Out of the god's affairs with mortals, Hades relationship with Maria di Angelo always intrigued me. Specially because of the fondness Hades uses to speak of her (even in Persephone's presence).

Percy Jackson and the Olympians belongs to Rick Riordan.

Walking around the city was one of Maria's favourite activities. The covered night gave her the idea of peace, only broken by the inevitable reminder of a war about to break.

Yes, another war was brewing under the harsh stares of Germany's councillor and il duce. Her father had been open with his family, it was more than likely that the disagreements between Germany and the United Kingdom led to a full blown battle. Unfortunately, by the way Europe was distributed, that meant every ally each of those countries counted with would join to defend one of two sides.

"It has always been Hitler's wish," her father had stated during dinner, one evening. "A war to reclaim what was stolen to Germany! That country's president won't last more than two years, and then Adolf Hitler will be the man in power."

She knew it was rubbish. She saw straight through the barbaric man's intentions. Blaming minorities would solve nothing, and laying the causes of a war on the 'reclaiming of stolen lands' was even more brainwashing.

But while she walked the empty sidewalks she avoided thinking of those things. Tragedies where not her strong suit, she liked thinking happy thoughts. Her childhood friend getting engaged last week, her elder sister expecting a child. Even when on political edge, good things still happened. Even the darkest of times could offer a small ray of light.

Sometimes, when she paced around the historical city, she would see things that made her wonder. She never spoke of those things, she knew that regardless of her father's infinite love for her, she would end in a psychiatric clinic. Not for the first time, she thought she saw some unusual animal grazing a piazza, it looked like a hairy cow. Thinking nothing of it, she fastened her steps.

She stopped, in a bridge crossing a water canal. No gondolas this late, night had already fallen a long time ago. Maria breathed and thanked God that the tides hadn't left the distinguishable nasty smell the water sometimes oozed. She loved the sound of slow-running water.

Steps ushered her out of her mind place. As much as she enjoyed late walks under the moonlight, if times were becoming hard, her strolls were not particularly smart of her. Not while she was a young unaccompanied woman.

A man came out of the alley, not three metres from her. She jumped back a bit.

"I'm sorry," he said. He spoke in English, but his accent reminded her of one of her father's colleagues, an English man who had move to America for a few years. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She assumed he was a lost tourist. There were a lot of those in Venice. This man felt too powerful to be lost, though. His aura made her feel unimportant, somehow. This was a man with immense power.

He seemed pale under the moon. His eyes were dark, and looked older than the man was.

"You barely startled me," she told him. "I wasn't expecting anyone, that's all."

He smirked, "I wasn't either. Autumn nights are too cold for people to be outside."

"Maybe for tourists, they are," she huffed.

"I meant no offence," he quickly apologised.

She couldn't help but notice how the shadows bent to his sides. What was it with this man? She decided an introduction was in place.

"I'm Maria," she offered. "Maria di Angelo."

"Hades," he replied, holding out a hand for her.

She shook it, playing indifferent to his obvious avoidance of mentioning a surname.

"Like the Greek deity?" she wondered.

"Exactly," he agreed. "Like the Greek god."

"And what reason does Hades-like-the-Greek-god have to be around the streets of Venice on a 'cold autumn night'?" she asked.

He smiled for real, this time.

"I was lonely," he admitted. "Bored out of my mind. Venice has always given me a sense of calmness."

She didn't miss the way he said that, as if he could pick whichever place to spend the weekend.

"Tiring job?" she followed, nonetheless.

"You wouldn't imagine," he grumbled. His voice returning to his soft tone he added, "What brings Maria di Angelo to these empty streets?"

"Unlike you," she started. "I was too crowded. My father has spoken of nothing more than uninteresting politics for months..." she stopped herself. She didn't know this man, and even if he appeared to be an American or English tourist, he could be anyone.

"Uninteresting?" he wondered, lowering his voice to a mere whisper. "If anything, politics have never been this interesting. Tragic, most likely, but never boring. Not anymore."

"They say that for an amicable conversation one must never mention politics, economy, or religion," she smirked, speaking on the same low volume.

"And yet that's all people talk about these days, do they not?" he disagreed. "People have only mentioned America's economic crisis for the past few months. That and Germany's weak president, and strong whatever-his-title-is. Which leads to religion, because, as far as I know, synagogues don't simply burn themselves to the ground."

She stared at him blankly. How could this man so calmly talk about all of this? Did he not know no one was safe under Mussolini's gaze?

Seeing her face, he remarked, "It never ceases to surprise me to which levels human fear can take us."

"Not a people-person, are you?" she questioned.

He chuckled in spite of himself, "Not in the slightest."

She couldn't help but laugh with him. Who was this man? There was something... The way he spoke, as if he didn't think himself part of the human race. The way the shadows bent to him. Such old eyes for one who couldn't go over twenty five.

"Where are you from?" she decided.

"Ironically, from Greece," he didn't miss a beat. "But I haven't stepped my homeland in an age and a half. I have lived many places since."

"Places such as where?"

This time, she saw him hesitate, "I have lived in Italy, in France, in England..." he numbered. "As of now, my whereabouts lay in the Colonies -which is how Britons call...-"

"The United States," she finished. "That is a lot of moving about."

"I don't have many lasting friends, admittedly," he shrugged. "But I have seen many places."

"Do you do a lot of traveling?"

"Sometimes," he responded. "Whenever time allows it."

"I have never left Italy," she complained. "My father never has the time."

"Screw the man, you must be around twenty?"

He looked at her firmly, "Nineteen," she corrected.

"You don't need his permission, anymore," he shook his head.

"You make it sound very easy," she looked down. His stare made her feel uneasy, and yet, something attracted her to him. He wasn't ugly, at all. Quite the opposite, beyond his paleness, which she attributed to the moon, he was rather good looking. His eyes twinkled with passion when he spoke.

"Time has taught me that life can be cut short, too soon," he explained. "You must enjoy your youth. Do what you wish now, or else you might never get to do it."

She smiled, "What do you wish to do right now?"

He leaned on the bridge's rail, and after a moment of thinking he looked at her straight in the eye and dared a, "Right now, I would like to know if you'd have a drink with me some time."

She was taken aback, but didn't like the idea of refusing.

"I know a place where we could get coffee," she suggested. "Near the piazza San Marco. How does Sunday sound to you?"

"Let's do something," he said. "I'll walk you home, to make sure nothing happens to you. And I'll know where to pick you up."

She faltered for half a second. She had just met this man. And she didn't know his surname even. For all she knew, he wanted to reach her house to murder her family whole. And yet she had a feeling that he was being honest. This older, handsome, powerful, foreign man, with a very cute accent, could actually be interested in her.

"Okay, then," she smiled. She could trust her gut. "Right over here."

Luckily for her, he didn't show to be a mass murderer. What is more, he offered her an arm -which she took willingly-, and proceeded to arrange the time of their date with her.

As they walked in the moonlight, she could feel herself falling slowly for Hades.