Title: Backward, Turn Backward

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess

Pairing: Cupid/Strife

Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com

Sequel/Series:

Archive: Yes, but tell me where.

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Summary: On the night of Strife's birthday he falls into an alarming depression. Cupid is determined to bring him out of it, and find its cause.

Warnings: Nothing immediately, but later the story will deal with themes of incest.

Notes: This is not part of my Love and Mischief series, so this is not the Strife you're used to me writing--no real Strifespeak here. I'm shooting for something much darker and more angst-ridden here, folks. I'm fairly happy with it so far, but I'll have to see if I can sustain it.

Rating: NC-17

Backward, Turn Backward
By Scribe

//The Cave of the Fates, in another time//

Clotho worked her distaff absently. She was always aware of what she was doing, at least peripherally, but long experience allowed her to perform her duty while thinking of other things. Right now she was talking with her oldest sister, Atropos. "Are you certain you have to snip that thread right now, sister? Couldn't you let it run just a bit longer, a few years? She hasn't been married long, and her thread is such a pretty color."

Atropos gave her a severe look, but her voice was kind. "You know very well that I must, dear. I have very, very little leeway in these things, and she's scheduled to die in childbirth. Hera WILL be angry with that, I'm afraid, but it can't be helped. She never HAS been strong, and this is a big, vigorous baby she's having."

Clotho contemplated the brand new, bright blue thread that she begun to spin only moments before, and smiled. "That he is. Well, he'll be something of a comfort to his father, I suppose."

Lachesis glanced up from her place at the loom. "Aye, and he should live long. This is a fine, strong thread you've sent me, sister."

Atropos reached down and took hold of the fragile, lavender thread that represented the life of the young mother they were discussing. She murmured, "Don't be afraid, dear. You've done no harm in your life, and you'll be able to watch over your man and child from your place in Elysia." The shining, implacable shears slid around the thread and closed almost gently, severing it. Lachesis wove the end of the thread into the ever-increasing tapestry while on earth a new father howled in anguish over the body of his wife, and his newborn son took his first breath.

They worked a while longer in silence, for they were not entirely immune to the suffering of mortals--they just couldn't afford to let it affect them much. After awhile, though, Clotho made a small noise of excitement that caused her sisters to look up at her. "What is it?" asked Lachesis. She would be more immediately involved with whatever new life her sister spun out, and she was
always interested in the material she worked with.

"Oh, look!" Clotho poked her finger into the thick web of fine threads that spun off from her distaff, leading to the loom. She delved and finally teased out a single thread. It was different from the others, a shining, silvery blue.

Both of the elder sisters sat up alertly, instantly interested. "An immortal," breathed Lachesis.

Atropos went to where Clotho sat on her stool and looked more closely at the strand. "No, sister, not just an immortal--a godly child." She smiled. "New life on Olympus. That should liven things up a bit." The thread twitched suddenly, and Atropos, startled, flinched back. "Lachesis!" she scolded. "I know how eager you must be to work a godling into the pattern, but don't tug on it so! It mustn't join the warp and woof before its proper time."

"But I didn't," the weaver protested. "I'm content to wait."

"There's something different about this one," murmured Clotho. The thread twitched again, and she gasped, looking at Lachesis, who shook her head firmly. Clotho's eyes grew round. "Sisters, this one seems to have a mind of its own."

Atropos grunted. "Nonsense. It will go where it must, when it must, with no nonsense and..." There was a faint hissing sound, and Lachesis cried out, jerking her finger back. She showed it to her eldest sister, showed her the bright red line that had been burned there when the thread moved so quickly and violently. As Clotho began to suck her finger, Atropos whispered, "There is
something very odd going on here."

"Odd is hardly the word for it," said Lachesis. "I've never seen anything remotely like this in all my life. That new thread just ran through the section I was working on, and now I a tangled mess. There are so many threads tangled together here I can't tell where one ends and another begins."

Atropos came to lean over her shoulder, examining the spot. Sure enough, instead of the smooth, regular weaving, there was a knotted mass of what could be dozens of threads of all shades twisted together. "Can you unwork this?"

Lachesis gave her an alarmed look. "Oh, I don't think so! The fabric is too delicate to withstand more than the most gentle and simple reworking, you know that. I could easily snap threads that weren't meant to be severed. I have no desire to usurp your position, sister."

Atropos nodded grimly. Ending a life too soon could have serious consequences farther down the line. "Look here." She pointed to the far side of the knot. The new silver-blue thread emerged from the mess--in two spots. She muttered to herself. "Now, how in Tartarus... It couldn't have split, so..." She gently took hold of the thread and ran it between her fingers. After a distance (she couldn't say how long--months, years, centuries--even Lachesis could not estimate with complete accuracy) the thread looped back. She kept following it... and it disappeared back into the knot. Frowning, she leaned even closer, studying the area just before the tangle. The thread did not re-emerge. "Look here." She showed what she'd found to the others.

They gaped. They'd seen many strange things in their long years of overseeing the fates of both mortals and gods, but had never seen anything like this. Finally Clotho said, "What do we do?"

Lachesis was near tears. "Honestly, I don't know how it happened!"

Atropos patted her shoulder soothingly. "Hush, don't upset yourself. All the threads eventually emerge from the other side unscathed."

"Yes, but," she made a face. "It's so ugly. I'd like to fix it, but I'm afraid I might only make it worse."

"You probably would." When Lachesis gave her a hurt look, Atropos sighed. "That wasn't meant as an insult, dear. I don't think ANYONE could comb that mess out without damaging the very fabric of life." She shrugged. "Leave it. Everything happens for a reason. Who knows that better than we?"

Clotho shook her head. "But if even WE don't know what it means... Suppose someone comes and asks us about it?"

"Then we are obscure. We are vague and mysterious, and we allow them to make what they will of it. After all," said Atropos tartly, going back to her station, and reaching for the thread of a man who was very stupidly about to try to jump a high hedge while he was very drunk, "it won't be the first time, will it?"

~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~

*Backward, turn backward, oh time in your flight,
And make me a child again, just for one night.*

//Olympus, Cupid's Temple//

Cupid came awake slowly. Eyes still closed, he tried to decide what it was that had awakened him. It could have been a couple of things. For one, he was alone. There should have been a long body pressed against him, possibly with a sinewy leg draped over his own. He'd gone to sleep with warm, moist breath blowing against his throat, fanning over the wine red passion bruise that had been loving sucked there earlier in the evening. He slid his hand across the sheet, questing, but all he found was a damp spot. That made him smile, as he thought, *Strife's birthday present,* but it wasn't what he was looking for.

He opened his eyes and surveyed the empty, rumpled bed, and frowned. This so did not look right. He hadn't awakened alone a single time since before they'd openly declared their commitment last year. Whenever one of them had to get up early they would half-wake the other, sharing soft, sleepy kisses and murmured assurances before they let the world call them away. No, this was wrong. And there was something else nagging at the edge of Cupid's awareness. What was it?

He considered it, forehead wrinkling in concentration, and finally he knew. It was a sound--soft, barely audible at the outer range of his perception, but there.

He quickly discarded the familiar sounds that he'd tuned himself to be alert to. It wasn't an urgent prayer from some lovelorn soul. He put those on hold when he slept--a god had to have SOME time to himself. It wasn't one of his relatives, calling for assistance. No, none of them would be that subtle. It wasn't Bliss, because he had learned to hear the cranky whine or pattering footsteps of a restless godling long ago. No, it was familiar, but not something he heard often. It was... it was...

*Rain,* he realized with surprise. *Why is it raining?* Rain wasn't unknown on Olympus, but it was rare enough to be remarked upon. Generally speaking, it stayed clear and sunny unless someone needed a particular spot watered. Or unless...

Unless some divinity was in a very deep, very dark funk, and either couldn't control their black mood, or didn't care to try, and let it escape to affect the elements.

"Strife?" he said softly, looking around. The room was empty, but the door to the hall was ajar, a faint glimmer of lamplight filtering through the slit. Cupid got up and wrapped his kilt around his waist. Daddy Heph had been a little too drunk to transport himself home tonight, so he and Mom were staying over in the guest room. Mom might hear him moving around and decide to investigate, and Cupid, though he was comfortable with his own body, and had attended orgies with Aphrodite (well, they were official functions when you were a Love god), just wasn't too thrilled about taking a chance at his Mom see him nude.

Cupid padded to the door and opened it farther, stepping out into the hall. The corridor was barely illuminated by two wall lamps--the torches were snuffed at bedtime--even divine dwellings weren't immune to fire. He glanced first toward the interior of his dwelling, checking to be sure that the doors to the guest room and Bliss' bedroom were firmly shut, then he looked back to the end of the hall.

The door to the back garden stood wide open, and the damp, cool breeze that flowed through it made the tiny flames on the lamp dance and shudder. The open doorway was nothing more than a square of darker shadow.

The sound that had coaxed him from his sleep was still soft, but louder now--a driving hiss, overlaid by the soft pattering of individual drops blowing in to spatter on the marble floor. Cupid took a step toward the door, calling very softly, "Strife?"

There was a stir in the shadows at the door. Cupid squinted fiercely, and could just make out the long, lean silhouette of his husband. The beloved voice floated back to him, "Shh, babe. You'll wake the kiddies--all of them." Cupid smiled in relief, and went down the hall.

As he got closer, he could see his lover more clearly. Strife hadn't bothered with modesty. He wore nothing but his body jewelry and the faint marks of desire that Cupid had so sweetly printed on his body a few hours before. In the dim illumination of the lamps his skin was as pale as sweet cream, his hair dark shadows above his face and at his loins. He was leaning in the doorway, back braced against the jamb, looking out at the rain.

Cupid wanted to frown a little at this, then felt foolish that he should be jealous because a natural phenomena had stolen his lover's attention for a moment. "It's raining."

"No, really?"

Normally this response would have made Cupid smile or roll his eyes in fond exasperation, but this time... Well, there was just something off about it, too. It sounded forced, or was that disinterested? In either case, it wasn't a tone Cupid was used to having Strife direct at him. "What is it, Strife?"

"I thought we established that it was rain."

"Babe..." Cupid reached to touch his shoulder, and drew in a sharp breath. The skin was cold--glazed with water, and pebbled with gooseflesh. He realized that Strife was shivering, his whole body shaking with a fine tremor. "Damn, you're FREEZING!"

"Yah, it's a little chilly." The voice was distant. "You ought to go back to bed, Goldilocks. You catch a cold and both Ace and Dite will be after my butt."

"YOU'RE the one who feels like he's been rolling in a snow bank. Look, I know you're the God of Mischief, but you shouldn't try to do yourself one--a mischief, I mean."

"I'm okay. I even wore my slippers." There was a squelching sound as he shifted, and Cupid looked down. Sure enough, Strife was wearing the soft, black felt slippers that had been a gift from Joxer, 'because everyone needs at least one pair of comfy shoes--otherwise their sanity suffers'. They were embroidered with a silver spider--Strife's totem, and he'd seemed highly
pleased with the gift when he'd unwrapped it at the party. Now the slippers were soggy, the material releasing rivulets of water every time he moved his feet.

For the first time Strife glanced back at him, and Cupid felt his stomach clench at the blank look in those pale blue eyes. He hadn't seen that expression for months, and it frightened him. He'd worked so hard to gain this precious closeness to the man he loved, and he didn't want to lose it.

Keeping his voice calm and non-judgmental, Cupid said, "Babe, I want you to come back to bed with me--now."

Strife looked back out at the rain, which was falling in a continuous sheet now. You couldn't even see the rose bush that was planted five feet from the door. It was as if a gray velvet curtain had been drawn between the temple and the rest of the world. Strife's voice was faint. "In a minute. You go on."

"Strife..."

Strife cut him off, "Sometimes a guy needs some time to himself, Cupe, okay?"

"Fine, I can understand that, and you can have as much time alone as you need--somewhere dry and warm. You're worrying me here."

Strife snorted softly. "Yah, that's about my speed, isn't it? Worry and bother from day one." Another snort. "Tartarus--I'm a god. Probably from BEFORE day one." Strife shook his head, dark hair plastered down around his surprisingly delicately shaped skull. "Go back to bed, Cupe. I'm not fit company right now."

Cupid took hold of the door with one hand and Strife's arm with the other, and began to tug him away from the exit while he shut the door. "I think you don't need to be alone right now."

He was shocked when his husband jerked his arm free roughly, then tried to shove the door open wider. "Let it go, Cupe!" His voice was low and grating. Cupid wondered how his eyes could be so empty, and still blaze. "Thing will be easier if you just leave me alone for awhile."

Cupid raised his voice slightly, hissing, "I don't WANT easier, damn it! I love you, and you don't just go off and leave someone you love alone when they're hurting."

"You don't? Couldn't prove it by me."

There was stark pain, so deep it approached anguish, in Strife's voice, and Cupid felt his own heart ache with his lover's hurt. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "Erin." Strife stiffened. His given name was seldom used--most people referred to him by his title, or godhood. Cupid knew the power of giving something its proper name. He said it again. "Erin, please. Let me help."

The tension suddenly went out of Strife's body, and he nodded with a weariness that tugged at Cupid. Cupid put an arm around his husband's lean waist, pulling him into the warmth generated by his own body as he shut the door. Then he put his other arm around Strife and just held him for a moment. Strife sighed, laying his head on the broad plain of Cupid's chest. After a moment he whispered, "Sorry."

"Let's go get you dry. You were worried about Mom's reaction? Think of what I'd catch from Dad if I let you get a head cold. Remember what happened the last time you had the hiccups. Think of what a sneezing fit could do." There was a weak giggle, and that was better, but it still wasn't enough. Usually a memory like that was enough to have Strife incapacitated by mirth for several minutes.

They moved down the hallway, and Cupid urged Strife off into a room, lighting the lamps on the walls with a thought. The room was tiled in a seep, soothing blue, the walls lined with shelves that were loaded with thick towels and jars and dishes of all kinds of soaps and bath crystals and oils. In the center of the room was a large, communal sunken bath. Near the wall was an individual bath. It was actually a single large scallop shell, deep enough for an adult to bathe comfortably, and it had been a gift from Poseidon when Cupid had gained his majority. The interior was deliciously smooth, and the back sloped gently, so that it was easy to lie back and relax. It was here that Cupid led Strife.

Strife looked up, disinterestedly, but when he saw where they were, he gave Cupid a questioning look. "Thought you were putting me to bed."

"Soon, but I don't want you taking a chill. I think you need a good, hot bath."

Cupid opened the taps over the shell, testing the water till it was not quite hot enough to sting. "Get in."

"Orders, orders," muttered Strife, but he obediently climbed into the bath, settling himself comfortably. "Glad you started that water first. I hate putting my bare but on cold surfaces."

"We'll have plenty of time to talk. You just be quiet and relax now."

"Bossy."

"You knew it when you married me. Hey, I order around people's love lives--I come by it naturally." Cupid studied the array of jars and dishes, then selected a small glass bottle, uncorked it, and dribbled a little under the gushing water. A spicy scent filled the air immediately, and the water took on a glistening sheen.

Strife sniffed appreciatively. "Mm, sandalwood." Cupid was pouring in a few drops of a pinkish liquid. "Ah, Cupe, not roses, please! Dite will want to hug me to death tomorrow." Cupid only smiled at him as he put the bottle away, and a sharp, pleasant smell reached Strife. He squinted, sniffing as he tried to identify it. "Why am I thinking of Hestia, and cookies?" His eyes rounded as he looked back at Cupid. "CINNAMON?"

"It's a warming essence."

Strife sniffed again, considering, then relaxed a bit more, even smiling faintly. "'s nice."

The water was lapping up around his armpits now, and Cupid turned off the taps. Strife paddled his hands idly in the water, watching the shimmering gold and pink patterns made by the film of bath oils. He never thought to use them himself, but Cupid was always coaxing him to. He kept telling Strife that he had beautiful skin, and he should pamper it. Strife still wasn't familiar with the concept of being pampered, though Cupid was trying his best to remedy that.

Cupid took down a small bowl filled with a thick, creamy paste, and a hand cloth, then he put a towel down on the floor beside the shell, and knelt on it. "Lift your foot up." Strife obeyed. Cupid dipped up some of the soft soap and slathered it on Strife's foot, then dipped the cloth in the water and began to work the paste into a lather. Strife lay quietly, bracing his feet on the foot of the bath as Cupid worked his way down first one leg, then the other. Then he sat up and extended each arm in turn for the same treatment.

Strife let his mind drift as Cupid continued his gentle ministrations. It was nice. He hadn't had a lot of loving care in his life, and he found it strange and wonderful. He was grateful for the gift of this beautiful man's love, and he pushed the things that had been troubling him as far away as he could, trying to concentrate on the warmth, physical and emotional, that was enveloping him, pushing back the cold and dark in his soul.

Cupid finished rinsing Strife's arms, letting a final handful of water trickle down over the now slightly flushed skin. *Thank Gaia, the trembling has stopped. I don't think he'll be sick.* Strife had closed his eyes, and Cupid searched that beloved face. *He looks so tired, and sad. He was happy
earlier, wasn't he? What could have brought this on?*

Cupid laid aside the damp cloth, dipped more paste into one broad palm, and began to work his hands together. In a moment they were coated in a thick, fragrant lather. He reached out and lightly encircled Strife's neck, his thumbs stroking over the Mischief God's throat. Strife did not tense, only turning his head slightly, eyes still closed, and Cupid realized what a mark of trust this was. Strife had spent most of his life paranoid, the very image of distrust, and usually with good reason. There were very few people he'd allow to touch him in such a potentially dangerous way--without becoming tensed for action. Bliss was one, Joxer was another. Cupid was the third, and the trust hadn't ALWAYS been there--it had been earned. Cupid cherished it.

The Love God worked his hands down, spreading the soap over skin that was only slightly less pale than the foam. Strife purred quietly as the strong fingers sought out a few stubborn knots of tension, easing them away. Then Cupid slid his hands down to the smooth plain of Strife's chest, and he began swirling circles of soap. Strife felt Cupid smoothed a thick film across his chest,
then sketch what felt like two curving, vertical arches in it. He peeked down and was confronted by an upside down view of a heart, it's point resting between his nipples. He glanced up at his grinning husband, and chuckled. "I guess I'm lucky you didn't write our initials in it." Cupid's hand started back toward the heart, finger extended to continue the sketch, but Strife's hand flashed up and caught his wrist. "No, you don't. I don't want to be a walking cliché, lover."

Cupid's other hand came up and settled gently against Strife's cheek. "I can't help it if you bring out the romantic in me."

Strife kissed the hand he was holding, then released it. Cupid dipped up water, trickling it over Strife's chest and slowly erasing the soapy declaration of love. Strife sighed, stretching. "All done? Bedtime?"

"Soon." Cupid was coating his hands with soap again. Strife watched curiously as he worked up another lather. The water was now milky with the soap, and his body was a mere shadow underneath it. Strife let his head drop back as Cupid's big hands settled on his chest again, this time pressing down firmly over his nipples, and beginning to rub in small circles. "Soon."

Cupid's fingers found the tiny silver bars that pierced Strife's nipples. He loved taking those into his mouth, sucking and nibbling gently till the always semi-erect nipples rose in stiff, needy peaks. Now he contented himself with soft pinches and tugs till Strife was murmuring wordlessly, his pupils dilating with desire.

Cupid leaned in and kissed the eagerly parted lips, slipping his tongue in and relishing the taste that was so uniquely Strife. Dripping arms came up around his neck, pulling him closer, as long, slim fingers (so deft at lovemaking, so frighteningly graceful with a dagger), carded through his hair. His left hand went to cradle the back of Strife's neck, holding him firm as the kiss deepened, intensified. He let his right hand slide down Strife's heaving belly, into the wet thatch of curls at his groin, and he found the thick, rising column of Strife's prick. Cupid smiled into the kiss, feeling just a little proud that he could bring such a quick, emphatic response from his mate.

He stroked his husband's rigid cock firmly, his touch sure, but unhurried. Strife began to push up into his grip, a whimper building in the back of his throat, and Cupid obligingly speeded up his caresses. He tangled his hand in Strife's hair and sucked his lovers tongue into his mouth, biting it lightly as he pumped more and more strongly. Finally Strife tensed, grunting, and Cupid felt the hot splash on his hand that signaled his mate's release. He gave another milking squeeze, then gentled his touch to a slow petting, pulling back a fraction to lean his forehead against Strife's as the younger god panted, regaining his breath.

Finally, without another word, Cupid finished rinsing Strife, went to the wall, and returned with a huge towel. He helped Strife to step out of the bath and enveloped the more slender man in the cloth, rubbing him gently till he was dry. He wrapped him in a dry towel and started to lead him out.

Strife hesitated near the door, looking down at a small, dark, squelchy pile with a groan of dismay. "Joxie's slippers. Oh, man."

"They'll dry. Don't worry about that now," said Cupid firmly, leading him out into the hall. He pushed Strife back till he was leaning against the wall and whispered. "Just a second. I'll be right back." Strife watched as Cupid went quickly to the door at the end of the hall and peeked out. When he came back his tone was relieved. "Rain's stopped."

In their room, Cupid mentally stripped the bed and covered it in fresh linen before he unwrapped Strife and urged him under the covers. After shutting the door, he joined Strife, and was pleased when Strife moved into his arms without prompting.

Cupid spent a few quiet moments finger combing his lover's dark hair up into its familiar spikes. Finally he said, "Are you ready to tell me what that was all about?"

"Not right now."

Cupid sighed. "Strife..."

"Tomorrow, Cupe, okay? I need to think a little to put it into words." He tipped his head, looking up, and Cupid felt another twinge at the look of confusion and sadness in Strife's eyes. "Don't you understand? I'm only half-sure of it myself."

Cupid considered this. He knew that there was a lot of pain in Strife's past life, and he was sure that was where the origin of his bouts of melancholia lay. He also knew that the longer something remained hidden, the more it festered, and the harder it was to root out. Baring what was troubling him wouldn't be easy for Strife, and Cupid thought he was brave even to try. He nodded, pulling Strife's head under his chin and wrapping him a little tighter in his arms. "Tomorrow."

Part Two

For the second time Cupid came awake to find himself alone in bed, and he didn't like it--he didn't like it at all. As soon as he realized that Strife wasn't on his side of the bed *fuck his side, he spends half of the time in it on me or under me, which is just how I like it*, Cupid rolled over into the vacant space. He spent a moment rubbing his face in the sheets, letting the lingering scent of his husband envelope him.

But the sheets were cool--Strife had been up for a while, and Cupid sat up with a sigh, pushing a thick sheaf of blond hair up out of his eyes. He heard a door open, then close, and the voices of Hephastus and Aphrodite moving down the hall. He chuckled, listening to Heph's pained rumble. He'd have a head this morning.

Cupid got up and quickly splashed his face with water from the bedside basin, shaking his head to clear out the last of the cobwebs. Then he got into his harness and pulled on a pair of brown leather pants and boots. He considered his quiver and bow for a moment, then left them behind as he headed out into the living quarters.

Everyone was in the dining room. Dite was sitting with her arm around Heph's shoulders, coaxing him to drink some strong tea. Heph was staring with bleary horror as Bliss devoured a soft-boiled egg, enthusiastically dunking his toasted bread in the runny yolk. Bliss usually made do with bread and honey, and milk for breakfast. Cupid noted Strife's sly grin, and knew that the menu had been HIS idea. This evidence of Strife's usual mischief was heartening. But then Strife looked at him, and the shadows were still in his eyes.

Cupid walked around the table giving Heph's shoulder a commiserate squeeze, and dropping a peck on his mother's forehead. Bliss planted a sticky kiss on his cheek, leaving a golden smear. "Daddy Stwife is..." He looked at Strife."

"Hundred and seventeen, kid."

"A hunnerd an' seventeen, an' ONE DAY!" he finished with a gleeful shout. Hephastus winced, putting a hand to his head. "Wha's wrong, Daddy Heph?"

"Daddy Heph has a head, kid," said Strife, sipping a goblet of fruit juice. Cupid had sat down on his other side, and Strife turned casually toward Bliss, away from Cupid, avoiding his eyes.

Bliss frowned. "Course he gots a head. If'n he dint, he'd hafta be with Unca Hay-dees, huh?"

Even Heph smiled at that, and Aphrodite's silvery giggles tinkled around the room gaily. Strife made no sound, and Cupid leaned around him, peering at his face. Strife noticed his attention, and smiled, but it was strained. "Kid's got a point, huh? Bliss, babe, Daddy Heph is feeling kinda sick this morning."

Bliss's baby face squinched in concern. "Aw!" He hopped down and trotted over to Hephastus, trying to give him a hug around his waist. His arms weren't nearly long enough, but he made the effort. "You want my bread, Daddy Heph? Ace gives me that when my tummy is bad."

Heph's complexion went faintly green, and he rumbled, "Thank you, Bliss, but I have to go now." He gently peeled the little boy's arms away, patting his head while he gave his wife a significant look. "NOW."

*Flash* Heph disappeared in a no-nonsense burst of dull red energy.

Dite sighed, then giggled slightly. "Oh, well. I told him--wine OR mead, not wine AND mead." She kissed Bliss and winked at Cupid and Strife. "Maybe he'll make it to somewhere with bare floors, and I won't have to replace any rugs." She wiggled her fingers. "Toodles."

*Flash* Aphrodite left in a spray of golden sparks and rose petals, which Bliss began to matter-of-factly pick out of his hair.

"You about through with breakfast, son?" Cupid asked. Bliss nodded. "Then I think it's time you went and found one of my priests and got after your lessons.

Bliss's face brightened. "Okay! We's learning the affa-bit." He puffed out his narrow chest. "Ise gonna write my own scrolls!"

"Go on, then."

"Kay." He started out, but paused at the door, and looked back at them. Strife was still sitting turned away from Cupid. Bliss's blue eyes grew troubled. After a moment's thought, he pattered swiftly over to the table and grabbed a surprised Strife around the waist, hugging him fiercely. His face was tight with concentration, and Cupid watched in amazement as a slight shimmer, like gold dust, flushed over Bliss's skin and spread out a few inches from where he touched Strife.

Strife's stiff expression softened a little, and he stroked Bliss's wings. He smiled faintly. "You sure do know how to brighten a person's day, sonny boy. Now, go on." Bliss grinned at him happily, and bounded out of the room.

Strife shook his head. "That kid."

"That kid, who is the God of Joy and Happiness, and feels an instinctive compulsion to ease any sorrow or pain he feels around him. What's wrong, Strife? You said last night you'd explain to me."

Strife rubbed his face, and Cupid noticed how tired he looked. *Did he sleep? I'd have known if he didn't, wouldn't I?* "Strife..."

"You're not letting it go, are you?" His voice was weary.

"No. I'm hanging on like Cerberus. Talk to me."

Strife looked around the room, then stood up. "Not here. I'd rather not have any negative vibes contaminating this place."

Cupid stood up, too. "The garden?"

Strife shook his head. "No--no place I connect with good things. Someplace neutral." He thought, then took Cupid's hand.

*Flash*

*Dark. Why is it so dark?* Cupid thought. Then he heard the sound of flowing water, and peered more closely at his surroundings. "Strife, why are we at the Styx?"

"I wanted some place neutral, someplace that wasn't associated for me with either joy, or pain." He was still holding Cupid's hand. There was the muffled sound of oars, and Cupid saw the gaunt outline of Charon's barge drifting toward him. Strife lifted his free hand, and raised his voice, calling, "Not today, Boatman! Just passing by!" The enveloping hood dipped in acknowledgement, and a bony hand tightened on the pole, using it to turn the barge. As it began heading back across the black water, Strife said, "There's a place a little ways down here that's not so bad. I think a current runs close by from Elysia."

Strife led Cupid over bare, rocky ground that was decorated here and there with brown, rustling clumps of grass. Sure enough, they came to a spot on the bank that looked marginally less depressing. The grass here was thick enough to resemble normal vegetation, though it was a sickly yellowish green. There were even a couple of dispirited looking wild flowers, their blossoms washed-out to pale imitations of their normal hue. Cupid looked around, feeling a slight chill. Somehow this place was even more disturbing than the surrounding wasteland. It spoke
sadly of stagnation--of struggle that could never succeed, but could never cease.

Strife dropped down on the grass without a word and settled himself, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them, staring out over the sluggish river as if he could actually see the far side. Cupid knew better. Despite the morbid look of this place, they were still in the land of the living, and no living eyes could see Asphodel from here.

Cupid settled gingerly next to his husband, glad that he'd chosen the pants instead of a kilt. Then he crossed his legs, fixed his eyes on Strife's face, and waited. The silence spun out for long moments, but Cupid was patient. It had taken him a long time to win Strife, though he knew that he'd had the Mischief God's heart long before Strife had come to his bed. Cupid knew that Strife had loved him for even longer than Cupid had loved him back, and that was quite awhile. Cupid intended to spend the rest of eternity with this beautiful, quirky, surprisingly tender, and very TROUBLED man, so he was determined to find out what was keeping Strife from embracing all the happiness that had come into his life. He would find it, and help Strife fight it--that's what you did for the ones you loved.

Finally Strife spoke, his eyes never flickering from their distant stare. "Yesterday was great, Cupe."

"I'm glad, babe. We tried to make it special for you."

There was the ghost of a nod. "Yeah. Breakfast in bed," there was a faint, but distinctly lascivious smile as he remembered the special, intimate feasting that had taken place in the cozy nest of their bed. "Bliss coming in for a snuggle."

"You really like that, don't you?"

Now Strife's eyes did flick toward him. "Course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

Cupid shrugged. He'd considered asking Bliss to forgo his morning romps when Strife moved in, but the younger god had seemed to enjoy them just as much as the godling. "Some people don't."

"Yeah, well, I'm not Psycho, Cupe. No tits--remember?" The dry sarcasm was comforting, so much more natural than the recent blankness. Cupid felt his rising hope dwindle as Strife turned his eyes back across the water. "Then there was that special cake Hestia sent over, and the little gifts Hermes kept bringing through the day. The dagger from Athena..." He smirked. "That troupe of belly dancers from the Muses. That set of drums from Apollo." Cupid cleared his throat, and Strife's mouth quirked briefly in an almost smile. "I'll hide 'em from Bliss when we get back."

He hugged his knees tighter, so tight that Cupid could hear the leather of his skin-tight suit creaking. He put his forehead down on his knees. "And the party yesterday evening--it was the best. You, and Bliss, and Dite, and Heph, and Joxer, and Unc... Everyone just chilling and having a good time just being together, being a family. Man, the games that Joxer can come up with. I'm never gonna let Unc forget about trying to act out a butterfly spreading pollen." A minute shake of his head. "Only Joxer. Ares would have gutted anyone who suggested such a thing before they got together."

Cupid nodded, smiling fondly. But he was beginning to wonder where this was going. So far Strife had described a more-or-less perfect day.

"Heph's a real hoot when he gets a snootful, too. But you know, he moves smoother than you'd think for someone his size, drunk. I kept expecting your Mom to have to see Ace about crushed toes when they danced. Then it was bedtime..." Not lifting his head, Strife reached out to Cupid. One hand settled lightly against Cupid's chest, looking impossibly pale against the tanned skin. "and the best present of all--you. You over me, and under me, and in me, just filling me with light, and warmth. When you make love to me, Cupe, it all just goes away." Not knowing how to respond to that, Cupid pressed his hand over Strife's, holding it close. "Yeah, just about a perfect day. You know the only thing that was missing?"

"What, babe?"

"My mother."

The two words were so bleak that Cupid felt an almost physical stab of pain. Of course--Eris. There'd been no sign of her the entire day. She hadn't shown up, but that wasn't all that unusual--she never visited the House of Love. But there hadn't been a present, a scroll--not even a birthday greeting sent through Ares. Strife's one hundred and seventeenth birthday had passed with no more attention from the woman who had given him birth than the other one hundred and sixteen.

"Strife... Ares has a lot going on right now, what with that rebellion building up along the border. I'm sure she got caught up in something and just couldn't get away."

Now Strife did look at him, his blue eyes so pale that they were almost silver. He said softly, "One of the things I love best about you, Cupid, is that I can always tell when you're bullshitting me. Don't do it now, okay? Not about this."

Cupid wilted. There was no point in protesting. They both knew that Ares would have gladly cleared Eris's schedule to let her spend a little time with her only son on his natal day. "Babe, please don't let it do this to you. It was just one day."

"Exactly. Just one day, like all the others. Like every one I can remember. Oh, wait--scratch that. There HAVE been days when she sought me out. Of course I usually ended up giving Ace some business after THOSE little encounters."

The Love God winced. It was one of the well known secrets of Olympus that Eris had not been able to deal with her unlooked for and unwanted offspring, and had handled him more roughly than anyone ever should treat a child. While the Pantheon had a laissez-fair attitude toward child rearing, it had always been assumed that the parents would know when to restrain themselves--that the precious nature of a divine child would protect them. There had been shock when the extent of Strife's suffering had been learned, and Ares, unbidden and silently defiant of any possible objection, had stepped in and removed his nephew from his sister's 'care'. Eris had neither protested, nor thanked him. She had simply gone on to ignore Strife, unless he became an irritant.

"Sweetheart, it's her nature. Your mom has just never been a warm and fuzzy sort of person."

"That's not all there is to it, Cupe. Ares has never been a 'have you hugged someone today' kinda guy either, and that never stopped him from being a Dad to you." Strife shrugged. "And me, sorta. He's the most father I've ever had."

Strife scratched his head, milk-white fingers spidering through inky spikes, spikes that Cupid knew were soft and silky, despite their aggressive look. "I kept watching Ares and Dite with you, you with Bliss. And I thought, 'I'll never have that.'"

Cupid wanted to moan. All the time he'd spent trying to reassure Strife that he was loved, now this. But Strife knew what he was thinking (that could be a little scary sometimes, how well Strife knew him, when he sometimes thought that he didn't know Strife at all). He said quietly, "Nah, Cupe. I know you love me. I know Bliss loves me, too. I kind of like another kid to Ar, Dite's real fond of me, and even Heph kind of likes me. And Joxer?" He smiled. "Joxer loves everyone who isn't a flaming asshole. But it's the other kind of love, Cupe. I've never had the love of a blood parent. My mother hates my guts, when she can be bothered to think of me, and my father? He never even bothered to stay around long enough to know if I was an innie or an outie. I wouldn't know the man if I tripped over him." Strife snorted. "I MIGHT have tripped over him. Rumor has
it that Mom got knocked up at some big wing-ding of a drunken festival-slash-orgy."

"Strife, you aren't the first... uh... illegit... Out of wedlock..."

"Bastard. I can say it." He shrugged. "I'm in illustrious company. How many brats has Zeus got scattered around at last count?" Strife chewed his lip. "Rumor also has it that even Mom doesn't know who did the deed. That's possible, I suppose. I've been to a few of those shindigs, and things can get pretty confused. But..." he trailed off.

"What?" Cupid prodded.

He frowned. "I don't know. She's usually pretty blank when we're together, but sometimes... Sometimes she gives me the funniest looks. Like I remind her of someone, and if she thinks hard enough she'll remember who. That's what really hurts. I'm her son, and she's looking at me like I'm someone she met at a party once, and she can't remember who I am, but she remembers that she doesn't want me around."

"She's..." Cupid fumbled. What could he say? Eris was who she was. She made no apologies, gave no explanations, and was contemptuous of anyone who tried to analyze her.

"Was she always like this?" Strife tilted his head, his cheek against the black leather of his knees as he gazed at Cupid. "You're older'n me. Do you remember anything about her before I was born?"

Cupid shook his head. "No, sorry. I was pretty young. I'm only about four years older than you."

Strife sighed. "Yeah, sure. What was I thinking of. Y'see, the other ones, the older ones who might know, won't talk to me. I tried a few times with Unc--he's the only one I've ever really been able to talk to much, before you. Well, him and Jox, now, but Jox wouldn't know." His eyes unfocused. "And Unc won't tell. 'Past is past, Strife', he says. 'Dead and gone. Can't resurrect it.' If I just knew a little more--whether Mom changed, and if it was me who did it. Or who my dad is, and why she hates him so much, maybe I could understand. Maybe I could set it aside, and just... be."

Cupid didn't know what to say. He didn't have the answers, and he didn't know how to get them. For a bunch of gossipmongers, the Pantheon could be remarkably closed-mouthed about some things. He didn't have the words, so he offered what he did have--comfort. He slid closer and put his arm around Strife, pulling the thin, tense body close.

He bent his head to Strife, letting his blond locks mingle with the black, wafting his warm breath over Strife's chilled skin. He took Strife's hand, winding the long, elegant fingers in his own, and just held him. Strife's breathing had been becoming ragged. Now it smoothed, and slowed.

Cupid was considering suggesting that they go home, maybe take another bath, or play with Bliss. Then he felt Strife tense again, wirey muscles going taut. "Babe?"

Strife sat back slowly, lifting his head to look at Cupid, and Cupid felt a stab of unease. His eyes weren't blank any more--they burned with grim purpose, and Strife was smiling, but it was a humorless baring of teeth, more of a grimace. "It isn't, you know."

Cupid found himself dreading what he could feel coming, but some things are unstoppable. He had the feeling that in the Cave of the Fates, Lachesis was working a particularly intricate, but very dark, pattern. "What isn't?"

"The past. It isn't dead and gone--not really. And maybe it can't be resurrected..." He turned his gaze upward now, and it was sharply focussed on something that Cupid couldn't see. "but it can damn sure be revisited."

Part 3

Cupid came out of the bathing chamber and paused in the hallway, hands on his hips as he looked up and down the corridor, trying to decide where to look next. He'd given the garden a thorough going over, even peering up into the trees--more than once he'd been ambushed by having a giggling Strife drop on him from a branch.

He paused, peeking into his bedroom, just to be sure that Strife hadn't popped in while he was searching. He hadn't. Cupid was beginning to get worried. After their talk yesterday, Strife had been very quiet. It wasn't a brooding silence, though--it was a 'don't bother me--I'm thinking' sort. Strife didn't say a word, but Cupid could almost hear the gears clicking in his mind.

It scared him a little. A lot of people on Earth--and most of the Olympians, too, for that matter--thought that Strife wasn't capable of extended concentration. They thought that he couldn't hold a train of thought for more than a few minutes without his mind bouncing off in some other direction. Ares knew differently--Strife had come up with some of the most intricate plans for sabotage and subterfuge in existence. And he could be patient, too. He could work carefully, giving tiny pushes and tweaks, for years, just to set up one perfect incident. Strife could DO detail. Cupid had seen him in 'plotting mode' before, and he was showing all the signs now.

What could it be that was absorbing him so? Years ago he'd been secretive about his work--it was part of the job. As his trust grew, he discussed it more and more with Cupid, expressing his growing trust. But when Cupid had done the 'dinar for your thoughts' bit that usually got him a smile and the information he wanted, Strife had just said that it was personal. That had hurt. Strife had seen it, and had immediately cuddled him, nipping and whispering till Cupid had been
distracted from his worry.

*I shouldn't have given up--I should have pushed. It was obvious that he didn't WANT to be pushed, but I'm getting a bad feeling about this. Where haven't I looked?* There was nowhere in the temple he hadn't searched, so Strife wasn't here. Cupid extended his mind, doing a quick sweep of the other most likely place--Ares' temple. Dad was there--with Joxer, and Cupid had to smile quickly at the warm burst of lust/love he got from the pair before he discreetly withdrew.

Not there, either. Time to start asking, and best to start at home.

Bliss was in one of the minor audience rooms. Cupid had made one of the walls smooth plaster, then spelled it so that Bliss could clean it with a thought. This was Bliss's own, personal sketchpad, and it was one of his favorite places. Priests and even random supplicants were often dragged into the room to admire the godling's latest creations.

Bliss was so involved with his creating that he didn't notice at first when his father entered the room. Cupid took a moment to just watch. Bliss was standing flat-footed, sturdy legs braced, using both hands to throw paint at the wall. The once pristine plaster was streaked and spattered with blobs and dribbles of paint in all the colors of the rainbow. It reminded Cupid of something he'd seen when he was silly enough to accept a drink from one of the Bacchae without first finding out what it was.

Bliss himself was wearing precious little less paint than the wall. He had flecks in his hair and on his wings, his legs were so spattered that it looked like he'd been walking through rainbow mud puddles, and he looked like he was wearing elbow length multi-colored gloves--WET gloves.

Bliss glanced back and saw Cupid, then waved a hand proudly at his work. "Look!"

Cupid nodded. "Wow, that's really something, son!" *though what, I have no idea.* "That's, uh..." *There's a lot of blue-green near the bottom. "Poseidon's palace, right?" Bliss shook his head. *Uh-oh. Well, there's a big yellow blob up there, and some brown things under it.* "Apollo driving his chariot?" Bliss giggled, shaking his head again. Cupid gave up. "What is it?"

"Pretty."

"Oh. Yeah, yeah--you're right. Bliss, baby, have you seen Daddy Strife lately?"

Bliss scooped up a fingerful of lavender and started to draw squiggles. "Uh-huh. He tol' me not to go outside till you came home an' said I could, an' not to eat more'n two honeycakes if I wanted a snack."

"Good advice. Did he say where he was going?"

Orange spots were being delicately placed along the lavender squiggles. Cupid blinked. Those almost looked like some surreal type of flower. "Uh-huh."

Cupid took a deep breath, and kept his tone level. "Could you tell me where?"

Bliss scratched his head, leaving colored streaks through his hair. Cupid had a flash of random memory--Strife seeing Bliss like this and collapsing in laughter, swearing that he was going to inflict that look on an unsuspecting world as a 'fashion trend' in a couple of millennia. "Oh, sorry, Daddy! Stwife said to tell you that he hadda go see Gaia, an' he might not be back till late."

"Thanks, baby." Cupid dropped a kiss on Bliss's forehead, between a swatch of green and a smear of yellow. "But next time you have a message like that, tell me right away, okay?"

Bliss nodded. "Cause you worry 'bout Stwife 'most as much as you worry 'bout me, right?"

Cupid was silent for a moment, looking into his son's suddenly grave blue eyes. He sighed, then kissed him again. "And the mortals think Athena has the wisdom thing sewed up. I should be back in a little while. If you need anything, go to one of the priests, okay?"

Bliss rolled his eyes at this in what Strife called a 'duh!' expression. "Yes, Daddy. You gonna bring Stwife home, huh?"

"I... he's a grown man, Bliss. He can find his way home." Bliss just looked at him again, and *Oh, man, his eyes are so OLD sometimes.* "Yeah, I'll bring him home." Bliss nodded and smiled, sunshine breaking from behind clouds. Daddy had said it would be all right, so it would be all right. He went back to his picture, and Cupid flashed to Gaia's valley.

*****

Actually, he flashed to just outside the valley. It was just something she'd asked the Pantheon to do--walking into her personal domain rather than transporting. The energy surges startled her animals, and the more timid forest spirits. And sometimes some of the gods quite frankly didn't look were they were going. It was rumored that this request *Well, let's face it--order* was made after Zeus had materialized in the middle of a bed of sweet pea's that Gaia had been nursing along for some months. Still, Cupid was fairly sure that hadn't been the cause of the minor earthquake that had destroyed one of Zeus's favorite temples.

He appeared in a thick grove of trees, with the slow slope of the valley starting a few yards away. Despite his adherence to Gaia's rule, he still came as a rude shock to SOMEONE.

There was a nude couple embracing right in front of him, and they broke apart with a gasp. Before Cupid could reassure them that they had nothing to fear, they were gone. Cupid looked around quickly. In the direction that the youth had fled, he caught a glimpse of a smooth brown back sinking behind the rough bark of a young oak tree. He quickly looked around, and noted that the silvery bark of a birch sapling was almost the same shade as the hair of the girl who had disappeared. Tree spirits. He looked up and saw how the branches of the two trees stretched toward each other, intermingling, and said softly, "Way to go, kids. Sorry to intrude."

Cupid walked out of the trees and started down into the valley, making his way toward Gaia's cozy little cottage. He looked about as he went, careful not to stumble into flowerbeds, vegetable gardens, or herb patches. There were paths, but you had to pay attention. Gaia was nowhere in evidence, but her energy signature was strong, so she was here.

He was approaching the cottage when the door opened and she emerged, her arm around Strife's thin shoulders. She was taller than the Mischief God, and as she bent over him, her moonlight colored hair brushed his pale cheek. They were talking quietly. As Cupid neared, they both looked up, pale blue eyes and vibrant green. Cupid thought that Strife's expression was... Well, it wasn't settled, or peaceful, but there was a little less tension. Strife glanced up at Gaia, and she smiled down at him, giving him a brief squeeze. "Hello, Cupid. What a pleasant surprise! How long has it been?"

Cupid felt a twinge of guilt. *Exactly like she wants me to,* he thought ruefully. *She's the mother of us all, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that she knows just what buttons to push.* "You're right, Grandmother. I'll bring Bliss to visit you soon."

"Marvelous! There are always some fawns or rabbit kits about--he'll like them."

Strife spoke up, "I was just about to go home. Bliss is okay, huh?"

"Bliss is fine, he was just a little lax about giving me your message."

"Um, yeah. I suppose I should have left you a note. I was just kind of distracted." He looked up at Gaia, with an unspoken question in his eyes.

She held out her hand, and two scrolls appeared on her palm. Not even raising her voice, she said, "Hermes?"

There was a silver flash, and the Messenger of the Gods appeared before her, bowing. "Lady?"

"The one with the black ribbon is for Ares, the silver one for Zeus. That should arrange everything. You may tell them that if they have any questions..." she smiled, "or objections, they can speak to me--if they think it will do any good." Hermes tucked the scrolls into the pouch at his belt, bowed to her again, tossed Cupid and Strife a friendly, curious look, and disappeared. Gaia smiled. "Lovely boy, even if he IS an awful liar." She looked at Strife, and lowered her voice. "Would you like me to speak to him for you?"

Strife's eyes darted to Cupid, and the Love God knew that he was the one in question. "No, thanks. I think I'd better be the one." He rose up and kissed her soft cheek. "Thanks. You don't know what this means to me."

"I think I do, dear. Now go on--you'll want as much of this evening as you can get."

He stepped away from Gaia and took Cupid's hand. "C'mon, Feathers. Bliss might decide he wants to branch out if we don't get home pretty soon."

*****

Strife knew children. They caught Bliss just before he started to, under the horrified eyes of a number of priests, 'decorate' Daddy's throne in the main audience chamber. Strife, unmindful of paint smears, scooped up the giggling little boy and slung him up on his shoulders. As he carried Bliss off to the bathing chamber, being steered by Bliss's firm grip in his hair, he told the child to try to get the streaks of color distributed evenly.

Cupid was eager to find out what Strife had been up to--was STILL up to, but he wasn't going to discuss it in front of Bliss. Olympus was full of stress and intrigues, and there'd be plenty of time for his son to have to deal with them later. Let him just be a child for as long as he could.

When he got to the bathing chamber, Strife had filled the large pool with steaming, fragrant bubbles. Cupid was just in time to see him standing beside it, saying, "Okay, remember, tuck your head and stick your arms straight over it, right?"

"Right!" Bliss thrust his arms toward the ceiling, hands close together and arrowed.

"One... two..." Strife suddenly bent, pitching the squealing boy into the water. Bliss knifed through the bubbles in a dive that would have made a water nymph proud. He broke surface again, sweeping his arms so that a spray of water and foam lashed Strife from the waist down. "Ow! Sneak attack! This means war!" In a blink, Strife was naked and pouncing into the pool after Bliss.

Cupid watched them from the doorway as they wrestled, splashed, and ducked. Strife always had better luck getting Bliss to bathe, making a game of it--but Cupid recognized a stalling tactic when he saw it. Strife COULD have put Bliss in the shell tub, running the water up around his waist. It would have been safe to leave him alone, and Cupid could have taken him aside for a talk. Now there was no way they could leave Bliss alone till bath time was over.

Strife waded to the side of the pool and rested his forearms on the tile rim, setting his chin on them. "C'mon in, Birdboy--the water's fine." He wiggled his eyebrows. "And so are you." Cupid shook his head, but he smiled as he stripped off his clothes and joined his husband and son in the bath.

The next half hour was spent in wet pleasantries. Cupid received a foam beard from his son, who made the scary declaration that it made him look like Zeus. Strife squatted in the water and allowed Bliss to give him a pair of bubble horns that everyone agreed were becoming, but didn't really make him look like Bacchus.

Luckily Bliss was only allowed water-soluble paint, and he was finally clean. Cupid and Strife dried themselves while the little boy pranced and flapped on the tiles, vibrating his wings till the feathers were so puffed out that he resembled a snowball. Then they had to preen and smooth the wings till they were shapely and smooth again, listening as Bliss chattered about his day.

Always before these quiet, domestic tasks had soothed Strife, bringing a look of contentment to his face. Now there was a melancholy in Strife's eyes that worried Cupid even more than all that had come before. It was like Strife was trying to make a memory--relishing something that he thought he might not have again.

Strife dressed himself in more casual clothes--soft, loose shirt and pants, and led Bliss back into the dining room, chattering with him about what he wanted for supper, teasing him by suggesting such things as deviled larks' tongues and jellied sea snails. Another delaying tactic, since Bliss usually had a quick, simple meal, unless there was some special occasion.

But he didn't try to push the issue. Strife held Bliss on his lap through the meal, occasionally tickling the child, or poking a choice bit of food into an obligingly opened mouth. Cupid picked at his own food, watching them. Every time he caught Strife's eyes he silently told him that he wasn't going to be able to use Bliss as a barrier for much longer. Strife strung things out for as long as he could, but finally the little godling was yawning and nodding, drooping against Strife's chest.

"Bedtime, baby boy," said Cupid. He crooked an eyebrow at Strife. "PAST bedtime, actually." He stood up and went over to Strife, holding out his arms. Strife passed Bliss up to his father, and Bliss snuggled in the crook of Cupid's arm, looping an arm around his father's neck. But when Strife went to lower his arms, Cupid caught his wrist in his free hand. "You want Daddy Strife to come say goodnight, too, don't you?"

"Uh-huh." Bliss's eyes were already closed, but he nodded, baby soft curls brushing his father's cheeks.

Strife didn't try to pull back as Cupid drew him to his feet, and he followed closely as they walked to the godling's room. Cupid tucked his son into bed, dropping a kiss on his cheek. Bliss murmured, "I love you," then, eyes still closed, held up his arms, fingers crooking. "Stwife?"

Strife bent down and kissed him, accepting a hug. "Blissy? Got something to tell you before you go to sleep." His eyes slid toward Cupid.

"Mm?" Bliss murmured.

"I'm gonna have to be gone for awhile." Cupid felt his stomach drop. "You see, Gaia needs me to help her out with some stuff--real important things, you know? I'm going to have to go stay with her."

"Uh? H' long? You be back for m' birthday?"

Strife was silent for a moment, and a chill settled over Cupid. Bliss's birthday was over two months away. Strife said, "Yeah, I think so. Probably."

Bliss's eyes slitted open. For him to manage that, as sleepy as he was, required an effort of supreme will. "You gonna SLEEP there?"

"Yeah, I'll have to."

"Daddy be lonely."

Strife bit his lip, looking at Cupid, who suddenly seemed to be carved of stone. "I know, baby. I'm sorry about that, but it can't be helped." Strife's eyes were pleading for understanding.

"I be lonely, too."

"Sweetheart," Strife whispered. He kissed the little boy, smoothing his feathers. "I WILL be back--I promise."

"'kay. Love you."

"Love you, too, kiddo." Cupid was watching him, his normally expressive face blank. The Love God turned without a word and left the room.

Strife sighed heavily. He was surprised to feel a little hand creep over his. "Stwife..."

Strife looked at Bliss in surprise. *The kid has to be talking in his sleep." "Yeah?"

"Don't worry. Daddy loves you--always an' forever an' ever."

"I think he's mad at me, honey." A minute shrug told Strife that this was negligent. A moment later there was a soft snore, and Strife knew that Bliss was well and truly asleep. Strife got up and padded out of the room, casting one last, lingering glance at the child who had accepted him as his second father, and who loved him without reservation or question. His heart swelled, and then he went down the hall to speak that child's father--the love of his life.

*****

Cupid was sitting on the bed, his back to the door, unlacing his boots when Strife came in. "Cupe?" Cupid didn't look around. He pulled off one boot and set it aside, starting on the second. "Aw, c'mon, Cupe. You aren't going to give me the silent treatment, are you?"

Cupid set aide the other boot. His voice was steady. "Real cute, hiding behind Bliss all evening."

"I just... I wanted him to have a good evening, since I'm gonna have to be gone so long."

"I see. Were you going to tell me, or was I just going to find a note?" Cupid felt Strife's pain, and, though he had been determined to remain strong, he couldn't help turning back to his lover. Strife looked so forlorn that he felt his anger melting away. He held out his arms, "Come here."

Strife didn't transport, but he might have, he moved so quickly. Cupid was holding him on his lap, wrapping him in his arms, pressing Strife's face to his shoulder. He just held him for a while, closing his eyes and feeling the living warmth that enclosed the spirit he loved. "Why do you have to go?"

"Gaia needs me for something--secret stuff."

"Bullshit." The word was tender. "Most of the world may buy into the whole blonde ditz airhead bit, but you know better. YOU told HER thank you."

Strife sighed. "Still secret stuff, Cupe. It... it's weird shit. There are so many things that could go
wrong. Nothing fatal," he said quickly, "I don't think, anyway. But it's just COMPLICATED."

"This is about what you told me yesterday, isn't it?"

Strife was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "Yeah."

Cupid buried both hands in Strife's hair, on either side of his face, and tugged till Strife was looking him right in the eyes. "You'll be careful." It wasn't a question--it was an order, almost fierce.

"Yes, I will."

"Because I won't make it without you, Strife. I lost you once--I couldn't take it again."

Despite Cupid's grip in his hair, Strife leaned forward enough to brush his lips against Cupid's
mouth. "Wouldn't do that to you, sweetheart."

Cupid sighed. This time it was he who laid his head on Strife's shoulder. "How long?"

Strife was rubbing his back gently, fingers working up between his wings, into the short, downy feathers that grew there. "I don't know, babe. About a month with Gaia to prepare, about a month to do the, um, mission. No more."

"Make it as quick as possible, okay? Bliss will be awful upset if you aren't here for his natal day. So will his daddy."

"I shall endeavor to offer every satisfaction, sir."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow, early. Before Bliss gets up, if I can."

Cupid lifted his head, and said softly, "Then we have all of tonight." Cupid wrapped his arms tighter around Strife. He swung his legs up, then rolled over, bringing Strife under him.

Strife smiled, wrapping his legs around Cupid's waist. "Want me to give you one to remember me by?"

"Strife, I will NEVER forget you, but this is going to be our first real separation since we joined. I... I just need..."

Strife thought away their clothes, sharing a gasp of pleasure with Cupid as bare skin connected. "Me, too, Cupe."

They made love. There were times when their joining was nearly as fierce as the mating of wild animals, but tonight... tonight it was tender, slow--sweet. They already knew every beloved inch of each other, but tonight they explored each other's bodies as if it were the first time, with joy and near reverence. The first time was simple--moving and rubbing together, hands caressing every spot they could reach, till their sperm mingled between their pressed bellies. Then they licked each other clean, and since their heads were already so conveniently placed, the second time was a mutual suckling. After that they slept in each other's arms for an hour or two.

Strife was awakened by Cupid's hands on his buttocks, stroking and squeezing. He rolled on his stomach, spreading his legs invitingly, whispering, "Yeah, Cupe. Please." Cupid was licking and nipping at his neck as a slick finger eased up inside him and began to work slowly, loosening him with infinite gentleness. Strife groaned and pushed back. "More. Need you, Cupie, need you so much."

A second finger, then a third, then his legs were being pushed even farther apart as Cupid moved between them, lowering himself to Strife's body. Strife closed his eyes, rolling his head back and forth as he was filled, basking in the feeling of warmth and completeness. He smiled faintly at Cupid's moan, and his whispered, obscene endearments.

Cupid lost himself in Strife's tight heat. He'd had many bed partners before, but very few actual lovers, and only ONE beloved--Strife. Some might argue, but Cupid was Love, he KNEW there was a difference. It went on for a long time. It was perhaps the longest single sexual encounter they had had to date, and when they came it wasn't the violent burst of passion--it was something slow and gentle, like a warm, tingling wave washing over them.

When they were done, Cupid turned Strife, lying across his body, resting his head on Strife's chest. Before they dropped off to sleep he said, "Tomorrow, wake me before you go."

Strife was running his hands through Cupid's hair. "It's going to be early, Cupe."

"I don't care. I don't want to wake up without you, Strife." He paused, then said quietly. "It hurts."

Cupid didn't think he was going to be able to sleep at all, but Hypnos was a sneaky bastard. Morpheus left him alone, and he was grateful for that. Some unknown time later he felt someone shaking him gently, and opened his eyes to find the room lit only by a single candle, with Strife bending over him. "It's time?" he asked quietly. Strife nodded silently. "Kiss me." Strife did. "Now go." He tucked his head under a pillow.

There was a lingering touch at the small of his back, and he heard Strife say, "I'll come back, Cupid. I WILL."

There was a muted crackle of energy, and Strife was gone. Cupid could tell when his life presence left the room--he suddenly felt just a little colder, a little emptier. He dragged Strife's pillow under him, burying his face in it, and whispered. "You'd better, Strife. Oh, Zeus, you'd better."

Part Four

Not Quite a Month Later

"Daddy." The voice was quiet. There was no response. "Daddy?" This time the voice was a little louder, and questioning. Still no response. Cupid continued to stare at the scroll lying on the table before him, but he didn't fool Bliss. Bliss had figured out that your eyes moved back-and-forth if you were reading, and Daddy was just staring, hardly even blinking. Bliss sighed patiently. This time the single word was accompanied by a poke to the arm. "Daddy!"

Cupid blinked. "Hm?" He looked down. "What is it, baby? Daddy's busy."

"No youse not," Bliss said bluntly. "Youse thinkin' 'bout Daddy Strife again."

Cupid blushed, but didn't try to deny it. "Well, I'm TRYING to work. That's better, isn't it?"

For the first few days after Strife had gone to stay with Gaia, Daddy hadn't done anything much but lay in bed, hugging a pillow. His priests had become concerned. When he had ignored them, they had appealed to Aphrodite. Aphrodite had cajoled, wheedled, teased, and finally bitched, but she hadn't been able to shift him either. Worried, she'd turned to Ares.

Ares had flashed into the bedroom and snatched away the sheet Cupid had pulled over his head. "What the Tartarus do you think you're doing?"

Cupid materialized another sheet and hid under it. "Go away."

Ares scowled, and the second sheet dissolved in a poof of ashes. "You're scaring you son, you great idiot! Strife's gone for Zeus knows how long, and now his father is just as good as gone." Cupid pulled a pillow over his head. "Damn it!"

The pillow seemed to explode in a cloud of feathers. When Cupid sat up, Ares was resheathing his sword. "Dad!"

"When was the last time you had a bath?" Cupid didn't say anything. It had been the last night Strife was home, when he, Cupid, and Bliss had all bathed together. Cupid hadn't washed since then, trying to preserve the last scent that Strife had left on his body with their lovemaking. Now that Ares had asked him, he suddenly realized that the Strife-scent was gone, replaced by something not at all pleasant. "You stink," Ares said flatly. "Your hair is so greasy you might as well have rubbed a handful of butter in it, and your wings look awful. Don't you have any pride?" His son looked at him blankly.

Ares seemed to deflate a little. He sighed, and sat on the bed beside his son. "Cupid..." He hesitated, then said slowly. "I can imagine what you're feeling." When Cupid started to speak angrily, Ares talked over him. "No, I'm not saying I know how you feel--obviously I can't. It's too personal, but I can IMAGINE. I have Joxer--remember? I know how I'd feel if HE had to go away for a long time, for some fool reason that no one would explain to me." He studied Cupid. "All right, I'll say it--I think you're taking it better than I would. But son, you can't go on like this. People depend on you. You're a GOD, damn it. If the mortals see their God of Love like this, so devastated by separation, what faith can they have in their own loves? And if you won't think of them, think of Bliss and your mother. You're worrying them sick."

Cupid rubbed his face, sighing. "I know. I'm sorry, Dad. It's just..." His hazel eyes were so full of pain that it made Ares wince. Cupid hadn't even been this low during the Psyche fiasco. "It hurts so bad--not having him here, not knowing what's happening to him, if he's all right."

"He's with Gaia."

"And she wouldn't let anything happen to him--I KNOW that," Cupid tapped his forehead, "here." He tapped his chest, over his heart. "But I can't feel it here." He flopped back on the bed.

"You're forcing me to bring out the big sword, here. What would Strife think of this?" Cupid sat up abruptly, eyes narrowing. Ares nodded. "Don't you think that Strife deserves someone who's strong enough to hold himself together till he can finish what he has to do?" Ares gripped Cupid's shoulder encouragingly. "Think of it as a siege, Cupid. Think of all the love you two have shared as your stores, and the other's who love you as your walls of defense. Let what has come before sustain you till he returns, and your other loved ones encircle you with their support."

Cupid rolled his eyes. "Gee, a war analogy. How surprising." Ares tried to glower, but there was a relieved smile lurking in his eyes at the renewed life in his son's voice. Cupid stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go bathe and give my wings a good preening before I start hearing supplicants. I probably have a backlog you wouldn't believe."

He had, and he was grateful for it, because it kept him busy for awhile. But he caught up gradually, and then there was just his usual routine. He tried spending even more time with Bliss, and that was good--he LOVED being with his son, and Bliss loved it to. But Cupid couldn't help it. They'd be engaged in some perfectly ordinary activity, and he'd suddenly find himself imagining what Strife would say, or thinking, *Strife would do this.*

The worst times were the nights--when he was really alone. The attendants would be gone, Bliss would be sprawled in peaceful slumber in his room, and Cupid would be pacing the floor, or staring up at the ceiling in his darkened room. He thought about asking Bliss if he wanted to sleep with Daddy, knowing that the little boy would be enthusiastic about that, but he didn't. He loved his son too much to use him as a crutch. And anyway, Bliss was missing Strife, too.

Now the little boy clambered up into his lap, and Cupid settled him securely, stroking first soft blond curls, then even softer white feathers. Bliss put his arms around Cupid's neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Don't be sad, Daddy. Daddy Stwife gonna come back. If Daddy Stwife come back from Unca Hay-dees, he gonna come back from Big Great Gran'ma Gaia."

Bliss thought that Strife was just helping Gaia with something--he didn't know what was really going on. *But then, neither do I,* Cupid thought glumly. "I'm sure he will, sweetie." Cupid sighed heavily. "I just miss him, you know?"

Bliss nodded, then said matter-of-factly, "Go see 'im."

Cupid gazed down at his son. "I'm not supposed to."

Bliss frowned. "Zoos say not to?"

Cupid smiled. "No."

"Great Big Gran'ma Gaia say no? Daddy Stwife say no?"

His father sat up suddenly. "You know what, baby? No one actually FORBADE me from visiting."

Bliss smiled angelically. "Daddy Stwife say look for loopy-holes."

Now Cupid laughed. "Oh, man! You're getting an education, even without your tutors, aren't you?" He stood up, settling Bliss on his hip. "C'mon, babe, and we'll find a babysitter."

Cupid didn't like leaving Bliss with mortals. His priests were willing, but wary. A godling, especially a very active (and creative) toddler was a handful even for a full-fledged divinity. He didn't leave Bliss with anything less than a full god or goddess unless it was the most dire emergency--and he was picky about WHICH deity, too. Bacchus and Dionysus were out--Bacchus for obvious reasons, and Dionysus because it was impossible to child-proof his temple, with all those vats and jars of wine around. Apollo simply wasn't all that good with children--too impatient, and Ace was too busy... The list ran on. He tried his first choice--Aphrodite, but she was out. Hephastus was good with children (he'd been a wonderful step-father), but Cupid just wasn't comfortable yet with having Bliss around the forge. Next stop was Ares. Actually, he'd been near the bottom of the list before he joined with Joxer, but War's Consort was a fantastic babysitter. Bliss never tired of listening to the adventures of Joxer, the Mighty. Of course, every time Bliss stayed with Joxer, Cupid and Strife had to endure several days of Joxer's theme song--lisped.

Cupid arrived in the socializing room of Ares' private quarters. Ares was sprawled in a chair, wearing dusty leather that smelled faintly of smoke, and Joxer was standing behind him, massaging his shoulders. When Joxer saw their visitors, he broke out in a sincere, dazzling smile. Cupid reflected that he believed it was the smile that had first made his father notice the wannabe warrior. Joxer's smile was like a small child's--whole-hearted. But behind it was the intelligence of a man who was more perceptive than most people had ever given him credit for. Ares had looked at that smile and realized that Joxer saw his faults--and still loved him--unconditionally, and unselfishly.

Greetings were exchanged, and Bliss started to squirm to be let down. "Go see Joxie an' Gran'pa, Daddy," he insisted. Cupid set him on the floor, and he trotted eagerly over to the other men. Ares lifted him up onto his lap, and Joxer leaned over his husband's shoulder to receive a smacking, baby kiss. "It's good to see you getting out," remarked Ares.

Joxer nodded agreement. "Will you boys stay to dinner? It's no trouble."

Ares and Cupid exchanged wry looks. Of course it wasn't any trouble--they were all gods, who could whip up a sumptuous meal with a blink. Joxer's mind still ran along mortal lines. "Bliss can," said Cupid. "I'm need to go somewhere, so I was hoping that you and Dad could baby-sit for a few hours."

Joxer was already smiling. He loved children. One of his greatest joys was when he found out that, as a god, he could bear children. He was looking forward to producing little godlings with Ares. Ares said indulgently, "Oh, I suppose something could be arranged. Some sort of official function?"

"No."

Ares looked up at the terse answer, frowning a little. Cupid tried to limit his work to the daylight hours, except for the occasional orgy or festival in the evening. He wanted to keep the evenings and nights for family (an attitude that Ares heartily approved). "No? What is it?" Cupid was silent. "Cupid?"

"Daddy gonna go see Daddy Stwife," offered Bliss.

Ares stood, handing Bliss to Joxer. "Jox, why don't you go show Bliss that new kitten."

Bliss squealed in excitement, and Joxer carried him to the door. "His name is Mjau, Bliss, and he's as black as Nyx's hair." Just before exiting he hesitated. "Ar?" Ares glanced at him, and Joxer's gentle expression was troubled by what he saw in his husband's eyes. "Ar... Just..."

"I know, love," he said quietly. Joxer nodded, and took Bliss into the other room. Ares looked back at Cupid and said bluntly, "Don't."

"Dad, I HAVE to." Ares stared at him. "He didn't say I COULDN'T visit."

Ares sighed heavily. "We went over this when you were a child. Picking your way around the rules isn't strictly honorable, Cupid. You know that Strife intended to have this time to himself, uninterrupted--you KNOW that."

"And I know how he feels about me. Dad, he has to be hurting just as much as I am. He won't be with Gaia much longer. In a few days he'll be off to Zeus knows where for Zeus knows how long. I NEED this, Dad." He bit his lip. "I'm trying, but I'm holding on by my fingernails. If it's going to be another month, I have to see him now, or I don't think I'll make it."

"It could backfire," said Ares quietly. "When you have to leave him, it could be like ripping a half-healed wound open, and pouring in salt."

"It could," Cupid agreed. "But I have to risk it."

Ares studied him. "Yes, I suppose you do. Go on, then, and tell him that I miss him, all right? Wait," Ares grimaced. "Don't do that. I'll never hear the end of it when he returns. Just tell him I seem even grumpier than usual without him."

Cupid smiled, then disappeared, headed for Gaia's valley.

*****

Cupid appeared at the same spot he had before. This time there were no tree spirits in evidence, but he stood for a moment, listening closely, and he could almost hear fond whispers in the sound of the wind moving through the leaves. He walked out of the trees and started down into the valley, scanning the area for Strife or Gaia. He saw neither. The valley wasn't empty, though. Here and there, dryads and earth elementals worked, doing all the hundreds of tasks necessary to keep the valley's thousands of plants green and healthy. Cupid decided to ask one of them, rather than wander around the valley, searching.

He passed the giggling girl with maroon hair who was thinning a thick row of grape vines. Too nervous--it would take him forever to get anything coherent out of her. The youth who was turning the soil in one bare plot looked more promising.

As Cupid approached, he saw that the plot wasn't really bare--neat rows of green shoots--no more than an inch high--marched across the expanse. The young man (probably an earth elemental) was on his knees in the middle, working carefully with a trowel. He wore only a pair of loose, homespun pants, and his skin was tanned a pale, even honey. Black hair, thick and wavy, hung to his shoulders, and half in his face as he worked. "Excuse me, I was wondering if you knew where Gaia is? Or maybe her guest? You know, the Mischief God, Strife? He's staying with her."

The figure froze, then a familiar, yet unfamiliar face tilted up toward Cupid. There was no mistaking those aquamarine eyes, though. "Yeah, I heard something about that."

Cupid gaped. "Strife?"

Strife stood up, unfolding gracefully, and walked over to Cupid, carefully avoiding the fragile plants. "I guess if it took YOU a minute to recognize me, this must be workin'."

"You... look different." Cupid, still a little stunned, looked him up and down. Not A LOT different, but different none the less. If he'd spotted Strife at a distance, he wouldn't have known him--and that disturbed Cupid.

It wasn't just the hair, though that was a good bit of it. The longer hair somehow muted the emphatic planes and angles of Strife's features. He didn't look feminine--far from it, but still he looked softer. And the tan. Cupid was used to his cream pale skin. The light tan made his eyes look even paler, more startling. And there was a subtle change in his body, too. Strife had never been remotely stocky or plump, not even when he was a child, but now his leanness seemed somehow a little more--solid? Substantial? "Have you been working out?"

Strife shrugged. "My training always kept me in shape, but the work I've been doin' for Gaia must exercise different sets of muscles, different ways." He flexed a bare arm, watching the flow and bunch of muscle. "I think I've bulked up, just a little." He looked back at Cupid, his eyes unreadable, and said, "I didn't expect to see you."

"I didn't want to disturb you, but..."

Strife took both Cupid's hands, saying softly, "I didn't say I didn't WANT to see you, Feathers. I just said I didn't expect to. Nice surprise." He tilted his head toward a tiny shack a few yards away. "Want to step into my parlor?"

The tone was pure Strife--sly and suggestive, and Cupid felt a stir of warmth, even as he nodded, and Strife began to lead him to the shack.

The door barely closed behind them before they were wrapped in each other's arms, and it seemed that it would be a race as to who devoured whom. Strife kissed and bit him from neck to navel, somehow managing to nip the taut, shifting muscles of his belly. Meanwhile he was rubbing Cupid's strong thighs, and his hands slid up under the Love God's kilt to find him already hard. Strife flashed a wicked grin up at his lover, then bent and thrust his head up under the material.

Cupid groaned happily as he was enveloped in wet heat, and he couldn't, just COULDN'T, hold back. He grabbed the back of Strife's head and thrust once, twice... and came down his throat. His grip loosened, and Strife came out, licking pearly drops from his lips. "Okay, that's the quick one out of the way. My turn now."

They tumbled onto the narrow bed that ranged against one wall. This time it DID last. Cupid quickly stripped Strife. He moaned when he saw that the tan went everywhere--there were no pale patches. Cupid spent long moments reacquainting himself with his husband's body, discovering new textures and shades laid over the beloved familiarity.

There were a few surface differences, but it was still Strife. He moved the same, he sounded the same, he tasted the same. He made the same breathless noises as Cupid entered him. His skin was just as smooth, and his liquid release was just as hot. When they finally finished, he clung just as tightly.

Strife rested his head on his husband's chest, tracing circles around his lover's bellybutton. He spoke, the first time either had said anything since they'd entered. "Where's Bliss?"

"He's with Dad and Joxer. He misses you."

He felt Strife smile against his sensitized skin. "Miss him, too. Not as much as his daddy, but a lot."

"Dad's been impossible since you've been gone. I think you help relieve as much tension as you cause."

"Do what I can." He was silent for a moment, then said, "You know I didn't mean for you to come here."

Cupid closed his eyes. "I know."

"I thought it would be easier for both of us if I just did this at a full tilt run, with no distractions, and got it over with." He turned his head, looking up at Cupid. "I was wrong. I'm glad you came, babe. Can you stay the night?"

"They'll understand."

Strife patted Cupid's belly, and started to sit up. "I'll fix dinner."

Cupid caught him around the waist, holding him. "So fix it."

"Nah, I mean FIX it--like mortals. You know--fire?"

Now Cupid sat up. "WHY?"

"I'll tell ya, but let me get up. It takes a little while if ya do it this way."

Cupid watched as Strife pulled his pants back on ("Sparks, babe--sparks."), then began to bustle around the small hearth, burying potatoes in hot ash, stewing vegetables... While they cooked, Strife came back and sat on Cupid's lap, and they snuggled in near silence.

Soon Strife stood, and patted his shoulder. "Get up, Feathers. I gotta clear the table if we're both going to eat there."

Cupid stood up, looking around to locate his kilt. When he got it on, he turned to find Strife dumping an armload of scrolls and parchments on the bed, and he vaguely recalled that the small table had been piled high. "What is all that?"

"Later. Have a seat."

Cupid did, and soon he was experiencing the novelty of having dinner served to him by his husband--food that he had cooked with his own hands. It was gave Cupid an oddly tender sensation, and he was determined to eat every bite without a wince or a grimace. He didn't have to worry about that--it was good. Strife, stirring his own food, grinned at his wondering expression. "Didn't expect that, didya? Lemme tell you--if you eat your own cooking, you learn quicker." They finished, and Strife made the dirtied plates disappear. "Some of the divine perks I'm not giving up, though."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

Strife got up and gathered most of the materials he'd dropped on the bed, brought them back, and spread them out before Cupid. Cupid picked up a scroll and opened it, scanning the words inside. He frowned, then picked up another, then another. Strife sat silently, picking up crumbs and flicking them into the fire. Finally Cupid said slowly, "These are all about Celtic history, and the Celtic gods." Strife nodded. "I don't understand."

Strife got up and went to the fireplace. He took a small wooden box from the mantle, and handed it to Cupid. "Don't touch it, okay? It's sort of temperamental. I have permission to use it, but..." he shrugged.

Cupid opened the box. It was lined with red velvet. Inside was a silver necklace that bore an emerald pendant, no bigger than half the first joint on his little finger, in the shape of a blunt splinter. Cupid frowned, bending closer to look at it. There was a lambent glow, deep within the stone. "Strife? That looks like..."

"The Chaos Stone. It's a chip."

Cupid hastily closed the box. It made him nervous just being in the same room with the sentient crystal. "Zeus, Strife, if Gaia finds out..."

"Duh! Who do you think GAVE it to me?"

"GAVE it to you?" Cupid was feeling disoriented. He knew that there were dozens of things he could say, and probably SHOULD say--that whatever Strife was planning was dangerous, was insane, was insanely dangerous... But when he looked up at his lover, the words died.

Strife knew what he was feeling, but he continued. "Sure, gave it. It would be fucking DANGEROUS to steal that thing, then try to use it. It would resent it. I'm a little nuts, but I'm not stupid."

"I know, but I'm just not getting this. You're going to have to spoon feed me. What are you going to do that could possibly need the Chaos Stone, and how did you blackmail Gaia?"

Strife set the box back on the mantle, then sat down again. "I didn't have to blackmail her. I explained what I wanted to do, and the only way I could see it might be done. She loves me--she wants me to be happy," he paused, "and she said that sometimes it's just time for a secret to be over. I asked her. I asked her about my Mom, and my father, and what happened--how we all ended up like this. She said she didn't know, not really, but that if I needed to try to find out, she'd help me as much as she could."

He looked into Cupid's eyes and said softly, "I'm going back."

Part 5

Cupid stared at Strife in horror. "Babe, no," he whispered, shaking his head. "You can't mean what I think you mean."

Strife nodded slowly. "I'm goin' back to about ten months before I was born. I think I can figure out who my Dad is an' maybe why Mom got so screwed up if I just watch what goes on closely enough."

Cupid's mind worked rapidly, searching for arguments to keep his lover from pursuing this mad, DANGEROUS plan. "It won't work, Strife. If the Olympians won't talk to you about it NOW..."

Strife cocked his head. "Cupie, I won't EXIST then. They won't have any reason not to talk to me."

Cupid seized on a new point. "Yes, they won't know you! You know how suspicious the Pantheon is. You'll be a stranger, and they aren't likely to welcome and open themselves up to a complete nobody."

"How about to a fellow god in need?" He touched one of the scrolls. "What do ya know about the history of
the Irish divinities?" Cupid wrinkled his brow. "Right about the time this started, they went through a REAL bad time. Their worshippers waged war on them, an' the gods LOST." Cupid sat back in surprise, and Strife nodded. "Yeah, that's right. What kinds of gods lose a war with their own worshipers? Pathetic. It was a huge scandal. The Gallic gods went to live underground--for safety from their former followers, yeah, but in shame, too. They couldn't bear to show their faces to the other divinities of the world."

He started to pace. "The situation is perfect! You're right when ya say our distinguished relatives wouldn't be inclined to take in a common stranger—but what about a refugee god? What about an Irish godling trying to get away from an intolerable situation for a little while? Someone they could patronize, while pickin' for gossip about..." he sneered a little, his voice falsely sympathetic, "those poor things in Ireland?"

He struck a pose, weight nonchalantly on one foot, hip cocked, and rested a hand on his chest. His longer hair fell over his brow, half shading his eyes, and he smiled impishly. "Meet Erin, Irish God of Humor and Pranks."

Cupid gaped. "Is there--WAS there such a person?"

Strife slouched into a more familiar stance, and shrugged. "I don't think so, but it hardly matters. It ain't likely the Pantheon would know. I think they were even more self-absorbed back then than they are now."

"But Strife, what if they're NOT? What if they suspect something? They could... It's DANGEROUS."

Strife went to him, and took him in his arms, holding him closely. For a moment Cupid hoped against hope that he'd gotten through to him, but then Strife whispered, "It don't matter, Cupe--can't ya see that?"

Cupid clutched him, feeling tears come into his eyes. "No, I can't." He turned his head and kissed Strife fiercely. When he pulled away he said, "But I CAN see that you won't be dissuaded." He kissed Strife again. "For Zeus' sake, Strife, be careful. Come back to me." Then he left.

Strife found himself with empty arms, surrounded by pink sparks and rose petals. He caught one of the petals, bringing it to his face to smell the sweet scent--one thing that always reminded him of Cupid. He jerked his head back. There was a dryness—a mustiness about the aroma, as if the flower had been plucked a long, long time ago, and had begun to decay. Unnerved, he dropped it, and it melted into nothingness with the others. "Cupe..." he whispered. " Ah, babe, I'm sorry, but I have to. I have to."

* * * * *

It was an obscure mountaintop, for good reason. Long ago, during the battle with the Titans, it had been devastated, wiped clean of all vegetation. Not even Gaia could coax green things to grow in the gray, rocky soil. It would be centuries before the earth had healed enough to support life. No one ever came there, but now two figures stood on the bare peak.

"Are you ready, dear?" Gaia looked kindly at the young man standing nervously before her.

He looked quite different from the God of Mischief who'd come to live in her valley a month ago. Instead of his customary head-to-toe black leather and shiny steel, he was clad in a rainbow of colors. He wore tight trousers of fine scarlet linen, tucked into high, polished boots. His shirt was also linen, but cut loose, with flowing sleeves, and it was jet black. The neckline was deep, giving glimpses when he moved of his smooth, well-defined chest. There was a short cape of peacock blue, and it fastened at his shoulders with matching pins of silver and garnets. The bright colors complimented the light gold of his tan. His hair gleamed like the wing of a raven, falling in waves to just brush his shoulders. A thick lock fell across his forehead, and he brushed it back with a gesture that was fast becoming a habit. "Yeah, I'm good to go." He glanced around at the desolate landscape. "I just kinda wished we could do this closer to home. This place makes Asphodel look cheerful."

Gaia shook her head. "You know why we can't. The Chaos Stone isn't really pleased about this, even though it IS cooperating. There's a chance that reality may react, er, harshly--and we can't risk being close to anyone or anything that might be endangered."

Strife sketched her a brief salute. "Gotcha." He glanced down at the sliver of Chaos Stone where it rested against his chest, dangling from the silver chain. He'd practiced wearing it, because it gave him the heebie-jeebies at first, making his skin crawl, puckering with goose pimples. He still wasn't comfortable with it, but he wasn't obviously unnerved by it, either. "Is this thing gonna put me down in the right place?"

"Yes, dear. It can work with both time AND space. All you need to do is concentrate on the appropriate time and place. I'd suggest that you set down just outside Olympus, and have yourself officially admitted."

He scratched his chin. "They might not wanna let me in."

She smiled gently. "Oh, I don't think that will be a problem, dear." She reached out and stroked his hair. "You're quite fascinating, you know."

He grinned. "You're my great-grandma--you have to say that." He blew out a breath. "Okay, just outside the gates of Olympus, one hundred-seventeen years and ten months ago." He looked at her. His tone was almost nonchallant, but there was worry in his eyes. "You might want to vacate, if it's gonna be all rough, and stuff."

"No." She took a step back. "I'll see you off." Strife took the Chaos Stone amulet gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, cutting his eyes down at it. Gaia said, "Just remember--ask it NICELY."

Strife cleared his throat, and closed his eyes. He hadn't spent much time around the gates of Olympus--being a god he usually just transported to and fro--but he was familiar with them. He pictured them in his mind--pictured a spot just outside them. Then he thought of everything he could that might symbolize time running backward. Apollo driving his
chariot from West to East. Dried, brown leaves drifting up to fasten to branches and grow green with sap. An anonymous mortal, wrinkled and grey--his hair darkening, back straightening, and skin smoothing...

Under his breath he whispered fervently, "I know I ain't done much to recommend me in the past, but I need this. I need it bad. Please."

He waited, eyes tightly closed. He felt a small, cool breeze lift a strand of his longer hair against his cheek. It had been silent, save for the dry ticking of crumbling earth being moved by the wind, but now he heard distant birdsong.

He kept waiting. Nothing else happened, and he felt his hopes sinking. It hadn't worked. The Chaos Stone had, after all, decided not to fulfill his request.

He sighed. "It didn't work."

"What didn't work?"

The voice was not Gaia's but it WAS vaguely familiar, and it sounded suspicious. Strife opened his eyes.

He blinked in surprise. Instead of the blasted landscape he'd expected, he found himself staring at a blank wall of creamy marble. He looked around quickly. The wall stretched into the dim distance in either direction, except for a massive, brazen, barred gate a few feet to his right. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. Yes, behind him was smooth grass... until you came to the expanse of clouds. He was, indeed, standing just outside the gates of Olympus.

"I said 'what didn't work'?" The voice was even more suspicious now. "And I also want to know who you are, how you got here, and what your business is. This isn't a place for loitering about, you know."

Strife slowly approached the gate and peered between the bars. A pale, handsome face, half-obscured by a sheaf of blood red hair peered back at him. Janus--God of Doorways, and (naturally) Gatekeeper of Olympus. He was studying Strife intently. Strife considered Janus one of his few friends, but there wasn't a hint of recognition in his expression.

*Fuck. This may just work.* Strife smiled charmingly and swept him a bow. He added a slight lilt to his voice, saying, "As to what didn't work, it was me plan to keep me destination secret from me family. Alas, they know where I am. The good thing is that I don't think any of them will have the grit to come after me--provided they WANT me back home. In answer to your other questions: How I got here--the usual way." He transported from the left side of the gate to the right and back again, all in the blink of an eye. Not Janus' eye--he watched this commonplace occurance without winking. "Who I am--" He swept a low bow, being sure to make his cape swirl dramatically. "Erin--God of Humor and Pranks."

"We don't have one of those."

"Of course ya don't. I'm a god of... well, Erin."

Janus' single visible eyebrow rose, as if this were very significant. "I've heard that things are a bit... unstable in your land."

Strife let his smile sour a bit. "Would you be the Grecian God of Tact? Unstable is a kind word to describe the totally fucked-up state of my homeland." Janus' lips quirked briefly at Strife's wry tone. "Since you seem aware of what has been going on, please spare me the relating of the sorry tale, at least for awhile. I just want a quiet place away from all the pain and humiliation currently thrumming through my family, and my home. I'm hopin' that the Greek Pantheon will have mercy on a poor refugee."

Janus cocked his head, considering. Sanctuary could be granted only by Zeus himself. The King of the Gods did not want to be bothered except on important matters, but he was capricious--you never could tell WHAT he would consider important. *And he's always interested in anyone who might prove amusing.* Janus swept his gaze appraisingly over the young godling before him, taking in his lean, well formed body, peacock attire, and quirky handsomeness. *This one is decorative, at the very least, and his vocation is humor.*

Janus touched the gate. There was a short sizzle of energy, and the gate slowly swung open. "Enter, Erin, Ireland's God of Humor and Pranks. I can offer you only temporary sanctuary. Zeus himself has final say." Strife stepped through the gate, sweeping Janus another bow as he did. As the gate swung closed behind him, Janus continued, "If you will come with me, I will arrange quarters for you."

As they started away, Strife said, "Quarters? I thought you said I'd have to be approved first."

Janus snorted. "You don't think you'll be able to just waltz in, do you? I'll have to petition for him to grant you an audience, and you'll have to be a true favorite of Fortune for that to be granted within a day or two. I'll settle you in temporary rooms, and you'll have to remain in a restricted area till your status is official."

*Crap! How'm I supposed to find out what the fuck is going on if I'm cooped up all the time?*

Janus noticed his dismay. "Don't worry--it isn't as if you're going to be imprisoned. There'll be no bars or chains..." He thought. "Unless you manage to royally peeve a visiting god. They WILL visit you, as soon as they learn of you." He gave Strife a cynical look. "I'll warn you right now--your hopes of escaping painful memories about what went on in your homeland are futile. Gossip is second only to Ambrosia as a necessity of life as far as the Pantheon is concerned. Now, let's see... Where would you be most suited?" He eyed Strife's vibrantly colored clothes. "Definitely not the House of War. I'm sure that Apollo would welcome you into the House of Intellect, but he's full of himself already, and being given the honor of a possibly interesting guest would make him insufferable. That leaves the House of Love."

The layout of Olympus hadn't changed much in a century, and Aphrodite's gleaming pink marble temple was exactly as Strife remembered it from a month before. The priest on duty eyed Strife with lively interest as Janus explained things to him. He bowed, saying, "Lady Aphrodite is at home now, and I'm sure she would wish to be informed immediately." He gestured toward a bank of comfortable chairs. "If you will have a seat, I will inform her directly."

As the mortal bowed his way out, Janus turned to Strife. "I have things I need to do, but you should be fine. In the unlikely event that Aphrodite feels that she can't put you up, just send Hermes for me, and I'll figure out something else. If push comes to shove, I can find some space for you at my place."

As Janus left, Strife thought, *No, THANK you. You never know where the fuck you're going to end up when you go through a door at your place, Janus. I might get up to hunt a chamber pot in the middle of the night and end up in Asphodel.*

He settled himself comfortably in a chair, slinging a leg over one arm, then resting his elbow on that leg and propping his chin in his hand. He let his eyes wander arond the room idly. There WERE a few minor differences. That tapestry, for instance. It actually had more red than pink in it. Was Dite getting pinker as time went by?

There was a flicker of motion at the corner of his vision. Something behind that tapestry had moved. A lifetime of paranoia and House of War training kicked in, and Strife was suddenly standing before the sheet of fabric, a dagger held behind his back, reaching for the tapestry with his free hand.

For some reason, he hesitated, though every instinct screamed at him. He looked down, to where the tapestry cleared the floor by a scant inch. He could see bare toes--TINY bare toes. He fought down a smile. *Well, it's either a kid, or the first midget assassin I've every run across.* He made the dagger disappear, saying, "It's rude to hide from a visitor
unless an official game of Hide and Seek has been declared."

There was a rustle, and an interested voice said, "You play Hide an' Seek?"

"Sometimes--if I'm asked nicely."

The tapestry was pushed aside. The little boy was about mid-thigh tall to Strife. He was wearing nothing but a swatch of white cloth wrapped around his middle, and had messy blond curls--and wings. Strife felt a dizzying moment of unreality. "Bliss, what are you doing here?"

The child frowned, crossing plump arms. "I live here, an' I'm not Bliss--I'm Cupid." Strife blinked hard for several moments. "Mister, you okay? You look funny."

"So I've been told," Strife said faintly. "But I'll grow on you--trust me on that."

Part 6

Cupid cocked his had, studying Strife. "I don't know you. I thought I knew ev'rybody on 'lympus."

Strife felt the need to sit back down, and sank onto a small sofa. "That's 'cause I'm not Greek, kiddo. I'm Irish."

Cupid climbed up beside him. "Air-ish?"

"Some say that me head is, but they're just jealous." Cupid frowned for a second, then got the joke and giggled. "I'm from Ireland, and I've come to see the sights. I'm hoping your mom can put me up for awhile."

"We gots lots of room," said Cupid agreeably. "You can sleep in my room, if you want."

Strife winced. "Um, someday, but not now. The idea brings up all sorts of ethical and moral dilemmas."

Now Cupid frowned. "Are you a phil-soss-ipher? My daddy says that phil-soss-iphers are a pain in the butt, an' talk way more than is good or healthy for any person. He says they love the sound of their own voice--sorta like Unca 'Pollo."

Strife cackled. "Some things never change. Nope, I'm not a phil-sossi-pher, but I -do- have a
phil-sosso-phy."

"Can I see it? I've never seen one before."

Strife coughed. "I'll have it embroidered on a hanky some time soon, then you can see it. It's just an
idea."

"Well, why didn't you SAY so? What is it?"

"Screw 'em if they can't take a joke."

Cupid thought about this for a moment, then giggled. "You said 'screw'."

Strife giggled, too. "You should have heard what I was THINKING."

"I like you. If Mommy doesn't let you stay, I won't take a bath or eat my vegetables."

"Do you do that without being told?"

"Well, no."

"Still a good plan."

Aphrodite came wafting into the room in a cloud of pink gauze and rose scent. She was wearing her hair a little differently, more of a smooth fall than the riot of curls she'd had at Strife's birthday party, but it was still Dite. No one else on earth OR Olympus could bounce like that, and for the first time Strife experienced Dite in 'well, hellooo, handsome stranger!' mode. *She's damn near melting the silver in my jewelry. I'm sorta glad Cupid's here--she HAS to have toned down the thermostat a couple of degrees with him watching.* Strife stood up quickly, and gave Aphrodite his most courtly bow, being sure to flourish the cape.

"Well, Toomis told me I had a distinguished visitor, but he didn't tell me what a cutie you are! Have a seat." As Strife sat, Dite said, "Cupid, honey, scoot over and let Mommy sit down."

Cupid scooted, but TOWARD Strife. Then he patted the cushion invitingly. "Here, Mommy. Lotsa room. This is..." He looked up at Strife. "You know my name, but I didn't hear so good behind the tap'stry."

"Eavesdropping again? Honestly, baby, I don't know what I'm going to do with you!" She looked over at Strife. "You wouldn't believe the precautions I have to take if I want to throw the simplest little orgy, and if I don't send him to a sitter, the guests are so nervous that they don't really enjoy themselves."

"Ah, he's just a curious lad. There's no harm in him." Cupid gave Strife a pained look. Strife winked at him while Dite was distracted, flipping her hair. "My name is Erin, after me own, dear homeland, and I'm their God of Humor and Pranks."

"Oh, I've heard about the problems you've been having over there." She clucked sympathetically, but the look in her eyes told him that she intended to get a long, juicy accounting from him, somewhere down the line. "And you're here seeking refuge?" She giggled. "I must say THAT'S novel. You're welcome to stay here for as long as necessary, sweetie. I just hope you aren't in a big hurry to make it official. Zeus is pre-occupied with his latest squeeze--an Etruscan dancer." She wrinkled her nose. "Not one of mine, and Hera really has her toga in a twist over this one. She's told him that if he fathers one more bastard child... Well, Chronos will look like a gentle and nurturing parent." She stood up and smiled fetchingly, offering her hand. "Now," she cooed, "why
don't we go get you settled in a room?"

Strife was relieved when Cupid popped up and grabbed his mother's hand, then offered his free one to Strife. "Yeah, an' then you can come see my room. I gots building blocks, an' lots of paint an' parchment. You can show me what your house is like back at Air-in." Dite was pouting as they made their way from the room, but Cupid didn't notice (or if he did, was too used to it to pay any attention). He'd found another interesting subject. "Do you got a mess'ger there, like Hermes? Cause when somebody sends you a scroll, how does he know where to take it if they just say 'Erin'? Huh? He can't take it to the whole COUNTRY."

*Keep chattering and keep close, Cupie,* Strife thought. *I should be pretty safe once I'm introduced to Heph and make a big show out of how lucky he is to have such a wife. That'll puff Dite up and give her a teeny case of the guilts at the same time, and she'll probably spend the next few days trying to prove to him how right I am.*

He spent the rest of the afternoon with Cupid. It gave him some great ammunition for when Cupe started in on Bliss with 'when I was your age, -I- never...', and it kept Aphrodite out of his pants. She lingered for a little while, but it was spring--her busy season, and she had work to do. Cupid was happy to have him, since Olympus had even fewer child gods now than they had in the future, and the adults weren't always patient enough. They couldn't see the fun in building a block tower thirty-five times, and knocking it over thirty-four times. When Cupid mentioned this, Strife just shrugged and knocked the structure over again, saying, "Tartarus, kid, it's not like we're building for the ages."

When they moved on to drawing, Cupid insisted on a picture of Strife's house. Luckily Strife had a good imagination, because he wouldn't have been able to explain a detailed sketch of the Olympic Temple of War. *And I'd probably be explaining it while strapped down in one of Ares' torture chambers. He's got a low tolerance of people having information about his defenses when they shouldn't.*

There had been a few sketchy illustrations in his research material, and he elaborated on them. Strife was actually a pretty good draftsman, and he quickly drew up a fanciful looking edifice, with plenty of soaring turrets, narrow windows, and snapping pennants, with a moat, and a drawbridge on either end. Cupid clapped in delight when he inked a monster into the moat, and explained that they let it eat all the castle-to-castle peddlers it could catch. He felt foolishly proud when Cupid insisted on pinning the sketch in place of pride, over his bed.

Supper was informal. 'Erin' was introduced to Hephastus, and quickly engaged the God of the Forge in a discussion about various practical jokes, like dribble goblets, or chariot wheels that made loud, obnoxious noises without any easily discernable (or correctible) reason. Aphrodite could see that her husband was taking a liking to the visiting godling, and regretfully crossed him off her list of future conquests. Heph loved Cupid like his own, but she knew that he still ached a little that he was Ares' blood, and not his own. He had wanted desperately to give her children. Despite the wandering eye that was dictated by the nature of her godhood, she loved this rough man with all her heart, and never wanted to hurt him. He turned away from her many frivolous trysts, but sleeping with someone he knew, and liked, would hurt him. Erin was off limits.

She watched him as he told some long, elaborate joke. The candlelight glinted on the blue of his eyes, and the silver bangles hanging from his ears. He wasn't exactly handsome--far too quirky for that. *Exotic.* She nodded to herself in satisfaction. Now he'd stood up and was demonstrating how he'd snuck up on some poor, unsuspecting mortal, in order to administer a well-deserved boot in the behind. His gestures were exaggerated for his laughing audience, but he moved with fluid grace, and the body inside his gaudy clothes was lean. *Okay, hands off for me. But that doesn't mean I can't look into setting him up with someone ELSE.* She smiled at him sweetly, beginning to run over the list of unattached goddesses. She re-examined his colorful clothing. *Goddesses, AND gods.*

Strife had seen that look many, many times. *Uh-oh. I think I've been targeted. Thank goodness Cupie hasn't taken up his duties yet, or Mama Love would have him shoot my ass, sure as shit. Eh, if she's REALLY serious about fixing me up, she won't try to jump my bones herself. And if I don't act TOO skittish, she'll try to nudge it along naturally, without resorting to potions. Looks like I flirt my ass off. What a hardship.*

"You know, Erin, I think I ought to set up a little do tomorrow. Zeus will declare a state function to officially introduce you to the Pantheon somewhere down the line, but there's no telling WHEN that will be."

"I'd hate to put you to any trouble." *Wait for it.*

"Oh, NO trouble. I LIVE for parties."

"But tomorrow afternoon..."

"HERMES!" It was, if there is such a thing, a ladylike bellow.

Hermes appeared in a silver flash. He had a drumstick in his hand, and looked annoyed. "Zeus, Dite, is this an emergency? I'd like to occasionally have a meal that wasn't interrupted."

"Yes, it's urgent. I'm having a little party tomorrow, and I need everyone notified tonight. Just an informal affair--no sex unless they really feel moved."

Hermes sighed, rolling his eyes. "This is urgent?"

"Hermes, you like bringing GOOD news, don't you?" She pointed at Strife. "Meet Erin--God of Humor and Pranks from the Celtics. He's fleeing a homeland in turmoil and a bad home life, the poor lamb."

Hermes turned interested eyes on Strife. *Translation: gossip fodder. But the more I can meet at that shindig, the better.* He looked bravely tragic.

Hermes nodded at Strife. "I've heard about you. I'd offer to shake hands, but..." He lifted the chicken leg.

"No problem. Sorry about your meal, laddie. Being the messenger must be a tough, thankless job." *Butter, butter, butter.*

Hermes looked pleased, then shot an arch look at Dite. "It's nice to know some people realize that. Okay, Dite. I'll have the word out in a jiffy. You want RSVP?"

"No, I'll just plan on having an open house."

"You always do."

The plate she threw flew through the cloud of sparks that marked his departure. Love might be blind, but she had darn good aim.

END PART 7