A/N: Ethan's experience in the Underworld. Review always appreciated.

Moratorium

n. an authorized period of delay or waiting

The spirit that was once Ethan Nakamura sighs, looking out at the monotonous Fields of Asphodel. If you looked at him in passing, you wouldn't notice anything remarkable about him. You might see the frayed eye patch, which is a little strange. But other than that, he's just another not-quite-good/bad-enough spirit in the Underworld. No big deal, right?

But he's the one who helped tip the scales. Or at least that's what the judges said when he first got down here. It was on his file. He was kinda hoping to achieve Elysium—that his final act had earned him a second chance at life. He wouldn't've stayed there. (He didn't really think he deserved to party.) He would've gone straight to the River Lethe so that he could be reborn.

It didn't work out that way, though. He tried to explain it to the judges—he just wanted another chance. He knew that it wouldn't be quite right, but didn't everyone deserve a shot at redemption? He'd gained back some of his reputation by foolishly trying to kill Kronos, but he wanted the opportunity to wipe off the mud his name was spattered with.

They barely listened to him. Each of the judges had their own copy of his file, a transcript of his life. Reverend King tried to argue in Ethan's favor, but Jefferson and Pericles shot him down. Um, no disrespect intended. Why should a traitor—a double traitor—be allowed into Elysium with all the heroes who gave their lives for good? They stamped a big fat "Asphodel" on his name, and he was sent off to the land of eternal nothingness.

So he sits on this same cliff edge, slowly fading into mist and forgetting who he once was. How many years has he been here? Time doesn't exist in the Underworld, it seems. After all, why would the dead care about time? It doesn't make any difference for them. At least, not the ones in Asphodel. The nobodies, with no happiness to look forward to or pain to dread.

He's not sure what drew him to this particular spot in the first place. There's not much of a view, unless you count miles upon miles of spirits wandering the fields aimlessly. Maybe it's the feeling of being on the edge. Not quite on solid ground, but not quite falling. Always not quite, just like him. There's a sense of unsteady balance that comes from sitting on the very tip of the precipice. At any rate, it added a minuscule amount of daring to his ennui-ridden existence.

But even that has faded to a simple, meaningless fact of life. Er, death. The sky up above is blue. Zeus is king of the gods. Ethan Nakamura's spirit sits on a cliff all day. Oh, sure, occasionally a hero comes along on a quest and things get interesting, but it's a rare occurrence. Most of Ethan's time is spent trailing his gaze aimlessly across the Underworld or thinking. He thinks a lot.

And sometimes—it's only happened twice—sometimes his mother comes to visit him.

It's nearly impossible for an immortal to enter the Underworld, other than the ones associated with death, or Hermes. To do so, they would have to die. But Nemesis twists the rules just a little bit. Since justice and revenge can result in death, she's technically associated with death, so she should be able to enter the Underworld without difficulty. Hades doesn't like other deities in his realm—hell, why would Nemesis even want to go down there in the first place?—so she doesn't come down often.

She says that it's to keep up some balance. Godly parents see their children in their earthly lives, so why shouldn't they visit (if they can) when their children die? But Ethan thinks (or maybe hopes) that it's because she actually cares about her kids.

The first time she came wasn't long after he died. A month, maybe? By that point, he's stopped trying to measure time. It could have been a year, for all he knows. Or cares.

He's sitting on his cliff, frowning as he looks out upon the nobodies of the Underworld. The last battle is running through his mind, as it so often did in those days, and he can't help but wonder what he could have done to tip the scales sooner. He feels guilty about it. He doesn't know which it the guilt is for, though—betraying the gods or betraying Kronos. Neither of them had felt right, and neither of them ever would. But they both had to be done, he tells himself.

"You're right," a calm voice says behind him.

He jumps to his feet, startled, and whips around to find his mother, Nemesis, standing not three feet away from him with a sad sort of smile on her face.

"It had to be done, Ethan. And you were the one to do it." Her sad smile grows, and her eyes brighten a little.

"Mother," he murmurs, his voice coming out like a chattering whisper. He doesn't know what else to say. He was just fighting a war against her, after all. Indirectly, of course, but it's the idea that makes the situation… awkward. And it's not like he could say I'm sorry, because he's not.

"You've made me proud, son. Your siblings have a cabin to live in now, and I have a throne. Because of you, your family has the respect it deserves. You've restored balance where it was needed."

"But," he says slowly after a while, "Why was it me? Why couldn't it have been another one of your children? Or even some other demigod. It didn't take a son of Nemesis to do the job. Why me?"

He feels like a whining child speaking it out loud, but he can't help it. The thought's been running through his head since he died.

Nemesis doesn't judge him, though. Her face softens in understanding. "You're the only one who could have. You've always been braver than many of my other children, and your sense of justice is clearer than most. You understand that justice doesn't always mean revenge, doesn't always mean that 'good' wins. You see through the lens that dulls others' vision."

He can't formulate a response. His heart feels like it's blocking his throat, preventing him from saying anything meaningful. Little needles prick his eye, but he blinks and they go away.

"Mom…"

"I must go now, Ethan. Remember that you are a hero, even if they do not recognize it. You were the one to restore balance," she says. A sudden gust of wind blows through, and Nemesis is gone.

He sits in the cliff for another few centuries before she visits again.

He's moved past the final battle by this point. What happened is more than half a millennium passed. He can't do anything to change it. And even if he could, he wouldn't. It was the right choice. That's what he kept telling himself until he believed it. It was the right choice.

This time, he's thinking about rebirth. He's been a little obsessed with the idea in the last century or so. To shed the stigma of his first life and begin a new existence with a clean slate would be like that first dive back into the pool on the first day of summer. Refreshing, invigorating, exciting. The thought won't leave his head. Rebirth, rebirth, rebirth. How can he focus on the boredom of Asphodel when such a tantalizing idea as rebirth hangs right in front of him? He can almost see the River Lethe from here, he thinks.

He heaves a sigh and lies down on his back, his legs dangling off the edge of his cliff. His hands weave through his own hair and he closes his eye. He thinks he might go insane. Whether from the boredom or from the temptation, he doesn't know. But insanity is a strong possibility right now. Hades, it might even be fun. To lose yourself, to think everything is funny…

A familiar voice pulls him from his twisted train of thought. "Hello, Ethan."

He opens his eye to see his mother standing above him, looking down with that same sad smile as last time.

"Mom. Um, how're things up above?"

She chuckles and sits down next to him, crossing her legs and leaning back on the heels of her hands casually. He's suddenly struck with how strange this all is. His mother—who's a goddess—is sitting next to him in the Underworld, kicking back like this is completely normal.

"I suppose they're as good as they'll ever be. We've moved around a few times. Maybe you noticed. But we're in America again. It's redeemed itself enough to host the gods, it seems."

He nods. He's noticed other spirits talking about that over the years.

"You've been thinking about rebirth." It's not a question. He looks up at Nemesis, surprised. She smiles understandingly.

"Everyone in Asphodel considers it. Especially when they've been here as long as you have."

"It's hard not to," he mutters. "They shouldn't give just the heroes the chance. It's not—it's not fair."

"You're right," his mother says, nodding. "Which is why inhabitants of Asphodel are given the chance, if they deserve it."

"What?" He sits bolt upright and stares at Nemesis incredulously. He hasn't acted this energetically in ages, and it feels good. "Then why have I been sitting here for all this time? You mean I could have—"

"There are conditions, of course," she interrupts him gently. "First of all, you must remain in Asphodel for at least one thousand years. You're only one hundred seventy nine away, Ethan. And you must be judged at one point in the Underworld, which you have been, and truly considered as a candidate for Elysium, which you were."

"So…" Realization slowly dawns on him. "What you're saying is, in a hundred and seventy nine years, I could …?"

He's too caught up in the idea of rebirth to realize that it's been eight hundred twenty one years since his death. It doesn't really matter that much anymore. Time has ceased to exist in this place.

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying. I have complete faith that you will be reborn, Ethan. You can make it for those years in between."

Again, it's like he's swallowed his own heart. Nemesis seems to understand, and pats his shoulder lightly before using it to pull herself to her feet.

"I will see you when the time comes, Ethan. Goodbye, for now." And she walks away, fading into the overcrowded Fields of Asphodel.

Now, he waits for her to come for him. For that glorious day when he can finally shed the weight of his past and redeem himself as someone new.

For one hundred seventy nine unchanging, smooth years he waits.

"It's time, Ethan."

He stands and turns to face his mother, a smile spreading across his face. He can only whisper two words, but he knows that she understands exactly what he means.

"Thank you."

He gives her one last glowing smile before beginning to walk towards the river. He doesn't look back.

And when the waters of the River Lethe burn away his memories, like a phoenix in the ashes, he knows that he's made the right choice. That he's restoring balance.

Finally.