So I got this request a million years ago and I gave up on the story I was writing for it because I was getting nowhere, and wrote this instead. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Rick Riordan's characters

Dedication: To Floatfoot who waited patiently and didn't give up on me.

Set Them Free

"That is such a mortal analogy…" Calypso said biting her lip. Mortal or not, it held a lot of truth, and she had no valid argument against it.

"The mortals smarten up and come up with something true every once in a while," Hephaestus grunted. He changed the subject after a second of silence. "He's probably getting impatient."

"Yes, probably," Calypso agreed.

"Go back to him. And make sure he has the option to come back to us." The god said.

Her eyes focused on the ground, at the pebbles and sand and bits of grass and weeds that usually didn't catch her interest.

"I shall," Calypso said softly.

"I'm sorry Calypso. I really am. I'd let you keep this one, but the fact is we need him."

"Well maybe I need someone too," Calypso whispered as the god left her on the shores of Ogyjia, heading back to the earth.

Nevertheless she knew the drill. And the last time she'd tried to go against it had been long ago, when she was much more foolish, much more eager, and much less protective of her heart.

She went back to Ogyjia to go talk to Percy Jackson.

If you love someone set them free. If they come back they're yours, if they don't they never were, the god had said.

The birds tugged at Calypso's hair until she followed them down to the beach, as they twirled and somersaulted through the air.

She pushed a small gate and passed through the vine-covered archway that led from the garden to the beach, cutting through the forest. Stone steps led down to the shores of Ogyjia, and disappeared into the sand and sunshine.

Once she saw what was waiting for her, she scaled them quickly, hitching up her dress to run better.

She reached the broken body lying in the sand, and turned him around.

Dark hair was plastered to his wet skin, and sand coated him like a balm. Calypso knew better; a balm was what he desperately needed right now. His face was slack. A slim nose and eyes lined by long lashes, closer together than most people. He was fair -cute, actually- but Calypso ignored that and draped one of his arms over her shoulders. She whistled to the birds and a snake's tail lunged from the archway's vines, pulling and holding the door open for her as she dragged this new stranger inside.

Two in about a year, I think, Calypso thought as she struggled to carry him despite his height. This one must be nothing short of special.

She had no idea.

Demigods talked in their sleep about 99.9% of the time. Usually that was how Calypso guessed who her visitors were before they woke from their sleep.

This one was incredibly bad off. It was as if something had fallen over him. Bruises covered the skin pulled across his broken bones. The damage was nothing as big as his spine of course, but both his femurs (a very strong and solid bone in the upper-leg; difficult and painful to break) was broken. His face was cut, and it was infected as though the blade or shard that had done the damage was dirty.

Calypso recalled Percy speaking of conflict and war. This one's shirt was the same bright orange- could it be that they were involved in the same conflict?

No, she scolded herself. You mustn't ask. You let Percy go, and he went. He is with somebody he truly loves, somebody that he will not leave. Let him be, concentrate on this hero who needs your help.

She wished she had a name to call him by.

Either way she could also tell he was an archer. One of his arms was definitely stronger than the other, and the skin on his fingers was chipped and damaged because of the numerous arrows they'd drawn and released. The necklace of strange beads he wore had an extra piece on it, and it looked like an archer's thumb ring, a piece of protective equipment for archers. He was probably a son of Apollo.

Calypso slapped herself on the hand for thinking which explains the looks wonderfully.

Back to sleep-talking demigods: this one was in a feud with someone named Clarisse, and someone named Nakamura, but the two seemed to be on different sides. He mumbled about Will and Kayla and Austin, and Percy. He was apologising to Percy, and as best as Calypso could figure out he was sorry for leaving.

He talked about shooting hoops and targets, and sing-alongs. Also he talked to someone named Lee, about how bad of a job he'd done and how sorry to Lee he was. He started squirming in his sheets when that particular subject came back and his temperature skyrocketed, so Calypso grew wary of Lee and tried to calm him down and sooth him whenever she heard the name.

Calypso wished he'd wake up so she could talk to him, and know that the small spoonfuls of nectar and ambrosia she pushed through his lips, the bandages she changed on a daily basis and the balms she applied to his injuries weren't in vein.

Michael.

There; she had a name. Michael Yew, he said. He confirmed the basic details. Son of Apollo, he was fighting in a war protecting New York (that strange place where flowers didn't grow) from the Titans (like Percy had said he was going to fight). Apparently Michael had been on a bridge that he'd convinced Percy to destroy to stop the Titans, but he had underestimated the time that he had to get off the bridge and had fallen with it.

"Explains the damage, I suppose." He said looking down at his bandaged legs and wrist.

"It was worst when you got here," Calypso assured him, running a cool cloth over his forehead. He had just woken up, for the first time, during one of his agitated fits about Lee. "Don't worry, everything heals."

"So what you're saying is now we can make my bones heal?" Michael said.

"Yes," Calypso said. "I can put something sturdier than a splinter on if your cuts are better."

She was unwrapping the long strip of bandage around his leg carefully. It was soaked with blood of course, but that was because it hadn't been changed in a while. Calypso hadn't dared.

But the second she uncovered the cut the stitches broke and blood started pouring, as if she'd popped a bubble.

"Oh, Gods of Olympus," Calypso said scrambling for another bandage.

"For the love of Zeus," Michael groaned impatiently, clutching the futon's railing. He ducked his head back and rolled his eyes. "Come on."

"Michael, please," Calypso said. "It's not the end of the world."

"No, of course not, but it sucks!" Michael said.

"Sometimes healing takes a long time," Calypso said.

"It feels like it's taking forever!"

"Well I'm sorry that you feel that way but I can't do anything more unless you'd rather overdose on the food of the gods or try me at surgery." Calypso said sharply, securing a bandage on his leg so that she could find what she needed for stitching. "I'm sorry, but it's not my fault."

"I never said it was," Michael said. He was speaking honestly.

"Well then watch your temper and your tone because sometimes it speaks for you." Calypso said, threading a needle with a thread soaked in nectar.

She managed to move him in the garden, which was good. Michael was about as hyperactive as she'd seen demigods be, and Calypso could tell that being in one place for too long was aggravating him.

He thanked her, but he was still bored- typical for a demigod. Calypso showed him one of her favourite games, her board and pieces were carved of wood by her father a long time ago. It was a bittersweet token of a bittersweet relationship.

She had to teach him the rules, because time had erased them from the world where he came from. He was funny; he tried to change the rules of the game to keep winning and he tried to cheat by playing extra moves or moving his pieces in squares he shouldn't touch. All good-naturedly, of course: Michael wasn't a bad guy. He'd learned that she laughed easily and he seemed to like making it happen.

"I'm going to have to keep my eye on more than your pulse, Michael Yew." She said putting one of his pieces to its rightful place. While she was busy he moved three others.

"I can only hope so, Calypso Doe."

She blushed.

"Doe?"

"I don't know your last name," Michael said. "It's like you're in a coma, they just call you John Doe or Jane Dow. Calypso Doe."

"Okay, let's check and see how it is today." Calypso said. She unwrapped the bandages around Michael's legs. She's spent all of breakfast prepping him for the possibility that his cuts would have reopened and that the injury wouldn't be any better. He didn't want to hear any of it, so Calypso was still braced for the worst. It would be the third time Michael's injury did that.

The second the ace bandage was off, the injury looked okay. But by the time Calypso had removed it completely blood was dripping down Michael's leg.

He groaned in frustration and fell back on the outside futon he was sitting in.

"No," he groaned, hands over his face.

"It's not bad, Michael…" Calypso said. "I mean, you won't even need stitches this time. Just some more bandages."

"That doesn't make it better." Michael snapped, sitting up, scowling and angry. His eyes met hers and he softened up.

"I'm sorry, Calypso Doe," he said. "I'm just being whiny again. I'd be dead without you, I really am thankful."

Calypso smiled to herself as she unwound another length of bandages.

"I know that one," Michael said pointing to a constellation.

"That's Heracles, I know it too." Calypso said. They were lying in the cold grass, looking up at the night sky.

"And that one!"

"Yes, Orion." She said.

"And that one," Michael said pointing to another.

"What is it?"

"It's the ballista."

"The ballista?" She asked. She had never heard of such a star before.

"Yes, see." He said pointing up at the night sky and connecting stars and enumerating them. "You connect this one and that one and this one and that one."

"You're making that up!" Calypso said. "That is not a constellation."

"Well what else am I supposed to do when you were there while the rest of them were created?" Michael fessed up.

Calypso laughed, but thoughts poked the back of her head.

No, Michael, I haven't been there. I was here. I am here. I will always be here.

"Stay still," Calypso said grabbing Michael's wrist. "If you keep thrusting out your hands, the birds will get scared off."

"Thrust or no thrust, if someone has food in their hands, I go for it." Michael grumbled.

"Well what if a giant had food in its hands for you? Would you be just as tempted?" Calypso asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, that was a bad example. You're you," Calypso laughed. "But imagine your reaction if you weren't a teenage boy. That's what it's like for these birds, they're scared of you. Just hold your hand still, and open it up a bit, and don't cup it so much." She said putting her hands on his. "And hold it away from your body. And also stay still."

"Feeding birds is way more complicated on this island," Michael grumbled. "Back home in South Carolina you just pitched the birdfeed on the ground and they'd come around when the cats weren't around."

"Well in that case I bet you've never had birds eat right out of your hand," Calypso said. "This is a lot more personal, I think you'll like it."

"Yeah, I'm the sentimental type." Michael said.

Calypso nearly snorted.

But after a while of Michael forcing himself into stillness and patience, the birds came. A sparrow perched itself in Michael's hand, and its tiny beak poked his palm as it ate.

"That tickles," Michael said.

"Mmm-hmm," Calypso smiled.

For over an hour afterwards she and Michael sat there, and she filled up his palm with seeds whenever he ran out. She watched the smile on his face grow larger and put a smile on her own face, but somehow never got over the charming, snarky, bright quality it had.

Then he started whistling. His short whistles could've been robin Morse code, and very soon more birds came.

"My… Dad's the god of music," Michael said. "I know campfire songs and have perfected Christmas carols too."

Soon the birds just came up to Michael and perched on his bandages legs and picked at his jeans' pockets for more seeds. It was like he'd been inaugurated into the island now.

They stayed outside for even longer.

"Much better than waiting for Mrs. Ridley's stupid cat to get out of our yard," Michael nodded after a while.

Calypso laughed. "Oh, come. I bet it wasn't stupid."

"It was the dumbest thing ever to walk the earth."

"Don't say that."

"Calypso Doe, I don't think you realise the extent of this cat's lack of intelligence, here. It ate the bird seeds."

She laughed as he told her about the small southern town in which he'd grown up and its small people and small church and small southern-town-pride for the rest of the afternoon, his storytelling making her laugh at every anecdote, mimic and simply stated truth.

She didn't see the afternoon go by, and neither did he.

He liked her laugh as much as she liked laughing.

"Umm…" Calypso said unsure how to approach the subject. Michael looked up from the moonlace he was watching. She'd told him that it only blossomed under the moonlight, but he'd taken that with more of a 'challenge accepted' more than a 'well alright; I'll come back when it's night'.

"I didn't want to ask you this yesterday because it sounded important to you," Calypso said. "But you said a word and I… I don't know what it is."

"Oh boy, I didn't mention Apple did I?"

"I know the fruit," Calypso frowned.

"See, it's not a fruit when the 'a' is capitalised," Michael said. "Anyways, I'm very sorry, go on?"

"You said…" Calypso smoothed her skirt and sat down next to him. "Well, you said 'Christmas'." Calypso asked.

Michael's jaw dropped.

"You don't know about Christmas?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Calypso winced. His face was flabbergasted.

"Oh my gods of Olympus and Hades," Michael said. "That's… See, Christmas is a holiday. And it's the most magic day of the year."

"Like a third solstice?" Calypso asked, trying to bridge it to something familiar.

"No, it's better than a solstice. See, everyone's in a good mood instead of rushing to finish quests, and people sing songs instead of praying for their lives, and gifts are exchanged and games are played and everyone gets some time off from work and school."

School was something enough heroes had complained about for heroes to understand.

"You've never had Christmas?" Michael asked again, his face deeply shocked.

"I'm sorry," Calypso said quickly.

"No, don't be sorry. I suppose it was long before your time." Michael said. "I just… wow, I'd never thought of that. You know what Calypso Doe, I will show you Christmas. When I get these bandages off and walk again, I'll figure something out."

"I don't need a Christmas." Calypso said.

"Of course you do, Calypso Doe. I'll give it to you."

They took the bandages off.

It didn't bleed.

Not one bit.

The skin had even scarred properly.

Calypso checked the bone and its healing, and they seemed to be exactly where they should be on the road to recovery.

"Michael, it's a miraculous recovery!" Calypso said. "I can't believe it!"

"I'm cool to walk on my own?" Michael asked hopefully.

"No," Calypso said. "No, not yet, you'd hurt yourself. We need to give the bones a bit longer to heal before trying them.

She and Michael sat on the beach, the waves rolling as far up as their ankles before retreating to the sea. A bunch of grapes in a clay bowl sat between them and they were waiting for the sun to dip below the horizon completely. The beach was already bathed in wonderful warm colours. They danced on Michael's face as he watched a couple of dolphins playing around in the deeper sea.

"I have a question," Calypso said.

"I'm not much of an intellectual, but I can try to answer." Michael replied. He tossed a grape in the air and managed to catch it in his mouth. Before she kept going he tossed one into her open mouth and gave her a round of applause.

"I was wondering why your thumbs are so beat up from archery, while you have a perfectly good thumb ring to protect them around your neck."

Michael's hand went up to his necklace immediately.

"This one's not for use," Michael said lowering his eyes to the ground, and filling his mouth with grapes.

He swallowed with difficulty.

"It… umm, it belonged to my brother." Michael said. "Lee. He died last summer, protecting Camp. He gave me this before we went into battle."

"I'm sorry," Calypso said. "You… You know, you talked an awful lot about Lee. In your sleep."

"Probably," Michael said. "I was having nightmares."

"Lee is in your nightmares? Was he a bad brother?" Calypso asked.

"No," Michael snapped. "Of course not. He was incredible. It's more… I nightmare about what it's like without him."

"You miss him," Calypso nodded.

"Exactly, but it's even worst. I'm supposed to… replace him as the leader of Apollo's children at camp." Michael said. "In case you didn't notice, I'm kind of haughty and sarcastic. I don't make a good leader but Lee did, he was awesome. And people kept expecting me to change to be that too."

"You're patient and caring and gentle, Michael. Like with the birds. You'd make a wonderful leader." Calypso said.

"Yeah, I changed because of you," Michael said. "There's no way I would've any other way."

Calypso starred at her knees, outstretched in front of her.

"Plus I was still mourning. Lee was like my best friend." Michael said. "Have you ever mourned for someone?"

Yes, but they didn't die. They went on to live heroic and wonderful lives. They just died to me because they had to be let go.

Michael must have seen in her face that she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to make him feel like he was just one more in a line-up of heroes, and she didn't want to admit to herself that he wasn't.

"Anyways, let me tell you, it's not fun. And then when you're asked to do even more than that… Well, you screw up."

"I doubt that you did anything to screw up," Calypso said.

"The thing about you Calypso Doe is that you have too much hope in the world, and too much faith in me."

No, Michael, I really don't. Not in the world and with you… well, I'm trying not to.

She hesitated a second and put her hand on his.

To comfort a friend, she told herself. I'm comforting a friend.

He looked at the hand for a long, long time. He looked up and smiled.

"Thank you," he said. "I guess I just needed to talk about it. Do you really mean what you say?"

"Yes," Calypso said. "I do."

Michael smiled a bit brighter. Not his usual brightness, but a bit brighter. His smile was like sunshine peaking from behind a cloud.

"What would I do without you, Calypso Doe?"

Michael, I'm trying not to have too much faith in you, but I don't think it's working.

She took the splinters off and for the first time Michael tried putting some weight on his legs. His arms were outstretched on either side as if he was wandering on a tightrope, one hand holding Calypso's and one on the wall of the house.

"I'm going to let go," Calypso said.

"Okay," he said.

"Make sure your legs are actually straight."

"They are," Michael nodded.

"And your weight is on both of your feet…"

"Yes," Michael nodded again.

"And make sure that your legs really are strong…"

"Calypso Doe," Michael said. "Stop worrying. I can do this."

"Okay," she breathed out. She let go of his hand and he managed not to topple over right away. That was the first thing on the list.

He looked down at his feet, his arms shaking because of his nerves and smiled.

"Yeah," he said to himself. "Yeah, okay, I can do this."

Calypso's fingers were crossed behind her back. Please let him not fall, she prayed.

Michael took his first tiny step and managed to keep it. He grinned at his feet, and took another. And another…

He was halfway down the veranda about twenty minutes of tiny and tentative steps later. He looked up and smiled at Calypso. She smiled back at him and squeezed his hand.

"You're doing it, Michael." She smiled.

He was looking at her, his eyes still and his face unwavering for a while. Then he lost his balance and Calypso had to catch him.

Hephaestus stood on the beach. Every time his mouth opened a flock of birds poured out, and they flew free across the sky before coming down on Calypso and pecking her arms and neck and face and any bare skin they could find.

"You should've set them free," the god said gravely.

Calypso shot up in her bed, panting.

Demigods had nightmares all the time. But when gods, goddesses, titans and nature spirits had them it was a bad sign.

Calypso was trimming a Lily of the Asphodel under the afternoon sun when someone poked her in the ribs. She yelped and squirmed, dropping her spade.

Someone started laughing behind her. She turned around to shoot Michael a look. His eyes twinkled when he laughed. It'd been a week since he'd been walking on his own, and now he didn't even need her for supervision. He just got up and walked around. His skin was tanned again, as if he walked around to follow the sun.

She couldn't help but laugh with him.

"You are just a troublemaker," she said. "I should just break your legs again."

"Mmm- you'll have to catch me first." Michael said before getting up and sprinting. Calypso got up, brushed the dirt off her dress, kicked off her sandals and ran after him.

They stopped running in a meadow where Michael had zoned out of their game.

Calypso wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind to make sure he didn't get away again. "Which leg do I break first?" She asked.

Michael was studying a swing.

"What's that?" He asked.

"A swing," Calypso said.

"I didn't know you had one."

"There are lots of things on this island. I haven't used this one in ages, though." Calypso said.

"So is it still sturdy enough?" Michael asked tugging on one of the ropes holding up the seat

"I don't know," she said.

"Only one way to find out," Michael said. He crossed his legs and did a ridiculous little bow. "Ladies first, Calypso Doe."

She smoothed down her dress and sat down on the seat. He gave her a push, and they took turns on the swing for the whole afternoon.

"Merry Christmas, Calypso Doe!" Someone said.

She shot up in bed looking left and right drastically. She was a nervous bundle since 'the drill' was coming, and the reoccurring nightmare about the birds wasn't helping at all. In the last two weeks there wasn't one night where Calypso hadn't been pecked and eaten alive by the birds.

"What?" Calypso frowned. Michael was in her room. Michael was in her room… Her cheeks flushed red.

"Well, I told you I'd show you Christmas once I got my legs back. I'm nearly a month late but ta-dah!"

He pointed to the corner of her room where he'd brought in a big branch that had snapped off a tree during a windy day not long ago. Strings of seashells and berries and daisies decorated it, and he'd made strange ornaments out of dandelions and dead leaves.

"This is a Christmas tree," Michael said. "Usually they're real trees, and a type of tree called an evergreen that's green and spiky. They get decorated every year. Usually with lights and ornaments that can be balls and angels and snowflakes and a bunch of other stuff. And the tree is the best thing because under the tree there's always presents."

"Presents?" Calypso asked. She pushed back her covers and swung her legs out of bed. She grabbed a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Yeah, that's a big thing at Christmas. They've even come up with a guy, Santa Claus, who comes around and gives out presents that he made."

"What is he the god of?" Calypso frowned.

"Presents, I guess. Also forced labour."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Michael said. He dragged her over to the Christmas tree and pulled out a present that he'd wrapped with a spare shirt and string from underneath the droopy branches.

"Usually there's paper, and the paper's decorated to be Christmas-themed." Michael explained.

"You make-did," Calypso said turning it over in her hands. "I'm impressed. But I don't have a present for you."

"That doesn't matter," Michael said. "Everything you did for me on this island was a present. Every second on this island is a present. Now open yours. Your face when you see it is gonna be another one."

Calypso looked at him suspiciously.

"Go," Michael urged her, giddy.

She unwrapped the present and her jaw dropped.

"Michael where in the world did you get this?" Calypso asked holding up the bracelet.

"I found some string and raffia around the house. It's just a weaving pattern again and again, my cabin had a phase where everyone was making them. And then I found a creek in the forest that had these at the bottom," he said pointing towards the beads, which looked like tiny pieces of glass.

The bracelet was gorgeous, even Calypso who never wore them had to admit.

"Thank you so much," she said. "Here, help me tie it around my wrist."

He did. The colours were all tan or beige or sandy, so it didn't look too flashy, but once you looked at it, it was gorgeous. The glass beads caught the light and made it shine.

"I think I have a present for you," she said, something suddenly dawning on her. She got up and took his hand. She dragged him across the house, abandoning the Christmas tree and bringing him into a dark room where she kept the things she did not want but could not get rid of.

She rummaged a bit and found her bow. The quiver was nearby, and after quickly dusting everything off she went back to the door where he was waiting.

"I didn't wrap it," Calypso said handing it to him, "I hope that's okay."

Michael's eyes were nearly popped right out of his skull. "Where did you get this?"

"I was never aggressive enough for a sword or a spear," Calypso explained. "When my family wanted me to fight, they put me in the back with the archers."

Michael was turning the bow over in his hands, examining the craftsmanship and the detailed engravings on the ivory.

"Well aren't you going to need it if you're an archer?" He asked. "I'm not gonna take your bow away from you."

"I'm not an archer, I don't like shooting and I'm not very good either, after all this time." Calypso said. "Not like you."

Michael didn't know what to say, clearly.

"Gods, and I wanted it to be Christmas for you…" He wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you, Calypso Doe."

Her heart nearly beat out of her chest, she was sure that Michael could feel it through their clothes. She smiled at first, and then the grin was wiped off her face by that stupid mortal quote that kept haunting her.

She pulled away forcing a smile on her lips.

"So what comes next in your ritual of Christmas?"

"Well, I know you don't eat meat or birds or turkey, but I figured out how to make requests with the invisible kitchen-servants, so there's an improvised Christmas dinner tonight." Michael said. "Until then it's fooling around all day with presents."

"Let's go fix you up some targets," Calypso said touching his arm. Then she remembered she shouldn't, so she let go and was off to the meadow where the swing was to set up some targets.

They were next to each other on the marble sidewalk between rows of flowers and vegetables and herbs. They were lying down after Christmas lunch, and watching the clouds go by, trying to give them shapes.

"I never thought I'd be okay with a green Christmas," Michael said. "Usually there's snow and it's white. I guess you make all the difference, Calypso Doe."

His compliment made her feel sick to the stomach. She was having an amazing day, but the birds and Hephaestus and the mortal quote kept bugging her.

"Michael I have to tell you something," she said propping herself up on her elbows. Michael did the same.

"Okay. What's wrong, Calypso Doe? Wait- did I use snow too casually? Because I can explain."

"No, that's not it." Calypso said. It broke her heart. He knew her well enough to process what was of his world and what was of hers. He met her eyes and they were kind and cocky.

"You look like you're going to be sick, are you okay?" Michael asked concerned, sitting up.

Calypso sat up to and laced her fingers together, taking a deep breath.

"You're healed now, and so I don't have any business keeping you here because you could be anywhere doing anything because you're amazing that way. I have to let you know that you're free to go back to your mortal world and your camp and your cabin and Kayla and Austin and everything else anytime now. You can leave Ogyjia if you want to and I know you Michael, you will want to. If you ask, I have to let you go. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you this sooner. I know that when you love something you have to let it go but I… I couldn't face the music."

And I love you too much to wait for someone to tell me to let you go. This time I do.

Michael cocked his head to the side and pursed his lip.

"Oh," he said. "Cool. But what if I don't want to be let go of?"

Calypso's heart stopped beating, it stopped hurting, it just exploded. Her ears could barely process anything anymore; she just lunged towards Michael, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Michael fell on his back and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her back.

That seemed to be enough of an answer for both of them.

Hephaestus pushed past the gate of Calypso's beach archway, and crossed the veranda and the house's open middle room. He was looking out at the garden when he saw Calypso and the newest hero, some Michael Yew based on what Camp Half-Blood and the Olympian council had guessed, lying on top of one another and kissing.

He was just going to tell her –since Hermes was too much of a scatter-brained mourner to have told Calypso like he was supposed to months ago- that she was free to leave the island now.

He'd come back on a better day.