Backward, Turn Backward

Backward, Turn Backward
Part Two
By Scribe

Plan

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 howike ike 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 browntherther 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 thasn'tsn'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'ounters."

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, aas cas 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 I 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 Iounters."

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 Se, ue, 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 did 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. Strifereatreathing 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."