WHO: Melpomene and Apollo WHEN: Last Thursday (22nd April) WHERE: Melpomene’s WHAT: Apollo's not a fan of coming second WARNINGS: Just memories of things that have already happened
The days passed in a blur of sleeplessness, and a frantic protectiveness that felt at times like it was bordering on madness. She couldn’t let Telos out of her sight. Leaving him to go to the bathroom gave her anxiety free reign over her mind, even if she left him in the care of Kratos or one of her sisters, even if she could still feel them through the door. It was horrible. She had one shower since getting back and spent the whole time crying so hard she could barely shampoo her hair.
It would have been so much worse on her own, though. And without Nikkos, who was like Ares in dog form in the absence of Ares himself. She didn’t know how she would have made it through those first few nights on her own.
But slowly, the sleep she did manage to get started to knit her back together. She couldn’t exist in a state of pure petrification forever. The food that kept appearing in front of her played its part. The hot chocolate – the good stuff, with chili – that Thalia bought again and Melpomene drank, this time, right down to the bottom of the cup, ravenous now for Thalia’s ability to hope. It all helped, little by little, to keep her sanity. And most of all: the fact that every time she opened her eyes Telos was still there.
On Thursday, Apollo returned with her car, and swapped out with Kratos while he went to work. Melpomene had dozed off on the deck chair on her balcony, Nikkos stretched out in the sun beside her and Telos on her chest, all three of them asleep.
The balcony was one of the few untainted places in her apartment. On the deck chair, she had her back to the glass doors that opened into the living room where Tragos had died, and the kitchen bench where she’d grabbed the knife, and the front door where she’d sliced into his legs. She could see all these places from the balcony, but not when she was lying on the deck chair, not when she was facing the clear blue sky. The only other safe space was Telos’ room (her own bedroom, where Tragos had wrapped himself around her and tried to hold her down till the drugs took over, was right out) and it was between the balcony and Telos’ room that she spent all of her time.
Nikkos woke first, when the front door opened and closed. He stood, facing the balcony doors, his deep growl wrenching her from sleep in a panic.
She could tell it was Apollo almost immediately, but her fear had cranked up too hard and fast to settle straight away. Heart thumping in her throat, she curled her hand more protectively over Telos’ sleeping back, and craned her neck to watch Apollo and Kratos exchange a few words near the end of the bench (the bench where Tragos had dragged himself away from her.) Their masculine voices were a low and reassuring sound, words obscured by the glass between them.
Nikkos’ growl grew even more vicious as Apollo approached, crossing the spot where Tragos had died (he stepped over it without any ceremony at all – Melpomene couldn’t watch him do it, like watching someone desecrate a grave) and opening the balcony door. Nikkos bared his teeth, his head down and hackles up. “Nikkos, easy,” she said. “We know him, it’s okay.”
She didn’t know how much Nikkos understood. She didn’t know the words Ares used to train his dogs (the words Ares told Tragos to use to train his dogs.) She didn’t know for sure if Nikkos was going to go for Apollo anyway, or what she could do to stop him if he did.
“Don’t try anything,” she warned Apollo, thinking perhaps it was safer to instruct him rather than the dog. She remembered the story Ares had told her about Nikkos’ sire Sparta, how Ares had jumped into the fighting ring himself to rip the other dog off him and save Sparta’s life. She knew the value Ares placed on his dogs. If Apollo hurt Nikkos when Ares had left him with Melpomene, would Ares forgive her? Would he pull his protection away from her? The last thing in the world she wanted to do was upset Ares.
But Nikkos had calmed down when she spoke, backing up to plant himself firmly at her side, and firmly between herself and Apollo.
“Like what?” Apollo asked, looking down at the dog in displeasure. Though he was no longer snarling, Nikkos returned the look. When Melpomene put a hand on his shoulder, she could still feel the vibrations of the growl.
“Sudden movements?” she suggested. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will set him off.” The growl faded a little more under her hand, and she gave Nikkos a couple of long strokes over his muscled shoulder. Nikkos watched Apollo suspiciously as he closed the balcony door behind him and sat down on the second deck chair. His one had no pad on it – Melpomene had stolen them both for herself.
“Ares didn’t leave you with instructions? Colour me suprised,” Apollo said. He didn’t need to ask where the animal had come from; it was obvious this was one of Ares’ stupid dogs. From the same litter as Hecate’s latest by the look of him, though Nikkos was a lot larger than Serene.
“Be nice. It was kind of Ares to leave him here at all,” Melpomene gave Nikkos’ shoulder another stroke. It was to sooth herself, as much as him. His muscles made her feel a little safer, as Ares’ had, that first night. As Kratos’ had. Her other hand was on Telos’ back and he felt so incredibly tiny and vulnerable in comparison. Melpomene needed those muscles around. She was holding onto any sliver of safety with all her might.
“Kind?” Apollo’s eyebrow was up, cynical and disbelieving. “Did you seriously just use the word ‘kind’? About Ares?”
“He hunted Telos’ kidnapper for almost two weeks. He put my son back in my arms and drove us both home. He left one of his prize dogs because he couldn’t stay himself. Yes,” said Melpomene, firmly painting herself a picture Apollo didn’t like. “I said kind.”
“Well, I just dropped everything to drive to Ohio and pick up your car,” he said. “It’s in your parking building, full of gas, fresh oil and everything.”
By the Styx, she was so tired her whole body felt like it was sinking. Melpomene said the most useless thing of all to say to either Ares or Apollo: “It’s not a competition.”
Apollo didn’t reply to that, but he did rise to his feet and step over her legs, kneeling down at her other side. With a hand as warm as sunlight, he lifted her chin and kissed her mouth. Her heart gave a jerk out of her sinking body, like it was reaching for a life saver. “How are you feeling?” he asked, caressing her cheek. Nikkos turned to lay his head on Melpomene’s thigh, watching him still.
Melpomene was perhaps feeling every emotion, all at once, all the time. “I – I have Telos back,” she said, taking her hand off Nikkos so both could rest on her son. She liked the weight of him on her chest and stomach, the weight of Nikkos’ head on her thigh, Apollo’s warmth at her side. “What else is there to say?”
Apollo stroked her hair and leaned down to kiss her again, and she kissed him back, trying to find the reassurance in the familiar feel of his mouth. She knew comfort would be there somewhere, but she couldn’t find it, and he pulled back to speak again before she could search any deeper. “You can send the dog back,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know you won’t – but – no,” she stumbled over her words a little, the thought of losing Nikkos was another fear to add to her pile.
“And Kratos is here, while I’m not. You don’t need him.”
“I want him here,” Melpomene reached out to touch Nikkos’ ear, the softest part of him. Taking this as permission to get closer, he nosed Telos’ sleeping foot.
“Why? Because he’s Ares’ dog? How’s a dog going to help you if Kratos and I can’t?”
“It’s not just protection,” Melpomene’s eyes had gone a bit distant, like the sun had gone behind a cloud. “You’ll refuse to understand.”
Apollo took this odd bit of wording as a challenge. “Try me.”
She knew it was a bad idea before she said it. She didn’t know if anyone could understand her conflicting emotions, but she wished someone would try. Wished he would try. “Because Tragos trained him - Don’t make that face.” The (stupid) hope for understanding lasted for less than a second.
“Tragos is dead,” Apollo said, his voice hard. “He betrayed you, and he died for it. What’s left to hold onto?”
Melpomene closed her eyes. “He loved me.”
“He betrayed you. He stole your son. He buried me. Where’s the love in any of that?”
“You don’t need to remind me. I know you hated him.” She didn’t need to hear a list of Tragos’ crimes, as much as Apollo obviously wanted to sing them. She felt said list in her bones, caging her heart. She knew. “Right from the beginning, you hated him.”
“Right from the beginning? Yeah, because I could see he was one of Ares’ men. He never never going to be yours, whatever you did. I saw that.”
“He was mine,” Melpomene insisted. “For a time – he was. Yes, he was Ares’ too. But… he worshiped us both. Together. As equals.” She had a vivid memory of the last time she’d seen him fight, when he raised his fist to her, when he dedicated his victory to her.
No one else looked at her as if she was on par with the Olympians. And maybe there was an argument to make that he was mortal and that he didn’t really understand, but… he did. I know you’re a goddess he’d said. The way he looked at her. He’d made her feel special.
He’d made her feel like he’d never leave her, as Alan had. (I love you till the world ends, and beyond, Alan had promised.)
And then he had. He’d ripped her apart, as Alan had. (Until my dying day Tragos had promised.)
But she’d still loved Alan through her heartbreak, too.
There was no chance of Apollo trying to understand; he just looked frustrated. “And then he killed Hecate. And then he buried me after his real lover killed me. And then he stole your son. Some worshiper that was. He’s dead, Melpomene – let him go. Let it be the start of separating yourself from all of Ares’ influence.” He stroked her hair back from her forehead, and she turned her eyes toward him, frowning at him. “Ares has been the worst thing to happen to you in years,” Apollo continued. “He will only cause you more pain.”
The sun was still shining down on them, warm hues on Melpomene’s skin, but her eyes had gone entirely dark and cold. “Ares put my son back in my arms,” she said, her voice glacial, untouched by warmth. “I’ve sworn my dedication to him. He is Telos’ father and was his salvation. I will not separate myself from him.”
Apollo closed his eyes and pulled back, standing up. He counted to five. He kept his voice even. “Are you in love with him?”
The life saver feeling had entirely gone, the heavy, drowning feeling was back. “No, I’m not.”
“He doesn’t love you, you know.”
Despite her exhaustion, she still managed to look at him like he was stupid. She knew that. Of course she knew that. “That doesn’t matter. Love doesn’t stop anybody leaving me. But he protects what’s his.”
“You’re not his.”
“Just because you don’t like it...” she said, closing her eyes to give herself strength, opening them again to look down at her son. “I’m his son’s mother. As long as Telos lives, if I am nothing else, I am that.”
“If you are nothing else? Melpomene, you’re a Muse. One of the nine great inspirations of all mankind-”
“I know what I am!” Melpomene cut him off with a hiss. “Please, I can’t do this right now. I’m so – I’m so tired.” She needed this argument over. “Apollo – Ares will protect me. I don’t need him to love me, I never needed that. And you? Will you protect me? Do you love me?”
“Of course I do,” Apollo knelt down at her side again, taking her hand. “I’ve loved you through all the ages of man, you know that. If I could split my heart nine ways, you, my muse, would have one of those nine. I will protect you from any threat, through any means necessary.”
Melpomene turned her head toward him, and he curled his hand around the back of her neck, pressing his forehead against hers. He meant it; any threat, and who threatened her more than Ares? By all the gods, he hated this hold his half-brother had over her.
Tragos’ death was supposed to weaken it, even shatter it. She was supposed to see how much harm Ares would cause, how untrustworthy his followers were, how she’d made a mistake binding herself to him, to them. She was supposed to come back to him, after the boy’s death. That was the future he’d seen, the one he’d done everything he could to encourage.