Detour (from the norm)

by Swiss

Title: Detour (from the norm) Author: Swiss (dragonswissarmyknife@hotmail.com) Characters: Iolaus, Hercules Challenge: #4 - Detour Summary: The slightly less than legendary domestic adventures of Hercules and Iolaus and the Hercules N64 video game (which really exists).

"We need a break," Iolaus had said. The man was a hero, brave beyond reproach - one of the greatest (if silent) legends in all history. How he managed to sound so petulant in spite of this was truly puzzling. "I don't want to save the world today," he'd whined, managing to make the world sound like milk left too long in the refrigerator. "It'll keep."

Hercules had frowned at him, but he had lived long enough to come to terms with his tendency to sometimes push too hard. Iolaus, as he always had, reminded him that simple joys were what made the world worth saving to begin with.

Saturday mornings with his best friend were simple joys.

Hercules reflected upon their living arrangements briefly as he made himself some tea in the unromantic kitchenette, frowning at a crawling thing that scurried from under the refrigerator. It was an unexciting apartment. Not really dirty, just inexpensive. There wasn't much reason to fix it up since they never stayed in one place very long. It was one thing that really hadn't changed much.

Of course, there were a lot of things that had...

In the main room Iolaus was sitting on the floor in front of the television, playing a game on a battered old N64, barefoot and in a t-shirt. Hercules padded over to sit behind him on the couch, grimacing in a pained, bemused way at the little pink stud of cubic zirconium in his partner's left ear. He still had the bits of copper and true gold hoops, of course, but, true to his personality, he was not immune to the juvenile pleasures of costume jewelry. Once, to Hercules mortification, he'd gotten into his head to wear a little pirate's skull and crossbones from one ear, and no amount of talk about how Jason was rolling in his grave would get him to take it out for a full week.

Unfortunately (as Hercules saw it), the women of this century seemed to find the boyish rogue in him as attractive as they had in their own time.

"I can't believe you're playing that," he commented when he noticed the game. "The graphics are terrible."

Iolaus' grin curled. "How can you say that about such a tribute to our legend?" he protested, all righteous outrage. He added, "Besides, you only say that because the Hercules character is so much fatter and uglier than me."

"I would hardly call it a tribute to our `lege - HEY. I AM NOT FAT AND UGLY."

"Fine, so maybe you aren't ugly..."

"Iolaus!" The aggrieved sound in his voice went utterly unnoticed as the other man happily punched at his controller, oblivious.

"Woo! Look how much faster I can go now that I'm Iolaus," he said. "I can even climb the vines!"

"I can climb the vines! Give me that!" Hercules demanded.

There was a slight scuffle over the controller, followed by much heavy-handed, inexpert gameplay. Finally, the demigod sat back, growling with frustration. Iolaus giggled, "Told you. You're too fat."

"I'm NOT - oh! Fine, I'll take out the bandit." This is did, expertly. The little Hercules-like character simply picked up the tiny bad guy and hurled him into a cliff face. Quite obviously dead, the bandit disappeared in a shower of coins.

There was a moment of stunned silence while Hercules seemed unable to speak. Then he exclaimed, "I killed him!" He sounded genuinely horrified.

"Scoop up the dinars, Herc!" Iolaus shouted encouragement.

"I would never kill for money!"

"It's just a game, Herc. Ah. Now you've missed it. Maybe you need an easier quest. Why don't you save the kitten from the tree."

Unfortunately or fortunately, Hercules had had enough and the game controller was given back, held by two fingers as though it was something much more distasteful. The conversation turned.

"Must you wear that shirt?" Hercules commented with an anguished look. It was an awful "I love Hercules" tee from the television show with him looking all bronzed and gorgeous, and it made him cringe every time he looked at it. He was pretty sure Iolaus wore it just to be obnoxious. It worked.

Iolaus picked at it, examining the large red heart emblazoned on it. "What?" he asked, an expression of wide eyed innocence on his face. "This shirt is an alter to your manly glory."

This caused another full bodied attack. This mostly never worked. Household furniture broke more easily than the Grecian landscape. All it really managed to do was make them both tumble off the chair, Iolaus laughing as though something had ruptured inside.

It was the doorbell that ended the melee. Iolaus popped up from behind the chair as though on springs, "Pizza's here!" he declared.

"Not again! Iolaus!" The wail came from his heart. If he had to eat one more slice of the stuff, he was going to be sick.

Iolaus was unsympathetic. "You can eat the breadsticks."

"Don't you dare answer the door in that awful shirt!"

"It's the only clean one I have!"

"Well, why don't you do the laundry for once?"

"You always yell at me when I do the laundry."

"You never remember the dryer sheet."

"Well forgive me, Mr. demi-god, that your clothes aren't light and fluffy enough to meet your standards."

If tested, Hercules probably could have kept the wiry warrior away from the door, possibly even without resorting to knocking him unconscious (possibly). But the phone chose that moment to ring urgently, and he was distracted for the slice of a moment it took for Iolaus to be past him.

He answered the phone with an expression resembling a very tired, grumpy...thing. But the gnashing of teeth quickly faded into a thoughtful expression at the sound of the familiar voice at the other end of the line.

Iolaus had mostly polished off the pepperoni by the time he reentered the living room and went calmly to regain his spot on the couch. His partner looked up at him, curious, when he leaned back into the cushions with a prolonged sigh.

"Can't wait?" the other man guessed, wincing. A slice of half-eaten pizza hung neglected from his fingers.

Hercules nodded, a bit heavily. He hadn't wanted to take his friend away from his Saturday off. However they fussed, it was only ever playful and fun. He'd been looking forward to taking it easy too. They had so few opportunities...

Still...duty called...

He returned from his mussing to find that Iolaus had stood, devoured his pizza, and brushed off his hands with dramatic flare. He looked around, rooting for his shoes. "Alright," he said as he scrounged. "Off to be heroes it is!"

The martyred tone infused Hercules with humor easily, and he grinned. That is, before looking his friend over again. "Iolaus," he said, sternly.

Surprise at the attitude inflected in that voice stopped Iolaus dead. "What?" he answered the challenge squarely.

Arms crossed, Hercules put on his "i-am-demigod, hear-me-roar" expression. With tremendous authority, he evenly clipped, "You are NOT saving the world in that shirt."

Iolaus responded with his best implacable, incorrigible, utterly unintimidated "just-try-and-stop-me" look that had remained unchanged over centuries. He said, "Then I guess you better do the laundry."

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