All she could smell was Lysol. It wasn't even the lemon kind, which would've been better; it was the plain, reek-of-bleach kind. The fumes, coupled with the harsh, bright lights were giving her a migraine. It didn't help that the ever-present nurse, with her whiny, buzzing voice, was chatting away. It didn't matter much, though. She needed an answer, and she needed it now. Her gray eyes stared ahead, at the poster on the wall. On any regular day, she would've thought it hilarious to be staring absentmindedly at a picture of the female reproductive system for so long. Today, not so much.

Her husband, of course, was doing his best to cheer her up. Cracking jokes; smiling; wearing the model of the uterus as a hat… anything he could to get her to show any emotion. The bright lights washed him out, though. In this light, she could've sworn his hair was almost a deep gray, instead of its usual black. His green hoody looked faded beyond repair. His eyes, however, were still their same color, luminescent and vibrant against a bland, boring backdrop. The sparkle, though, for lack of better term, was gone. He was as afraid as she was, and she knew it. She could tell by his twitching eye that the fluorescent lights were doing a number on his head as well. Unlike herself, he made polite, albeit brief small talk with the nurse who, quite frankly wouldn't have known the difference or cared if he had maintained silence as well.

Finally, finally the doctor arrived, back with the test results. He didn't look very pleased. The woman sat up in the stirrups, maintaining strict posture, and, with her eyes fixed on the doctor, grabbed for her husband's wrist. The chatty nurse, seeing the doctor's expression, quickly shut her mouth, and subtly slipped out the door with a brief nod to the doctor. Sighing, he took a seat on a stool and opened the file. The manila folder, with all its crisp, undamaged corners, seemed to mock the woman. Never in a million years would she have ever thought she would be in this situation.

The doctor quickly flipped through the pages and sighed once more, looking up at the couple. His sad, tired eyes bored into the woman's own, and at once she knew that there was no way she would walk out of this room a happy woman.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am…." He began.

After those words, however, she shut down. It sounded as if she were in a wind tunnel, and all sounds were muffled, buzzing noises that spurred on her migraine. The words "ovarian defect" and "infertility" floated by her, as if in a dream. With each word, she winced, as if they were a slap in the face.

"Is…is there a chance—any chance at all that we could still have…a child?" She heard her husband ask.

"Little to none" Came the reply. "I could put you on a medication, and you could try IVF, but I'm afraid that your chances are slim. I am so deeply sorry."

With that, she crumpled inward, as if someone had socked her in the stomach. In fact, she had been socked in the stomach once before, in battle, and she knew right away that this feeling was much, much worse.

She didn't sob, just began breathing quickly and heavily. She felt her throat closing up and the gaping hole in her chest intensify. Her vision became blurry and she felt her husband's arms around her; the doctor's hand on her knee, a blanket being pulled up around her. Comforting words.

Suddenly, the gaping hole in her chest became a ball of fire. She was suddenly angry at everyone; the doctor, for delivering such bad news; her husband, for trying to tell her it would be all right; the gods, for making her life such a living hell; but mostly herself. She was the one who was unable to have a baby. Yet because of her inadequacy, he was denied a child. Sure, he told her that it didn't matter that much to him; that they could always adopt or become foster parents, but she could always see that glimmer of sadness in his eyes as they walked by the park, or when a friend had a baby. The fact that she wasn't in control made her furious, and the others were pure oxygen to her open flame.

"STOP!" She screamed, pushing everyone away from her. "Get away from me! Just, stop…please!"

She sobbed the last part, as the tears came. Her body shook with emotion, and she crumpled inward, placing her head firmly between her knees.

"Please." She whispered. "Please."

She knew that both men stared at her with a mixture of horror and pity. She abhorred pity. Suddenly she felt exposed, raw, and open. She didn't like it, any of it. Silently she lifted her head, a mixture of sorrow and forgiveness stricken across her face. She felt so helpless and vulnerable; it was as if she were a child again.

The doctor explained the medication he was putting her on, in hopes of increasing fertility. He patted her on the knee again, and wished her the best of luck, expressing his condolences once more. And then, just like that, he was gone.

The woman quickly stood up, suddenly aware of how naked she truly was, and held shut the open back of her hospital gown. She grabbed for her clothes and ran to the small bathroom adjacent to the room. Jeans were hastily slipped on and a sweatshirt was thrown over her head. She turned, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

There she saw a woman, with blonde, matted hair that had lost its sheen; dull, lifeless gray eyes, and smeared mascara. Quickly, she took a comb out of her purse and twisted her hair up into a messy ponytail. The mascara was wiped away, and cool, refreshing water was splashed on her face. However, something was missing, she decided. A curt, simple half smile was added to complete the revival. Stepping out of the bathroom, she made eye contact with her husband and they both stepped cautiously towards the door.

Not a word was spoken between them, but their body language said it all. The two were deflated; they had given up. Sure, they had been through war together, and had seen the best and worst mankind had to offer, but this, in its own way, was much worse than any battle could ever be. Of course, this was a silly thought. Irrational; a trait that should never be possessed by a child of Athena. It made her miserable.

He stood at the main desk, signing all the forms and picking up the prescription. Silently lingering behind him, the woman turned her head to the front doors of the facility. Rain. She thought. Hot, flashes of bright white light streaked the sky, and large, booming cackles of thunder echoed in the dreary building. Zeus must be upset.

Suddenly, she had the greatest urge overcome her. Another irrational, unplanned thought, her mother would be so proud. With her eyes set ahead, determined, she sprinted for the door, pushing it open. There were voices, calling her name, but, once again, she was in that wind tunnel, and everything was muffled.

The slap of her sneakers hitting the wet pavement, and the slick, permeated hair falling in her face spurred her on, and she felt the burn of her lungs give way to a free, airy feeling. Down the road she sprinted, the sky black with night.

"Gods, I must've been in there for hours. It must be at least eight!" She thought.

The busy main street with the facility gave way to residential areas. Houses, bright with light, with silhouettes of families showing through the windows. She blinked tears out of her eyes, and they mingled with the rainwater on her cheeks. She increased her speed, drowning out what must've been her husband calling after her. She clenched her fists, so much so that her nails broke skin, and choked back a sob. The slaps of her feet increased frequency.

Soon, the houses faded away, and she was acquainted with familiar territory; the woods. A trail led her up a slow incline, rocky territory. She heard his voice behind her, growing closer, but she chose to ignore it. She needed to be alone, couldn't he see that? Of course, she thought, he was going through a pain of his own, and probably needed her. She felt guilt, but soon pushed it aside. She needed this time to be selfish.

Finally, she reached the grassy plateau of the hill, a knoll overlooking the small city they lived in. She tilted her head back, breathing heavily, and opened her arms, twirling in the heavy rain. She began to cackle at how cliché the act was, how strange it was. Soon, the giggles became sobs, and she sunk to the wet grass, clinging to her knees. Her actions startled her, and she was beginning to scare herself. She just wanted to go home, to get in bed with him and rest her head on his chest. That would make her feel better; it always did. Something about that position just felt so…right. She sobbed harder as she reminded herself of her selfish actions.

The bushes rustled behind her, and he struggled out of them, making his way towards her. His hair was plastered to his face with a mix of sweat and rain, and his clothes were completely soaked. She noticed a hole in his jeans, with a bloody scrape on his knee. A smudge of dirt streaked his face.

He loomed over her, concern and sorrow covering his face. She turned towards him, and, holding back a sob, patted the ground next to her. Hesitantly, he sunk down to the wet grass, running a hand through his wet hair. For a few minutes, they both just stared ahead at the bright city, and said nothing. The humid, summer air clung around them, the rain having stopped, and they caught their breath in silence.

Finally, she turned towards him and whispered the words she had been bringing herself to say.

"I am so, so sorry. I just…I needed to run, to get away from that place. I—please…please forgive me." She pleaded.

He turned to face her and gave her a look, one of sadness, comfort, and forgiveness; everything she needed right at that very moment. She lifted her hand to wipe away the dirt on his face, and they shared the impassioned exchange for a few more seconds.

Slowly, he leaned in, and the two embraced, sharing a small, but passionate kiss. She melted into him and they stayed together a few minutes, until they broke apart for air. They shared a small smile, and she leaned in, resting her head on his chest, as they saw the luminescent beauty of the city in which they lived. He wrapped his arms around her, and they shared the hours of night this way, sitting in the humid summer's air, drenched from head to toe.