"Happiness is just a word to me
And it might of meant a thing or two
If I had known the difference
Emptiness, a lonely parody
And my life, another smokin' gun
A sign of my indifference
Always keepin' safe inside
Where no one ever had a chance
To penetrate a break in"

-Gotta Knock a Little Harder Yoko Kanno/ Tim Jensen

Chapter 8: Reprieves of a Depressed Drunk

She was drunk. D-R-U-N-K drunk –and she didn't care who knew it. Her father always told her that it was never healthy to fight off a hang-over with more booze to the system –and a certain black-haired, guy-liner man is definite proof of that- but for all the grief she was given from the man she grudgingly calls a father, she could care less of the little life lessons he always tried to partake on her. She didn't even want to get started on that piece of crap who helped carry her into this piece of shit they called a world –for all the misery it gave her.

Meg looked around the dark bar area of the restaurant; Flynn was long gone, having fed and decided to school his new found "protégé" –they left Meg to her own destruction where she decided to crawl into a bottle of very expensive scotch with all her hard (stolen) earned money. Her revelations of the night before had her feeling particularly low, and since Hades hadn't contacted her since the job was done, she felt it only right to treat herself to bubble baths, expensive wines and enough cream-puffs to make a diabetic look healthy. Flynn had scolded her for her rash choices of being drunk while taking a bubble bath, but she had rebutted that his chain smoking was a slower torture than her passing out and drowning –at least she'd go peacefully. It shut him up -until he dragged her ass out of the comfort of her million dollar loft and out into the real world with the hopes of grabbing some real food. See how well that panned out, go to get some food and then pick up a stray puppy on the way. Meg snorted at the thought. She had no idea why she was feeling so bitter; all she knew was that she wanted a reason to be angry. Having a reason to be angry –even if it was a sorry excuse- just gave the validation to go off on whoever she wanted. Her mother was the one who taught her that, her mother was also the one who taught her that more alcohol had made people prettier –another notion that she had to snort at. It didn't matter how much she had in her system; everyone was still ugly as hell.

She downed the rest of the contents in her glass and waved the bartender for another. She watched the bartender pour her glass, remembering the sweet little southern child that had been her bartender a while back. It was only five days ago –but to Meg and her booze induced mindset- it felt like weeks. She was a breath of fresh air, that bartender. She was the kind of girl who you'd want to break your heart over, but couldn't because she wouldn't give you the opportunity to. She was a real and honest hardworking gal, and that was something Meg had massive amounts of respect for. So why couldn't she be more honest? Make a more honest living for herself? She'll tell you why; because she was lazy as hell; and with the role models she had growing up, she learned that it didn't take very much to get people to give you what you wanted; just an adjustment of her bra, little bat of the eye lashes and the right shade of lipstick you could have people mesmerized in a second. Oh, how she hated her parents, she was lucky she didn't know any other family members, because she'd probably end up disliking them too. She was sure that the sweet southern bartender had grown up with an amazing support of people to motivate her and keep her bright and sunny…

Meg slammed her glass down, aggravation screwed deep into her amethyst eyes –she be DAMNED if she was throwing herself a pity party! Beating up herself up, she can do. Scorning the people who brought her into the shit world, she could understand; but once she started throwing her own damn pity party? That was the last straw and enough to push aside her glass of scotch and not touch it for the next few months. Alcohol was also a terrible way of coming to terms with the truth; it's why the stuff was just so evil and brutal. Just like another certain devil she could go without in her life.

"Either you make sitting in that chair look amazing, or you're just naturally gorgeous." Meg rolled her eyes, was it too much to ask to just have some moments of peace to herself? Besides, was that even a pick up line?

Meg dropped her head and glanced to her right, her in her vision was a very handsome man, with deep blue eyes, a strong jaw, cleft chin, silky smooth black hair and biceps more muscular that her thighs. Too bad he was wearing an arrogant look to his face that read that he was dumber than bricks and shit combined. She pulled her face forward, rightly ignoring the man, any other night she would use him to buy her a round of shots then convince him to give her his wallet. But tonight, she had just sworn off alcohol and was just not feeling it.

"Aw, baby, don't be so cold," the man slid into the stool next to her and leaned in. She almost gagged at the obscene amount of cologne he was wearing. It was obvious that no one ever told him that enough was enough.

"How about you and I get out of here," the man started to trail a hand up her jean clad thigh. She quirked up an eyebrow, boy was he barking up the wrong tree. She turned to him, making sure a smile pulled at her lips. He seemed to think that that was an invitation, because he rested an open palm on her thigh like it was a damn armrest.

"And what makes you think that I want to go anywhere with a shit brained monkey like you?" She hissed at him pinching his hand and throwing it off her thigh. She slid off her barstool then to make her grand exit, but the man wrapped his strong fingers around her tiny wrists and pulled her towards him and standing to use his height to intimidate her –it didn't. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"I think for Adonis Greco, you will," the man sneered; making a move to pull back his jacket slightly, a police badge was clipped to his belt. Meg felt her heart jump to her throat –she was just a magnet for trouble and shitty people no matter where she went.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Meg lied coolly, challenging him. At first she thought he was going to let her go, but instead he tugged out a picture of Adonis and her when they were seventeen. Her teenage self looked at her present self with her signature look of complete boredom, but there was a light in her purple eyes. It was the light she had from when she believed herself in love with the ass that had his arms thrown carelessly around her shoulders and a carefree grin.

"Look, whatever Greco did, I assure you, I had nothing to do with it," Meg said in a bored tone as the cop put the picture back, though she was feeling the panic pulse through her veins. What the hell kind of crap did he get himself into this time?

"That little thief owes me the money he cheated me out of. I don't take very kindly to cheaters," the man growled.

"And I say again," Meg sighed, daring to look into those very pissed off looking blue eyes, "me and Greco aren't associates any longer," she tugged at her wrist painfully, but the grip was like iron, "so. Back. Off."

"Oh but you were in association with him," the cop said with a sick smile, "meaning that I could possibly find some pretty shiny things on you if I look hard enough."

Meg smiled back, a sarcastic smile that caused her eyes to narrow, "Don't strain yourself too hard –I'm pretty sure your brain has already hit its maximum capacity just by concentrating how to talk." Not one of her finest, but it did the job.

Ugly anger replaced the cop's handsome face and Meg knew from a lot of experience what was coming. She flinched back expecting the impact of the power behind hand with the well toned arm, but it never came. She opened her eyes, and saw shock overcome her assailant's eyes as he realized that his own wrist was being held by a guy who was equally as well-built as him. Besides the muscles there was a huge contrast between the two of them, where the cop had black hair, the man had this dark copper colored hair clipped short and slicked back, and his cornflower blue eyes held no malice or any trace of arrogance unlike the dark blue eyes of the man who still had his hand on Meg's wrist.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you never to strike a lady?" The newcomer asked, joking was in his voice, but underneath it there was sense of disapproval. Meg's days just kept getting better and better.

The cop twisted his wrist out of the newcomer's –a jerking movement that had Meg stumbling with him. The man holding on tight to Meg's wrist, opened his mouth to speak, but Meg's husky voice was what spoke, she didn't even bother hiding her annoyance. "Just what in the hell do you think you are doing?"

The copper-haired man looked at her in confusion, "Isn't this guy giving you problems?"

"And you suppose butting in is going to make this easier for me?" Meg scowled at him. The man only hesitated, and Meg continued, still trying to free her wrist, "Look, we've got this under control -you can go about your night."

Meg half expected the man to turn and leave, with the dejected look that seemed to screw up his handsome features, but then Meg gave a yelp in pain as the cop tightened his grip in frustration. The dark coppered haired man was fast; he spun the antagonist so fast that he had no choice but to let go of Meg's wrist. What had transpired next Meg didn't bother to stay and watch –instead she turned to make a quiet escape. As she spun something cool and wet with the fragrance of St. Germaine and lychee was dripping its way down the front of her neck and her cream colored, silk, button-downed blouse.

Closing her eyes, she silently cursed the Gods or whoever the hell was in charge for never making things easy for her.

"Sorry there, sister," said a distracted raspy and Jersey accented voice. Meg glanced around for the source then looked down to come head to face with a short, red nosed, scruffy looking man who reminded Meg desperately of goat.

"S'alright," Meg muttered down to him, then turned to try to get the bartender to give her a towel or something, but he was too pre-occupied trying to break up the fight and throw them out. It was high-end establishment, and embarrassing to be caught as the reason for such an unsophisticated fight. Sighing in aggravation Meg decided to just bend over the bar to get the damned towel herself –she was already the center of ridicule and speculation what did she care if more people started to think the worse of her?

"Normally I scold the kid for interfering in other people's business –but with you I can certainly forgive why he had," the goat-man said thoughtfully getting a nice view of Meg's ass as she found the rag. Making a face at his comment, she accidentally knocked over a glass as she slid back to her side of things, causing the glass to barely miss his shin and shatter to the floor by his feet. As the goat man began to bleat that she did it on purpose, she patted herself down –hoping fervently that it didn't stain her three hundred dollar brand name blouse- and tossed the soiled rag in his direction. She gathered what was left of her dignity and left the restaurant.

Once outside she decided to hail a cab –all of which decided at that moment to be busy. Repressing another sigh, she wonder if this was karma finally catching up to her. All that seemed to be missing was the rain as she decided to walk the forty plus blocks to her loft barefooted –only because she did not want to commit suicide on her feet with the five inch black pumps she was wearing.

Just as she was about to slip off her heels, a familiar voice had her tensing up.

"Miss?"

Meg turned to see the dark copper-haired man from before come up behind her with a newly acquired split-lip being the only injury. Is Wonder Boy here for real? Meg thought bitterly to herself as she did the once over of her supposed savior. She cocked an eyebrow and went into her fighting stance; sagging her hips to the side, and placed her right hand on her hips –she be damned if she got caught up if this was a new cheap way of hitting on women.

"You ran out so fast, I thought I would miss a chance to make sure you were okay," the man said with a sweet smile, it was the kind of sweet smile that made you trust him in one fell swoop, it was also the kind of smile that put her on the defense quick. Something she taught herself: Never be too trusting with sweet smiles.

Meg didn't respond, and that seemed to make him shift awkwardly. When his cornflower blue eyes met her velvety purple ones, Meg watch as awkward just became full out uncomfortable –something that took years of practice to do without having to actually glare.

"Well, uh," he started, shifting from one side to the other, "Uh… are you alright, Miss…" he trailed off, waiting for a name.

Meg seriously thought about giving him a fake name, but looking into his eyes, she figured she give the kid a break, "Megara," she answered quickly, "Friend's call me Meg. At least it's what I think they'd call me if I had any." A crease of confusion marred his handsome face, and Meg decided to change the subject, "You got a name to go along with all those rippling pectorals?"

The man hesitated, than started to stammer, causing Meg to lift her eyebrow in amusement –he was cute, in the innocent farmboy sort of way. "Are you always this articulate?"

"Hercules!" he choked out finally, but already Meg was making her way to the street, hoping again to hail a cab.

"'Herc', huh?" she smiled to herself, glancing back at him, "I think I like Wonder Boy better."

The crease deepened, but he just went on talking, trying to keep his cool, "So how did you get caught up with, uh…"

"Ass-hole with a badge?" she lifted her arm up to a cab with its light on, but it drove past her. "You know how they are, thinking 'no' means 'yes', and 'get lost' means 'take me –I'm yours!'" Seeing that she had lost him entirely, she noticed the short man from earlier who got a free-show, she jabbed her thumb in his direction, "I'm fairly certain Pee-Wee Morris there can explain it to you."

The shorter man stopped at her insult, turning a deep shade of red in anger –but the two ignored him. Hercules watched as Meg lifted her arm again and successfully hailed down a cab. Opening the door, she heard him stutter around before telling her to wait. She turned to see him lift something from the ground. "You don't want to forget your, uh… thing."

Meg gave him a warm smile, one that actually reached her eyes "That's not mine," she said, and entered the cab, watching through the tinted windows as his shoulders slumped, biting her bottom lip, she rolled down her window to call out to him, "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Wonder Boy."

Hercules perked up as he spun to see her roll her window back up and the cab pull away from the curb. Hercules had never met a woman quite so confusing like her before…


Meg punched the button for the top floor the minute she entered the lift, slipping out of her heels and leaning against the wall as the doors shut, she began to think of all that had transpired. She hadn't even realized how sober she was until she had entered the cab. Probably it was the pissy cop that snapped her out of her drunken stupor, or maybe the whole feeling sorry for herself, or maybe it was both –it didn't matter though, she was never going to touch the stuff alone again. Meg was a lot of things, but a pathetic, drunk, depressive bitch was not one of them.

The doors of the lift opened, and Meg pushed herself off the wall and made her way to her loft. She hated to admit it, but she liked her loft very much. She didn't want to admit to liking it mostly because Hades had been the one to pick it out and purchase it for her. One of the many things he went out of his way to do for her. She never said thank you to him for it –just took the keys and shoved him out. She also would never admit that he either got her, or had good taste, but her loft was the only place she could ever feel comfortable in: the only place she could ever actually let down her walls and unscrew the careful mask she had placed –of course, she swept the place for bugs and hidden cameras first before ever deciding to call it 'home', it was purchased and picked out by Hades after all.

Sliding her key and turning the knob she pushed open her door. Dropping her shoes and leaning against her door the darkness engulfing around her. She felt the need for a long hot shower, and then sleep until next week. Shower first. She made her way to the spiral stair case that led to the bedroom, stopping as she saw a dim light emanate from above her. She huffed through her nose, and stomped her way up her stairs, knowing full well who it could be –who else had the balls to break into a person's home and make himself all sorts of comfy?

Sure enough, as her head cleared the floor and she could make out the figure lounging effortlessly on her bed, there Hades laid, legs propped up, leaning against the headboard with his hands behind his head, and his damned shoes neatly placed at the foot of her bed. His eyes were closed, but he smiled as she entered the room, she made no effort to mask her entrance, and annoyance.

"Good evening, my sweet, my darling," he opened his eyes to stare at her, "My little nutmeg."

Oh how that nickname made her cringe. She stayed where she was at the stairs, watching as he looked her up and down, eyes lingering at her chest. She gave him a sarcastic smile, "Take a picture, it lasts longer."

Hades grinned as he met her eyes, "Just admiring that stain on your beautiful Chanel blouse."

Meg looked down, she almost forgotten her run in with the pervy-goat man. She sighed, "It's the latest fashion statement in Paris –didn't you know?"

"Well, just goes to show how incredibly lazy the fashion students these days are."

"As much as I love standing here exchanging pleasantries with you –I want to go to sleep, so what the hell are you doing here, Hades?" Meg sneered at him, she had lost her patience and in a way their game of pull and push –but she was tired, and he was just the icing on the top of her very, very bad day.

Hades swung his legs off the bed and stood up, walking towards her. His hand lightly brushed against her as he plucked his black blazer from the railing she was leaning on. She watched him as he produced his phone and pulled up a picture of the black-haired man who gave her a very exasperating time at the bar. Suddenly things began to click together.

"You rotten bastard," she growled at Hades, who was now grinning in triumph at her, "You set the whole thing up! Were you and Adonis in cahoots the whole time? Or was this one grand scheme to screw me over some more?"

Hades gave a deep and pained sigh, and put his phone back in his pocket, "Put the claws away, kitten. This ain't some plot to screw you over," he pulled out his pack of cigarettes looking as if he were debating whether he should smoke them or not, he put it back.

"Then what the hell are you playing at by sending that cop after me?" Meg crossed her arms watching Hades with an accusing stare.

"One of my dirty cops grew a damned conscience and I needed another one in my pocket," Hades shrugged, and at that moment Meg wanted to slap that stupid grin off his face.

"Poor Hades, too chicken shit to bait his dinner himself," Meg replied with venom. She moved past him, giving up on any hopes of taking a shower –but he reached for her wrist, and she winced when she felt the stinging pain from his touch. People just couldn't stop reaching for her freaking wrist.

Hades looked down, and pulled up her sleeve, exposing the purpling flesh on her wrist. His eyes flashed with emotions she couldn't put her finger on before he went to the cool easy expression of shutting down his emotions. He raised her bruised wrist to his lips and gave a whisper of a kiss along her flesh.

"So, my pet, is there a reason why I don't have the cop calling to work for me?"He purred –it was the same damn purr that made her involuntarily shiver with lustful need; and matched with that damn devilish smile, she felt herself come undone to the control that was all Hades –and it pissed her off to no end. He pulled her closer to him gently, and she went willingly. He lightly began to trail his fingers up her arms, making her fight a soft sigh from escaping her lips.

She refused to give in –so instead she spoke, her voice came out raspy despite her better judgment, "I got held up."

"Hm, is that so?" he's hands found themselves unbuttoning her shirt slowly; one button at a time, "No doubt the story behind the ruin of your very pretty and very expensive blouse."

She fought not to move as he jerked her shirt from her jeans, and slid it off her –making sure that his hands smoothed their way across her now exposed skin. "Some guy came between me, and your brainless muscle head."

One of Hades' hands slid down to the small of her naked back, and pulled her to his body, lightly pressing her to his silken shirt, and giving her no choice but to wrap her arms around him as he dove for that one spot on her neck that just seemed to make her knees give out –he playfully nipped at that particular spot, earning him a shuddering sigh from his reluctant prey.

"Guy?"he questioned against her skin.

"Yes," came out a horse reply. "He came in with this innocent farmboy routine that was easy to see through in a hot second." She hugged him tighter as he began to trail kisses down her neck, his other hand squeezed her hip in anticipation of her reaction. "Some guy named Hercules," she all but gasped.

Hades' lips stopped their kisses, and she felt his entire body go stiff. She blinked through her lust, and it gave her a moment to realize that Hades was about to lose his cool. His hands came quicker than she could react, painfully pulling her chin to force her to look up at him. His eyes held that murderous stare that he reserved for his two ass-kissing morons, Pain and Panic. It was a stare she had never hoped to be on the receiving end of, but she tried not to let the fear she felt grip her.

"What, m'dear, was that name again?"

She looked back at him, not squirming, or giving into her instinct to shrink away. She held her ground and looked back at him defiantly, "Hercules."

His grip tightened, and suddenly she was in the damned restaurant again, except this time it was her face that was going to be bruised. Something in her face must have told him she wasn't going to play helpless, because the next thing she knew his lips were on hers. It was as if he were trying to take out his frustrations on her mouth and lips. There wasn't a damn thing about it that was at all arousing. What was it about Meg that made people think she was just a goddamn sack they could just toss, kick and punch? She shoved him back, and she shoved him back hard, causing him to grip the railings behind him to keep him from falling.

"Get out," she growled at him, her anger only matching his. There was no way in hell she was going to be tossed around.

Hades gave a very dangerous smile –she had a moment to reflect on the stupidity of her actions, but shrugged it off; she was this far in, why bother to back down now? If she was going to stoke the fire, might as well jump in and burn with it.

"Ballsy, are we?" Hades sneered.

"I said: Get. Out," she reached for his jacket to throw at his face, but both his hands were on her arms, the pressure of his grip causing her to gasp in pain. He dragged her up until she was level with his face. In that moment, Meg felt true fear as she realized that he was getting a very satisfying hard-on from her pain, and being the cause of her pain.

"I don't believe you're in any position to be giving me commands, nutmeg," Hades had this wicked glint in his eyes, the kind of glint that people got when they were about to do something unpredictable. "You're leash is wound so tightly around my finger that I can easily choke you with it. Don't ever forget that."

Meg's fear had her shaking, had her blood to go cold, and her breathing to hitch up as she tried not to whimper as his grip began to crush her slender arms that she was sure he was imagining was her throat. Meg was always proud of herself for never showing her fear outwardly. But when faced with Hades and his violent rage tantrums; Meg couldn't hide her despair. She wanted to leave, to just go and never look back, but he still had her in his death grip. So in his death grip he was shoving her to the bed and throwing her on it.

Meg watched timidly as Hades yanked off his tie and threw it to the side, his eyes were still filled with silent rage, and his jaw was set in a way that showed that he was clenching his teeth –but all sense of the anger that was there just moments ago seemed to be ebbing away from his body. She realized that she could have taken this time to fight and run, but she knew that it wouldn't have helped her cause –so instead she was left to lay there and watch as he placed a hand on either side of her, hovering above. She flinched as he involuntarily raised a hand to stroke her face, fingers lingering were they clutched her in anger. Hades' eyes softened a bit before slowly his blank mask slid into place. His lips fell upon hers for a second time that night, but this kiss was slow, gentle and deep, as if he were using his lips to apologize for hurting her. A flurry of emotions raced through her mind, and her heart began to beat hard as she tried to at least catch one strong sentiment. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry. She be damned if she cried in front of Lucifer himself.


A/N: This was, probably one of my longest chapters, and one that I am fairly proud of. I don't know how you guys are going to react to this Hades/Meg development, but I always imagined him being her pimp -so to speak. My inspiration for the end of this particular chapter was drawn from a book by one of my favorite authors Sara Manning called Unsticking and my all time favorite movie Pretty Woman. Except this is no fairy-tale story. All in all I loved writing this chapter. Another note; I absolutely love how Hercules and Meg first met in the movie, so I had to do my own variation and modern twist to it. It makes me smile to see how sweetly I pulled it out. Of course since there is no such thing as River Guardian Centaur in reality, I had to make do with Gaston, which sort of makes things run smoothly!

As for the opening quote, it's actually song lyrics from a movie soundtrack to one of my favorite anime that's series soundtrack actually helped me write a majority of these chapters (yes, this and Daft Punk, Eric Clapton, Amy Winehouse, Nujabes, Blink-182, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Sarah Vaughn, Billie Holiday, and the scores to Pirates of the Caribbean, Sherlock Holmes, Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit). Just so you know, the music I listen help set the mood for each character. Each character is different, just like each genre of songs.

One of my most avid readers -my roommate- has been pestering me for an update. Just the other day she barged into my room without knocking and demanded that I write another chapter -then she left without closing my door. So I barged into her room without knocking and demanded that she do character development like she said she would when we were talking about making this into a comic -and I left with the common courtesy of closing her door. And as sure as I am posting this chapter, she drew a profile of Mulan. If anyone wants to check it out, it's on my deviantArt page. Link here: art/Gachette-Noir-Mulan-Hua-380759765 It's not much, but I'm fairly proud of her, and hope that she seriously stopped goofing around and get to concentrating on her summer classes!

To my other avid readers who don't barge into my room demanding I update, I thank you so much for your support! Avril Lambert I am constantly looking forward to your reviews! And Phoebe I'm happy that you haven't given up on checking for updates! To everyone else who has just recently followed and favorited, thank you! It means the world to me! Suzrenma, my darling, on the dusty, sandy roads of Egypt, I'm dead serious about that Twinkie. I love you all, and keep on reviewing.

Disclaimer: I disclaim.