The Morning Duet
by Scribe

Chapter 1: Where the River Goes

Strife enlists the help of Hades, Cupid and Morpheus to cure Ares of his grief...

Strife, the dead God of Mischief, came to a complete standstill in the middle of the morning chores he was performing for his great-Uncle Hades, Lord of Asphodel. A wave of unbearable longing and grief washed over him painfully. His assignment, or victim... depending on your point of view, was left dangling by his ankles over a pit of jagged rocks as Strife tuned into the thoughts of the living. The force of those thoughts was overwhelming and, try as he might, Strife could not keep them from ringing in his ears and echoing through his soul. The mind thinking them was too strong, too focused, and too powerful for him to filter out.

Ares.

His favorite Uncle, the one who had taken him into his home and raised him as a son, was most definitely NOT taking his death well at all. Few beings knew Ares well enough to notice his... abstraction of late and of those that did know the War God well enough to analyze his odd behavior were all too busy dealing with their own hurts and problems in the aftermath of Dahok's attack.

But the dead God knew all too well the madness that was slowly creeping over the God of War. Not only had he been one of Ares closest confidants, he was dead. The dead can hear the thoughts of the living when the living think about them, and Ares was almost constantly thinking about Strife. There was always a low murmur of thought trickling in from his Uncle as Ares always had thoughts of the Mischief God tucked into the back of his complex mind. But every now and then, Ares would pull out a memory and torture himself with it anew, and then Strife would share the War God's pain and suffering with him.

Another violent wave of emotion slammed into the dead God and Strife crumpled to his knees with a gasp. He lost his grip on the creaking rope that had held his prisoner suspended and the man dropped down into the pit with a sickening crunch of shattered bone and flesh. Strife didn't notice. He was quickly being pulled into the swirling chaos that Ares mind was slowly turning into. He had a brief moment of lucidity in which he noted that the manic stage had passed and that the War God had now swung back to the depression end of the spectrum before his consciousness was usurped.

~~~

Trembling in every limb and feeling as if he'd had the life sucked out of him once again, Strife answered his great-Uncle Hades summons. The energy needed to materialize in the Great Hall was almost more than he could do, and when he arrived he collapsed into a heap in front of the Lord of Asphodel's throne. He lifted tired and wan eyes up at his great-Uncle and basked in the shimmer of power that surrounded him.

"S'up Uncle Hades?"

Hades flashed him a compassionate smile and began to gently feed power and energy into him. As the trembles slowed down he grinned up in gratitude and straightened up a bit.

"You have a guest young one."

Hades tipped his head towards the side of the room and the dead God turned to see his ex-lover staring at him in horror and shock. The Love God's thoughts were a chaotic swirl and they battered at his mind painfully. He couldn't help it, he cringed away.

"Cupie! Stop, please! Don't think so loudly, you're hurting me. I... can't handle any more right now."

Cupid's mind was pulled up short in confusion to Strife's vast relief. He sighed as the force of God focused thoughts eased once again.

"The dead can hear the thoughts of the living, remember?"

Almost as if in a daze, Cupid nodded his head at the Lord of Asphodel. Strife could sense the Love God's thoughts come back into order, but this time they were not a vicious blow to his soul. They were protective in nature as apposed to blazing anger and fear.

"But... but... how does that explain the condition he's in? I mean... he can barely stand. What does that have to do with the thoughts of the living?"

The God of Mischief grimaced and painfully pushed himself to his feet. He staggered slightly, but he caught himself. Cupid quickly started towards him so that he wouldn't have to walk across the floor in his condition. Hades got a thoughtful look on his handsome face as he considered the question seriously.

"The thoughts that come from mortals are like feathery touches to a dead soul. If the soul is strong enough, they can tune them out as easily as they can listen to them. But the thoughts of a God? Those thoughts are too focused and there is too much power behind them to shut out. Not only that, but the thoughts of a God also carries the emotions and feelings of that God to the dead soul."

Strife enjoyed the feeling of Cupid being able to physical pull him into those thickly muscled arms he had missed so very much. Only here in the Underworld did a soul have substance, physical properties, and as such, they could... and often did, enjoy the touch of another. It was so tempting to just forget his troubles in the calming arms of his ex-lover, but this might prove to be his one chance to get some help from the other side, so he focused on the conversation.

"What does that have to do with Strife? I mean... are you saying this is my fault because I think about him and I miss him?"

The Mischief God hugged Cupid tighter and hastened to reassure him.

"No! Cupie, no. It's not you at all, honest. It's Ares."

Cupid blinked in surprise.

"Ares? What did Dad do?"

Loyalty to his favorite Uncle and his training to keep all of Ares secrets battled with the desire to stop the painful and destructive cycle they were both trapped in. Locked in indecision, Hades finally took the choice away from him by explaining.

"Cupid... your father is... well, he's going insane. He simply cannot deal with Strife's death. He feels guilty because it was his plan to set himself up as a double agent to learn Dahok's weaknesses and because he couldn't prevent Callisto from getting to Strife with the Hind's Blood Dagger. He also feels anger at Strife for not being there. See, without Strife, Ares literally has NO ONE. He simply doesn't trust Discord and Demios is too young to understand the finer details of his... plans. The influx of mortals being sent here from him has tripled since Strife died."

Strife watched the expressions chase themselves across Cupid's beautiful face as the Love God considered the Lord of Asphodel's words and compared them to the recent actions of his sire. The dead God felt him shudder.

"Let me guess. All of those negative thoughts... the anger, the guilt and the loneliness are all being directed right at you?"

Strife flashed a weak grin at the one being he loved as much as Ares.

"Don't forget all the demented raving."

Cupid let loose with a sarcastic snort, but it held little humor in it.

"Cupie. I really don't know what to do about it. Every time that Ares goes off around the bend over my death, he takes me with him. I can't block him out of my head, he's too strong. And I... well, I get hurt when he thinks about me. I feel his pain and anger... fuck, I share it with him."

Cupid raised one elegant eyebrow up in confusion and Strife tried to explain.

"I know I'm dead and all, but I'm also a God. A mortal couldn't share Ares pain, but I can. A mortal would probably have their soul blasted into the void by the force of Ares suffering, but not me. I'm too strong for that. I can take some of the pain and hold back the madness a bit... but it's wearing me out. Ares pain is growing and he doesn't give me enough time to recover before it all starts up again. Uncle Hades here helps me out a lot, but..."

Strife didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to. Everyone there knew what he didn't say. Eventually, Strife's ability to withstand Ares chaotic thoughts would reach an end. Then the soul of the Mischief God would be blasted into the void and the God of War would succumb to his madness and the mortal world would be drowned in blood.

It was a sobering thought that felt like a kick in the balls. While Strife generally tried to push the very idea to the back of his mind, it had grabbed hold of the Love God with both hands. He could feel the edges of the convoluted logic of his ex-lover as he worked through the problem.

Suddenly, the God of Love got a delightfully wicked smirk on his handsome face. It was an expression that never failed to get Strife's juices flowing and his divine sense for mischief revved up to full power. It was a facet of his ex-lovers personality that he had missed and still remembered fondly.

"I got it! What Dad needs is to fall in love!"

A cold lump of disappointment settled in his belly and he sighed. It was only with great restraint that he didn't roll his eyes in exasperation.

"Cupie? That's always your solution to any problem. Just how would Unc' Ares fallin' in gooey sticky love help?"

Cupid just shot him a 'duh' look that was eerily reminiscent of his mother Aphrodite.

"Didn't you two just tell me that he is lonely? That he no longer has a confidant? No one who is close to him, who understands him, and that he feels he can trust?"

Twin nods answered his questions.

"Well, if Dad had someone who loved him. Someone he could love in return, then things would change. I mean, he'd be able to vent in a positive way. It would give him a focus to the present and the future, instead of him dwelling in the past and mourning what he's lost. It'll give him a chance to heal."

Strife could understand the God of Loves logic... but this was Ares he was talking about. The God of War for Zeus sakes! Yes, Ares did have the ability to love, but it wasn't a priority to him... and there were very few that he would be willing to let close enough to him to allow love to grow. And even fewer still that would be willing to get that close to the War God. He was about to shoot down Cupid's plan when for some unexplainable reason, great-Uncle Hades agreed with the featherhead.

"Yeah... that could work. But it would have to be someone... special. Someone strong... yet with a soft side. Someone who Ares could... respect, but not someone so blood thirsty that it would sidetrack the main goal of love. And it would have to be someone who could understand his grief and pain without feeling pity."

Throwing his hands up in surrender, Strife knew that the idea had taken a firm root in the minds of the other two Gods and he figured that he might as well jump in the boat before it set sail without him.

"Fine. But just where will we find someone who fits the bill? And just how do we convince this special someone to go to Ares?"

He turned to glare at Cupid.

"You can not just shoot the person full of your arrows. Ares would smell the geas in a second and he'd just get pissed."

Thankfully Hades agreed with him so all Cupid could do was pout. Granted, it was a sexy and alluring pout, so Strife didn't mind. Then, with a perverse need to reassure the God of Love, he turned around and demanded that he take part in the whole scheme.

"So Cupid? Let's see this list of compatible mates for Ares... Once we know what we have to work with, we can choose one."

Cupid blinked in surprise at the obvious agreement to his hasty plan and then put the full force of his devious mind and compassionate heart into the problem of compiling this desperately needed list. His brow furrowed in deep concentration and he began to pace the length of the Great Hall. Silently, the dead God of Mischief and the Lord of Asphodel watched the bronze skinned beauty with the fluttering wings of white feathers as he muttered to himself.

The minutes ticked by and Strife began to fear that even the God of Love would be unable to come up with someone who could learn to love the dark and cruel War God. He was beginning to feel a sense of despair that came with the lessening of hope, which was odd, since he didn't even realize that he had felt hope to begin with. He was just about ready to call the whole thing quits when Cupid stopped pacing and turned back to face them.

"I got it. There's not too many people who meet all of our specifics. I mean, there are hordes of people, mortal and immortal alike that are willing, even eager to fuck him... but being able to love him. That's a cat of a whole different color."

Strife and Hades graced the Love God with identical 'spit it the fuck out' looks. While Hades was known to be patient, he was not known to tolerate babbling. And Strife... well... he could wait a whole second if forced to by physical restraints. Cupid merely rolled his eyes at his over eager relatives and co-conspirators and got to the meat of the whole deal.

"Well... first, there's Celivious. She's the youngest daughter of one of Dad's warlords. She's a pretty skilled fighter in her own right, but she specializes in treating battlefield wounds. She's intelligent, compassionate and she doesn't spook easily.

Second... there's Hanelle. She's a breeder and trainer of horses that are used in light cavalry brigades. She's a decent marksman with a bow as well. Any army that uses horses for their troops would kill to get her skills.

Third... well, it's not so much a single person... rather than triplets. Individually, they each have something that would spark interest... I'd say to go with the youngest of the three, except that I'm not so certain Dad would be able to respect the man much. The other one that would work doesn't seem to have the depth of compassion we're looking for. It's almost a pity that we can't just melt Joxer and Jace into one person. That way, he'd be perfect."

Strife stopped Cupid's recitation of the list of eligible people by holding one hand up in the air. The other's looked at him in mild confusion. He didn't care... he wanted to confirm to his mind that his ears did in fact hear what he thought they heard.

"Jox?... You mean, Joxer the Mighty? And Jett? The King of Assassins?"

Cupid blushed at Strife's scrutiny and then scowled at the fact that he had blushed. Strife thought he looked absolutely adorable all flustered like that, but he pushed that aside for later. He was too busy having an epiphany. His shock turned quickly into absolute delight.

"Cupid! You're a genius!"

A confused look crossed his handsome face at the unexpected compliment, but it soon shifted into a beaming smile. Strife didn't even try to restrain his giggle as he turned to face his great-Uncle Hades.

"Uncle Hades? Can you ask Morpheus to come here and help? I want him to help me send a dream to Joxer. I'll use the dream to explain the situation to Joxer and then tell him what we want him to do. He'll be relieved to have someone to talk to as well. This'll kill two birds with one stone."

The Lord of Asphodel looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face and for a moment, Strife thought that he wouldn't agree to have Morpheus help out. But then, Hades nodded his head and his dark eyes became unfocused as he mentally commanded his servant to appear before him. In a mortal heartbeat, the shape-shifting God of Dreams appeared in a roll of hazy white smoke.

"You summoned me, my King?"

Strife could barely contain himself he was so excited. If this plan worked, so many problems could be solved at once. His ex-lover would be thrilled to have committed another act of love and gooiness and his Unc' Ares would stop pulling him down into a madness that wasn't even his own. With a grin full of mischief and his head full of ideas, the dead God bounced over to the mysterious God of Dreams in the midnight blue robes.

"Morpheus... I need you to help me send a special dream to an old friend of mine..."



Chapter 2: Wicked Garden

With the help of Morpheus, Strife sends out a dream to Jox so he can cure Ares of his grief...

Slowly, languidly, the luminescent fog parted to reveal a few details about his location. The full moon drenched the place, reflecting off of the swirling mist and sparkling on the clinging dewdrops, lending to the sense of unreality in this... garden?

Jox looked around as the glowing fog receded a bit more. It was indeed a garden. A dark and overgrown garden filled with unusual plants. Large thorn bushes grew in profusion, their jagged barbs long, sharp and cruel. When he tried to move, those thorns snagged at his clothing and scratched his pale skin. He yelped and pulled back onto the center of the narrow path once more.

Turning to look in the opposite direction, he was faced with a dying tree. It's skeletal branches raked the uncaring sky as a clinging red-green vine slowly choked the life from it. A raven perched on a limb above him cawed. The chilling sound shivered down his spine and sweat broke out across his forehead.

//...wicked garden...//

Jox's head whipped around to stare intently down the path before him. He could have sworn he heard the voice of... but that was impossible. He was dead. Still, he wasn't really sure where here was or how he'd even gotten there, so perhaps?... Jox clamped down on the tiny sliver of hope that had risen within him and decided to find out where he was.

The path was narrow and winding through the tangled and overgrown garden beds. The ground he walked over was crushed black marble and clinging vines seemed to reach out across it to clutch at his ankles and legs. Nightshade and Poison Ivy grew in profusion in amongst the brambles and jagged thorns. A sliver of fear wended its way around his heart and began to squeeze.

Trembling, he forced himself to follow the path, even as the sharp thorns of the bushes tore at his clothes and scratched his skin. He fervently hoped that they were not poisonous to humans.

In a matter of minutes... or was that centuries?... he came to a fork in the path. One fork led to the edge of the garden and the bright sunlight beyond. It promised salvation and hope. The other path led deeper into the dark and the despair at the very heart of the garden. Jox wanted to turn towards the sunlight so badly that he could taste it. He was just about to step onto the lighter path when he heard that voice again.

//...his wicked garden to the ground...//

He couldn't not follow that voice. It was the same voice he had been listening to his entire life. Fighting a conflicting desire to both run away from the garden and to go to the voice at the same time, Jox compromised by walking slowly and carefully into the center of the darkness.

Somehow, it was impossibly worse in this part of the garden. The thorns were thicker and longer and the vines writhed upon the path. A carnivorous plant snatched a giant beetle out of the very air and Jox was certain he could hear the thing cry out in agony.

A breeze picked up along the pathway and the deadened trees creaked and groaned as they swayed alarmingly. Dead leaves, twigs and small pebbles swirled in mini whirlwinds at different points along the path and the putrid scent of decay began to form. Mist and fog grew thicker and more clinging, yet it did little to spread the moonlight this deep in the grove.

The disheartening screech of a large bird grabbed his attention from the thorn bush he was trying to get past and Jox glanced up quickly. There, in the tops of a dead white tree, was the midnight raven once more, its beady black eye trained on him with great interest. A shiver washed over him, leaving his skin a rash of goose bumps.

Pulling away from the dagger-like thorns, Jox moved a ways down the dark and gloomy path until it came to a sudden and sharp bend. Even though he had never been to this place before, Jox somehow knew that the turn in the path lead to the very heart of this... wicked garden. He was certain that he'd find the source of all this... evil.

//...burn his wicked garden to the ground...//

That voice. That much loved and greatly missed voice. He didn't want to... but he had no choice, he had to follow that voice.

Taking his courage in both hands, Jox turned the corner and walked the short distance to the heart of the garden. There, at the end of the path, the garden opened up to form a small area free of plants surrounding what appeared at first to be a black marble birdbath. The moonlight overhead reflected from the mist that swirled freely through this area. Jox could see that there was a man standing at the birdbath in the very center of the garden grove, but the ever changing light and the clinging fog obscured his face.

Hoping against hope that the owner of the voice he had followed was that man in question, Jox stepped off of the path and into the heart of the wicked garden. A horrendous and overwhelming wave of grief and pain slammed into him in a sudden and frightening rush. He swayed on his feet and almost crashed to his knees at the onslaught of emotion. Battling to keep himself together, Jox moved forwards once again.

As he got closer, he still couldn't see the man's face. He could feel his anger and his pain and suffering, but he couldn't identify him. However, he did see the birdbath more clearly. The black marble basin held stagnant and brackish water that was swimming with dead bugs and crumpling leaves. The man was standing beside it, peering into it as if it held the answers to all his questions.

//...burn his wicked garden to the ground...//

Determined to help this grieving and desolate man, Jox listened to the voice that had guided him throughout his life and walked towards the bent figure by the birdbath. He reached out with one pale and trembling hand and touched the strangers shoulder. The stranger turned to face him and they both gasped in surprise. Then Ares, the mad God of War let loose a howl of unutterable anguish and grief before collapsing at Jox's feet.

~~~

Jox sat straight up from a sound sleep and screamed his throat raw.

~~~

It hadn't taken long to convince Xena that he wanted to go off on his own. She was a little worried because of the nightmare he had been suffering every night for the past week or so, but the chance to be alone to try and sort out her own grief for Gabrielle had been too much of a temptation for the Warrior Princess.

Now, here he was, outside the Temple of War, ready to face his nightmare in the flesh. It had taken a little while to figure out the meaning behind his nightmare, but once he did, he felt compelled to go to the War God in person. How Ares himself would feel about that, he didn't know.

Taking a deep breath and settling his helmet more firmly on his head, Jox walked up the few stone steps and pushed open the door. A few torches lighted the Temple and as such, the room was smoky. Trying to control the trembling in his limbs, he walked across the floor of the throne room and placed his hand upon the chill surface of the alter.

"Ares... Can we talk? It's... ah, important."

In a flash of violent red energy and a sudden displacement of air, the God of War appeared on his throne. His dark eyes glittered with anger and his aura washed over Jox as a wave of grief and sorrow. He watched as Ares glanced at him incuriously and then did a classic double take. This time the War God stared at him in annoyed anger and indignation.

"You're Xena's annoying little friend... Um, Joxer right? What in Tartarus do you want?"

Jox swallowed nervously and reminded himself that this was important and it was most likely the last assignment he'd ever receive, so it was imperative that he complete it. It must be dreadfully important if he had been given orders from the underworld, right? Jox cleared his throat and swallowed again, trying to loosen the suddenly tight muscles so that he could speak without squeaking.

"Um... I'm here to talk about... well... about Strife. See, I miss him and I figured that you'd be about the only one who'd... well, understand."

The aura of sadness morphed instantly into anger and indignation. Jox fought the urge to turn tail and run for the hills. Trembling, he watched as the War God sat forward on his throne, a ball of blazing energy slowly forming in his outstretched right hand.

"And just who are you little man, that you think you know the Mischief God well enough to miss him, to wish he was still alive and well? Xena's pulled some low tricks, but this one is below the belt... even for her."

Jox couldn't help it. He snorted in sarcastic amusement.

"Xena didn't send me here to torment you. I came here on my own. The Warrior Princess doesn't know half as much as she thinks she does. I don't belong to her... no matter what she thinks. I belonged to Strife... I always did."

Ares looked startled for a quick moment, but then he covered it with a derisive scowl. The War God waved his left hand in a vaguely dismissive gesture at Jox.

"What... let me guess? You met him once or twice and he gave you a piece of jewelry with either his name or his symbol on it as a sign of his favor? Well... sorry to disappoint, but my nephew did that with a lot of mortals. It meant he liked you... it didn't make you one of his..."

Jox grinned. This was the easy part... well, if he survived it, it would be. Quickly, before he could loose his nerve, Jox began to undress. He pulled the helmet from his head and tossed it to the floor. Then he began to work on the myriad of straps and buckles that held his armor together. This was enough of a shock that the War God didn't blast him on the spot. He didn't want to push his luck, so he tried to talk and possibly explain.

"Yeah... I know all about the jewelry. I don't have any of that stuff. I gave a few pieces out to some people a couple of times, but I myself don't wear any. I don't need it."

Finally, Jox was able to get his shirt off to expose the skin of his chest and arms, leaving him with only his pants and his boots. Taking a deep breath, he turned around to put his bare unprotected back towards the God of War.

"I've got this instead."

He heard the startled gasp and the low murmur of "Strife" pass Ares lips. Then the sound of creaking leather and a few footsteps that drew up behind him. He flinched slightly as a warm fingertip gently began to trace the lines of the intricate tattoo etched permanently into his living flesh.

It was a complicated and oddly delicate background of swirls and angles that fit into a continuous pattern from the base of his neck to the base of his spine. It traveled from one edge of his shoulders to the other. Not an inch of skin was spared. Right in the center, in big bold black lines, was the symbol of Strife, God of Mischief.

It was a tattoo that only the highest-ranking Priests of Strife were allowed to wear. Rumor had it that only those mortals that had divine blood running through their veins could achieve this level, but Strife himself had denied it. And it had been painstakingly etched into Jox's skin by the hands of the Mischief God himself.

"I never knew..."

Jox nodded his head and looked over his shoulder to see the open pain and grief shinning from the War God's dark eyes. He could feel the fingertip begin to trace the thick lines of Strife's symbol and shivered at the light feathery touch.

"You know it's a secret sect. No one is supposed to know..."

He felt more than saw Ares nod his head in silent agreement.

"If you're one of Strife's High Priests... then why do you always follow Xena around? I don't get it. And do your brothers know about this?"

Jox grinned. It was a sneaky grin and it made his eyes sparkle with mischief. He turned to face the still stunned God of War and gently led him over to sit back down on his throne. Then, with his smirk firmly in place, he tried to explain everything.

"Okay. First question. The reason I follow Xena around is because she totally annoys you. See, Strife wanted to do something nice for you, so he sent for me. We talked it over for a bit and then we created Joxer the Mighty. We wrote a silly theme song for him and made the armor and sent him off to irritate and annoy Xena and her friends."

"But your Joxer."

Jox nodded in agreement and giggled.

"Sometimes... yeah. I like him. Joxer's a lot of fun, although it took Strife forever to teach me how to fall down without automatically catching myself. He wanted Joxer to be a bit of a klutz and I just had the worst time making myself fall on my own face!"

Jox laughed at the memories that ran through his mind about the time he'd spent with Strife inventing Joxer the Mighty. He felt a light touch flutter against his mind and then saw a small half smile flicker on Ares lips as he shared a few moments of that time period.

"Second question. Do my brothers know about my service to Strife? No. But that's only because I'm an only child. I don't have any brothers."

Confusion washed over the War God's face, forcing his full bottom lip into a pout. Jox stared at the beguiling sight and forced his eyes and his thoughts away from the arousing expression on Ares handsome face.

"But... Jace and Jett?"

Jox grinned again. His smile was very wicked and he pointed a finger at his own bare chest.

"Me and... me. They're both "parts" I have played for Strife over the years for one reason or another. Jett's by far my most famous persona, but Joxer runs a close second. Strife thought it would be a hoot to have them be "brothers", so that's what Joxer started telling people. Whenever they would get together, for whatever reason, Strife always played the parts that I wasn't doing at the time. That way, people could see us interact and reinforce the idea that we were, in fact, brothers."

Ares gazed down at him with a mix of pride and amusement etched on his darkly handsome face. A half smile twisted his full lips and he snorted in wry amusement.

"Yeah... my nephew was a sneaky little pain in the ass. He loved to be able to get a job done well, but if he could pull a fast one on everyone at the same time? It was icing on the cake. He got such a wild kick out of messing with people... even if they didn't realize that he was doing it."

Jox nodded with enthusiasm.

"Yeah... and he had such a morbid sense of humor too. His jokes were sometimes deadly... but they were always funny. Well... unless you were the punch-line that is..."

Ares chuckled. It was a dark and warm sound that reverberated throughout the stone temple.

"Oh yes. He did pull some good ones, didn't he? Hey! Did Strife ever tell you about the time that he..."

~~~

Jox stood in the beautiful moonlight and glanced up at the shining stars that glittered overhead. He breathed a deep sigh of unutterable relief to be free of the wicked garden at last. Turning slightly, he pulled the ragged and weary God of War around to his side and gently forced the larger hand to unclench from the back of his torn and bloody shirt. The trembling God fell into his arms and buried his grief-ravaged face into the side of his long pale neck.

Jox rubbed Ares leather covered back and made soothing cooing noises into his ear and gently pushed the tangled black curls away from his scratched cheeks.

//...burn his wicked garden to the ground...//

Jox turned to look back at the twisted and gnarled plants that made up the garden grove they had just escaped from. Even now that they were free, it seemed as if the vines and branches tried to reach out and pull them back in. He shivered.

Suddenly, a chill sound screeched, breaking the eerie silence of the night. Jox looked up in time to see the dark winged raven fly overhead. The bird dropped a sparkling stone from its beak and the object tumbled through the air into Jox's outstretched hand. It was a glittering jewel, like likes of which Jox had never seen before. It seemed to pulse with a subtle energy all it's own.

//...burn his wicked garden to the ground...//

Not knowing how he knew what to do, but doing it anyway, Jox turned to face the dark and overgrown garden. He hefted the jewel in his hand once and then threw it with all his might at the evil place of despair. He could hear it crash through the leaves and bang off of a tree trunk before landing with a muffled thump on the ground.

He waited half a moment and then there was a huge explosion that sent violent concussion waves outward. He and Ares clung to each other and shivered as a wave of madness and pain washed over them before dissipating. Then, a giant tongue of flame poured up into the night sky from the very heart of the wicked garden.

Silently, Jox and Ares watched as it burned to the ground.

~~~

Jox woke up from a sound sleep and gasped for air. He looked around startled and disoriented. This was the first time in over a week that he hadn't woken himself up with his own screams. He struggled against a weight that held him down and was beginning to panic when his memories began to sort themselves out. The dream about the garden began to fade away as reality set in once again.

The weight holding him down was not some bizarre dream monster trying to drag him back to the garden grove, it was instead, the arm of the sleeping War God wrapped tightly around his waist. He glanced blurrily around and saw that they were in a darkened bedroom and curled around each other in sleep. Well... one of them was still asleep.

It was hard to see due to the lack of lighting, but Jox wasn't too interested in the decor. He was more interested in how he'd ended up in the War God's bed... with the War God himself. He knew it hadn't been sex. He himself still wore his pants, even if his boots and shirts were missing. And Ares?... well, he was still dressed in his full black leather armor.

Slowly, Jox tried to focus his mind and figure out what had happened to bring them here, to this point. His memories were a bit disjointed and foggy and to top it all off, his head felt thick and his stomach a bit woozy.

He remembered that they had been talking about Strife and all of the misadventures the Mischief God had gotten into. That had been in the main throne room of the temple. He had gotten hungry and so Ares had conjured up a delicious dinner and some... honey wine! Jox knew better than to drink mead, it always made him very open and silly and it loosened his tongue dangerously. Yet, for some reason, probably not wanting to offend Ares, he had drunk a lot of the sweet brew last night.

He had vague memories of breaking into song. He wasn't sure, but he had the sinking feeling that he'd graced, or cursed depending on your point of view, Ares with the naughtier and steamier version of the "missing" verses of Joxer the Mighty's theme song. The version that Gabby and Xena never got to hear.

He also had disjointed recollections of the evening turning maudlin towards the end. They had both been deep in their cups and Strife's wake had taken on a decidedly morbid and sad tone to it. He remembered, with a sharp pain of embarrassment, that his grief and loneliness for his dead God and friend had eventually overwhelmed him. He had begun to cry into his cup.

Surprisingly enough, Ares hadn't blasted him into atoms, instead, he had gathered Jox into his thick strong arms and tried to comfort him. Jox recalled how he had buried his face in the War Gods shoulder and howled out his rage and grief with tears streaming from his eyes. He could even remember the sensation of Ares beginning to tremble as well and the feel of hot tears rolling silently down the side of his neck as they dripped from the grieving God's eyes.

His last true memory of the night before was of falling into a troubled sleep on Ares strong shoulder. The War God must have simply moved them here after he had passed out. And then he had dreamed.

If he understood the meaning of his dream, then the worst of it was over. The both of them could now heal and move on. Jox wasn't sure why they needed each other to do so, but Strife's voice had been insistent, and he couldn't disobey.

Jox looked down at the sleeping God that was clutching him as if he were a lifeline and smiled gently. He raised up one finger to lightly trace those soft kissable lips and had to push down a wave of arousal. There would be time enough for that later. But not now.

Careful not to wake Ares, Jox snuggled back down into his warm embrace and closed his eyes once more. The War God shifted slightly and then pulled him in tight to his chest, but didn't wake. Slowly, Jox's mind began to drift back towards sleep, but before he succumbed once again, he had a vow to make.

"Rest easy Strife. I'll take care of him for you. He won't be lonely any more. I promise..."



END: MOURNING DUET