This work, as well as all other rights under the law, belongs to the author and may not be reproduced in any fashion without the author’s express written permission. Cupid belongs to Mandalay Television, Columbia Tristar Television, and ABC. Xena: Warrior Princess belongs to Rob Tapert, Sam Raimi, Renaissance Pictures and MCA/Universal. No copyright infringement is intended. Copyright May 1999.
I am using the characters and situations envisioned by Athea, in her fictional A/J slash universe, with her permission. This story should not be considered a part of her saga; at best, it can be considered an adjunct. Much thanks to Athea, for letting me play in your backyard!
"You just don't get it, do you?" Wearing a borrowed gingham apron, Trevor Hale frantically whipped the feather duster around the walls of the apartment. "I'm nearly done, guys, be happy for me, will ya?" Unsure how to respond right away, Doctor Claire Allen watched her favorite patient clean a mad streak through dust and dirt and grit only he seemed able to see. She couldn’t help but wonder whether his delusions were becoming all together too much for him to handle.
Little pink feathers drifted everywhere, lending a surreal flavor to the living room and the conversation taking place.
"Yeah?" Seated on the sofa, Champ Terrace -- Trevor's roommate - and Claire shared a meaningful glance. She knew that Trevor Hale firmly believed that he was Cupid, one of the Greek mythological gods of love. Exactly how he and Champ had become roommates had never been quite clear, but it seemed to have worked out well. At first, when she had heard about their living together, she had hoped Champ would prove to be a stabilizing influence on her patient. So far, his delusions had not lessened at all since his release from the hospital.
Claire would never say admit it, but she wondered whether releasing him had been the correct decision after all. "I'm happy the place is cleaned to your satisfaction."
With an audible sigh, Trevor turned back to face the couple. "No, that's not it, funny girl. One more couple," pointing the duster toward them, "just one more, and I will be out of here."
"Where exactly would you go?"
"Ah, Claire, you're not really going to make me say it, are you? Haven't we done this before?" Kneeling next to Claire, he gazed up at her and held the duster up to his mouth, singing into it. "Haven't we seen this before? Haven't we said this before? Just how much I looooove you...."
Embarrassed, Claire averted her eyes and instead shared another look with Champ. This was the other thing that bothered her about her patient; Trevor seemed unusually focused on her as a woman and a possible potential mate, rather than as his psychologist. She could tell that Champ was amused by the whole situation, but she had been so sure he was getting better! More and more, though, Claire found herself wondering whether he had scammed his release so he could get out to feed his delusion in the real world. Speaking of feeding, there was the tiny little fact that she kept having to forcibly remind herself that Trevor remained her patient and therefore not on the menu. He was cute, but also very much off limits. "Trevor," she began.
He immediately ceased his singing, and rested his chin on steepled fingers, gazing up at her with those big dark eyes. "Yes, dearest?"
"I just can't understand it. Why are you continuing to hold on to your delusion, after all this time?" Claire did her best to be her reasonable, helpful, understanding self. That's right, Claire, put on your doctor face. "You must be tired of it by now."
"Tired?" gasped out Trevor. "Tired of finding the perfect soul mate for every human being on the planet?" He drew back in horror. "Bite your tongue."
"Seriously, Trevor." Claire hoped that acting like his doctor would cause him to act like her patient. She knew that patients might transfer their feelings for someone else onto their psychologist. This transference could be potentially very dangerous, particularly when dealing with strong emotions like love.
"I am being serious. I'm always serious, I'm Mister Serious." Tsking at their disbelief, he rose to his feet and assumed a professorial tone. "Forget your big bang, your asteroids, and your macerena. Love is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. Do you really think an elemental spirit as volatile as that would be used randomly? Not even Fortuna trifles with it."
Just then -- WHOOSH -- there was a flash of light, and a curveous blonde woman wearing a little piece of filmy pink negligee appeared in the center of the living room. "Nice apron, Cupie."
"Mom!!"
"Hi, sweetie, sorry to barge in like this, but I need your help with something real important." Aphrodite grinned sweetly at her son, hugging him tight. "It's been a long time.” She hugged him again. “Well, not really, but I suppose it feels it to you...."
"I thought I was god non grata?" He managed to wriggle out of the hug before some ribs suffered compression fractures, and tried to school his features into something other than confusion. Mom always did manage to show up either at the worst time or at the best time; still, she had to have a good reason for dropping in on him now. Trevor knew perfectly well that Zeus had completely cut him off from all godly contact, and for Mom to blatantly break that rule, it must be something bad.
"Well, yeah, you are, but I really really need your help with this, and it'll let you stop this game with Zeus. I mean, mortals? Please." Batting the idea to one side, Aphrodite pouted prettily, her big blue eyes wide with longing. "So, what do you say?"
"Sure thing, mom. Who is it?" Trevor seemed nonplused by the whole matter. He was eager to help, even if all he was capable of doing at this point was offering advice. Still, it was weird; him, offering advice to his mom about love. Who says the generation gap can’t be overcome?
"Joxer and Arry."
Shocked, Trevor wasn't sure what to say; he'd always thought those two would wander through eternity with their hands in each other's back pockets. Sure, they had problems now and then, all couples did, but he’d never seen two people more suited for each other. "What happened?"
As if knowing he needed some settling down, Aphrodite cooed at him for a moment and patted his arm. "Just a lover's spat. You know -- Arry's being too possessive and worrying himself sick, Joxer's trying to settle him down, but all they do is worry about each other."
Trevor grinned mischievously at Claire. "Sounds like they need some counseling, doesn't it?" Suddenly seeming to realize that they weren't alone in the room, Aphrodite turned to face the two mortals and plastered an oh-how-interesting look on her face.
"Mom, this is Champ and Claire," Trevor said, gesturing at both in turn. "Guys, this is my mom, Aphrodite, the goddess of love." There, that wasn’t so hard, he told himself.
"How do you do?" Aphrodite smiled sweetly and extended a hand.
Thinking quickly, Champ recovered first and bent down on one knee, grasping and kissing the goddess' outstretched palm. Trevor hoped he wasn’t blushing; making a good impression was one thing, but it wasn’t usually a good idea to go overboard with the gods. After all, no one wants to be a sycophant.
"Oooooooo!" squealed Aphrodite. "I like this one! Maybe I'll keep you."
"Mom!"
Claire also managed to blurt out something appropriate to their visitor, but her brain was fuzzy as to exactly what she had said. Shock will do that to you, she reflected. Now absolute proof existed as to the truth of what Trevor - or rather Cupid -- had been insisting. Unless all of them were having a collective hallucination, this woman had simply appeared in the middle of the living room.
"Thanks, honey." Aphrodite hugged her eldest son. "I know it's bad timing and all, it being springtime, you know, with love in the air and all, but Joxie and Arry really can't wait any longer." The barely clad goddess settled herself into the couch with a grimace, before waving her hand in frustration. Three ornately carved alabaster chairs appeared in a shower of rose petals, followed by a luxurious chaise decorated in pale green and gold. Aphrodite switched to the chaise and stretched against the golden armrests. “Honestly, I really shouldn’t have allowed them to wait as long as I did.” She sighed. “I suppose that I was hoping they would work it out themselves.”
"It’s that bad?" Trevor answered.
Stunned, Claire leaned back and watched while beside her, Champ was doing the same. "I don't believe it, this can't be happening," she heard the older man mutter. At least, she thought he was the elder of the two men; perhaps it was just that protective ‘big-brother’ aura he gave off, that made him seem older than Trevor appeared to be. However, if Trevor really was Cupid, then there was no doubt that he was the older. By a long shot.
"Afraid so, sweetie." With another long sigh, Aphrodite pulled herself up from where she lay, regret on her face, abandoning the lounge, and smoothed her silken clothing into its proper places. "Gotta go, honey, and keep Arry from taking off before this is settled." She waved a cheery good-bye before fading from view in a shower of rose petals and golden light.
“Mom always did like a showy display.”
Finally, after a long silence, Claire found her voice. "You were right, all this time. You were right." She couldn’t believe it. One of her best successes proved to be … well, not a fraud, but not a success, either. The shock was almost too much to bear.
"Of course I was right. Did you ever have any doubt?" Trevor sounded offended by this apparent lack of faith.
"Yes."
"Thanks a lot."
A sharp crack of suddenly displaced air rang through the apartment as Joxer popped into the room. Noticing the lack of display, the psychologist wondered absently whether their new visitor - or was that ‘client’, considering his reasons for visiting - was really concentrating on what he was doing.
He looked around somewhat nervously at these unfamiliar surroundings before focusing immediately on his friend. "Hey, Cupid, long time no see."
"Joxer." After an abortive motion at a simple handshake, Trevor gripped his gentle-voiced friend in a tight embrace. She could almost hear the tears in his eyes, even if not a single one fell. "It's good to see you."
"I've never heard of a god named Joxer -- what are you the god of?" Her mouth moving before her brain could catch up, Claire couldn't resist asking the new arrival, finding her eyes glued to the two hugging men. Lord, look what he's wearing! Red leather pants, so tight they leave nothing to the imagination, laced up the sides, lord, all the way up the sides. A matching silk shirt, slit to the waist, so that it flows off his body.... Resolutely, the woman slapped herself with a firm mental hand. What is wrong with you? You have a boyfriend ... sort of. A little voice reminded her that Alex probably wasn't coming back, and there was nothing wrong with fantasies, hadn't she told her patients that often enough? First you're drooling over Trevor, one of your patients, for God's sake, and now you're slobbering over a perfect stranger! Who's next? The Vice President?
"It's a secret," Joxer grinned back at her, breaking the moment.
"Why?" That's right, Claire, keep talking, maybe you won't flood the apartment with your drool.
"Because I said so."
Trevor sighed and waved the younger god to a chair. "Never argue with a god," he advised, "you might find yourself turned into a deer on the first day of hunting season." Claire didn't look impressed with the threat, and continued her line of questioning. Luckily, Joxer didn't seem to be taking offense. That was the good thing about Joxer's having been a mortal before he became a god; he was so much more patient than some of the other residents of the Mount.
But it was time to get down to business. "So, Jox," tearing his friend's attention away from Claire and vice versa, he was unhappy to see. "I’m hearing something about trouble in paradise?"
"I wouldn't go that far."
"So, what's going on between you and Uncle Ares?"
Joxer sighed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers in thought. "I don't know what's wrong with Ares, well, yes, I do, kinda." He blew out his breath in frustration. "It's the same old thing, I guess. Arry won't stop worrying about me, all the time." Joxer shrugged his shoulders. "I know I'm not a great fighter, but I've improved a lot over the last few millennia." Ignoring the sharply indrawn breaths from the vicinity of the couch, he focused in on trying to make Cupid understand. "Sure, I know that even now some of the other gods don't approve of me and they still argue with Hera and Zeus about me. But arguments are just as common as parties on Olympus."
"Nothing new."
"Exactly."
Trevor shrugged. "So you'll have to try to make sure he knows you can take care of yourself."
"How do you think I should do that? Like I said, Cupid, my war skills might have improved, but I'm not anywhere near as experienced as them." Joxer chuckled. "Nowhere near. Between Poseidon wanting to see me blasted back to the elements and Tethys wanting to polish my water skills, I still don’t dare go sailing on the open ocean without an escort." The younger god shuddered.
“Great-grandaunt Tethys shouldn’t frighten you away from the water,” snorted Trevor. “There’s a big difference between making love and having sex. You should know that by now.” After all, the synergy that Uncle Arry and Joxer made was the perfect example of true love; both of them put their hearts and souls into the other, sharing breaths as easily as they shared their love. He could tell by the expressions on their faces every time they saw each other. Sex was a dime a dozen, but real love came only once - twice if you were really lucky - in a lifetime, and that applied to gods as well as to mortals.
“I do.”
“Then Uncle Posy making waves shouldn’t bother you.” He couldn’t resist making the pun; mortals hadn’t changed their sense of humor in centuries, and it seemed to get more and more ridiculous as time marched on. Trevor couldn’t stop the grin from spreading over his face.
Shaking his head in dismay, Joxer groaned aloud. “That was bad, Cupid. That was really bad.”
"Thanks. Still, I think you can handle anyone who goes after you, one way or another. I know that most of Olympus -- including Grandfather and Grandmother - will come to defend you if necessary. Perhaps we should consider a safety net of your supporters to pick up rumors about impending threats. A gossip chain, if you will.”
Joxer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That might work. Certainly the Muses would be able to find out information like that.”
“And if not the Muses, then certainly the Fates,” Trevor pointed out. He liked this idea more and more. Although it required a large portion of the Olympians to work together, that might actually be a good thing. They hadn’t worked as a group since the war between the gods … and that was a topic no one wanted to discuss. “They would know before anyone else. Besides, killing you would be against the Rules."
"I know ... but that doesn't mean some of them couldn't find their way around it."
"That’s true. Some of our relatives are sneaky." Trevor knew that to be true. It was how Joxer and Cycrops had become gods in the first place, through sheer sneakiness and strength of character. And, he supposed, the fact that both had been sleeping with a god and a goddess at the time had also influenced those decisions.
"Very sneaky."
"Terribly sneaky." The smile on his friend’s face shone through with memories.
"Hey, guys, guys, back to the problem at hand, remember?" God, it was about time, thought Claire. Watching these two flirt -- or whatever it is they're doing -- is driving me insane. How come Trevor never looks at me that way? Wait a minute ... why would I want him to look at me that way? What is wrong with me?
"Well, I'd better get going," the younger god declared, "seeing's how I've got my work cut out for me." Rising gracefully to his feet, he seemed to be thinking out loud. "Aphrodite might have some ideas. After all, it worked last time." With that pronouncement, Joxer vanished without another word.
"Soooooooooo," began Champ, clearly making an effort to come to terms with these new revelations, "you really are him." Claire noticed that he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the beautiful chairs, that had magically appeared out of thin air. On the other hand, it wasn’t every day that someone disappears in a poof of light, and, so far, it had happened twice in the course of an hour.
"Yeah, of course," insisted Trevor. "There were plenty of clues."
"Like?"
"Well, for one, look at the name I chose while I was here on Earth," Trevor said. He quickly scribbled the words 'Trevor Hale' on a convenient piece of paper. "If you give each letter its numerical equivalent from one to nine in sequence, and then reduce the sum total of those letters to a one-digit number, you wind up with the lucky number seven."
"Numerology," said Claire, perplexed. What does that have to do with anything? That stuff is just superstition, isn’t it? "So?"
Trevor grinned at her, and wrote the words 'Cupid, the God of Love' and ran through the same process, totaling up his numbers. After a few moments, he wrote an equal sign and a number in large script with a flourish, and presented it to Claire with a big smile on his face. "Number seven, again."
"Okay, so they match," admitted Champ. "What does that prove?"
"Not much, by itself," the smiling man agreed, "but make an anagram of the words 'Trevor Hale' and what do you find?"
"I'll bite. What?"
"Heart-lover."
"So?"
Trevor gasped and spread his arms in a pleading gesture. "What other kind of love is there? I know men are dogs, but, really, what other kind of love could there be that would have any real meaning? Especially to a god of love?"
"Of course," a gold sparkle accompanied the words, "those letters also make the word 'lover-hater'." Behind Trevor’s chair appeared a young man, who immediately bent over to peer into his face menacingly. Dressed in black leather and enough silver buckles to send a metal detector into overload, his spiky black hair looked like some maniac had taken a weed-whacker to it with a vengeance. If that wasn’t enough, his facial expression lay somewhere in a frightening gray area between malicious pride and fearsome glee. Claire had seen psychiatric patients for the criminally insane that didn’t appear this disturbed. As if hearing her thought, the oddly-dressed man glanced her way and grinned. “Thanks for the compliment, babe. Love ya, too.”
"Strife!"
"Hiya, cuz," the god of mischief smirked. "Having fun yet?"
"You know it. What've you been up to -- no, wait, I can guess ... Balkans, Saudi Arabia, Middle East?"
"Gotta love it. Me an' Uncle Ares get around these days." Another smirk, laced with some other emotion Claire couldn’t quite identify, flashed upon his face. At any rate, she was fairly certain that she didn’t want to know what memories were associated with that smirk. Watching something in this man’s - or, rather, god’s - eyes soften, a realization occurred to her.
No way ... he wouldn't. He couldn't. Nuh-uh, no way.... Claire watched the mental messages flickered back and forth between the two of them like an old-fashioned telegraph, but she could read the writing on the wall as easily as a neon sign lit on a starless night. Love and Strife? No wonder they were always named as a couple. Still, that was a good question. And I’d better get my questions in while I still can. “Have you ever worked together?”
Strife began to giggle, a nerve-wracking sound that trailed cold fingers up and down her spine. She glanced over at Trevor, but he just looked annoyed, sitting there, his arms crossed, his face set in a peculiar frown. Annoyance tinged with love, Claire decided. “Are you going to answer my question or not?”
Trevor sighed. “We’ve never worked together … but we frequently work at cross-purposes.”
“How so?”
“Strife is the god of mischief, and as such --"
“I cause trouble, mishaps, and mayhem,” interrupted the dark godling. “And one of my jobs is to get in Cupid’s way and break up his couples.” He snickered again, a faraway look in his eyes. “At least, partly. Mom does some of it.”
“Mom?” Judging from the glazed expression on Champ’s face, Claire didn’t think he really wanted to know the answer, but was asking it for the same reason she was asking all these questions. Curiosity. Besides, how often did you get to ask questions of the gods?
“Eris,” Strife supplied. “But most people call her by her job title. Discord.”
“Oh.” And that seems to sum up Champ’s feelings on the matter, the psychologist decided. She watched him subside into silence, apparently happy to be an observer rather than a participant.
“What were you thinking of, a few minutes ago?” Trevor sounded like he was getting annoyed again.
“Jus’ remembering old times, ya know?”
“Like?”
“That pretty girl and her teacher, who was supposed to be educating her…” Strife leered, wringing his hands in gleeful satisfaction, his nervous fingers pulling at the leather cuffs of his tunic. “’Cept he decided to start teaching her the lessons of love!”
“Everything was fine,” Trevor started, acid in his voice, “until you came along and got everyone all riled up. Poor old Peter Abelard,” with a sigh, “he certainly didn’t live up to his name after that.”
Tears already running down his face, that observation caused Strife to howl with laughter. In a desperate attempt to muffle his hilarity, he grabbed a nearby throw pillow and pressed his face into its fabric. I don’t believe it, acknowledged Claire, I’m sitting here on a couch with the god of mischief - who is laughing himself into asphyxiation, while doubled up in what’s got to be pain by now - and Trevor, who really is Cupid, god of love, is sitting in the other chair lecturing us on times past. She shook her head sadly, remembering from old literature classes that Abelard had emasculated himself after he was discovered to have been having an affair with his young charge. Why couldn’t I just have had a normal practice, with normal people? That’s not too much to ask, is it?
“And don’t even get me started on Tristan and Isolde,” the god-turned-mortal continued. He didn’t show any sign of stopping anytime soon.
Eyes watering, Strife raised his head from the pillow long enough to make an observation of his own. “That ‘re-late-shun-ship’, he sounded out the word somewhat mockingly, indicating that he’d heard it used with great frequency in the past, “was between a rock and a hard place, anyway.” Another gleeful smirk burst from his face, swallowing a cackle. “The light of love went out in her heart.”
“More like the light was blown out in the lamp,” Trevor muttered accusingly.
“They had a sink-or-swim relationship.” Although whispered in an aside to Claire, the demented giggling that followed his comment was loud and clear.
“Strife!”
"Unc's about to pop in, so I'll be going now," Strife grinned that trademark wicked smile again, and vanished in a show of light. In spite of everything, Claire found herself grinning; she remembered the tale of a lover drowning in the seas because his lover failed to set a lamp alight to guide his way.
Champ shook his head. "I need a drink. Maybe two." He stood up and lurched forward out-of-control, crashing to the hard floor in a heap. Claire was pretty certain that, even though he was long gone, she could hear Strife's laughter over the sounds of Champ's cursing.
A sparkle of silver light announced the arrival of another god. This one stood tall, dressed in tight black leather from head to toe, his face framed by dark hair and a short beard. A large broadsword hung secured to his strongly muscled body. "It's about time," he proclaimed, looking down at where Champ struggled to undo the knots tying his shoelaces together. "I haven't been given a proper human sacrifice in centuries." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If he’s a virgin, that would work out perfectly …."
"He's not a sacrifice, Uncle Ares."
Claire belatedly realized the identity of their new arrival. Arry … as Aphrodite called him was better known as Ares, god of war. He looks the part, all dark and brooding. Salesman, please, I’d like to have him wrapped up and dipped in chocolate …. She held her breath for a moment as his dark eyes assessed her, a knowing smile tugging at his mouth. He can’t possibly know, can he? But he’s a god … but they’re all gods … so does that …no, I’m not going to go there. Not now, not ever.
"He's not a virgin, either, thank you very much," interrupted Champ, having successfully undone one of the five knots. His voice pulled Claire back into the conversation.
Ares rolled his eyes. "Strife was here, wasn't he?"
"Yeah."
The senior god nodded toward the man seated on the floor tugging at his shoes. "One, I recognize his handiwork. He is the god of mischief, after all. Two," he continued, a smile gracing his face, "Strife never quite learned how to tie shoelaces correctly. He ties them backwards, so they never stayed on."
"Probably why he's worn boots for the last six thousand years," considered Trevor.
"No doubt." Having finished with the niceties, Ares looked around bemusedly and smirked at Trevor knowingly. "I like the new look. Mortality suits you."
"You would know." He never tired of heckling Uncle Arry about those few brief times when he had been forced to live as a mortal. Seasickness was even more unpleasant for a mortal than it was for a god.
"Har-har-de-har."
Trevor settled himself in his chair, motioning Ares to do the same, and decided to cut to the chase. "So, what's the problem between you and Joxer?"
"Well...."
"Out with it. I can't help if you don't tell me."
"I'm worried about Joxer," Ares blurted out, his eyes staring daggers into the floor. "Joxer's died once -- come close a few other times, I don't want to lose him again. I couldn't bear it, if I lost him again, the first time was bad enough. If Hestia hadn't taken matters into her own hands...." His voice trailed off.
Trevor didn't want to stir up old unpleasant memories any more than he needed to, for either of them, so he asked another question before his uncle started to brood. He was very talented at brooding. He had heard a rumor -- though never substantiated -- that one of Uncle Ares’ brooding spells had led to the Crusades.
All eight of them.
"What initiated all this old business again? After all, Joxer's been a god now for millennia." That was what Trevor didn’t understand.
"Some of the other gods still aren't happy with Joxer's being granted godhood, they feel they should have been consulted since it typically takes a conclave." He sighed, looking at the disbelief on his son's face. "I know, I know, it's been how long now, and they still don't want to accept it. He's been a better god than most of us right from the beginning, and they still treat him like an interloper."
"But not when you're around."
"Better believe it," a grim smile chased the clouds from the war god's face for a moment. "Joxer's godhood was Mother's doing, and she and Aunt Hestia and Father have quelled most of the angry voices ... but it doesn't stop me from worrying."
"Have you and Joxer have talked about this?” Even as he asked, Trevor knew damn well that they hadn’t; if they had, it was more than likely that things would never have gotten to this point. On the other hand, counseling couples was one of his jobs.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe you should, and I think you should discuss it with Grandmother and Grandfather too." He put all his conviction into his voice, certain that his plan was the best way to proceed.
"Why? They probably already know."
"If they don't already, than they should know that you're worried for Joxer's safety. While we're talking about Joxer, I think it would help if you made sure he would be safe. It would certainly make you, Grandmother, and Grandfather feel better, and Joxer would be relieved that you weren't so smotheringly concerned any more."
"How can I do that beyond what I've already taught him?"
"How do you think? You are the God of War, after all." Ares smiled again, only this time Claire saw warmth and real happiness shining through the cruel smirk. He disappeared in a puff of black smoke and red light.
Muttering about the smoke alarm being so sensitive that a mouse’s campfire could set it off, Trevor hurriedly finished his dusting while singing in a dialect of medieval French. He couldn’t stop thinking about his plan, who to ask, how to set it up, and how to make it work correctly. Trevor knew that, as far as this was concerned, he took after his uncle; he liked to make absolutely certain that a plan was sound before implementation. So far, he hadn’t found any flaws.
The sound of a metal tearing fabric captured his attention, and Trevor looked up from his work to see Champ sawing through the laces with a steak knife. He was hard pressed to keep his mouth shut; he missed Strife more than he would ever admit to anyone. He missed his bad jokes, his bloodthirsty bad temper, and the wonderful things that god could do with his tongue; there were more reasons than just good manners and necessity that made the Olympians share energy. Trevor smiled, almost wolfishly, as Champ gave up and stripped off his sneakers completely.
Ares, Joxer, and Aphrodite popped back in again, smiles wreathing their expressions in joy. "You three haven't been playing in each other's backyard again, have you?" Trevor wasn't sure what to make of this. He had finished their counseling session, hadn't he?
Male-voiced replies of ‘no’ and ‘not exactly’ brought a smile to Trevor's face.
"Then why the big smiles splitting your faces?" This was all too weird, and more than a little unnerving.
"Sweetie, you're done. You can come home now ... if you want." Watching him intently, the goddess of love had already seated herself on the silken pillows of the chaise, smoothing the folds of her nearly-sheer dress over her form.
"I can?"
With a flourish, Joxer popped Cupid's golden bow and a quiver of arrows out of the air, and offered them to him. When he had been asked to leave, he had asked the younger god to look after his symbols of his godhood, the manifestations of his power, until he returned to claim them. "I think these are yours."
"Take a deep breath, honey."
As Trevor's hand touched these two very treasured possessions - the necessary implements of his profession, his eternity's work -- he felt his godhead being returned to him, and allowed it to shake him in an orgasm of the soul.
From where Claire was sitting, it appeared that a fog had worked its way over Trevor's body, cloaking him in a shimmering shine of glowing gold. Sparks crackled and jumped over his body before raining to the floor. It certainly looked like it should hurt.
And yet their three guests merely sat there, smiling softly as if watching a wedding.
Or a birth.
Or a rebirth.
That was it. Trevor ... was being reborn into himself … as Cupid, god of love.
Just as suddenly as it started, the sparkle went away, and Claire was left staring in awe. It was Trevor ... and yet, it wasn't. Cupid stood there in the living room, and all Claire could do was let her eyes caress the fine body on display that she saw there. Bare skin, golden hair, fine black wings with brightly shining feathers, white clothing carefully draped, barely concealing the private parts of his anatomy.
Damn, Trevor had never looked so good.
"It's about time, Cupie," fretted Aphrodite. "Pysche and the kids were starting to worry that you would never come home …."
"Wait-a-minute!" protested Claire, with an accusing look at the newly-reborn God of Love. "I thought you said that never happened? That there was no such person?"
"I lied."
"What?" At least he has the decency to blush, that little ... wow, that flush really does go everywhere, doesn't it? She tried not to stare.
"You heard me."
"I know I did. I just don't believe it."
"Why not?"
"Because love isn't supposed to lie."
"But it does, all too frequently." Aphrodite's tone of voice caused everyone in the room to look at her. The goddess popped out of the room, but not before Claire saw the sharp measuring look the senior goddess gave her. Claire wasn’t sure whether or not she should be concerned by the attention. Probably, considering the stories she had read in the fifth grade during her mythology kick.
"Love has to, sometimes," Cupid defended himself. "Look at it this way. Love spelled backward is e-v-o-l. Love is a requirement of human evolution, and even, to some degree, the evolution of gods." His wings fluttering in the slight breeze from some open window, he waved his hands around as he spoke, trying to convey his emotion effectively. "See, Darwin and the churches, they only got it half right. There are gods, and there continues to be evolution, but they coexist in love. Gods ease the passage of human destiny so that, maybe someday, with our help and guidance, humans will become as gods."
"Then where will all of you be?" Champ wanted to know. Claire wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to that question; she didn’t want to think that any of them would die out. Surely if that could happen, shouldn’t it have happened by now?
"We'll be evolving too," explained the god of love. "Love makes it all happen, because only in love and understanding do you find the proper elements for a species to move forward physically, psychologically, and emotionally."
Aphrodite popped back into the room, holding a goblet and a small bottle. "Something for you, sweetie." She poured it, and Cupid drank gratefully. "There, I thought you would be thirsty after all this time, and you should recharge your energy soon." And I know just who to share some of that energy with, he thought.
Cupid set the goblet down, and stretched his dark wings. "It's going to be strange, being back on Olympus after all this. Although things won't have changed that much, I bet, there might be new kids and maybe Fortuna planted more flowers ... her garden never did completely recover from that battle with Ate...." There was still something strange going on here, and he knew he was babbling like a lunatic, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. A movement to his left caught his attention, and he turned back in horror to find Claire sipping at the red liquid. "Oh no...." He looked accusingly at his mother. "Mom!" I knew it, I knew it, I knew they were up to something!
Aphrodite sniffed prettily, while the other two gods did their best to look innocent. "Well, dear, what's done is done...."
"You planned this, didn't you?"
"Not exactly."
"What d'ya mean, 'not exactly'?"
"I don't understand?" Claire looked quizzically at the quartet of deities. "Was there something in the drink?"
Joxer chuckled. "That's one way of looking at it." He and Ares shared a tender look. Cupid still thought his uncle and Joxer had the best thing, ever, and held them up as a good example for the others. His own marriage hadn’t done that well in centuries, but he supposed that there were good times and bad times, just like mortals had.
"Actually, dearest, the drink itself is something mortals aren't supposed to touch. But, in this case, your curiosity was planned....” Aphrodite’s sweet tone meant she was hiding something. Cupid hid a groan. He sincerely hoped that she wasn’t planning to work something between him and Claire; Mom never had liked Pysche that much.
"Planned?" Claire’s voice barely counted as a squeak.
"Ambrosia."
"The food of the gods?"
"Yep."
"And ... so...." Cupid watched her expression change from confusion to fear to -- what was that, exactly? -- delight? Uncertainty? Some kind of cross between the two? It nearly made his head spin. Her expression -- he could place it now, it was that of revelation, of epiphany -- was almost the same look Psyche had had on her face when she took her drink from this very same goblet all those millennia ago.
It didn't matter. Time didn’t matter at all, not any more. He would have plenty of time to learn every nuance of every expression Claire had in her larder, and then some.
"But why? Why me?"
"You said it yourself," Joxer explained. "Love should always be truthful, above all. You see it clearly."
"The clarity of the heart," whispered Cupid. “Love, perfectly balanced.”
"Exactly."
"Besides," commented Aphrodite, a sweet smile gracing her face. "You can never have too much love in the world, and the world has a lot of evolving to do yet."
With those words, Cupid placed a light touch on his young friend’s shoulder, enjoying the sensation of rustling his soft black wings. He held her closely, as the world Claire had always known dissolved in a flash of golden light and rose petals, shading into a mysterious new world for her exploring.
Speaking for himself, Cupid couldn’t wait to get started.
That was it, Champ realized. He was alone in the apartment, surrounded by all the normal things he and Trevor … er, Cupid, had in their lives. Plus three carved stone chairs and a chaise-lounge made of solid gold and green silk. I’m losing my mind. That’s it, and there’s not a mindshrinker in sight. The former athlete closed his eyes, moaning softly to himself.
“Don’t worry, big guy.” Brassy tones of a woman’s voice rang through the apartment. “You an’ me, we’ll have a good time together.” Her voice was accompanied by the sharp clinking and jangling of metal coins.
Champ looked up just in time to see a cheerful mature woman materialize, seated, in one of the alabaster chairs. She immediately smoothed the brightly-colored gown she wore, myriad silver and jet ornaments making small jingling sounds as she moved.
“My name’s Fortuna, darlin’, and Aphrodite thought it would be nice if I gave you something in return.” She waved her hands about, trying to achieve a clarity with her hands that her words could not quite express. Jingling reached his ears again, and it occurred to him that it too sounded like coins left in a pants-pocket. “You know, for taking such good care of Cupid while he was mortal. That can be rough on a god.”
The goddess glanced him up and down, raking his body with her eyes in perusal. “But that outfit just won’t do.” A flick of one hand discharged copper sparks, which ran the length of him, evaporating the casual clothing he wore and refashioning a fine black and white tuxedo which fit him perfectly. A circular movement of her index finger fashioned ruby cuff links, fine black leather dress shoes, and - to his shock and embarrassment - what felt like silk boxers.
“Where are we going?”
“How does Las Vegas grab you, sweetcheeks?” Another twitch of her hands produced a set of elegant leather luggage. It appeared to be already packed, though. “There, now, all packed and ready to go.” Yep, all packed. How can they just make things out of the air with a shake of their fingers? Can all the gods and goddesses do that?
“Of course, angelbaby, that’s part of what makes us gods. ‘Course, it takes a bit of practice to be good at it, but that’s all right. It’s not like time is that big of a problem, like it is for you mortals.” She smiled pleasantly at his expression, and took his arm. “Ready to go?”
“Wait a second,” began Champ. “Who are you? I know you said your name was Fortuna … but … Las Vegas? I can’t afford Las Vegas….”
The goddess of chance tut-tutted him softly, taking him firmly by the arm. “You will. Don’t worry, honestly, Lady Luck is on your side.”
A link to Athea's stories can be found on my Links page. Please read them, they're wonderful and I simply cannot recommend them enough.
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