"I know." Ares cracked the knuckles on his right hand. "He's my son and no matter how much of that love crap you shoveled into his head, he wouldn't sit still for that. This new version of Joxer has to have cut off Cupid's powers, it's the only explanation."

She didn't react to his insult, instead Aphrodite just continued to stare at the feather in her hands. The anger had vanished from her expression and there was only shock and fear there now.

"I looked for him, both of them, but this god...I can't track him, and there's no sign of Cupid anywhere. He's alive, that's all I know for sure," Ares admitted, and maybe it wasn't as grudgingly as it could've been, not with that look on her face right confronting him.

Aphrodite nodded. At that moment pink sparkles cascaded around him. Before Ares could react, they'd faded out, leaving his leathers black again. A quick touch to his hair showed that the braids were gone. He sighed in relief. That sound seemed to snap Aphrodite out of the silent state she'd fallen into.

"Cupid didn't do the last couple jobs I asked him to, but...I thought he'd just gone to visit Psyche. He really missed her and Bliss but I told him a successful marriage is all about tolerance and you can't have that if you're, like, living on top of each other all the time. It's totally a space thing, you know? And I told him that, but I just thought he'd gone off and--"

"'Dite, stop it." He rarely called her by that nickname, not since long before she'd married Hephaestus, but he couldn't let her keep going down that path. If she talked herself into a panic she might do something impulsive and that could end up very bad for Cupid. He placed a hand on one of her bare arms, his touch more gentle than usual.

"Huh?" She looked at him blankly.

"You're saying you didn't know that Cupid was missing?" Ares asked it slowly, hoping shock hadn't made her more flighty than usual.

"No." She shook her head.

"Then what were you talking about after you hit me?" He tightened his grip, just a little, just to focus her attention on him and the question.

"What I was--?" Aphrodite frowned. "Phobos. He's gone, Ares. And Deimos.... Oh, Deimos!" Closing one hand into a fist around the feather, she grabbed Ares' wrist with the other hand and began pulling him across the room. Ares was just shocked enough to let her get away with it.

Phobos was missing too? It made no sense, but Aphrodite wasn't acting like she was making something out of nothing. Her manner was too serious, too thoroughly stunned to be anything but genuine.

"When -- how did you find out Phobos was missing? How did you even know anything was wrong?" Ares asked as she led him out of the room. He wanted to know what kind of sources she had that he didn't, and in this dazed state of hers, there was a good chance she'd reveal them.

"I didn't," Aphrodite said, her manner distracted as she came to an abrupt stop just inside the next room. "Deimos did."

Any further questions about that became suddenly unnecessary as Ares saw his son.

"My baby," Aphrodite said softly, eyes suspiciously bright. It was difficult to tell whether she was referring to Deimos or Phobos, but maybe it was one and the same.

Deimos sat on the end of the bed in the back of the room. A quick glance around -- and a quick sniff -- showed that it was likely a room he shared with his twin, no pink in sight, just browns and golds and plenty of weapons laying around amongst the clutter of rough kept furniture and scattered leather clothing and armor, all of it well used, judging by the smell of old blood and sex lingering in the air. The bed was certainly large enough for two, and then some. The dark brown sheets were rumpled, pillows scattered over the bed and on the floor nearby, and there Deimos sat, alone, arms wrapped around himself, rocking.

The look on Deimos' face was horribly blank, especially considering how pale he looked compared to his normally bronzed complexion. His eyes were too wide, his lower lip caught between white teeth in a reaction that seemed to be all reflexive because no thought showed on his face, not even a hint. For all appearances, Deimos simply wasn't there.

"How long has he been like this?" Ares asked quietly, pulling his wrist from Aphrodite's grip.

"He--he...screamed a couple hours ago, something about his neck, but I guess he meant Phobos." She wiped a hand across her cheeks, brushing away barely formed tears. As Ares watched, she visibly pulled herself together, taking a deep breath and standing up straighter. "He was talking, at first, but it was just babble and I couldn't make out much except that something was wrong with Phobos and Deimos couldn't find him. He just...stopped talking a while ago, and now he's like this."

Ares nodded. The link between the twins was far stronger than any Ares had with his sons. Any...interference with that link would probably be devastating for Deimos, the weaker of the pair. But at the same time Ares didn't quite understand it. He could feel that Phobos was still alive and Deimos had to know the same thing. Assuming something had happened to Phobos, why couldn't Deimos find him? What was stopping him? Unless he was simply panicking instead of acting like a proper war god. Ares wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, not with Deimos.

He walked quickly to the bed, stepping over piles of old battle clothing, armor and weapons, all of them unwashed and just tossed aside after use. There were also...other things laying about that no doubt had a use more suited to the bedroom, and Ares deliberately didn't look too closely at any of that. Instead he focused on his son, his apparently catatonic son. But Ares didn't buy it.

"Deimos." His tone was hard, commanding as he stepped around an overturned stool so he could stand in front of him.

Deimos made no response, didn't even seem to hear him. He just continued to rock in place, staring at Ares' waist as though looking straight through him.

"Deimos!" Ares reached down, grabbed a brown leather-clad shoulder and shook him, hard.

There was nothing Ares could point to as definitive proof, but he thought he saw something, some response, maybe just the tiniest flicker of awareness deep in those pale blue eyes. That decided him.

"Deimos!" He slapped his son hard enough that if he hadn't been holding onto Deimos' shoulder, the blow would've sent him flying back towards the head of the bed.

"Ares!" Aphrodite's indignant, horrified yell made Ares shoot her a quelling glare.

"I know what I'm doing; stay there," he ordered.

She looked furious with him but stayed near the doorway, returning his glare.

"Ares?" Deimos' confused whisper jerked Ares' attention back to him, ignoring the reddening handprint on his cheek.

"Yeah," Ares said, and shook Deimos again, much harder than the first time. Deimos' head snapped back and forth, spiked blond hair waving with the movement. "C'mon, get with the program here!"

"Dad?" Deimos blinked and finally looked up at him.

"About fucking time." Ares tightened his grip on Deimos' shoulder. The look in Deimos' eyes was still a little too vacant for his liking and being the God of Pain, a little more pain might be just the focus Deimos needed. "You with me now?"

"Dad?" Deimos repeated.

"Where's your brother?" Ares demanded.

"Brother?"

"Your twin, you utter nitwit! Phobos!"

"Phobos?" Deimos blinked again. "Phobos! Oh, Fates; Dad! I can't find Phobos!" Suddenly Deimos was very much there and grabbing onto Ares' vest. "He's hurt! I--I know he's hurt but he's blocking me out! Why's he doing that, Dad? Why?" Tears welled up in Deimos' wide eyes, panic in his expression.

Ares rolled his eyes. "Oh, give me a break." He slapped Deimos again, although he used far less force this time. Deimos' head jerked back, but even if he'd been standing with no support, it wouldn't have knocked him over. Aphrodite must've realized that because there was no repeat of her earlier protest.

Deimos winced but the tears dried up and he looked at Ares with a much clearer gaze.

"Fall to pieces on your own time. Right now, tell me exactly what happened with Phobos."

Nodding slowly, Deimos licked his lips, nervousness showing through. "Phobos...he...he, um, sometimes he goes...places...somewhere, I don't know. He tells me to stay here."

Ares nodded once, approving. It looked like his efforts to separate them were paying off. It figured that Phobos would be the one to take the initiative and implement the lessons.

"He's never gone long, just a few minutes, never more than a half an hour. But...today...he was gone so long! And then...and then he was hurt! I felt it, Dad!" Deimos' fists tightened their grip on Ares' vest, crushing the small metal studs riveted into the leather. "It was his neck, like he'd been stabbed or hit or something but he blocked me out before I could figure it out! I can't tell where he is or what's wrong!"

Deimos looked like he was going to start to panic again so Ares gave him another shake. "Focus!" he ordered. "Do you have any idea where he might've gone?"

Deimos shook his head, looking utterly miserable.

"All right. Then how long has he been doing this?"

"Over a year." A slight shrug, Ares felt the movement under his hand more than he saw it.

Ares' eyes narrowed. There was something there in that time frame, a connection to be made, he just had to see it. "When exactly? Before or after I started working with you?"

"Before."

And just like that, the piece snapped into place. Information he'd had but couldn't quite put together until right at that moment when it all became clear. And he felt like a fool.

"Fuck!" Ares spat the curse, shoving Deimos back, sending him sprawling on the bed. Turning on his heel, Ares kicked the small, brownish marble stool that stood in his way, shattering one of the legs. "It should've been the first place I checked!"

"What?" Aphrodite, both fists clenched now, was still glaring at him.

Glancing back at Deimos who was pushing himself up, Ares looked at her again, shook his head and motioned to the other room. She didn't look happy about it but she nodded once and walked out. Following her, Ares simply kicked everything out of his way this time, too furious with himself to care about the fuss the twins would put up later about the damage to their things.

Aphrodite was pacing a small line, rapidly back and forth near the middle of the horribly pastel room. Her arms were crossed under her breasts, hands still clenched, the tip of Cupid's feather protruding from her right fist.

"Well?" she asked tersely.

"Strife's temple," Ares said simply, spitting out the words.

"What?" She shot him a look, part accusation, part confusion.

"He had a temple, small thing, near the Halls of War." Ares stopped near her, crossing his arms and leaning one hip against the back of an elaborately carved, gold inlayed chair.

"Good for him," Aphrodite snapped.

"The point," Ares continued, digging his fingers into one arm to force out a last reserve of patience, "is that most of the other gods didn't know he had a temple. They wouldn't even have suspected a shrine. I knew because it was my business to know what he did, Phobos would've known, and Cupid knew because his brother was in love and he would've made it his business to find out all about that."

Aphrodite stopped pacing, rounding on him with a scowl. "What're you talking about, bro? If any of my boys get into the love vibes, I so know about it."

"Not this time." Ares shook his head, repressing a smirk. It was good to know something Aphrodite didn't when it concerned her field of expertise, but this wasn't the time to rub her nose in it. Later would be just as good. "I wouldn't have known if Strife hadn't been around so much those last few months, Phobos following after him like a puppy -- an obsessed, rabid one."

"Phobos?" Aphrodite's scowl turned into more of a frown and her voice dropped, her eyes flickering towards the twins' room. "You're saying he loved someone other than Deimos, and Phobos didn't tell him?"

Ares snorted. "Which 'him?' Strife always knew, he just did the smart thing and didn't get between those two. One of the few smart things he ever did." He shook his head. "And you know as well as I do that Deimos is the last one Phobos ever would've told. But you know Cupid, he always was closer to those two than either of us wanted."

"Totally." Aphrodite unclenched her right hand to stare at the feather.

"That's how Cupid found out. Phobos must've started going to Strife's temple after that fool got himself killed. That sounds like something he'd do, wander around a decaying building like some sort of mortal ghost, mourning his 'lost love.'" He couldn't repress a sneer at that.

"It's romantic, Ares, not that I'd expect you to get that anytime this millennium. At least I was a good influence on the boy." She tossed her head, flipping blond curls off her shoulders.

Ares clenched his teeth, refusing to be drawn further into the argument. "That god from the vortex, the one with Joxer's face, he asked me about any temples or shrines Strife might've had; I think he wanted some sort of nexus of power, a place to connect to the raw energy Strife would've left -- makes good strategical sense." He had to admire that line of thought even as he despised the god. "But he already had Cupid by then and I'd be willing to wager that he already knew about Strife's temple. In fact, it would've been the perfect place to hold another god captive. With his power cut off by...whatever means -- Hephaestian, probably -- any power signature Cupid has left would be hidden by the power left over in that temple."

"Then why're you just standing here, Ares?" Aphrodite stepped forward, a surprisingly threatening move for someone so slight. "If Cupid's there then Phobos is too, right? That's what you're saying? Then go rescue our sons!"

Ares stood up straight, sighing in annoyance. "Do you really think I'd be here talking to you if I thought I could do any good there? That...Joxer, he knew I'd make the connection -- should've made it right then; fuck! He knew! He would've moved as soon as possible; there's nothing left in that place now."

Aphrodite reached out and grabbed a handful of his vest, yanking him forward, down to her. "Prove that to me, Ares."

He almost denied her outright simply because he hated being manhandled or ordered around, but he stopped the refusal before it could come out. Going to Strife's old temple had merit, not because there would be anyone left to help, but for anything that might've been left behind. That god would've been in a hurry to leave and he might've made a mistake, left something, some trace he shouldn't have. It was definitely worth checking out.

Ares yanked himself out of her grip, straightening his vest. "Yeah. Let's go."

-------

There'd been a surprising amount of decay to Strife's temple since his death. Or maybe it wasn't so surprising. It had never been that well built to begin with. Strife being more impulsive than thoughtful, he'd simply "created" a temple based on what he thought would look good, not what was necessarily structurally sound. Only the fact that it was indeed a god's temple, a focus for his power, had prevented it from collapsing outright.

Sharp angles, a squared roof, narrow doors and windows, a look not at all softened by the round support columns. There were too few of those anyway, inside and out, not nearly enough to support the weight of the high roof or the sculptures stacked on it, cluttering the already heavy stone with overly vicious-looking renderings of birds of prey -- a phase Strife had gone through when looking for a symbol to represent him -- all in black marble, the same stone as what built the temple itself. Not all of the columns were perfectly round, either, some had square bases where Strife had obviously seen that more support was needed, but hadn't bothered to replace the whole thing. Some columns tried for graceful, thinning off to narrowness around the tops, but many of those were cracked and a couple had broken off.

The walls themselves were cracking, stone crushed under its own weight and the weight of a roof the design just couldn't support. Much of the sparse decoration was already gone, statues that had probably been a representation of Strife, or of whatever had caught his fancy at the time, they'd all been broken or completely crushed under pieces of marble that had fallen from the structure and where blocks of marble and crumbled away or fallen, streams of daylight shone in on a temple that had never been intended to see much in the way of light. The few, far too narrow windows in the sides of the temple were in just as bad shape, the sills and frames cracked and one fully collapsed; little light had ever come through there, even in the beginning when they were new.

The surrounding woods had already started to reclaim the space Strife had cleared for his temple, new trees and undergrowth creeping up towards the broken steps, vines crawling up the walls, winding in through broken marble. Were it a simple mortal structure, it would've been a pile of overgrown rubble. As it stood, it wouldn't be long, another year at the most, before it headed there anyway.

Ares had never spent more than a few minutes in the place back when it was new, and only then because he liked to keep an eye on any projects Strife did on his own. He'd been less than impressed then, laughing aloud at what he saw as a pitiful attempt at greatness by a very minor godling. Now...seeing it like this, falling to decay without the upkeep of the god who'd created it, Ares wished he hadn't laughed. He'd thought Strife would have centuries, millennia, to get it right, to learn his own limitations, but instead, he'd only had months.

There were a lot of things Ares wished, though, many things he would've done differently, and none of that would change what was happening now. Regrets would get him nothing but annoyance and frustration and he had no need of that on top of his current problems. Shoving that all aside, he concentrated on just looking at the area outside the temple, trying to find anything of use to him.

"This is just...eww." Aphrodite lifted the hem of her dress off of the ground, wrinkling her nose as she studied the temple and its surroundings critically. "That boy needed some serious help in the decor department."

Ares rolled his eyes. "Put on some boots and stop bitching. I'm trying to concentrate here."

"Fates know you need all the help you can get with that," she commented under her breath. But a flash of pink sparkles later, Aphrodite was wearing a pair of thigh-high, high-heeled white boots and her dress had been replaced by tight, pale pink leather shorts and a nearly see-through shirt of the same color, the tails tied up into a knot just beneath her breasts. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail, tied up with pink and white ribbons, the mass of blond curls streaming down her back. At least now she wouldn't have that damn gauzy dress of hers catching on every little thing her; she shouldn't have any further reason to complain, or so Ares feverently hoped.

"So what're we standing around out here for?" Aphrodite asked, sighing impatiently. "Why don't we just go inside and check the place out?"

Clenching his hand around his sword hilt in frustrated annoyance, Ares glared at her. "I am looking for any signs of that god coming through here. Start outside and work your way in; that's how you do a search. Brainless bimbo," he muttered the last bit under his breath, shaking his head as he turned his gaze back to the ground around the temple.

"If you want to track this guy, shouldn't you call in Artemis? She'll find any signals--signs, whatever." Aphrodite shrugged, twining a blond curl around her finger.

"If I wanted to get Cupid killed, sure." Ares sneered at her. "Think before you say something stupid, why don't you? I already told you, that...Joxer said that any interference by us would get Cupid hurt, that means bringing in any more of us! And what's to say he won't just kill Cupid if he gets pissed off enough, huh?"

Aphrodite flinched, her eyes dropping down to the curl of hair she still toyed with. "All right. You made your point, bro, just...find me some sign that my boys are okay."

"Then shut up and let me do it," he replied, but with far less anger, his tone just a bit softer. That got him a nod and she was, thankfully, silent as he continued to look.

Ares wasn't nearly the tracker Artemis was, true, but he did have some talent in the field, certainly enough to tell that someone had been here recently. There was a newly broken branch on an ash sapling a few feet from the temple steps. It was too high for anything on four legs to have caused, other than a horse, and there were no signs of hoof prints. There were, however, footprints. One, to be exact, just in front of the cracked, bottom step.

Strife hadn't had any worshipers that Ares knew of and even if he had, it was unlikely that any would still be visiting so long after their god's death. Besides, they would've been the first mortals taken by the madness sweeping through the population. The boot print left in the earth was too wide to be Phobos' and too small to be Cupid's, so that only left one other logical option.

"He was here," Ares said, dropping into a crouch to study the print. Crushed grass, part of a leaf and loose dirt formed the medium for the impression. It was clear to be seen, although it was also the only one, which was in itself suspicious.

"I think he wanted us to know he's been here." Ares narrowed his eyes, scanning the area again, seeing if the lower vantage point turned up anything else. The scraggly brush was relatively undisturbed, though, save for the patch of ground Aphrodite was currently churning up with the toe of one boot.

Standing up, Ares drew his sword. "Stay here," he said, starting up the stairs. "If he's left any little 'surprises' inside, I'll take care of it."

"Bite me, Ares." Leaves and brush rustled as Aphrodite walked quickly towards the steps, boot heels striking the stone with a sharp ringing sound. "I'm a big girl, in case you forgot; I can take care of myself." Arms crossed defiantly, she joined him on the steps, leveling a determined glare up at him.

It wasn't worth the argument. "Fine," Ares sighed in resignation, "just stay close and run if I tell you to."

"Whatever. You're such a drama queen." But her tone implied agreement and that was all Ares cared to bother with at the moment.

There was only one door instead of the double ones normally found on the larger temples and this door was wooden, half rotted, and hanging off its hinges. It looked like it was still useable, if just barely, but Ares decided not to risk it. A flick of his fingers and the door went up in billow of orange flame. Incinerated in seconds, the ashes fluttered to the marble at their feet. Ares walked through them into the temple, Aphrodite close behind him.

Ares' theories about the use Joxer had put the temple to were born out almost immediately, although Ares was momentarily sidetracked by the feel of the place. Strife had obviously used the temple to try and build up whatever small power base he could manage; it *felt* so much like him, so much of his presence contained in one space that Ares was half way towards calling for Strife before sense caught up with him, that and the trace feel of his sons.

Strife's presence, the feel of his power signature had always been something of an annoyance just by its very nature. It felt like nails on a chalky surface, enough to set teeth on edge, but as much as it got on Ares' nerves, he'd grown used to it, made a place in his life for it. The feel of it surrounding him now was...comforting, in a way he would never openly admit to. But the familiarity of it couldn't quite hide the other signatures it was meant to conceal, not when the sources had been right inside the temple.

Phobos' presence was always a sort of tingling, like cold fingers sliding over skin, a crawling sensation at times. Cupid's was like being wrapped in warm velvet, a clash against his brother's for all that they did get along; Ares had never understood that, the strange bond between brothers so dissimilar. He felt them both here, however, Cupid only the faintest trace but a little stronger the further Ares moved into the temple.

Phobos though, his presence was much stronger than what remained of Cupid's. Not strong enough to be felt outside of the temple, but still very noticeable inside. Almost like he was still--

"Ares; there!" Aphrodite stopped, pointing towards the back of the temple where a scattered pile of red and blue cushions was a bright contrast to the surrounding black. "That must've been where he kept my poor Cupid!" And she ran towards it.

Ares stopped with a sigh, not bothering calling her back, in her state she wouldn't listen to him. He didn't think traps were too likely at this point anyway, not if his current suspicion was right, so there was no harm in letting her go, or in further exploration. He sheathed his sword, watching as she dropped to her knees beside the pillows.

"Oh, Fates, there's blood on this, Ares!" she said, holding up a small round, blue pillow. "It's Cupid's!" She hugged the pillow to her chest.

"Uh-huh." Ares looked away from her, moving further into the center of the temple as he resumed looking around. He could hear her sniffing, probably crying but he didn't worry about that. If he was right, they had more immediate problems than her falling apart.

A flash of tawny skin caught his eye suddenly, drawing his gaze to the side wall of the temple and confirming his suspicions.

"Well, fuck." Ares sighed, wishing now more than ever that he'd found a way to leave Aphrodite behind. She was going to be a mess when she saw this.

Phobos was stretched out, face down on the floor, arms shackled behind his back with Hephaestian manacles. His leathers had been shredded, laying in tatters around him and judging from how Phobos was positioned, spread out like that, Ares could make a good guess about what had happened. He couldn't be sure, though, until he'd checked for other injuries.

Some of the leather looked charred and there were reddened and burned patches on Phobos' body, so it was safe to say there'd been a fight and Phobos had come out on the losing end. Ares wasn't at all pleased by that; he decided to have a little 'talk' with his son once they'd gotten rid of this new god problem.

Aphrodite's sudden, wordless cry of horror alerted Ares that she'd finally seen Phobos. He caught her just before she could go running past him to grab their son, a blur of blond curls and pink fabric that was hard to get a grip on, but he managed, hooking an arm around her waist to stop her mindless charge towards the motionless body before them.

"Let me go, Ares!" Her eyes were red, cheeks wet with tears. She tried to hit him but he grabbed her wrists in one hand and held them tight, his arm tightening around her waist.

"Knock it off!" he snapped, shaking her. "He's a god; he's just hurt, not mortally wounded. Think, don't just react! There's a message here we're supposed to see and you just rushing in and coddling him isn't going to give us any answers!"

"Then do...whatever you have to do and let me help our son!" Aphrodite said through her teeth, trying to yank out of his grasp.

Ares held her a moment longer, tightening his grip further to make the point, then let her go. She stayed there, glaring, and somehow both that and the red rimmed eyes still looked flattering on her.

Turning his attention back to Phobos, Ares studied him again, the way he was...posed. And suddenly he was very sure that's what this was, a staged scene. There was no reason for Joxer to simply have raped Phobos and left him, not when two hostages would've been more of an advantage than one, so there had to be a whole other message here than a simple demonstration of power. Rape was a crude way of showing off power anyway, even in mortal terms, and nothing Ares had seen of this version of Joxer was in any way crude or reckless.

But Ares couldn't see what meaning he was supposed to draw from this. He was a fair hand at tactics but the strategic side of things fell more towards Athena's domain. He was sure she'd understand this at a glance, and it annoyed him.

"Well?" Aphrodite demanded.

Not willing to admit that he couldn't see the deeper significance here, Ares didn't bother answering. Instead he walked closer to Phobos and knelt beside his son's prone form. A closer examination showed only what he'd seen before, burns and shredded leather -- but no trace of cuts. Now that was interesting. If a blade of some sort had been used to cut Phobos' leathers, a few nicks were to be expected, unless Joxer had been deliberately careful, but why? If the point was to show just what he could do to another god, then why not mark him up a little?

More than a little suspicious now, Ares reached out and rested his fingers on Phobos' arm, just above the manacles. A touch of his power sliding along Phobos' body, through it, confirmed his suspicions.

"Minor burns, cracked ribs and a broken neck," he pronounced, then looked up at Aphrodite. "He wasn't raped."

"Not--?" She frowned, clasping her arms tightly around herself. "But then...why? Why leave him like this?"

"Probably to get a reaction just like that," Ares said, looking pointedly at her horrified expression. "But there has to be more, and I'm sure Phobos can tell us all about it."

"And what happened with Cupid," Aphrodite added with a small nod.

Ares had to agree with that, which confused him even more. There was every sign of there being a fight here and it was almost certain that Phobos had been here with Cupid, so why had Joxer just left him here? Two of Ares' sons, one each from two major branches of the family, would've clenched Joxer's hold over Ares, Aphrodite too by default. It would've infuriated Ares far beyond anything he'd ever experienced, but he wouldn't have done a thing to stand in Joxer's way either. One son was risk enough, he wouldn't endanger two.

Luck, or the Fates, seemed to be on their side, Joxer leaving a behind bargaining chip like this, and that in itself made Ares certain that it couldn't be either coincidence or anywhere near as fortunate as it seemed. There was probably a very nasty surprise waiting in whatever Phobos had to tell them.

Breaking the chain linking the manacles wouldn't negate their power, they weren't that type of restraint, he could tell from a simple touch. Every bit of the metal felt imbued with a touch of Hephaestus' power. They'd have to be opened the conventional way for Phobos to regain access to his powers. Fortunately Ares also recognized the design. They were a special type of manacle that Hephaestus made specifically for "fun." Ares had a pair himself, although the metal used was gray instead of this gold colored gaudy crap, which probably meant that these were Cupid's private set. All of these sort of manacles had the same locking mechanism, though, one that didn't require a key, but one that also couldn't be operated by the god in the restraints.

The trigger was sprung by pressing on four different points at the same time, an easy thing for anyone not in the manacles, but impossible if you were. The points were located, two to each manacle, on the backs and sides, but they weren't visible, even to godly eyes. Ares slid his fingers along the smooth metal, feeling for the telltale impressions that would mark the correct spots. He'd found three when a bubble of blue light appeared right beside them, lighting up the temple briefly and distracting Ares.

"Shit," he said with a resigned sigh. If there was one thing they didn't need right now, it was--

"Phobos!" Deimos' shriek ricocheted painfully off the walls, proceeding Deimos' actual appearance by a bare fraction of a second. Then the light disappeared and Deimos was throwing himself on top of his brother. He said more, but it was muffled against Phobos' shoulder and beneath sobs.

"Oh, for Zeus' sake!" With a snarl of disgust, Ares grabbed hold of Deimos' arm and yanked him away hard, sending him sprawling back on the floor.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Ares ordered. "And if I see one more tear from you, I'll separate the two of you for the next month, got it?"

Deimos, choking back more sobs, nodded. But he didn't meet Ares' eyes, just continued to stare at his brother with watery blue eys, but there were no more tears.

"How can you be so cold?" Aphrodite said, fury in her trembling voice.

"Emotional crap won't do anyone any good here. Get that through your head." But Ares couldn't quite put the anger into his words that he'd wanted to, and it came out far softer than he'd intended. Maybe that was why he got no argument from her.

This time there was no interruption when Ares searched for the triggers on the manacles and with a sharp click, he had them open in seconds. Instantly the feel of Phobos' power signature grew exponentially, matching the intensity of his brother's in moments. But Phobos didn't move, his body busy healing itself, burned patches disappearing, bones knitting.

Maybe it showed a bit of weakness on his part, but Ares took Phobos' neck in both hands and with a fast twist, snapped the vertebrae back into alignment, cutting down the time it would take for everything to heal. The cracking sound was loud in the temple and Deimos visibly jerked in reaction; Aphrodite's squeak of horror was at least muffled.

Phobos drew in a sharp breath less than a minute later and Ares didn't bother trying to hold Deimos back then, knowing it would be a futile attempt.

"Phobos!" Deimos threw himself over his brother again, hugging the still limp body tightly.

Ares stood up with a shake of his head. He was already anticipating the sickeningly loving reunion between the twins and it wasn't something he cared to have a front row seat to.

Which was why it was a complete surprise when Phobos' first move was to shove Deimos off of him. Deimos reacted by trying to grab him again, hug him, but he received an elbow in his chest instead.

Gasping, probably more from shock at the action than pain, Deimos fell back to the floor and just stared at his brother. "Phobos?" His voice was soft, confused.

Phobos said nothing, just sat up, back to his brother. He looked at no one but a small flash of blue flame later and he was clothed again in his normal brown leathers.

"What happened?" Ares asked. His tone wasn't as sharp as it could've been but when Phobos looked up at him, the resentment held in those cold blue eyes took him aback.

"Get out." Phobos said, his tone just as cold.

"Huh?" Aphrodite said, pretty much summing up Ares' reaction as well.

Deimos reached out for his brother again. "Phobos--"

"Leave me alone!" Phobos yanked his arm from Deimos' grasp.

"A--Alone?" Deimos said the word like he wasn't sure what it meant, which might not have been too far from the truth.

"None of you belong here, none of you!" Phobos spat the words at them -- and then disappeared. No flashes of light, nothing showy, just simply gone.

For a moment they all just stared at the space where he'd been sitting, then Deimos whimpered.

"Phobos," he whispered and there was more than a touch of desperation in his tone. Blue light formed a bubble around him and he disappeared with the popping sound of air being displaced.

Crossing his arms, Ares sighed. "Great."

The fist connecting with his arm caught him by surprise. It wasn't very powerful or painful, but he still hadn't seen it coming and that was twice now from Aphrodite. He deliberately didn't react with more than a simple raised eyebrow as he looked down at her. She stood beside him, glaring.

"'Great?'" she repeated, her voice dangerously low. "You think that's a good response to--to this?" She pointed at the floor where the twins had been.

"No." He returned her glare, but it was only a half hearted attempt. "No," he looked away, "but I think I figured out Joxer's little 'message' here."

"And...?" Aphrodite prompted impatiently when he didn't immediately continue.

Ares sighed again. "And it wasn't meant for us, not completely."

"Huh? What are you, one of Apollo's Oracles? Try making some sense, Ares," she snapped at him.

"Try listening instead of yapping like a puppy," Ares snapped back.

Aphrodite's eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me a dog?" She raised her hand, pink sparks at her fingertips.

"Hey, cut the dramatics and focus here!" Ares said, although he did take a step back. "We need to get to Deimos and Phobos before major damage is done."

"Worse than what just happened?" she asked in disbelief.

"That was nothing, just the start. Come on, let's find them and head it off," Ares said with a sigh. This wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Ares!" The familiar voice split the air before either of them could vanish. A flash of orange light quickly followed and suddenly Hephaestus stood before them.

"Hiya, Hephy," Aphrodite said with a small smile, recent events having, understandably, sapped some of her normal cheerfulness.

Hephaestus gave her no more than a single nod of acknowledgement though before turning all of his attention to Ares. He must've come directly from his forge. fire bronzed skin still glistened with sweat, his brown hair damp with it as he limped forward, using his hammer as a walking aid.

"My forge was robbed," he said, anger simmering in his deep voice.

"Well, it wasn’t me!" Ares said, resting his hand on his sword hilt, just in case.

"I know that." Hephaestus stopped a few feet from him. "But the thief was a god and his trail led here, to...this place." He looked around with a suspicious frown. "He felt like this, like...Strife." He turned his frown on Ares. "But Strife is dead."

"Yeah." Ares sighed. "It all seems to come down to that, doesn't it?" He looked over at Aphrodite. "Find the twins, try to keep them from...imploding, or something."

She nodded and disappeared, as he knew she would. He wasn't so sure she could do anything to help before the damage was done with their sons, but maybe as their mother, being so much closer to them at times, she could do something that he couldn't. Besides, he had to follow up on this latest lead.

"Let's go check out your forge," Ares said to Hephaestus. "Maybe there's something else to find." Not that he thought there was, but at this point he couldn't afford to ignore anything, even if he was fairly certain that it would be nothing more than another dead end.

Back in the alt. world....

pinning the crossbow bolt slowly between his fingers, Cupid watched in silence from his perch on the edge of the barn loft. It was a poorly constructed barn and sunlight shone down through cracks in the warped wood of the ceiling. One stray beam caught the fletching with each full turn of the bolt, making the gold feathers shine blindingly. It failed to catch Cupid's notice, though, as did the half rotten floor board he sat on, or the smell of old, moldering hay and dung that surrounded him. All his focus was on the mortal below him.

The hazy light drifting in from above and from the open barn doors lit particles of dust and a few insects flying though the warm air. The mortal woman moved in and out of the diffuse light as she mucked out the empty stalls. Her head bent down as she worked, a scrap of light brown cloth functioned as a scarf, catching up her hair, holding it off her neck, out of her face. A stray curl had escaped though, hanging down over her ear it brushed her cheek as she moved, brown hair against skin bronzed from days of working in the sun. She'd rolled up the sleeves of her frayed gray dress, revealing equally bronzed arms, muscle showing with every movement she made, shoveling the soiled straw. She'd also tied up the bottom of her dress, likely to keep it out of the foulness surrounding her, but it showed off her legs perfectly. Long legs, beautiful regardless of the faint scars showing white against tanned skin, or the filth covering her bare feet.

She worked in silence, no singing, humming, or talking to the two cows and old donkey that occupied the barn. It was unusual, most women on a farm would do those things to pass the time during chores if no one was with them, but she was completely silent. But Cupid had heard her speak, and it took his breath away.

He spent a good part of his time listening to mortals in his temples, hours of boring petitions from mortals whining about their pathetic problems. Like Cupid had either the time or inclination to sort out every single little crush and heartache in Greece. But mortals didn't see it that way, they thought he was there to hold their collective hands and walk them through every step on the bumpy road of love. Sometimes it was enough to make him want to gag.

But that was too close to Ares' attitude and Cupid always pulled himself back from that line of thought before depression and anger took over completely. He did have a job to do and yeah, it did mean getting mortals together, dispensing occasional advice and sitting around listening to hours of petitions, that was the way things were. And there'd been a time when he'd enjoyed that, all of it, when he'd loved his job. But that had been centuries ago, before Joxer. Now Cupid was rarely able to work up any amount of enthusiasm for his duties. He considered it a major victory when he managed any significant amount of patience. Which was why this one mortal had become so important, and why he couldn't seem to do his job at all where she was concerned.

She'd been there, in his temple when he'd gone to hear petitions a few weeks ago, just one of many women amongst the crowd, as poorly dressed as many. Hair and most of her face covered as modesty dictated for a wedded woman, eyes properly downcast, she hadn't stood out, at least not until she'd spoken.

The more wealthy had gone before her and after a couple hours Cupid had been down to the last of his patience. But he did try to give more than just the well off a chance to be heard. He wasn't so jaded that he could ignore the heartache and hopeful desperation emanating from the poor as much as the rich. They often had the same requests, asking him to help them find their true love, wanting him to make some other mortal love them, offering gifts of whatever they could afford, from jewels to honey in the hopes that he'd bless their impending marriage, or the ones of their children, with love. This woman, her request had been no different from others he'd heard in the past.

Setting an armful of flowers on his altar in offering, she'd then knelt before the dais and eyes still lowered, she'd spoken.

"Lord Cupid; my name is Psyche and I beg your favor. Help me love my husband, if not for my sake then for my children, so that they may grow up in a loving home."

Her voice...it was the most beautiful thing. Soft tones in a lovely, clear alto, the sweetest of sounds Cupid had heard in years, centuries even. His boredom had vanished in an instant. He'd straightened from his careless sprawl in his throne, wings shifting and rustling as he'd sat forward to get a better look at her.

In that moment it had been on his lips to command her to rise, to unveil her face so he could see if she had beauty to match her voice, but that thought had stopped him. For the first time in recent memory he'd been intrigued by something, but what if her face hadn't matched the promise of such lovely tones? What if all she had was that voice, her personality selfish, her desires trite? He hadn't been willing to risk spoiling it so soon, but he had investigated a bit more, he hadn't been able to resist that.

"Why don't you love him now?" he'd asked, keeping his tone bland, refusing to display his interest any more than he already had. "Is he like, a total deadbeat or something? You don't exactly look homeless."

Her dress had been of poor make, true, but she hadn't been wearing rags either, and she'd smelled...sweet, something akin to honeysuckle, Cupid had realized. She kept herself well and someone on the streets wouldn't have had the resources. Her words confirmed that.

"No, my lord. My husband provides well for us. We don't have much, but we have a roof and enough to eat."

Her voice really had been the most exquisite thing Cupid could remember hearing. "Then why don't you give him your love in return for all that stuff he's giving you?" He'd asked, and even as he'd said it, he'd known it wasn't really a fair question. Sometimes love just didn't happen, no matter how much someone wanted it to.

The woman had shaken her head. "I have no answer, my Lord. I could only think to beg for your blessing."

And because something had finally interested him, Cupid had considered it. "Go back to your husband," he'd finally said after a few moments of thoughtful silence. "If I grant your request, you'll know."

"Thank you, my lord." She'd bowed her head respectfully, risen to her feet and left the temple. The next petitioner had already been speaking before she'd gone, but Cupid had missed most of what that man had to say, he'd been too focused on watching Psyche leave.

In the weeks since then, he'd found where she lived and had taken to observing her. Just small things at first, like watching her sell milk and the flowers at a stall in the village market. She was always covered at those times, only her eyes and a hint of tawny skin visible, and for a while Cupid had preferred it that way. He'd been able to see what she was like, how she interacted with people, and hear that beautiful voice without worrying that her face wouldn't match the rest of her.

Psyche was...kind. She said little to the villagers, even when selling her wares, but what she did say was always pleasant and friendly. She said far more to her children who often accompanied her. Brown hair and eyes as was normal in Greece, the two children were nevertheless beautiful, and would likely be stunning when they reached maturity. The boy, Danaus, no more than five, helped her set up the family wares before running off to play with the other village children, although he always came back when his mother called him. Maira was little more than a babe in her mother's arms, possibly a year, maybe a little more, and when not being held, she clung to her mother.

Psyche seemed to have an endless amount of patience, never screaming or shouting at her children, even when Maira cried constantly or Danaus got into scuffles with the other boys. She was gentle with her children and her voice, besides captivating Cupid, seemed to calm everyone around her, including rowdy children. Psyche was just a...gentle person.

And by the time Cupid came to that conclusion, a couple weeks had passed and he knew he was in trouble. At first he'd just wanted to see what kind of mortal she was, if she was worth his personal intervention, or at least that's what he'd told himself. But by the time he'd determined that she was that good of a person, he'd been drawn to her more than ever. He found some measure of peace in just standing nearby in the village and listening to her speak to her children, watching her arrange bundles of flowers in the small family stall, and that peace was addictive.

Of course it occurred to him early on to simply approach her, to bed her and work through his interest in her that way. But her personality itself had stopped him. He never once saw her flirt, even slightly, with the men in the village, no matter if they showed an interest or not. He suspected that the idea of adultery would never be something that she'd consider, and to force her...Cupid didn't think he could do that, not to her. He didn't want to damage such a gentle soul.

There was always the option of taking on the form of her husband, and Cupid had seriously considered that. It would be one way to try and have love grow between the two mortals, Cupid making love to her in the guise of her husband. He'd used the tactic before and many times it worked, a wife would adore her husband from that day forward, never guessing that she'd bedded a god. It'd seemed like a decent plan this time as well, until the day Cupid had gone to see Psyche at her husband's farm.

He'd had his fill of seeing her amongst the villagers, with her children, Cupid had wanted to see what she was like at home. And he'd wanted to see her face. At that point it wouldn't have mattered to him if she was uglier than a gorgon, the woman herself had drawn his attention, his regard, and he was fascinated.

He followed her back one afternoon from the market. She had a small cart pulled by a donkey; her children road in the cart, her son holding her daughter, while she led the donkey. She'd talked with her son during the short journey, encouraging him to tell her about the time he'd had in the village, but both the encouragement and Danaus' chatter had tapered off by the time they reached the farm, where her husband had been waiting at the door to their small home.

Despite the same brown hair and eyes, the children hadn't gotten their lovely appearance from their father, that much had been obvious. Short and stocky, the mortal had plenty of muscle, good for working a farm, but his features were far from attractive, especially with the scowl that he'd worn as his family approached.

"You're late," the man had said in obvious anger.

"Forgive me, husband, but I stayed to sell the last of the flowers, and--" Psyche never had a chance to finish. Her husband had stepped forward and struck her.

In that moment, two things had become apparent to Cupid. As the woman had fallen to the ground, it had been clear that there would be no quick fixes to the problems in this marriage. And then the scarf had fallen from her face, and Cupid had forgotten how to breathe.

A face to match her voice and personality. Honey colored skin over fine cheekbones, a small nose above a perfect mouth, and clear blue eyes that stared wide, up at her husband pleadingly, his handprint red on her face.

"Meges, please! I've brought home more than usual." Fumbling for the money pouch tied to the thin leather belt at her waist, she'd unhooked it and held it up to her husband.

He'd snatched it from her and hefting it, gave a small grunt of satisfaction. "Get up." He'd said a moment later. "The house needs cleaning and I want dinner ready before nightfall."

"Yes, husband." Psyche had gotten quickly to her feet, but Meges was already walking away towards the barn.

In the cart, the children had remained utterly silent, even young Maira, held close in her brother's arms. They didn't move until their father was walking away and their mother motioned for them to get out of the cart. They obeyed quickly, silently.

It'd been an effort for Cupid not to strike down a man foolish enough to harm such a good woman, but many things had stayed his hand. It was a husband's right to discipline his wife in whatever manner he saw fit; this particular woman would likely be as most others in Greece, seeing such treatment as normal, and she probably wouldn't thank anyone for harming her husband, the man who kept a roof over her family's head. But mostly Cupid just couldn't bring himself to reveal his presence in any fashion.

In his temple, Psyche hadn't looked at him once, had kept her eyes properly lowered, but if he were to appear to her on her husband's farm, someplace she wasn't expecting to see him, she'd undoubtedly look at him. When that happened...Cupid didn't think he could bear seeing the familiar emotions on that lovely face, horror, disgust, pity, the things mortals always showed when they saw his wings.

Cupid knew his face and body were a mortal definition of handsome, but his wings ruined it all. Where once they'd been perfectly sleek, swan-like in their gracefulness, stretching out the height of a fully grown man in either direction, now he kept them pulled in close around him. Feathers stuck out in odd directions, paining him when brushed against, making it all but impossible to extend his wings fully if he'd been so inclined, which he hadn't in years. But keeping them folded did little to hide what had become of them, twisted feathers giving them a misshapen look, as though the wings themselves had been broken and rehealed wrong.

Cupid had tried for decades at first to fix it. Grooming each feather one by one, trying to force them into the correct position, but it hadn't worked. He'd even tried plucking them all out himself, starting over, but it had made things worse. In the end he'd had to give up, live with it, what Joxer had done to him, taken from him. He'd had to try and forget what it felt like to fly. It still hurt to think of that, even all these years later.

The bolt in his fingers had stilled and Cupid realized he'd been in the barn far longer than he'd planned. He'd come here, as he had many times before, to grant the woman's request, to shoot her with a Love bolt that would force her to love her husband. Maybe it would make her life easier. But as with every other time, he'd done nothing but watch her.

"Psyche," he said her name slowly, tasting it as he longed to taste her. Her lips, her skin, even the tips of her fingers, he'd give so much just to have that small favor. But he couldn't reveal himself, couldn't let her see him, what he'd become.

She was finished with the mucking now and stood there beside one of the cleaned stalls, resting her weight against the closed door. At this angle her perfect features were far more visible, as was the black and red bruise in the shape of a handprint on one arm, the fading greenish-yellow along her jaw, and the protrusion of her stomach. Another child to add to the two Meges already beat whenever their mother didn't direct his anger her way.

She pulled the cloth from her head with a tired sigh, and a cascade of brown curls went tumbling down her back, around her shoulders. Rays of fading sunlight drifted over her hair, bringing out honey colored highlights, almost blond in their paleness. Another touch of perfection. Cupid's heart ached at the sight of her.

He wanted nothing more than to go down and pull her into his arms, to take her and her children back to his temple. If she was too disgusted by the sight of him, he'd still give her an honored place in his service, maybe high priestess even. He wouldn't touch her if he repulsed her so much, but he wanted to take her from this place, from a man incapable of appreciating what he had. But even if he'd had the courage to show himself, Cupid already knew she wouldn't leave. She had children with Meges, she was legally his wife and to leave him would bring shame on her and her children. He couldn't ask that of her. He just wished he'd met her years before, centuries, when he was still what the God of Love was meant to be. Then...then he would've given her everything, would've had something to give her to begin with.

The barn doors suddenly closed and Cupid blinked in surprise. He'd been so caught up in the sight of her, his own imaginings, that he hadn't heard anyone approach. It seemed to have caught her equally off guard and she spun around with a gasp.

Meges stood there, a half smile on his thin lips showing pleasure at her fright.

"I--I finished the stalls, husband," Psyche said, lowering her eyes.

"Good." He walked over to her and grabbed her hard by her arms. "Then we have some free time."

He pulled her into a brutal kiss, one that she neither returned nor fought. When he pulled back, he pushed her down onto a small pile of hay. It wasn't fresh but at least it had cushioned her fall. She didn't react to the treatment, but Cupid winced for her. She just lay there, not moving as Meges knelt between her legs, unlacing his pants.

Cupid couldn't watch this. He never could. He'd watched countless mortals make love before, but that wasn't what this was. This was...wrong. It didn't matter that he was her husband, that this was his right, seeing Meges' hands on her made Cupid want to kill him, so he had to leave.

He disappeared, but not before seeing the horrible blank look in Psyche's eyes. An expression that never should've touched such a beautiful face, such a lovely person.

-------

Cupid was in a foul mood when he appeared in his temple in Thebes. Once again he'd failed to do his job and worse, he knew he never would do it, not in this situation. To his mind the worse crime would be to force a woman to love a man unworthy of her love, although he knew the other gods, Aphrodite in particular, might not see it that way. Cupid was supposed to perform certain services and not get personally involved; with the amount of time he'd been spending observing Psyche and her family, he could rightfully be accused of failing in his duties. And what could he say in his defense? He was fascinated by her, wanted to help her some other way? No one would understand that. He wasn't sure he did either. He couldn't bring himself to make her fall in love with her husband and he couldn't take her away from Meges either; Cupid felt trapped.

It didn't help his mood when just a few minutes after he arrived, before he could do more than put aside his crossbow and quiver, Aphrodite showed up, appearing in her customary flash of gold and pink sparkles.

"What do you want?" Cupid said without looking at her, his voice little more than a growl as he dropped into the nearest chair.

He expected a bit of a production from her, a lecture on how that was no way to address his mother, a few reminders of how he owed her some respect for bearing and raising him, and a long soliloquy on how much she loved him and only wanted to be there for him. That was how these things usually went between them, so Aphrodite's words surprised him.

"You have to help me!"

She sounded desperate, and when Cupid looked over at her, his eyebrows went up in further surprise. She was wide-eyed, breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. If her expression hadn't been so frantic, he would've suspected that she'd just had a good time rolling around with someone.

"Yeah?" was his half-drawled response. There was no telling with Aphrodite when something was really an emergency or just a drama in her own mind. She was capable of being entirely serious, but those moments were rare. However, her next words proved that this was one of those moments.

"Deimos and Phobos took Joxer's mortal!"

Cupid frowned. "What?"

Aphrodite made a noise of frustration. "I found him getting emotional in your temple because of stuff you did -- and we're gonna have a serious talk about that later, Cupid -- so I took him to my temple on Cyprus, showed him around the gardens, put a smile on his face. We were having a really awesome time, but then those twisted creeps showed up and grabbed him!"

Cupid dismissed the threat she'd squeezed in there, he'd long ago learned to tune out her lectures, but the rest of it wasn't good. Anything that had the potential to hurt Joxer was fine by Cupid, but this mortal, regardless that he had Joxer's face, his name, he wasn't the God of Mischief. The mortal Joxer had seemed like a decent person and Cupid was developing soft spots for decent people, or maybe just rediscovering them.

"You looked for them?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, not bothering to conceal his skeptisism. Aphrodite wasn’t exactly known for putting too much effort into things, even when they had a direct effect on her, so her answer didn’t surprise him.

Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "Duh! Like, of course I did! Sort of." She shrugged and her eyes slid away from his, gaze fliting over the sparse furnishings in the temple. "Look, I, like, tried, okay? But it was a total bust. I couldn't look anywhere because I couldn't feel them. You know how those two feel.” She glanced back at him, eyes narrowing as her lips thinned in disgust. “It's like my skin tries to crawl off and run away on its own! I should've been able to track that, find them, but I can't! They're hiding somehow and I don't even wanna know what they might be doing to that poor guy." She shuddered and the motion wasn't nearly as overdramatic as such things normally were with her. She really was worried, Cupid had to give her that.

Not that he blamed her. Deimos and Phobos were possibly the most perverted of the gods, Zeus aside, and few in their right minds would want to be alone with them. Of course, no one had ever accused Joxer of being in his right mind. At least he'd been able to tame his brothers, to some extent. Before Joxer had taken them in hand, they'd run wild, torturing and killing mortals regardless of what god they belonged to, tormenting lesser gods and being general annoyances to the major ones. No one had said it, but pretty much everyone had been grateful when Joxer had collared them, broken them to his will.

That had presented an all new set of problems, though. With Deimos and Phobos under Joxer's control, they were also, to some extent, an extension of his will when he needed it. He used them at times to carry out odd jobs, or ones he didn't care to dirty his own hands with. They were always more than happy to do the worst types of things, whatever was too much for even Joxer to do. Joxer, at least, had his limits. The twins had yet to find theirs. Without Joxer here to control them, it looked like Deimos and Phobos were back to their old ways.

"You'd think that he would've kept those two chained up better," Cupid said, more to himself than to Aphrodite, but she responded anyway.

"They, um, they were wearing these totally wrong looking collars," she said, frowning a bit as though trying to recall details. "You know, way too thick and black to go with anything? Even that dress Phobos was wearing looked seriously bogus with that collar. I think they escaped somehow."

"Obviously," Cupid snapped as he stood up, straightening his wings as best he could. "Joxer can answer for it later. I'll go find his little mortal."

Aphrodite sighed in relief. "Get there fast, Cupid. I don't know what Joxer's gonna do to us if those sickos hurt his mortal."

Cupid sneered. Fury and hate, near-constant companions to him for so many years, Joxer’s legacy to him and more than enough to give him the courage to dismiss the threat of Joxer’s anger. There was an irony there that he quickly dismissed, waving it aside dismissively, as he did Aphrodite’s concerns. "I'd like to see him try something. I won't make it as easy for him this time." And that was the truth. He’d make nothing easy for Joxer anymore, least of all an easy target of himself.

"Cupid, don't!" Aphrodite said sharply. "You give him a challenge and he might decide it'll be a blast to meet it. You know that. Just...try to find the mortal, okay?"

Cupid nodded once. There’d come a time when he’d decide to push Joxer, provoke him just for the Tartarus of it, just to see who came out on top this time -- but it wouldn’t be now. There was enough...humanity, for lack of a better term, left in Cupid to not use this innocent mortal as a battle ground.

With a flick of his fingers and a dull hint of gold sparkles, he changed over the crossbow bolts in his quiver before hooking it back over his shoulder. Love bolts would do him no good, but the black tipped bolts he carried now would show even a god a world of agony and it was more than possible that he'd need their use when he found the mortal. Picking up his crossbow, he loaded it with one of the bolts as a precaution. Ready for whatever he'd meet with now, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he focused his concentration.

Fortunately, despite bending the twins to his will, Joxer had never been able to teach them much besides obedience. He could rein them in, control them, but not get them to learn new skills. Ares had failed in that area as well, only able to expand on Deimos and Phobos' love of violence, not curb it or teach them refinement. In the same vein, both Joxer and Ares had failed to teach them how to hide their signatures from close relations, siblings and parents.

The twins had learned on their own to shield their power signature from most of the other gods, likely because it was a basic survival instinct, but there were still those who could find them. Joxer, of course, being their brother and owner could find them instantly. Discord probably could've if she'd ever cared to, but other than Phobos breaking into her temple to steal her outfits, the twins didn't have much contact with her and she preferred it that way. Besides, Cupid doubted she could be trusted with something as important as this. She'd likely kidnap the mortal herself to use against Joxer, and Cupid didn't want that to happen.

It wasn't the mortal's fault that he'd ended up here, that he looked like someone most of the gods despised. Existence here would be hard enough for him and despite what Cupid had done earlier, he wanted to help now. He didn't think he could bring himself to apologize for his words, because everything he'd said had been true, but maybe he could offer this mortal a bit of protection. Not for Joxer's sake, never that, but because there was another mortal out there that Cupid was powerless to help, and he wanted to do what he could for this one.

"Gotchya," Cupid whispered as he found what he sought.

Aphrodite was right, the feel of Deimos and Phobos' power signature combined was enough to make him want to go the opposite direction, take a scalding hot bath and scrub until he bled to rid himself of the sensation, but he'd long ago learned to push aside the disgust in order to track them down. It was a job he'd been asked to perform numerous times before they'd fallen into Joxer's possession, so he'd had to develop ways of coping. But as he had back then, he found them quickly now. They'd just never learned how to block out their own father.

-------

Aphrodite hated waiting, she'd just never been any good at it. Being left behind in any way had never been her idea of fun. In this case though there wasn't much choice. She couldn't have gone with Cupid; she'd never been able to deal with Deimos and Phobos well. They'd made her angry earlier, but they'd also intimidated her just by their very presence. They'd undoubtedly noticed that and like any predator scenting fear, they'd go after her with a vengence if she showed her face again so soon. That wouldn't do Joxer's mortal any good so it was best for her to stay away. It didn't mean she liked it, though.

Maybe Cupid was the best choice available to deal with the twins, but even being their father, they’d never made a habit of listening to him. Ares was completely out, though. Even if he hadn’t been off playing pet to Nebula’s master -- and Aphrodite was seriously going to have a talk with Cupid about that when this was all over -- she didn’t want Ares knowing about her screw up. She’d never hear the end of it.

Not that he could’ve been much help anyway. His idea of keeping Deimos and Phobos under control -- and that was assuming he could track them down to begin with -- was pure physical violence. It never solved anything. Hadn’t before Joxer had become their owner, and it still didn’t do any good. But Ares would never admit that his methods failed. Or, maybe he just liked violence too much to care. Aphrodite wouldn’t put that past him. Either way, she was almost certain that Deimos and Phobos actually got off on it and seeing it once, centuries ago, was more than enough to make her do whatever it took not to have to play witness to that again. It was almost enough to put her off sex. Almost.

Not that she was feeling anywhere near that mood now. Sighing, a mix of frustration and worry, she dropped herself into the same chair Cupid had just vacated. It was an utterly graceless move, one that she never would have done had there been anyone there to see her -- and one she wished she hadn’t allowed herself the instant she landed in the chair.

“Ow!” She jumped back up, one hand moving quickly to rub at a hip that felt bruised as she glared at the chair.

Oh, it looked pretty enough, gilded and intricately carved with whorls and knots, but the single cushion on the seat was anything but padded. It was like falling onto a rock.

“Typical,” she muttered to herself, running a quick, and annoyed, gaze over the entire room.

Cupid hadn’t inherited her taste in decorating. Maybe everything was in nice shades of white and blue, but it was only surface cover. There was very little in the way of truly soft or comfortable in Cupid’s temples and she’d managed to forget that with all her troubles. Or maybe she’d just wanted to forget it.

There’d been a time, centuries ago, when she’d thought he’d take after her a little more. Back when he’d been so happy and carefree and a total party animal. He hadn’t objected to comfort then. But that was a long time past and there was nothing of that young god remaining. She’d never forgive Joxer for that, no matter what else passed between them.

But there was nothing she could do about any of it, and she sighed again as frustration welled up anew. She’d established a peace, of sorts, with Joxer, they both had, she and Cupid, and she wasn’t willing to rock that particular boat. At least, not until there was a firm advantage in it for her. And not at the expense of this particular mortal.

Waiting. That’s all that was left to her. That, and maybe some surreptitious redecorating. A fluffier cushion here, a thicker drapiery there. It wasn’t that Cupid wouldn’t notice, but maybe he’d be distracted enough not to want to bother changing it back. It was something she could do for him, anyway.

She raised her hand, pointing at the seat cushion -- because that so needed to go, and with a cloud of of bright pink flowers -- a new effect she was trying out; so far, too much with the art deco -- the thin, blue cushion was transformed into a visibly thicker, padded white one.

And a piece of hay fell from the sleeve of her pink gown.

Aphrodite stared at it a moment as it drifted to the floor, wrinkling her nose. Hay, how...common. Certainly nothing she practiced rolling around in, rumors aside. So what was it doing here, on her? Even if she’d been near any hay, which she hadn’t, she would’ve made very sure that none of it touched her. So if it didn’t come in with her, then it had to be from Cupid. Probably stuck in one of his feathers since he didn’t spend time anymore grooming them.

“Hmm.” She hummed curiously to herself. And where exactly had Cupid been that required him to get up close and friendly with horse fodder? It probably didn’t matter, was just another side trip for another of his jobs, but it was a distraction and Aphrodite needed that right now.

A snap of her fingers and the piece of hay lept off the floor and up into her open palm. She repressed a shiver at the dry, scratchy feeling of it against her palm. She’d so need to moisturize after this.

Yellowish white, a little longer than her fingers, broken along the end. Nothing at all out of the ordinary about it, just a bit of trash Cupid had dragged back with him from.... She prodded at it with a touch of power. Impossible to get a location from such a tiny piece of nothing, but if it had been stuck to Cupid, then there’d at least be a residual trace of whatever he was feeling and that she could--

She nearly yanked her hand back, almost threw it to the ground. Surprise made her gasp, eyes widening momentarily as she stared at the thing in her hand.

Too much. Far too much feeling for such a tiny object. But it wasn’t the hay, it was Cupid projecting, and how she’d missed it when he’d been sitting right in front of her, she didn’t know. And it couldn’t be anything sudden, not if it attached that much to a simple piece of hay. No, this was long term, and he’d hidden it from her.

Eyes narrowing, Aphrodite scattered the piece of hay into its component atoms with a single, peeved thought.

“Hello, Cupid, I’m your mother,” she said aloud, her voice echoing off the walls, bare but for a collection of arrows and bolts. “You’re supposed to tell me these things!” There was no answer and she didn’t want one anyway. Right now, she just needed to think.

Dropping back into the chair -- much more comfortable now, thank you -- she rested an elbow on one armrest and tucked a half-curled fist under her chin, propping her head up. Pursing her lips, she stared at the opposite wall without seeing it -- which was a good thing since that awful blue color just did absolutely nothing for her.

She couldn’t just confront him, that never worked unless she was looking for a screaming match. This would have to be subtle. Aphrodite could do subtle. Really. She just never had much occasion to do it. She’d sneak around a bit, find out what she could, and then see what she could do about it. This was definitely one occasion where her particular talents would be useful. Although, the fact that she had to intervene at all sent another wave of sadness through her.

There was just something fundamentally wrong with the God of Love bottling up the fact that he was in love.

Unnumbered chapter, probably 17

Back in our world.

his time Deimos had no problem tracking Phobos. The bond between them was as strong as ever, as it always had been and should've stayed. When it had been cut off.... Deimos had known instinctively that his brother wasn't dead, so the only other explanation had been that Phobos had blocked his end of their connection. Deimos hadn't understood that, still didn't understand. Just like he couldn't comprehend the way Phobos had reacted when Deimos had tried to touch him, reconnect with him. It just didn't make any sense.

Deimos had been hurt by Phobos' reaction, but he was sure it was some sort of misunderstanding. It had to be. He didn't know what had happened but there was no way he was abandoning his brother. Phobos was easy to follow now, his signature a perfect harmonization with Deimos', it called out to Deimos, a soft caress across his mind that he had to follow, couldn't be without for long.

He wasn't surprised when he ended up back in their room in their Mom's temple. Where else would Phobos have gone? They wouldn't find any peace in their Father's temple and there was no other place that felt so much like them, so imbued with their presence that it couldn't be anything else but home.

Ares had made a mess of their things, though. Weapons from battles that held special memories for the twins, they'd put them in neat piles so they could go through them and reminisce, but those piles were scattered haphazardly now and it would take a while to sort them back by hand, but they wouldn't do it any other way. Their clothes had been draped over furniture so they'd know exactly where to find them, but now shirts and boots were everywhere and it would be hard to tell what was whose. The outfits may've looked identical to everyone else, but they felt different to Deimos and Phobos and that too would have to be sorted by hand. Their "toys," Hephaestian dildos to makeshift restraints, paddles and floggers and more...eccentric things, all or most were buried out of easy reach. It looked like some furniture would have to be replaced as well, and so much of that they'd stolen themselves from various cities that had been sacked by the armies they'd accompanied. Maybe some repairs could be made or something. It would all have to be dealt with later though because at the moment Phobos took priority over everything.

Phobos was standing in the middle of the room, in one of the spaces Ares had cleared in the violence of his exit. He didn't seem to be surveying the damage though, he was just...standing, arms crossed, eyes focused on the wall without seeming to see anything, and he was far too still. Phobos was much less, well, nervous, twitchy even, than Deimos, just by nature. Deimos was the talkative, always in motion one; Phobos listened and watched and was often overlooked for being so still. But still was one thing, this was...motionless, unnatural even for Phobos. Standing just a step or two behind his brother, Deimos was suddenly reluctant to approach him further. He'd never seen Phobos like this. But he wanted to try and make this right, whatever had gone wrong, like they always did for each other.

Phobos' entire stance screamed for everyone to back off, to get away from him, but Deimos couldn't begin to imagine that it might apply to him. That was ridiculous; they were twins, lovers, far closer than those words could ever imply; of course Phobos would welcome him.

"Hey, are you, um, okay?" Deimos asked softly, reaching out to touch Phobos' arm. Phobos jerked away before Deimos had done more than graze him with fingertips.

Deimos blinked. His hand was still outstretched, so he tried again. "Phobos?" He touched his brother's shoulder.

"I'm fine, and I told you to leave me alone!" Phobos shrugged off Deimos' touch and stepped away from him. Just a step, but to Deimos it seemed like a massive gulf had opened between them.

"But...you're not fine. You're acting all funny!" Deimos didn't try touching him again, terrified that Phobos would reject him a third time and he didn't think he could deal with that. "What happened in that--that place? Who hurt you? Who did that to you? Talk to me, Phobos!"

"That place?" Phobos chuckled darkly. "There's a new god around, did you know that, Deimos? Has Cupid all tied up somewhere, wants to take Strife's place."

"He...what?" Deimos couldn't follow what Phobos was talking about. "This god...he hurt you?" Anger flared up in him, pushing aside some of the confusion. Anyone who hurt his brother would die, as slowly and painfully as Deimos could manage.

"Hurt? Pain's nothing." Phobos' voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "No one but me should've ever been in there!"

"Is that why you left me here, Phobos? Did you figure out Cupid was there and--and you went to save him?" Deimos couldn't help the hopeful tone in his voice. All he wanted was a reasonable, easy explanation for all the strange things going on, for the way Phobos was acting. But instead, Phobos laughed. It was a sharp, humorless sound that made Deimos flinch.

"I went there to be alone, Deimos. To be somewhere you weren't."

"You...you don't mean that," Deimos said, because it had to be true.

"I don't, huh? Let me make it a little clearer for you; I wanted to be by myself, and I still do!"

"Well...sure, okay, um, you'll be here by yourself, and I'll be with you." Deimos smiled hopefully, stepping towards him.

Phobos turned on him with a snarl that was reminiscent of their father. "Alone, Deimos! A-L-O-N-E! It does not mean two gods, got it? One god, me, and you anywhere else but with me!"

Deimos cringed back with a small whimper. He wasn't hearing this. He wasn't! "You...you're just confused, Phobos," he insisted, trying to stand up straight and failing. The cold gaze Phobos gave him just made him cower back. Phobos had never looked at him like that, spoken to him like this. Deimos bit down on his lip to stop another whimper when Phobos sneered at him.

"Confused?" Phobos' voice was as soft as it normally sounded, but the undertone of anger was so foreign. "Do you know what that place was, whose temple it was, Deimos?"

"It, um, it felt like...Strife?" Deimos clasped his hands together tightly to stop them from shaking.

"Yeah, Strife." Phobos' smile was a thin, horrible thing to look at, devoid of anything resembling humor. "It's Strife's temple. Wanna know why I was there, Deimos?"

The way Phobos kept saying his name held none of the love or desire Deimos normally heard. It was just...cold, and Deimos didn't want to hear any more. He shook his head mutely, not trusting his voice to stay steady.

"Too bad, 'cause I'm gonna tell you anyway." Phobos stepped closer and Deimos, who would've done anything moments before to touch his brother, backed away now.

"Don't," he whispered, and his voice shook as much as he'd feared.

"All those times I left you here alone, Deimos, I was there. I wasn't practicing what Dad taught us, being separated, I was with Strife. When he was alive, I hung out there with him, and when he...." Phobos closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before opening them again, and the anger was still there in his gaze, but now there was something else, pain. "When he died, I had to keep going, because the place feels like him. Get it yet?"

Deimos shook his head again, backing up another step, flinching when the leg of a fallen chair cracked beneath his boot. He didn't want to "get it," didn't want to hear anything else, but he couldn't leave either, couldn't even think of just...going, leaving his brother, no matter what.

Phobos snorted. "Yeah, guess I do gotta spell everything out for you. I loved Strife."

Deimos licked his lips nervously. "L--Loved? Um, sure, I kinda liked him too, I mean, he was our cousin and he kind of looked like us and it was hard not to like him because he was so pretty." He knew he was starting to babble, but he couldn't help it because he had to find a way to justify Phobos' words. "He killed better than us too, and that was fun. And--and, you and me, we're sort of born into the whole love thing, right? So we get attached. You just...liked him. It doesn't mean--"

"Yes it does! Get it through your head, Deimos! I loved Strife; I was in love with him!" Phobos suddenly lunged forward and grabbed hold of Deimos' arms, his grip bruising.

Deimos gasped, not at the pain but the fact that Phobos would hurt him without intending it as foreplay.

"He was smarter," Phobos said, his voice a tense whisper, "more deadly, prettier, and even more fun to be around than you. I'm always gonna love him, Deimos, always!" He shoved Deimos away from him, sending him staggering backwards, tripping over blades and furniture until he crashed down amongst their belongings.

Deimos felt none of it, couldn't even take his eyes off his brother even as he fell. He just stared at Phobos, too completely stunned to speak or move. It just...what Phobos said...Deimos couldn't take it in, not a word of it.

"Listen close, Deimos." Standing over him, Phobos' hands were clenched into fists at his side. "I'm leaving now. I might be back in a few hours or it might be a few days, either way, you're not gonna be able to find me; deal with it. I don't want you around right now. That's the end of it." The finality of Phobos' tone was punctuated by the flash of cold, blue flame as he vanished.

Deimos just lay there, propped up on his elbows, staring at the space Phobos had occupied. One of his legs was caught between the legs of a now-broken chair, the other was sprawled up to his hip in old weapons, and judging from a growing, throbbing pain in his thigh, at least one of the weapons had found its way into his leg. The floor was cold, hard under one elbow, leather slippery under the other, and Deimos could barely feel any of it.

Phobos' words played over and over in his head, the expressions on Phobos' face, the tone of his voice, Deimos couldn't block it out. He didn't want to understand any of it, didn't want to believe that his twin, the one thing in existence that made him whole, could say things like that to him, could mean them. But Phobos obviously had.

Deimos couldn't let it end like that, no matter what Phobos said. There had to be something he could say to bring Phobos back, some way to convince Phobos that he'd been wrong, that Deimos was all he needed. Deimos just had to get him to talk. They could get past anything together, if they just worked at it, he was sure of that.

Reaching out, expanding his awareness, Deimos searched for the familiar feel of Phobos' presence. The perfect companion to his own power signature, the feel of it sang along the bond between them when he touched it, a comforting presence -- that was abruptly cut off.

There was no pain through the bond this time, instead it was far worse. Deimos felt it like something akin to a physical slap across his face: rejection. Phobos didn't want him.

Arms slipping, Deimos fell back, head slamming into the edge of a metal shield with a crack that was muffled under the sound of his own scream, one that had nothing to do with any physical injury.

-------

Surrounded by pink and white, nothing to sit on but overstuffed, pastel couches and chairs, Ares had resorted to something familiar to keep from losing his mind in the horrid surroundings. He was sharpening his sword.

Aphrodite had left him standing there when they'd arrived in time to hear Deimos screaming his fool head off. Of course she'd immediately panicked and run into the twin's rooms to check on her "baby." Ares had just rolled his eyes and dropped into the nearest seat, which happened to be a glaringly white couch. There was nothing he could do about Deimos -- at least nothing that wouldn't severly piss off Aphrodite, and Ares really didn't need that right now -- so Ares just...entertained himself as best he could.

He really couldn't think of anything better to do at the moment. His plans had hinged on Phobos and Deimos' participation, and while just one of the twins might've been able to pull it off on their own, Ares had a feeling that using either of them was no longer an option. He couldn't be absolutely certain though until he heard whatever Aphrodite managed to get from Deimos. So he sat, ignoring his surroundings while he put a fine edge on his sword, and waited.

The annoying screaming had stopped a few minutes ago, thank the Fates, but Aphrodite was still in there. Maybe that was a good thing. Sometimes the twins were far more her sons than Ares', especially when it came to the emotional crap, so it was possible that she'd be able to deal with Deimos' hysterics and still get something useful out of him at the same time. Ares' solution would've been to slap Deimos until he snapped out of it, which had worked before, but Ares thought this was different. Last time Deimos had been terrified by his twin's disappearence and his inability to locate Phobos, but now, Ares had seen the way Phobos had reacted to all of them, Deimos included, and he suspected that Deimos' latest dramatics were a direct result of something Phobos had done. Ares didn't know how to deal with that. It was possible that a few good slaps wouldn't do anything to help, might make it worse even, so he didn't see any other choice but to leave it up to Aphrodite to work it out.

When Aphrodite finally emerged from the twins' bedroom a while later, she looked more than a little frazzled. She'd changed back into her normal pink outfit when they'd arrived, and it looked...wrinkled now, the way it never had before, her hair was well on its way to limp, and there were stains on the front of her bodice that looked suspiciously like tear tracks. She looked exausted.

Ares raised an eyebrow as she dropped onto the couch beside him with a tired sigh.

"Well?" he asked.

"Do you, like, have to do that here?" She glanced at the sword on his lap.

"Better than carving my eyes out after staring at this place," Ares muttered under his breath. But he still sent the whetstone and soft cloth he'd been using back to his temple, then set his sword beside him on the couch, out of her line of sight. "Fine. Now, what happened in there?" He really didn't have much left in the way of patience and it was starting to reflect in his tone.

Aphrodite sighed again. "It's bad, bro. I've never seen Deimos like that. I got him to calm down a little and he said something about Phobos rejecting him, leaving him alone; but that so doesn't make any sense! They're twins. They've always been together."

"Until Strife," Ares pointed out.

"Ugh." Aphrodite shuddered theatrically. "What did Phobos ever see in that?"

That annoyed Ares, which was a bit of a surprise considering that he'd wondered the same thing more than once. "At least Strife never went to pieces like those two twits," he snapped, grabbing his sword and standing up. "I've seen enough tears from Deimos today to float a ship! Are you sure they're my sons?" He sheathed his sword in a single, abrupt movement.

Aphrodite's eyes narrowed. "You know, bro, just because someone has an emotion that isn't violent, doesn't make it a bad thing. You better learn that, because if you think Deimos and Phobos are annoying now, just think how it'll be if they hate each other."

As much as he didn't want to, Ares had to admit that she had a point. He needed the twins to work together at times and that worked beautifully now since they were so in love, but if they hated each other...Ares didn't really want to think about that.

"I'll talk to Phobos," he promised with a nod.

"Good." Aphrodite slumped back in the couch. A wave of a delicate hand, a cascade of pink sparkles, and her outfit unwrinkled itself, the tear stains disappearing. She tucked bare feet up under her legs. "Deimos went all unresponsive on me; he's in there mumbling to himself and staring at the walls. He needs Phobos to get his head screwed back on straight."

Ares snorted. He would've been perfectly happy to go in there and twist Deimos' head around a few times, if he'd thought it would help. But the fool probably was beyond their reach now. He always had been the more dependant one. Beside, Phobos would be the one with any real information on what happened in that temple.

"I'm so not getting this," Aphrodite said. Bracing an elbow on the couch arm, she propped her chin up on the back of her hand. "Phobos may've been all hot for Strife and, yeah, Deimos is gonna have a cow over that, but why would Phobos blow him off like this? I'm his Mom and I know Phobos is still majorly in love with Deimos. What's going on, bro?" Flipping a limp curl out of her face, she looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"I'll ask Phobos whenever I find him. But...I'm certain it has something to do with the way Phobos was laid out in Strife's temple. It was a show," Ares said thoughtfully as he crossed in front of her to sit on the edge of the nearest chair, oversoft, gold thing that it was.

"You said before it wasn't meant for us," Aphrodite said.

He nodded. "It was meant for Deimos."

"But why? Why would this god -- Joxer -- bother? He already told you to back off, right? So why mess with our boys? Is he just some sicko getting his kicks or what?"

"He's smart," Ares grudgingly admitted. "Maybe it was just opportunity, Phobos in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it makes too much sense. He might've done it anyway, later, somewhere else." He clenched the fingers of one hand into a fist, cracking his knuckles.

"What're you talking about, bro?" Aphrodite sat up a little, dropping her arm.

"I came here looking for those two for a reason. Even if I could find Cupid -- and I can't; I looked -- Joxer would feel me long before I reached him and Fates only know what he'd do to Cupid in retribution. I wanted the next best thing."

"Huh?" She frowned.

Ares sighed. "Sometimes you can be incredibly dense. Think about it, who besides us has the closest link to Cupid?"

"Deimos and Phobos," Aphrodite replied immediately. "And I'm so not dense, Ares, I see where you're going with this. They're not major gods, maybe Joxer wouldn't know they were there until it was too late." She crossed her arms under her breasts and gave him a look that dared him to question her intelligence again. Ares wasn't about to push her; he didn't care to end up with braids a second time.

"Yeah," he said, "that was the plan. But those two are useless to me now and it's too convienent. I don't know how, but Joxer arranged this somehow, set them against each other, made sure they couldn't do me any good!" He cracked his knuckles again. Joxer had a lot to answer for and Ares fully intended to be the one to collect.

"Arranged it, hmm?" She looked at him closely. "And how exactly does this guy know how you think?"

"He's close to my counterpart in his world." Ares shrugged. Joxer hadn't said that but it was a safe guess. Just as Strife had been at Ares' right hand here, it would make sense for the other world's mischief god to hold a similar position.

"I want Cupid back, I want Deimos and Phobos back together, and I want this god out of our world!" Aphrodite said, slamming a fist down on the couch's arm.

Ares just rolled his eyes at the display of temper. "Then maybe you have a suggestion? Something I haven't thought of?"

Aphrodite responded with a glare, but no suggestions, which didn't come as a surprise.

"Then I'm going to find Phobos. If I can get those two idiots talking again, maybe we can use them." Ares stood, sliding his hand around around the hilt of his sword. "I'm gonna kill that bastard."

"Phobos?" Aphrodite looked at him like he was crazy.

"Joxer," Ares snapped. "No one walks into my world and does this! I'm gonna make him wish he'd never come here!" His hand clenched around his sword hilt.

"Two problems with that, bro," Aphrodite said, watching him with an exasperated expression. "One, won't you need 'the bastard' to get our Joxer back? Two, if you kill this guy, won't that kill our Joxer?"

He snarled. Aphrodite was annoying enough when she wasn't being right all the time. "Then after everything is back to normal, I'll just hurt him, a lot." He didn't give her a chance to respond, just disappeared.

Ares didn't go to his temple. Phobos wouldn't be there so that was pointless. But Phobos wasn't exactly hard to find either, something that might've occurred to Deimos if he had more than one brain cell to think with.

Love wasn't something Ares spent a great deal of his time thinking about. He felt it, at times, rare times, but it didn't take over his life or make him go out of his way for anything. He acknowledged it and moved on, or just ignored it entirely, whatever was convenient. But he did know the emotion. He'd seen enough of it in the world over the millennia to know that it was a predictable beast, especially when it afflicted close family.

If Phobos wasn't home, then there was only one other place he'd be after what he'd just gone through. There was no guesswork to it, no challenge in the tracking. no surprises, and when Ares appeared inside Strife's temple, he was less than happy with Phobos. Not being obvious in your movements was one of the first things Ares had taught his sons, and to find Phobos right there, exactly where Ares expected him to be, went against what Phobos should've learned early on.

There was no sign of the pillows that had been there before, no trace of Cupid's blood, and Phobos had likely cleaned it all up. Probably to rid the place of any sign that anyone besides he and Strife had been there. Romantic shit, and that set Ares' temper further on edge.

"Get out!" Phobos said the second Ares appeared. He looked furious, and maybe close to breaking as well, standing in the middle of the crumbling temple, fists clenched, trembling, broken breaths as though he was trying to control sobs.

Ares took the few steps needed to bring him within reach of his son, then hit Phobos hard enough to send him crashing to the ground.

"That felt...surprisingly good," Ares said with a smirk. "Now, you were saying?"

"You don't belong here," Phobos said, rubbing his jaw as he sat up, but his tone was more sullen now than angry. Progress.

"Yeah, you're just one big echo today, aren't you? Heard it all before, and unless you and Strife went and tied the knot without me knowing about it, I've got more right to be here than you do." Ares crossed his arms, dropping the smirk and leveling an intent gaze on his son. "You over your little snit now, or do you need some more 'help?'"

Phobos sighed. "What d'you want?"

"For you to get your ass back to Aphrodite's temple and keep your brother from going out of his tiny little mind!"

"No."

Ares raised his eyebrows. "What did you just say?"

Phobos looked directly at him, his attitude still sullen, but there was a determination in his pale eyes that spoke of firm resolve. "No."

Ares' instinctive response to defiance was violence, generally because it worked. But he stopped himself this time. There were many things that Aphrodite was too soft about and the twins' attachment to each other was one of them, but that attachment, as much as she had induldged it, couldn't be simply...broken, she had a point there. Whatever was between the brothers, whatever held them together, it was too strong to be severed on a whim, or from a simple argument. There had to be something else going on here because there was no way Phobos would just abandon his brother like this.

"All right," Ares said, pushing back his anger. "Why? And I do suggest you make this good, because I'm sick of dealing with the two of you and your little dramas!"

To his credit, Phobos didn't so much as blink at Ares' shout. "Deimos is safer if we...split up. If everyone thinks it's over between us."

"Yeah? Keep going." Ares didn't bother hiding his disbelief; there weren't many on Olympus who would believe Deimos and Phobos would--could call it quits, no matter what the twins did.

"You don't get it!" Phobos scrambled to his feet, standing to face Ares unflinchingly. "That--that thing, that god that took Cupid, he said he'd take Deimos, rape him in front of me, break him! You think I'm gonna let that happen? He said he was gonna take Strife's place and make us his. I can hold up way better than Deimos can but that, no way! And I'm not gonna let my bond with Deimos get him pulled into this!"

"He's in it whether you like it or not. That god went after you because you and Deimos have the best chance of finding Cupid without being detected. Driving a wedge between you two is exactly what Joxer was after."

"Joxer?" Phobos frowned, then a look of sudden understanding lit his face. "Hey, I thought I recognized him! He's got the same face as that dweeb you've been humping the last few months."

Ares clenched his teeth. Just how many gods knew he was bedding Joxer? That was something he'd have to explore, later. "The point is, he wants you and Deimos too scared or crazy to help look for Cupid; we won't let that happen. Get back together with your brother, straighten things out, then get out there and find Cupid!"

Phobos shook his head slowly. "No. I'll go try and work...something out with Deimos, not that that's gonna be a peach or anything, but Cupid's just gonna have to deal with things on his own."

Sighing, Ares quickly reached out and grabbed Phobos by the throat. He squeezed just enough to make breathing difficult but not to cut off speech. Phobos' eyes widened and his hands shot up to clutch at Ares' hand and wrist.

"Now, care to rephrase that?" Ares asked in a pleasant tone.

"N--No!" Phobos said, fingers digging into Ares' skin.

"You know, I'm not hearing what I need to. Why don't we try it again," Ares said conversationally, squeezing a bit harder. "You're going to go find Cupid, right?"

This time Phobos didn't respond verbally, instead he sent grabbed Ares' hand tight and sent a sharp wave of terror coursing right through him. Caught off guard, Ares shoved him away instinctively, stepping back as he fought aside the fear.

"You are going to pay for that for months!" he said, gasping as unaccusomed fear prickled his skin.

Phobos backed away, still shaking his head, expression more determined than ever. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but you're not getting me to put Deimos in that kind of danger! Maybe that god was just using us against you, but I'm not risking it! He's more important to me than Cupid, get it? It's gonna be hard enough fixing this between us...just forget it!"

He vanished in a sphere of blue light, leaving Ares still trying to stop the shivers running through him.

"Fuck!" He kicked the nearest piece of fallen stone.

There was no point in going after Phobos, he knew that. It was the first time Phobos had ever gone directly against him but it was easy to see that he'd stand firm on that decision. He thought Deimos' safety was at stake, and maybe he wasn't wrong about that. Ares had never thought it would be an easy or even safe mission to send his sons on, but he had thought they were up to the challenge. Now it didn't matter whether they could do it, they simply wouldn't. And Ares was out of any good options. The twins had been his only good one, now he was left with...less pleasant ones. Like having that chat with Hercules he'd hoped to avoid in the first place.

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