To Camilla and Diana for their encouragement and love.

in the dog house

Persephone stormed into her chambers, relishing in the exaggerated, satisfying sound of the oversized, reinforced wooden door slamming shut, knowing that her (idiotic, stubborn, dimwitted) husband would hear and it would drive him crazy. Hades was peculiar about many things, and the correct way to shut doors was one. He always shut the door with a quiet click, no matter how much in a hurry he was. It was like he had practiced just how much force was required to pull one shut, whether he let it trail behind him or he stood and waited to lock it.

The part of her that found it endearing and slightly sexy (he, after all, applied that very patience and meticulousness to most aspects of their relationship) was nowhere to be seen currently, as the strawberry blonde haired goddess entertained the idea of opening and slamming the door repeatedly, but ultimately decided it would be a better use of her time to set about getting ready for bed.

Plopping down into her klimos, she unlaced her sandals and kicked them off, the petty part of her gleefully deciding not to pick them up so as to annoy the other (argumentative, irritating, daft) occupant of the room. She unwrapped her himation and draped it over a rack. As the Queen of the Underworld made her way through the arch to where her private spas were located, she looked down as the muddy tip of her peplos swept the floor, and felt the anger rise up again.

Her servants, knowing she liked to relax after riding, had prepared the bath for her; scented oils and warmed towels were awaiting for use, and there was a fruit and cheese plate within arm's reach of the oversized natural hot spring. A bottle of wine and empty glass accompanied it. Smiling, she discarded her peplos and sank into the water, mentally noting to thank her attendees.

The water was wonderful, and she could feel her muscles relaxing as she settled in, getting comfortable before she indulged in the meal. The bath chamber was one of her most favorite places to be, and she could feel all the tension draining as she breathed.

Hades had presented these chambers to her when she had returned from Olympus the very first time, when she had agreed to marry him. The bathing area, with it's natural hotsprings and shimmering moonlike walls, its ceiling that seemed to be the continuous glow of a sunrise, and the gorgeous greenery that was started by him with a simple vase of flowers and finished by her touch, never failed to make her smile and think how lucky she was.

Seeing herself in the mirror behind the daffodils, she scowled, remembering that she was mad at her (stubborn, unimaginative, dull) king, and sank to her chin as she vowed that not even this room would make her feel better until he groveled an apology. That decided, she nodded and reached for the oils.

Hades, feared by mortals and other gods alike, let his eyes sink shut as the door to the chambers he shared with his (obstinate, foolish, exasperating) wife slammed shut. Refusing to scowl over his shoulder (he knew she did it on purpose), he continued down the hall, sandals leaving dusty prints in his wake.

It was hard to believe that it had been such a nice day, and that all the joy could dissipate in just moments. He still didn't understand how the fight had even started, or at what point it had escalated to his wife accusing him of being a "lord of scattering common sense in the fields to die" and "so dull the ore shines like diamonds" and he defending himself by pointing out that her sense of reality "would make a titan seem intellectual in comparison" and that "flowers had better seeds of knowledge" than his bride.

By the time he arrived in his library and eased himself into his favored reading chair, he still had no idea. Rubbing the back of his neck, the ruler of the Underworld closed his eyes, still very much upset by the insults but even more bewildered.

Generally he and his (childish, vexing, pig-headed) Queen were in agreement with each other—eerily so, he had been told by his brothers and the other Olympians. Even Demeter had, grudgingly and with no lack of hostility, admitted that the pair was seemingly made for each other. They usually saw things in a different but complementary way, and although they sometimes didn't agree on the way to handle a situation, they could talk freely about their opinion and reach a compromise.

Persephone could tease and get snide in her attitudes, just as he could get sarcastic and condescending in his, but they had never had shouted at each other, never glared and traded loud insults meant to hurt and humiliate. That kind of brash fight was reserved for Zeus and Hera, Aphrodite and Ares, couples that thrived on passion and adrenaline and exaggerated declarations.

Hades had always thought such displays unnecessary and embarrassing for the parties involved and any witnesses. He was grateful that Persephone agreed with that notion, and would roll her eyes at him anytime they wound up happening in front of them.

And yet, despite that, she and he had done just that kind of act, arguing so angrily and loudly in front of Nyx, Thanatos, and Hekate (The former two who had immediately made themselves scarce, the latter who stood and amused herself on the sight until Thanatos returned and dragged her away) and who knows how many servants.

Dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his temples, he ruminated yet again, trying to figure out the catalyst that led to the disaster, and sparked their tempers.

Persephone had deemed today a perfect day for riding her wedding gift from her husband, a beautiful blue-black mare she named Asteriphos, after the stars that shined down during her (rash, unplanned, wonderful) attempt at elopement. Hades had numerous duties to attend to in the morning hours, but they arranged to meet for a late lunch, and he had taken a kiss with her when he exited the room, leaving her with a smile and a skip in her already cheerful movement. She had ordered a picnic packed, and had taken great pains with the way her clothing draped, feeling silly but giggly over her demeanor, and hadn't cared that she was preening like a nymph. Finally pulling the strands of her hair into a fashionable ponytail, she clicked the door behind her gently, and headed to the stables.

Although Persephone loved company, sometimes it was better to view her realm in solitude. She waved to those she knew as she passed, and mentally tallied anything she might need to make a note of to her husband, but the hours passed in peace, the elegance of the underworld's lands, so different from what she grew up on, more and more becoming her favored scenery.

Leisurely traveling towards the meeting spot and ready to set up for her date, she grinned at the scandalous thought that her favorite scenery was actually the outlines of her husband's body, the curve of his muscles and the glint in his eyes. Rolling her eyes over her silliness, she urged her horse faster, noting the time of day.

Heedless of the wrinkling flesh on her fingers, Persephone floated, eyes closed. Nearby, oil dripped around the mouth of their bottles, and their scent mingled with the steam, making an intoxicating cloud of bliss that was inhaled by the young goddess. The sharp bite of anger had left her, and now she was nursing her hurt pride and heart. She knew what anger in a marriage could do, the road of adultery it led to. How long would it take Hades to be tempted? How long would it take her to be tempted, lured away from her husband by the hurt? They had never screamed at each other!

Another part of her told her to stop her pity party, if that husband of hers would demean her like he did, was she really wanting to stay faithful to him? To compare her, a goddess, to titanspawn and insult her lifework—wasn't that unforgivable?

Opening her eyes and sitting up, she glanced morosely at the plate of food. Despite her initial interest, she had only managed to pick at it after cleaning herself. The simplicity of the design was almost identical to the picnic she had set up so carefully this afternoon, and her appetite had diminished rapidly. The wine, she had consumed almost completely while the anger raged inside, somewhere between furious scrubbing of her hair and the detailed picking from under her nails.

Exhaling, she poked at a grape, listlessly rolling it around the tray, her mind drifting back to the decline of the happy day.

Hades was always punctual: never more than five minutes early, never more than a minute late. It was one of the things that had intrigued her about him, so different from almost everyone she knew, who treated time as a suggestion and either rushed from place to place or never seemed to cared when they arrived nor when they left. She admired the way Hades seem to effortless always be there, how in tune to the world, all the worlds, he was.

She had grown quite adept at knowing his schedule, and therefore by the time he rode into the glade, the food had been served and she was working on pouring the ambrosia into his glass. As he settled himself onto the ground beside her, Persephone grinned and leaned up, kissing his bearded cheek in greeting. She could feel more than see his slight smile, and as he took his glass, she turned to get her own, the wind gently cooling them even as the heat in her eyes sparked into his.

The book sat open in his hands, but Hades had long given up on reading it. The words wouldn't form in his brain, occupied as it was with notions of the day. Lunch had been more than fantastic, it had been one of the best days since she had returned from her mother earlier this year.

What that it? Had her mother said something that finally lodged into the daughter's brain, making her grow weary or frustrated towards him? The god was as still as the pages in the book, a jolt of fear making his spine harder than the stone his temples were made from. Demeter was a proud, spiteful goddess, and he had always been grateful that Persephone did not inherit her mother's bitterness and iciness, but what if she could? If she became indifferent to him, if she harped on him like others, he would be alone again, and that would be a difficult burden to bear again. And a heart as wild and loving as Persephone would die inside of a body of ice just as surely as a flower would.

Snapping the book close and returning it to the shelf, he stood up. He had no idea what he would face when he went to bed, but Hades had never run from the unknown fears.

Of course, he thought as he hesitated at the door, he had never been married before.

She was sitting at her dressing mirror, brushing her hair when the door timidly opened. As her husband walked in, shoulders stiff and hands deliberately positioned to be oh so casual, she focused completely on her reflection.

Oh, this tangle was especially insistent, she thought as he crossed the room to the bath. Ten minutes later, he came out, cleaned and clothed and damp. She pointedly ignored him, despite her favorite bang draping across his forehead into his eyebrow. He stood awkwardly beside the bed, dark eyes on her (not that she noticed, of course, busy as she was with her long hair). It felt like an eternity that they stayed like that, before he took a step towards her, mouth opening—

"—Oh I forgot to clean Asteriphos! I need to—"

"Persephone—"

"—I won't be but a minute—" She rose, brush still in hand and made for the door.

"—What? You know that mare was taken care of—"

"—Don't wait up, I'll—"

"—By the servants—Persephone!"

She froze, back to him, hand on the handle. The sheer panic of his voice as he said her name cut through her, through the anger she attempted to feed, through the hurt she had drawn around herself, through the pride she held as a shield. Turning to look at him, his hand stretched out and a look of despair and puzzlement in his eyes, she felt her shoulders drop as all the emotions disappeared completely, and she wanted nothing more than to go to him.

So she did. She crossed the room, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his neck, feeling his arms come around her waist. The protective feel of his shoulders, the strength with which he held her, the feel of his beard against her cheek and ear brought tears to her eyes, and the shaky exhale he let out made her tighten her grip, nuzzle further into him.

"I'm so sorry."

"I know. I am too, I shouldn't have said what I said."

"No, I shouldn't have said what I said. It was inexcusable."

"It was only in response to me, I'm so—"

"Sorry, I know love, I know. You're forgiven."

They stood like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, until eyes were dry and breath normal, until both were smiling. Hades straightened first and took her hand, kissing her palm and she grinned, and then they moved to the bed, Hades tucking her before he blew out the torches and slid under the covers. Propping herself up, Persephone let herself play with that too cute curl, massaging and soothing until her husband was just about to drift off.

"Hades?"

"Hm?"

"I really shouldn't have said that Spot was a bad name for the dog."

"I appreciate you saying that. Go to sleep now."

And she did.