AresJoxerCupidStrife - Scribe

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8

Title: Backward, Turn Backward
Author: Scribe
Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess
Pairing: Cupid/Strife
Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com
Status: WIP
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

Part One

//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."

Title: Backward, Turn Backward, Part 2/?
Author: Scribe
Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princes
Pairing:
Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com
Status: WIP
Sequel/Series: No
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: Strife relates what's bothering him to Cupid,
and comes to a decision about what to do about it.
Warnings:
Notes: I have decided that this fiction will not fit
the parameters of most of the lists I have sent it to
so far (There may be some slash sex later on, but it
will not be with designated pairings, and there WILL
be het sex at some point). After this chapter, I will
send it only to my ScribeScribbles list,
sexthrutheages, and makebelieve, Midnight's Domain,
and Jia Jive. Other than that, I will begin uploading
it to my personal website. If anyone wants the next
chapter.
Rating: N17

Backward, Turn Backward
Part Two
By Scribe

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."

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."


Title: Backward, Turn Backward, 4/?
Author: Scribe
Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess
Pairing: Cupid/Strife
Rating: NC17
Summary: Cupid can't stand being away any more, and
goes to Gaia's valley to see Strife. He gets a
surprise.
Archive: Yes, but tell me where, please.
Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com
Status: WIP
Sequel/Series:
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
Warnings: This series will deal with dark themes,
including incest. This isn't my usual light hearted
Strife.
Notes: This story is separate from the Love and
Mischief series. Impetua has never been born, and
Joxer is the God of Compassion, not Peace.

Backward, Turn Backward, Part Four
By Scribe

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."


Backward, Turn Backward, Part 5/?
By Scribe

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 Zues 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 imprissoned. 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."




Backward, Turn Backward, 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.



Backward, Turn Backward, Part 7
By Scribe

Strife was sleeping much more soundly than he'd anticipated. He'd lain awake for a while the night before, tensed and waiting for the sound of someone tiptoeing in, but gradually he'd decided that his strategy had worked--Dite didn't have any personal ambitions toward him. Once he'd stopped worrying about that, the sheer emotional stress of what he was doing took its toll, and he was out as thoroughly as he'd ever been.

It was excusable that he was a little out of it when the warm bundle of flesh and feathers crawled on top of him early the next morning. He didn't open his eyes, just saying, "Oof. Bliss, be careful where you put the feet, okay?" He looped an arm over the little body and dragged him down to his side.

"Okay, but I'm not Bliss," said the childish treble.

Strife opened his eyes, peeking down at the little blonde boy. "Right. Sorry. Not awake yet."

"Who's Bliss? Is he a little boy you know?"

"Yeah."

"Is he YOUR little boy?"

"Mmm, kind of. His daddy is nice enough to say so."

"Is he...?"

"Enough questions!" He grabbed Cupid and lofted him into the air. Cupid giggled and flapped his wings, hovering. Strife reached up, grabbed a foot, and jerked him back down. "Time to get up."

Cupid thumped onto the mattress, reached down, grabbed his own ankles, and began rocking. "Yep. You prob'ly need all the time you can to get ready for Mommy's party this afternoon."

Strife sat up, glad he'd decided to sleep in the loose bed trousers. "I know I look a little rough when I first get up, but I need THAT much work?" he said wryly.

Instead of automatically assuring him that he looked fine, if not stunning, Cupid cocked his head and considered him. "You looks pretty good." He pointed at Strife's hair. "But my Mommy always takes at LEAST a turn of the hourglass on her hair."

"Yeah?" Strife thrust his hands into his hair, spiking it even more. "I'm good to go." That got another giggle from Cupid. Strife crawled out of bed and gave a sinew-creaking stretch, scratching along his ribs. "Um... Let's see... Dite's idea of informal." He giggled. "That means no crowns an' scepters."

Cupid made a face. "She's gonna try to make me wear shiny pants again, I bet."

"Shiny pants? Isn't that Apollo's fashion statement?" Strife blinked on a hunter green outfit and looked down at it critically. "What do you think?"

"Auntie Demeter would like it."

"It goes." He made it a soft, pastel green instead. "How about this?"

"She still would," said Cupid sensibly. "Now it looks like spring 'stead of summer. Not GOLD shiny pants. Use'ly red or white. I kicked an' bit when she tried to make me wear pink."

"Good man. I don't know of any man who can get away with pink except Jayce of Corinth, and he's..." Cupid looked at Strife expectantly. "He's a special case. You mean your ma makes you wear satin britches?"

Cupid crinkled his nose. "Them or those softie kind that feel like a baby kitty."

"Satin and velvet. Zeus. Your ma is a great woman, kid, but she's never quite got the idea that her fashion don't suit everyone." He looked down at the outfit again, frowning, and it was suddenly a screaming, almost GLOWING Kelly green. He arched an eyebrow at Cupid. "Well?"

Cupid grinned, clapping his hands. "Oh, yeah! They don't got that color NOWHERE on Earth 'less someone MAKES it!"

Strife held up a finger. "Artificial! JUST the look I'm goin' for. Just a little tweaking..." He added lemon yellow piping, then a sash and soft leather boots of turquoise. He changed his various articles of jewelry to emerald and citrine, then stood in front of the room's full-length mirror. Turning, he gestured at himself, eyebrows arching.

Cupid stood on the bed and began hopping up and down. "You look won'erful! Just like one of my paintings."

Strife laughed, thinking that a child's sense of color co-ordination was a wonderful thing. His eyes gleamed slyly. "Tell you what, laddie--why don't -I- dress you?"

Cupid stopped hopping, and regarded him thoughtfully. "You gonna do it wiffout touching? I don't know you good enough to let you dress me touching."

Strife sobered. *Shit. Even on Olympus a beautiful child like Cupid has to be careful. I'm just glad that 'Dite is still letting him be a kid while she keeps an eye on him. This reminds me--I need to draw up a list of creative tortures, so I can be ready in case anyone messes with the Blissmonster. Don't want to put 'em out of their misery too fast.*

Strife tucked his hands behind his back. "That's real smart, little man, but I can do it from here, and not even Hermes could catch a glimpse of your hienie."

Cupid hopped down. "Sure. But no shiny pants, huh?"

"Why d'you think I'm dong this?" Strife thought, reminding himself of one of his favorite outfits on the adult version of Cupid. He blinked slowly, and Cupid gave a small squeal, wiggling, since it tickled a little.

Cupid looked down at himself. He was wearing a pair of brown leather pants, decorated down the outside seams with alternating scarlet hearts and golden arrows. He wore a matching vest that opened in the back, giving his wings room to move comfortably. Cupid peered down at himself curiously. "I gots a flap." He grabbed the loincloth that hung in front, lifting it, and peeking under.

Strife quickly clapped a hand over his eyes. "CUPE! That's for when you need to use the chamber pot, NOT for entertaining the public."

"Oops. Sowwy. You can look now--it's down." Strife opened his eyes when a tiny hand grasped his own. "Let's get breckfas'. If we hurry, you c'n make me some honey cakes 'fore Mommy gets up."

Strife let himself be led toward the common dining room. They passed what was obviously the main bedroom, and Strife's steps lagged just a little. There were unmistakable sounds coming from behind the elaborately carved, pale wood door. Cupid said matter-of-factly, "That's just Mommy an' Daddy Heph wakin' up. They usually roll aroun' an' stuff before they come out. Mommy says it's her 'eye op'ner', an' Daddy Heph turns red, like he been working at the forge."

"You ever heard the expression--the more things change, the more they stay the same?"

"No."

"You will."

About a half-hour later, Aphrodite and Hephastus strolled into the dining room, arm in arm. Their guest was sitting at the table with Cupid. They seemed to be playing a game that involved seeing how close to the edge of the table they could send a crust of bread by snapping their fingers against it. Judging from the small pile of bread on the floor, neither quite had the hang of it.

Strife poked Cupid in the ribs, and the little boy gave him a conspiratorial look (one which included a wink so broad that it would have fit right into a farce). Cupid hopped down and hurried over to his parents. He turned in front of them, arms outstretched. "Look, Mommy! Look, Hephy! Erin made these for me. Aren't they GREAT? Can I wear 'em to the party, Mommy? Can I, huh, can I?" He glanced at Strife, who made a discreet rolling motion with his finger. "Can I, can I, can I, can I...?"

"YES, baby!" interrupted Aphrodite. When Bliss clapped, beaming, she sighed. "Anyway, I suppose so. I had the sweetest pair of crushed velvet pants picked out, but if our guest was gracious enough..." she trailed off, then smiled. "Those ARE nice hearts. Thank you, Erin."

"Ah, sure, it's nothin' at all, kind lady," drawled Strife. "It was me pleasure to do a little something for the lad--a small token in thanks for your graciousness."

Cupid frowns slightly as he listened to Strife. He had crawled up in a chair beside him again and, as Aphrodite and Hephastus sat and began to create their own meal, he said quietly. "How come you talk different now?"

"Hm?"

"When you got up, you sounded diff'rent."

Strife swallowed, suddenly realizing that he must not have been using his accent when he was alone with Cupid. *STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!* his mind screamed. Cupid was the person he felt most relaxed with, that he trusted the most. It had unconsciously carried over, and that could be BAD here. Dite and Heph were quietly discussing the upcoming party, so Strife leaned over and whispered to Cupid the one thing that might keep a child from blabbing, "I'm playing a trick on everyone. Don't tell?"

Cupid giggled, hazel eyes dancing, and nodded. "Okay. You gonna tell me what the trick is?"

Strife pushed a soft yellow curl up off the godling's forehead. "This will sound odd, laddie, but I'm not sure of it meself. Hopefully we'll BOTH know--later."

*****

As Cupid had predicted, Aphrodite spent the rest of the morning twittering over her appearance, making changes so minute that Strife was sure they were invisible to anyone who wasn't a woman, or didn't have a magnifying glass. He spent part of the morning teaching Hephastus the 'goal kicking' game he'd been playing with Cupid.

The God of the Forge was fascinated. He got a quill and parchment and began making designs, muttering busily to himself about how it could be improved if they put it IN an enclosed table, then provided bars with various knobs and such to swat at a little ball instead of a bread crust. "I have so much to do that I'll only be able to work on it in my spare time," he explained, "but it's fascinating. I think that it may be ready in a couple of dozen centuries, but I have no idea what to call it." He showed Strife a sketch. "See, the actual playing pieces can be carved to represent men, so that it's as if two teams are opposing one another."

Cupid, sitting on Heph's lap, unplugged his thumb long enough to say, "They kicks it with their foohtsies."

Heph blinked. "Fooh--?" Cupid wiggled his feet. "Oh, feet."

"Foohtsies," Cupid agreed.

Heph looked thoughtful, and muttered, "Foohtsball?" He shook his head, rolling up the parchment. "It'll come to me. Erin, something amusing?"

Strife choked down a giggle, thinking that he'd just seen the invention of a bar and pub staple. "Just life in general."

Even though this was to be an informal gathering, it was held in a large audience room. After all, open house on Olympus could bring down a ton of guests, especially when it was rumored that someone new and interesting was going to be there.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Hermes was the first to arrive. Being the unofficial God of Gossip, he felt it was his duty not to miss a thing. He was followed closely by Apollo, who arrived in a bevy of Muses. *The better to make a grand entrance,* thought Strife wryly as the God of the Sun approached him. Apollo was smiling brightly, but he was also giving Strife a raking, appraising gaze. Strife felt a twitch of unease when he realized that there was more than a little sexual speculation in that look. Various levels of incest weren't uncommon among the gods (witness his relationship with Cupid), but Apollo had ALWAYS grated on his nerves. He went beyond even the usual 'I'm a god--you should be flattered' attitude, and whenever he was met with smug vanity, Strife felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to puncture it.

Apollo had never shown him all that much attention, so this initial interest was a bit confusing. Apollo held Strife's hand longer than necessary after the initial handclasp, and complimented him on his tan, wondering aloud if it was 'all over'? *All I can imagine is that since I was around from birth, it was the ol' familiarity breeds contempt bit. Now when he's suddenly confronted with Erin, a fully matured stranger, he sees things differently.* Apollo offered to provide the rays any time Erin wanted to erase any tan lines--in private. Strife held back a snicker, thanking him and turning him down in as graciously vague a manner as possible.

Some things were remarkably the same, some things were pointedly different. Zeus was still a pompous, condescending jackass, and Hera still watched narrowly as he flirted with the nervous mortal priestesses who had been detailed to serve at the gathering. Hestia brought him a gift of cookies. Bacchus arrived drunk and immediately pinched his ass and propositioned him. Luckily he was easily distracted, and all Strife had to do was wonder out loud how Hecate was keeping that low-cut gown over her bosoms. Strife was a little surprised to see Hades and Demeter acting civil to one another till he realized that Persephone had not yet been born, so their feud had not begun. Artemis offered to take him hunting. Athena was cool, but civil. He had the feeling that the Irish pantheon's defeat at the hands of their mortal worshipers put him in a distinctly lower caste in her eyes. *Snooty bitch, as always.* Poseidon made a brief appearance, bringing the smell of brine with him. He was cordial 'since your namesake land is an island nation, and your people live closely with the sea.'

But as the party went on, the two that Strife was most anxious (and most dreading) to see had not arrived. Aphrodite came over to where Erin was sitting, surrounded by a number of the younger godlings (who were always happy of someone new, of their own generation). "Having a good time, Erin?"

"Lovely, just lovely. All these fine people are makin' me feel right at home. But," he glanced around, "am I wrong, or are we still missing a few?"

Aphrodite glanced around casually. "I don't know... It looks like a full turn out."

"I'm thinkin' that, uh, well, I'm not seeing as much leather and metal as I'd expect."

Aphrodite flicked her hand and giggled. "Oh, that's right! The House of War is tardy--again. Phonos is over there, glowering at Zeus because he still refuses to include Executions in his godhood--says he's saving that for when we get a God of Justice, or Retribution, or something. But as for Ares and Eris," she shrugged. "They're always late. I think he sent some excuse about having a civil disturbance to oversee, but Zeus made attendance mandatory, so they'll show up eventually." She wrinkled her nose. "I just hope he has the good grace to CHANGE before he comes. Sweaty, bloody battle dress is NOT my idea of party fashion."

Strife continued to chat brightly with the others, trying to hold down his rising impatience. He knew that if they didn't arrive soon he was going to lose it and cause some mischief--there was just too many carefully dressed people and too much food and drink waiting to go flying for him to resist if he wasn't distracted.

He felt the two familiar power signatures well before the crackle of energy and red flash that announced their arrival. Ares and Eris appeared near the entrance to the room, side-by-side, glowering at the bright, colorful crowd. Strife couldn't repress his sharply indrawn breath, and the godling on his left misinterpreted it. Obviously thinking that this flighty, fragile (at least to the unobservant) visitor was frightened, he patted Strife's knee and whispered, "It's just War and Discord. Don't be nervous--they wouldn't dare try anything with Zeus himself here."

Strife shot him an incredulous look, but quickly morphed it into a smile. No one knew better than he what his uncle and mother were capable of, but the idea that Mischief, himself a major force of Chaos, would be sent into shivering apprehension by the mere sight of them... *But I'm NOT Mischief--now.* "Oh, I'm not worried. I'm sure they'll be as gracious as has everyone else."

Now it was the godling's turn to look incredulous. He muttered, "Well, I suppose you can always hope."

Ares and Eris had gone directly to the refreshment table, ignoring all around them, expressions disdainful, and a little irritated. Strife bit back a titter as he saw Dite making a beeline for them, brows drawn down and a determined look on her face. She was going to be the good hostess and see that her guest was given proper courtesy if it killed EVERYONE.

She started talking to Ares in a low, rapid voice. He glanced over to where Strife was sitting. Strife's skin prickled. That might have looked like lazy indifference to anyone else, but he knew that his uncle had missed NOTHING. Ares shrugged, and started to turn back to the wine. Aphrodite grabbed his arm--not something many people would dare to do with the God of War, and continued talking. She tilted her head toward Strife as she spoke. It was obvious that Ares and Eris were being ordered to get over there and make nice.

There was a hint of a snarl in Ares' voice when he answered her. The mischief thick in the air was giving Strife more of a buzz than the wine he'd consumed. Aphrodite spoke again, and this time you didn't have to be a lip reader to catch 'Zeus'. Ares looked over at his father, to catch his grim expression. He grunted, set down his cup of wine roughly enough to make it slop over, and said (loudly enough to be heard by Strife), "Let's get this over with."

The crowd parted as he strode over, Eris following two steps behind. The more senior gods and goddesses trying not to look as if they were scrambling to get out of his way. Strife stood to meet him, and that earned him an arched eyebrow. Showing the proper awareness of Ares' position and power was a good starting point.

Aphrodite had scurried along after him, probably upset at having to look undignified to keep up. As Ares and Eris stopped before their guest, she said, "Erin, allow me to introduce Ares, God of War, and Eris, Goddess of Discord. Ares, Eris--this is Erin, God of Humor and Pranks."

Ares' upper lip twitched. "As if we don't have enough trouble with Loki to the North and Coyote to the West--another trickster." He sounded singularly unimpressed.

Strife held up a finger, "Ah, not exactly, your worship." Ares looked at him suspiciously, seeking traces of mockery. Strife smiled charmingly. "They're more in the mischief making lines, I'm more of an..." he held out his palm, and a white mouse appeared. He put it on his head, where (much to Cupid's delight) it began to play hide-and-seek in his hair, "entertainer, of sorts. Now, if I was like them, that wee mousie would have gone down the cleavage of that bonny lassie standing beside you." He winked at Eris.

She frowned at him, but... *I have to be seeing that wrong. Is that... Does she think that's FUNNY? Zeus, is that really Ma? It looks like her, but normally a remark like that would have had a dagger at my throat by now.*

The look Ares was giving him clearly said that he believed that Strife was insane, no matter what he said. "Mm. Well, welcome to Olympus. Maybe we can get together some time and you can tell me exactly how you lot managed to lose a war with a bunch of mortals. But wait for an invitation--the Halls of War tend to be a little, er, unforgiving of people who come in unlooked for and unannounced." He turned away.

Eris started to follow him, and Strife said quickly, "Oh, don't be taking the sunshine of your presence away so soon." She stopped and stared at him. He smiled. "Yes, it's an awful line, but it got your attention, didn't it?" He leaned toward her conspiratorially. "Despite what I told your brother, some of my work could be related a bit to your own. You're in charge of Discord, eh?" She nodded. "Pranks can fall into that domain." He chuckled. "Ever see what a properly motivated team of horses can do in a crowded market--particularly in the pottery section?" She smiled slowly, and he offered his elbow. "I'd be pleased if you'd join me for a chat somewhere a bit more out of the way." When she hesitated, he held a hand over his heart. "Strictly professional." Then he crossed his eyes.

Eris made a startled sound that was almost a laugh, then cleared her throat, and spoke to him for the first time since his arrival. "Sure, why not?" She glanced dismissively at the crowd around them. "You'd almost have to be more interesting than them." She took his arm and allowed him to lead her toward an unoccupied alcove, and as they went, Strife wondered if he had, indeed, imagined that wistful tone in her voice.



tbc

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