Chapter 16. Confessor

We need to talk.

Thunder crashes outside the Brick and Mortar as I read the words Isabella has sent through this confounded device again. I didn't think a storm was expected this evening, but it doesn't cause quite the stir that this pit in the bottom of my stomach does. It feels as though I'm falling toward no bottom, no end - much like the pits of Tartarus.

Something tells me Isabella does not have more questions about the stars in the sky or the gods that they represent.

Rain begins to ting against the window of my office as I type a reply. I become agitated with the gadget in my hands. It's taking far too long to say what I want to say with this damned thing. I want to be able to tell her what I'm thinking and have her hear my words immediately, live, I want to look into her eyes, see her reactions. But this is the way of communicating Isabella has chosen, so I will respect it.

For now

Instinct would have me at your home in minutes

instead I'm typing into this damned plastic contraption

Tiny blinking dots appear on my screen and it takes a bit of waiting, but she replies.

Rose says you're not being honest with me

I scowl at the phone. It was only a matter of time, I suppose, before that woman got back to Isabella with her exaggerated news about a make-believe situation. I begin to reply but then more dots appear, and I stand by for more from Isabella.

The wait is excruciating this time.

I know what you're going to say

You don't care about what Rose thinks

You care what I think

I want to think you're being honest with me, but Rose wouldn't lie

.

.

.

Would you?

I stare at her words and my chest aches as though it's been struck by the lightning that illuminates the trees outside.

Would I? Every inch of me wants to tell her no. To assure her she can trust me.

But can she?

I'm a liar, Isabella

Always have been, always will be. Even if I don't want it to be so.

She says you've put me in danger

I clench my teeth at the screen. I snarl. I sincerely wish to rip Rose's voice box from her throat. however, I dismiss the thought because that would prove her point exactly. And probably upset Isabella.

But I've never lied to you - I type and send.

But you haven't told me the whole truth- she replies.

She's searching for my assurances. To confirm, one way or another, who I am. And I give it to her as thunder crashes over the building again.

No, I know I haven't

Time literally stands still, and I feel as though I'm going to spin into madness before she sends me another response.

Can you?

Can I?

I have, obviously, in some ways. The stars for example. But in most?

I type my reply frantically as the rain beats harder outdoors, before she has the chance to decide to Hell with me.

I'm about to send her my confession when I stop. And as my finger hovers over the SEND button, I ask myself one last time.

Satan.

Do I really want to do this?

Do I truly want to risk losing her?

You have to.

I want to

My whole life people have told me who I was and what they expected of me

My whole life I believed it

For a moment I wanted to believe I was something different

If feels like another thousand years pass before… I understand

I doubt that.

You couldn't - I tell her.

I could

I shake my head at her naivety. How could she possibly understand the experiences of a liar, a thief, a murderer? And then I also shake my head at my own ignorance. How did I possibly think I could come here and be different? How could I put her in this impossible situation?

There are things I haven't said - I send it without saying the rest of what I want to say, what I want so desperately for her to know.

We need to talk - she sends again. And I agree.

We do

Again, it feels like the universe has come to a complete halt before she replies.

We need to tell the whole truth going forward - she tells me. And it frightens me like nothing in the underworld ever has - or anything in Mount Olympus, for that matter.

But it's time, I decide, I must confess my sins. All of them.

I type my reply while thunder rolls. It's within a mile away now.

I'm not who you think I am, Isabella

In fact, I'm not even who I want to be

I wait for her to tell me thank you for being honest. I wait to hear it's over. This, thing I've conned myself into believing could happen. It's done.

When the phone buzzes again, I almost don't bother reading it.

I'm glad I do.

Let's pull off the masks

Let's be honest

Because Edward…

Yes?

The phone rings this time.

Just once.

I answer but can't bring myself to say a single word. They're caught in my throat again.

What could I possibly say to her that would make everything I've done alright? What do I say to the goddess who has shown me a sliver of serenity?

A thump outside the office door demands I pull my thoughts away from Isabella. Just for a moment. I don't like spies, and if I find a certain vampire lurking out in the hallways, I swear I will tear his head from his body.

"Edward-" Her voice is low, unsteady, but not from the other end of the phone.

Goodbye Jasper.

I pull the door open and my expression turns from rage to shock.

My head spins and my blood rushes.

It isn't the vampire. It's Isabella, standing there, drenched to the bone. Her garments stick to her like they've been painted there. Her hair is matted against her face. Worry is etched across her brow, and she is still holding her phone to her ear as she stares up at me.

"I love you," she says, chest heaving, voice shaking. Afraid, perhaps.

There's a very small part of me that yearns to warn her I'm not Edward Cullen. That I am the danger Rose has warned her about. But the other part, the one she's awoken and made me believe I have a place here with her is elated in a way I never thought possible.

I open my mouth to speak, but I'm torn as to which words should come out. And therefore, I am mute.

My chest tightens. My pulse quickens. My body shivers with disbelief.

Three words. Strung together in such a way. From her. I may have dreamt it. Dared to wish it. But to actually hear her say them…

Discussion is fruitless, I decide. How could words possibly convey what she's stirred in me?

"I lo-"

I reach out and pull her into me before she can finish. I crash my lips against hers in search for a way to make her understand what she's done to me. For me. What she continues to do every moment she exists.

Cell phones forgotten, our lips part, and I couldn't care less that I'm now just as wet as she is.

Small notes of urgency from her make it impossible for me to resist lifting her up and whisking her to my desk. And when I set her down, her legs tighten around my waist, locking me against her, unable to escape.

As though I would want that.

I let the kiss end for a moment and, breathlessly, I take her face in my hands so I can gaze into her eyes to see it for myself. Just in case I heard her wrong.

But there it is.

Love.

And it's mine.

My voice is but a cracked, broken whisper when I tell her, "I love you too." It's as though the words have been trapped for a millennia and have finally found a way to escape.

She's eager when she responds. "Show me the stars."

She needn't say another word.

I pull the soaked shirt up and over her head then toss it aside. I practically rip the buttons from her jeans and soon, they are gone as well.

My shirt.

My pants.

Her sandals.

My shoes.

I kiss her again, but there are no soft touches this time. No gentle caresses or light strokes against her skin. I am inside her as quickly as I can make it happen and it is rough. It is desperate. Frantic. And it is welcome.

I balance us against the desk, one hand fisted in her hair as her nails scrape against my back.

I plead quietly for the ability to make her feel what I feel in this moment and she begs for more.

More.

And I give it to her. All of me. Until I am spent and Isabella is breathing my name, albeit not the one I long to hear.

She falls back and I lean into her, placing breathless kisses everywhere - her breasts, her hip, the inside of her thigh. Then I bend a knee and lift her leg and taste her the way I know she desires.

xXxXx

"I believe you said you prefer a message through our electronic devices before seeing me as opposed to just showing up," I remind Isabella with a grin as we lay exhausted on my office floor. The truth is I would accept a visit from her on any terms, under any circumstances, especially if it ends with her lying naked at my side each time.

She laughs. "I texted," she says and then adds, "technically."

As she lays blissful, her arm hangs over her face, covering her eyes and she works to steady her breathing.

I am next to her, on my side, elbow against the floor. I simply admire her absolute beauty as I trace imaginary Greek letters across her belly.

"We didn't talk," she says.

"You've already said all the words I need to hear," I tell her, leaning down to place kisses along her shoulder, behind her ear, at her jaw.

"I love you," I say the words again. And I will continue saying it for as long as the universe exists.

Isabella's lips turn upward into a smile. "I love you too, but we still need to talk."

The tone in her voice tells me she's not going to let it go.

"If you insist." I sit up and steel myself. And when she sits up as well, she seems as though she's trying to decide if this whole "talking" thing is a good idea or not.

I'm deciding which piece of furniture to take her to, to help make the decision a bit easier when she peeks over at me. "Mind if I use the ladies room?"

Defeated again. "Of course not."

As Isabella gathers her shirt, pulls it over her head and leaves, I let the reality of her words sink in. Somehow, I am lighter than I have been in many ages.

When a cool breeze blows through the room, I barely notice.

"That was quite a show."

At the sound of his voice, I sigh.

It's my own fault for letting him slip my mind.

I should have known he would come. I also should have known he'd sit in the shadows and watch. He's always been voyeuristic. There's no evading him now. If he's even been here but a few minutes, he knows who Isabella is to me. He's heard me confess my feelings to her.

"I suppose it makes sense," he says, closer now. He steps into the light, and I push myself up off of the floor to gather my clothes.

"What are you talking about, Poseidon?"

"The girl," he says. "The murderer."

I turn in the midst of zipping up my pants and shoot him an angry glare. "What?"

His hateful, knowing grin makes my stomach turn. "You didn't know. Well this is a first." He crosses his arms.

The jackass is being cryptic. I decide, for now, to give him fair warning. "Brother, if one more word emerges from your mouth about-"

"She killed a man in cold blood and the god of Hell turns a blind eye." He laughs as though he's telling a joke. It's enough to throw me into a rage that lurches me toward him. I slam him against the wall by his throat, causing him to choke and sputter whatever last words he may be trying to convey.

My voice is a churning storm now.

"You're a liar, Poseidon," I tell him through clenched teeth.

He doesn't flinch despite his air supply being cut off. Instead, he smirks. As soon as I hear Isabella in the hallway, returning from the restroom, he gives me a cool wink and disappears as quickly as he arrived.

Fucking "Asshole."

"Were you talking to some- are you okay?" she asks in response to my mangled expression.

I straighten myself and push fingers through my hair, flustered. I try to smile for her. "No one." And it's not a lie. Poseidon means nothing. His words mean less than that. "I'm fine."

But I'm not fine.

My brother's declaration agitates me, yes, and he would say anything to get the exact reaction he did, but still - I know there is a need to debunk these accusations.

I try to find the words I need to ask her about what the king of the sea has told me but honestly, it's not that I can't find them. It's that I have no wish to know the answer to my question.

Before I make a decision about which way to go, Isabella takes my hand in hers and leads me to a spot on the floor. She sits and tugs at my arms, encouraging me to join her.

And I do.

She is cross-legged in front of me. She squeezes my hand a bit. She lets a sad smile play at the sides of her mouth.

"I told you about my mom."

I nod. "Yes, you-"

"And my dad."

What is she getting at? "I know, Isabella, what is-"

"I have another story to tell you."

She takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly before she continues. And I believe it's time for me to stop interrupting her.

"My dad was my hero. When he died, my mom took his place. She tried to be my everything. She read to me, she would lay in the backyard with me like my dad did, looking for meteors, pointing out Mars and Venus. She tried to keep The Dawn Treader in good repair. She tried to keep the shop going. But late at night, I'd hear her crying in her room. And if I came home early from work, I'd hear her on the phone with creditors."

She's much like her daughter. "She found more worth in things of the heart, I'm guessing."

Isabella nods and blinks back tears. "I think she married James for his money. I think he made her feel safe at first."

"You have a step-father?" It hadn't crossed my mind, honestly. I'm not sure why it would matter.

"Had," she corrects me as she searches the floor for her next words.

"I don't care about your stepfather, Bella. He's nothing to me." There are much more important things for us to-

"I cared." She finds my eyes again, and I see anger simmering behind hers.

A troubling concern begins to creep its way into my stomach.

"Mom hid it from me at first," she admits. "I didn't know what I was seeing. More foundation around her eyes." She touches the side of her face. A memory there. "Long sleeves in the summertime." She pulls at the cuffs of her own shirt. "Those drives at night, those over the top, super fun drives when we were singing at the top of our lungs..."

Her lips tremble, and I know what she's trying to tell me. He isn't simply meaningless. He's a coward who found worth in making the woman he married feel worthless.

I don't think I could bear it if she was to tell me he touched her. In any way.

"I'll destroy him," I promise, but Isabella shakes her head.

"I already did."

Her expression changes. She bites her lip. She blinks the tears away.

But those words. They still my thoughts.

She already did.

Poseidon isn't a liar.

She killed a man in cold blood.

And I don't care.

I reach for her, but she pulls away as though I might give her something she doesn't deserve.

"I should have told you." Her voice shakes. "You had a right to know. I can't go back home. I can never take you there. I shouldn't be with you."

She cannot possibly believe this. She can't in a million eons think that anything she has done would be able to break the bond I have with her now, would stop me from loving her.

And the god of Hell turns a blind eye.

I have to.

I move closer, so she has nowhere else to go. "Did he hurt you?"

I will destroy him again, and again, and again, if he has.

She shakes her head, assuring me with the pain of someone who feels she is a failure. "My mom though. Over and over..."

"So you ended him."

She shakes her head as though she wishes to forget, but just as I will never forget the hundreds of thousands of souls I've tortured, neither will she.

"She was never going to leave him," she tells me. "I couldn't lose her too," she pleads.

"So I, I…" Tears fall against her face and it is too much for me to bear, too much to watch her revisit these awful memories. She clearly doesn't want to continue with this horrid story, and I don't need to hear the rest. But my needs are petty, and she seems to require a purging of her sins, regardless of who she is confessing them to.

"We lied and I should be rotting in a jail somewhere right now, but I'm not and now..." the anguish in her voice rushes through me like poison covered needles prickling their way through my veins. All I can do is hold her, cradling her with everything I am, unwilling to let her take this burden alone any longer.

"A mother's love for their child is stronger than any other could ever be, Isabella," I tell her. "A child's love for their mother is unparalleled."

"It's no excuse," she insists. "I was angry. I could have reported him, or changed the locks, or tried harder to get my mom to a shelter. So many options, but I shot him. In cold blood. And Edward?" She looks up at me for a split second. "I liked it."

Then she hides her face further into my chest and I let her words linger.

We sit there in silence, the two of us. Isabella, ashamed of what she's done, and me, ashamed that there was a time when I would have allowed this creature to be thrown into the bleakest parts of the underworld, tortured for defending her mother from monsters.

Demi-gods are hailed as heroes for doing the same.

For years - centuries - I've held no opinion one way or the other as to what circumstances brought souls to Tartarus, The Phlegethon, The Cocytus. It wasn't my concern, nor my interest. But now I wonder. Had I heard their stories, listened to their plights, might I have granted them a pardon from the torment I might bring them? Or is it just this one particular soul that makes me want to save her from that fate?

Regardless, even if I don't have the power to save her from her final destination, I can help ease her guilt while she still lives among the mortals. Because I recall a time, a day really, when I liked it too.

"Bella." Her eyes don't meet mine. Not yet. "Do you remember the story I told you in the room full of stars you took me to?"

She tilts her head and ah, there they are. "Which one?"

"The god who hung the goddess upside down in the stars?"

The small V is back as she narrows her eyes. "Zeus?"

I nod and embrace her firmly. "Well, before he was born and became the agitating egotistical being he was at that point, his father-" I don't say his name- "Lived in fear of a prophecy that he would one day be overtaken by his own offspring."

"Yes." Isabella sits up and cuts in. "That's just like how in Harry Potter-"

I hold up a hand to stop her. This isn't about phoenixes and children's stories. "Because of the prophecy, Zeus' father came to the conclusion that the best course of action, to avoid such a prophecy coming to fruition, was to swallow every one of his children whole."

She situates herself and gasps. "What?"

"Figuratively, of course. What he actually did was hide them away in the far corners of the world from everyone who loved them. He shackled them, starved them-" I hesitate before adding the last part-"Abused them."

She lets out a breath of air. "These gods were horrible, Edward. You really should try reading something a little lighter. There were prophecies in Harry Potter too, but-"

"When his wife," I continue. "Rhea, who was heartbroken over the loss of her first five children, had their sixth child, Zeus, she raised him in secret. When he was old enough, she sent him to rescue his siblings and punish their father for what he had done, for taking her children away from her."

Isabella's hand is against her chest, and her breathing is heavy. "Did he save them?"

I remember the day quite clearly. It was the first and last time I was ever actually happy to see my younger brother.

"He did." I lean back and search the stars on the ceiling as though rifling through a scrapbook of my family's history.

"He and his siblings defeated their father in a horrible war. So, in the end, his father brought the very prophecy he feared to life himself." Of course, that war was before Zeus himself became the power-hungry dick he is today.

Isabella's eyes are big as a child's, eager to hear the end of the story.

"What happened?"

"They threw him into the pits of Tartarus."

"What's that?"

"A very deep, very dark well of despair, Isabella. No one survives Tartarus. Not even a Titan."

"Is he still there?"

I nod again. "Some say he was devoured by the creatures who lurk there. Others believe he could never truly perish."

"And you? What do you believe?"

I swallow. I know where Cronos resides. Where he will never see the likes of another being again or know the company of his own children. Whether he is alive or dead is not my burden these days.

"I believe that sometimes, fathers, or… stepfathers do things so terrible, so vile, so corrupt, but the mothers cannot bring themselves to fight their own battles, so they will their sons or daughters-" I give her a pointed look-"To do it for them."

She shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "Mom never-"

"She may not have said it, Isabella. She most likely could never have brought herself to ask such a thing. But you knew what she needed. You did what you had to. He is gone and your mother is safe and grateful. She would never… could never be angry with you. You must know that."

She wipes tears from her cheeks and tries to look away again as she composes herself. "I never really thought about it that way."

I stroke her face and tilt her head so she's looking at me once more. "Most never do."

She's quiet, her pain reflected in her eyes, and I at least know what any child needs when they are hurting. What I myself might have needed once.

"Isabella…" I correct myself. "Bella... you need to go to your mother. And you need to let her be there for you now."

She knows it's true. She also appears to be devoid of the energy needed for more discussion on the topic so she leans forward and curls into me. I hold her, conflicted that she would turn to me for comfort when I'm the last being that she should be looking to for such things. But I hold her. Because it's where I always want her to be. In my arms.

And as we sit there, the two of us, broken things, my heart aches.

I don't deserve her.

"You're really good at this," she tells me as I stroke her hair.

But she's wrong.

"I'm good at nothing."

Isabella sits up and the worry is back in her eyes. "For someone who just very aptly made another someone see things so clearly for once in her life, you don't seem very pleased with yourself."

"You're not the only one with sins to atone for."

"Worse than murdering your abusive step-father?" She tries to joke. Classic Isabella. And I can't give her an answer that she would ever be okay with.

Because it's far worse.

"I escaped my prison. I've been running from it ever since. I don't want to run anymore."

I'm not sure I would call the expression on Isabella's face fear, but I do believe it's entwined in there somewhere. She refuses to let me hear it in her voice however.

"I don't care."

I stroke her jaw. "If only I thought that were true."

She places her hand over top of mine. "I want to know you, Edward. I want to know it all. Come over still? Please?"

Is this even a question she has to ask?

Anything. I would do anything for her.

"Shall I drive you-"

"No, no." She stops me. "I have to get my car home anyway, and you have stuff to finish up. I'll meet you back at my place. Soon. Okay?"

"I'm right behind you," I assure her as I slip a hand beneath her shirt.

She bats it away, but I can't stop the mischievous grin from spreading across my face as Isabella pulls the rest of her clothing on. When she hangs her purse over her shoulder and reaches for the door knob, she stops suddenly and turns back to me.

"Hades."

"Yes?" I respond without thinking, and suddenly, I am convinced my heart has stopped beating all together when I'm pulled back to this reality. My blood runs thin and fast through every vein in my body.

Did she just-

"Zeus's other brother," she adds. "His name was Hades, right?"

Air leaves me. Disappointment replaces the anxiousness. Because, of course.

I nod and am only able to let out the smallest of answers. "It was."

But still. That was my name she just spoke. And it was perfection.

Isabella smiles triumphantly that she's recalled some knowledge she most likely learned in school at some point. And then she places one last kiss against my lips before she leaves me there alone.

So soft.

I place a hand against my chest to ensure my heart still thumps inside my chest. And it is, a million miles per second.

Hades.

A smile plays at my lips as I take a beat to regain my composure. I relish in the fact that my name sounds as though it actually belongs here, coming from Isabella's lips.

Like I belong here.

I grab my keys from the desk and know, without any hesitation, that I will tell her tonight. Everything. I have to.

I spin to leave and follow her back to her apartment when -

"Beautiful story. Going somewhere, brother?"

I am once again forced to deal with Poseidon, and this time, my patience wears thin.

I chastise myself because how could I forget about him so quickly?

More importantly, how do I get rid of him?

Now and forever.

I face him, stoic.

"Here to try and turn me against Isabella again, Poseidon?" I force a smile as I pull my jacket on, even though all I want to do is throttle him and be done with it.

"Is that her name?" He narrows his eyes at the ceiling. "One who is pledged to God." He quotes the meaning of her namesake and shrugs. "Or I suppose in this case, a god."

I shouldn't let him get to me, but the way he mocks what I have found makes my blood boil.

"It's not going to work," I tell him adamantly. "Yes, she clearly did a terrible thing but for the right reasons. He deserved it. He-"

Poseidon laughs. "Since when does that matter to the Lord of the Underworld?"

But I do not find him amusing. "Since now."

"I see."

"I somehow doubt that." Poseidon never has been one for empathy. Perhaps his past is at fault for that. Perhaps he was born that way. To me, though, it doesn't matter.

Still, he is a persistent god.

"It's time to return home, Hades."

My jaw tightens. My patience wears thin. It appears the facade is over. And the ties I feel toward this place burst through my words. "This is my home, Poseidon."

A single eyebrow lifts but other than that, his expression does not change.

"Is it?"

I don't answer.

I'm not even entirely sure why I said what I said.

Nevertheless, I hold his stare. Because fuck him.

"Surely you knew you couldn't stay here and play house forever, brother."

Instead of toying with the idea that anything Poseidon says matters, regardless of whether it's true or not, I force him out of my way and stop at the door. I defy him and the rest of the gods sitting on their pompous thrones so far above everyone else.

"I'm not going home," I tell him. "And there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Brother."

I turn the knob to leave, but Poseidon has more to say. I'm not sure why I wait to hear it.

"A word of advice, Hades," he tells me. "Love makes you weak. It has been the Achilles' heel to many mortals. You remember Achilles, don't you? You may want to think twice about deciding to let those emotions of yours out of Pandora's Box."

What Poseidon misses, on most days, is the obvious.

I am not a mortal. But furthermore, loving Isabella is not a decision. What he's suggesting is that I don't bathe in the sunshine or breathe through my lungs.

It's not a choice; it's a necessity.

I make one last turn to grace him with a piece of my own advice. He simply throws me yet another of his evil sneers, then disappears.

I'm not given the chance to wonder what in Hell that was all about as I'm knocked to the ground by the door flying open and into me like, as Emmett might put it, a wall of bricks.

"Where'd he go? I fucking heard you talking to him." The wall of bricks himself hovers over me like a mountain of anger and confusion.

I push myself up off the floor, trying to understand what he's gotten so bent out of shape over this time. "Emmett. What in the-"

"Never mind, it's not important," he says as he takes one quick stride over to me before striking my jaw with his fist.

I double over and am surprised to see blood when I touch my finger to my lips.

I stand and face him.

And I know.

Hell. I know.

It's over.

He points a bitter index finger at me. "Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

I guess I should have expected this. Only I was too wrapped up in my feelings for Isabella to see it coming.

Isabella.

My mind mixes with so many thoughts I'm unable to think clearly.

"Answer me, asshole. Before I take you down in the worst possible way ever." He shakes his head. "I don't give a shit what you are."

I practically growl at the threat.

"Watch yourself, Emmett." I wipe the rest of the thick red liquid from my mouth with my sleeve and glare at him purposefully. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

"Then why don't you fucking enlighten me, asshole."

There's fury in his eyes, yes. But more than that, there's pain. Hurt. Betrayal. And suddenly, I'm tired. Of lying to him. To Isabella. To all of them.

My phone buzzes and I read the text.

It's Isabella again.

Almost here?

Not quite yet, I'm afraid.

In the end, to most, the truth is far less than fulfilling when it comes to who I am, where I'm from. What I do.

It will be less than satisfying for him to learn the nature of who he's called friend these past weeks.

I slip the cell phone into my pocket and decide it's best not to answer Isabella just yet. Not until I can make the issue before me right, at least. It shouldn't take long.

Then I nod to the vampire before me, resolved. And I place a hand on his shoulder so I may take him with me.

"Come along, Emmett," I tell him. "It would be easier if I show you."

Song for this one = Shelter from the Storm by Bob Dylan. *sigh*

GRATITUDE to Sue, Chrisann, and Marie for hand holding and wiping tears. You'll want to read Bella's side of this chapter. OMG. She kills my heart. KILLS IT.

Huge Hades-like thanks BTW to twilight fanfiction finders' Sue Gilreath for always mentioning these stories on FB & to The Lemonade Stand for rec'ing us this past week & to whoever voted Hades into the top 10 fic dives over at A Different Forest. *sunshine heart hands*

And HEY (one more thing, I swearsies) - we've "vamped" up a new(ish) group on FB: "belladonna fictionfreaks" - the link is in my profile. We're doing teasers, talking about greek mythology (and Rob, and Tom Ellis) and trying to figure out how in Hell we're going to bring ourselves to stop writing about these characters. Come play.