Chapter Two

"I don't know what you want me to say! It was horrible. It took me years to even get to a place that wasn't utter darkness! Is that what you want to hear? What the hell did you think I was doing? Skipping through the fields, having the time of my life without you? Do you really think I was on some kind of fucking joy ride?" Iolaus threw his arms up, exasperated, and stared at Hercules, waiting for some kind of response. "Well? What do you want me to tell you? What do you want me to say?! Just tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it!"

Hercules just snorted self-righteously and shook his head. "I don't know, Iolaus," he said, sadly. "I don't know what I want you to say. And no… I don't know what you were doing." He shrugged helplessly. "That's kind of the point."

Iolaus stared at him, weary and hurt, and then sighed heavily in resignation. "Fine. You want to do this tonight? Be my guest." He knew Hercules all too well, and he wasn't going to drop the subject, not now. Like a horse in a race, he was going to keep pushing and pushing until he got what he wanted. Iolaus mentally washed his hands of it. "But, I'm telling you right now," he said with an air of warning, "you're not gonna like what you hear." He took a few breaths, as if steeling himself. Then he pursed his lips and nodded at spot on the floor Hercules had vacated earlier. "You'd better make yourself comfortable. We're going to be here a while."

Now

Arcas anxiously paced back and forth in front of the barn. This is so dumb, he thought, angrily. Why doesn't he just go in there and get him himself? He looked at the door and then back at the house, a disgruntled look on his face. Because he wants you two to get along, idiot.

Arcas sighed. That was rich, considering that from what he'd seen last night, the two men were barely getting along themselves.

His father had come back inside very late into the night looking war-weary and sad, and Arcas didn't push him, mentally or verbally, out of respect for Hercules' feelings, which Arcas wasn't able to sense. It made him nervous; if his father was blocking him, things had to be bad. Hercules had at least told him that he'd explained to Iolaus what had happened in Chin, which was a relief. At least now that was out of the way. But then, Hercules had explained, Iolaus had tried to tell to him what had happened when he'd left all those years ago. The demigod had listened intently up until the point where Iolaus had admitted to almost slitting his own throat, and then couldn't take it anymore and had come back inside. Both men were embittered and hurt, which was not what Arcas had been hoping for, but he figured it wasn't completely unexpected, at least on his father's part. He'd watched him, over the years, go from a thoughtful, caring, if overly protective father, to a brooding, sardonic, but still overly protective older man.

Arcas sighed again and looked up at the sky. Okay, so maybe he'd been a little hard on Iolaus at dinner. And, maybe… just maybe… he'd picked up that overly protective streak from his father.

Maybe.

He shook his head and kicked up some dirt with the toe of his boot, stalling for time. Growing up, his father had only told him the good stories about Iolaus. He, and Jason, had very briefly schooled both Arcas and Meg on Dahak and the aftermath of the demon's rampage through Greece, Eire, and Sumeria. But neither of them had really told Arcas about what Iolaus had been like before he'd left Greece. So, the younger man had tried hard to keep his face as neutral as possible when Hercules was retelling the story.

When you're shaving and the next thing you think is, "Hey, that razor would look really stuck good in my neck," yeah… you might have a few problems, Arcas thought morbidly. The guy had obviously been pretty messed up. Arcas guessed he couldn't blame him; his abilities allowed him get a glimpse of people's feelings. He remembered when the Academy had been ransacked during his second year, how the younger students had problems coping with what had happened, and how he could feel what they were feeling to the point where he'd had to go stay with Nemesis for a few days to clear his head and get himself under control. Arcas had tried to multiply that feeling tenfold, to get a better idea of what Iolaus had to have been going through in an effort to be more understanding for the sake of his father. He could tell Hercules was not at all happy with the way he had behaved at dinner.

He stopped pacing and stared at the barn door in resignation. I can do this. I can make nice with "Uncle Iolaus". This was the Iolaus, after all. Partner, best friend, brother… he'd heard it all. And the man was also his best friend's father, so he figured he better at least make some kind of attempt at getting along.

All right. Let's get this shit show over with.

Arcas took a breath and knocked lightly on the door. He waited a few seconds, and when he received no answer he knocked again, louder. He better not have taken off again…

Throwing all respect for privacy out the window, Arcas pushed the door open without waiting for a reply and angrily strode into the barn. He'd barely made it three steps when he stopped in his tracks, mouth hanging open, annoyance melting into astonishment. Iolaus was still there, all right. Only he was upside down in the middle of the room, shirtless, balancing completely on his left hand, totally and absolutely still. Arcas would have believed him to be a statue if he couldn't see the subtle rise and fall of the man's chest as he breathed.

He took a few more tentative steps, tipping his head and watching Iolaus carefully. What do I do? he thought, anxiously. Do I leave and come back? He started circling Iolaus, totally awestruck. The older man hadn't moved a muscle, and his eyes were shut deep in concentration. Okay. This guy is officially bad ass.

Of course at that moment Iolaus' eyes snapped open, and he tilted is head to the side to watch Arcas encircling him, completely oblivious to the change.

"Morning," Iolaus said politely, making Arcas yelp and jump backward. Iolaus chuckled, still upside down. "Sorry." He pushed off the floor with his fingertips and lowered his legs back to the ground gracefully, standing back upright. Arcas was still staring at him, trying to slow his heartbeat. "You're a little jumpy this morning."

The younger man cleared his throat and pulled down on his tunic in an effort to regain some composure. "Well, I wasn't expecting… that," he said, indicating Iolaus, and then just the general air around Iolaus.

The blond chuckled again and reached down to pick up his discarded shirt off the dusty floor, shaking it out. Arcas narrowed his eyes, staring at something on the other man's arm. It was a symbol, maybe half a finger-length long. It was a dull bluish-black color, not bright like the Indian designs covering his hands and chest, and was situated on Iolaus' right forearm just before the bend at the elbow. His shirt sleeves had been covering it the night before, so Arcas hadn't noticed it.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at it. "I didn't see it last night. It doesn't look like the other ones." He tried to remember what Iolaus had called it. "The, uh… mehndi?"

Iolaus paused slightly in pulling on his shirt. So slightly, in fact, that Arcas almost missed the small hesitation. "That's because that one's real," Iolaus told him. "I got it a long time ago, in Chin."

"What does it mean?"

The older man gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Something personal."

Arcas nodded slightly. Touchy subject. Got it. He made a mental note and filed it away for future use. "Fair enough," he said out loud.

They stood awkwardly in the middle of the barn, staring at each other. "So…" Iolaus began, hesitantly.

"So…" Arcas agreed.

"Your father sent you out here, didn't he?" Iolaus had a knowing look on his face, and it made some of the tension go out of Arcas' shoulders.

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "He's making us breakfast."

"Thought so." Iolaus rubbed the back of his neck and, trying to sound casual, asked, "How's he doing?"

Arcas crossed his arms across his chest and shrugged. "I probably wouldn't have mentioned how you used to like having sharp, pointy things around to cut yourself with," he said, offhandedly.

Iolaus pulled a face. "So… still upset."

"Just a bit."

The older man sighed and dropped back to the ground, sitting cross legged with his chin in his hands. "Great." The move was so familiar, reminding him so much of Meg that at first Arcas was completely taken aback. Okay… that was weird.

Iolaus glanced up to see him staring, and his brow furrowed in concern. "What?" he asked, making Arcas blink back to awareness.

"Nothing." He walked over to where Iolaus was sitting and joined him on the ground. "It was good he made me come out here, though. I, uh… wanted to apologize. For real this time."

"Ah, so you were insincere last night? I'm shocked," Iolaus deadpanned, but his eyes had a mischievous glint in them. He put a hand on Arcas' shoulder. "It's okay. I don't blame you. You're just looking out for your dad. You probably know him better than I do, at this point," he added wistfully. Arcas had no good response to that so he said nothing. "He was a lot like you when he was your age. The two of you are very similar."

Arcas snorted. "Yeah, so Jason says, too. Anyway… I really am sorry. It's just, well… you've been gone a really long time, and he's been…" He waved his hand impatiently. "Well, he just hasn't been good. And, it was because he missed you, but now you're back, and he's still all confused inside…" He realized he was babbling and stopped, taking a deep breath.

Iolaus gave him a moment to calm down before asking, "How do you know all this stuff? I mean, besides the normal father-son intuition, and the things he's told you himself." He raised his eyebrows and nodded out toward the house. "Like last night. You knew we were arguing, but you couldn't have been listening. You would have known what it had been about. And you were out of breath, like you'd been running."

Arcas' shoulders rose and fell in another sigh. "Yeah, about that…" He picked at a piece of straw that had gotten stuck to his pants. "I can sense things."

When Arcas didn't elaborate, Iolaus prompted, "Things? Like, what things?" A look of realization soon came over his face. "You mean… you can sense feelings?" Arcas gave a curt nod, but didn't reply.

Ah… Now it's all starting to make sense, Iolaus thought, rubbing his chin absently. It explained why Arcas had been so angry when he and Hercules had been talking at dinner, because he could feel his father getting upset and angry. It also explained how he had known the two of them had been screaming at each other once he'd left the house. He must be able to sense emotions even over a distance, Iolaus mused. Interesting. It was amazing to him how Zeus' godly blood chose to manifest itself, in both Hercules and Arcas. "And the strength thing…?" The young man shook his head. "So, just… this." Iolaus wasn't exactly sure what to call it.

"My father calls it empathy," Arcas explained, saving him the trouble. "I can sense people's emotions. I've been able to since I was a kid. And I can heal really fast, but… I think that's just a god thing. Well, a quarter-god thing." He looked over at Iolaus, his blue eyes studying the older man intensely. "I can sense everyone except you. I can't read you."

Iolaus figured that probably also explained a lot of Arcas' mistrust. Someone with his abilities would be able to judge a person very quickly on what he could feel from them. And Iolaus had learned a long time ago how to make it seem to people like Arcas that he wasn't there at all. "Well, that's just something you're going to have to get used to," he said, mildly. "I don't like people in my head."

"Yeah, Dad mentioned something like that."

Iolaus shrugged. "He'd be right." Offering no other explanation, he continued, "That must have been hard as a kid. Being able to sense everyone's emotions all the time."

"It was tough. Dad had absolutely no clue how to deal with it. It was tough on both of us. There were times I didn't think he was going to make it. But… we figured it out, together. Evander helped a lot, too. He's more powerful than me, and he had to learn how to control his abilities, too. It was good that I had him around."

"Evander?" Iolaus repeated, surprised. "Jeez… I haven't seen that kid since he was, well… a kid."

Arcas nodded. "Yeah, we spent a lot of time over there when I was growing up, practicing controlling our powers. And he is my cousin, after all. Dad and Nemesis are good friends anyway, so… we all hung out a lot."

A look of surprised comprehension came across Iolaus' face. "Ah," he said, softly, making Arcas glance over at him quizzically.

"What?"

"So… Hercules and Nemesis…" Iolaus trailed off, eyebrows raised, gesturing airily.

Arcas blinked, a blank expression on his face. "Hercules and Nemesis what?" When Iolaus just gave him that same pointed look, he slowly started figuring out what the man was getting at. "Oh. Oh!" Gods above. That's… just gross. "No! No, nothing like that. Way off."

Iolaus seemed doubtful. "Really?" he asked, his tone implying he didn't believe Arcas for a second.

"Not that I know of." That required Arcas to think really hard about what his father and aunt might have been up to while he and Evander were playing as children, and he decided he really didn't want to go there. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Uh… my dad really just focused on me and his job."

"So, he never got serious with her? Or… anyone?"

Arcas shook his head. "Nah. It was just me and him." For some reason, this information seemed to make Iolaus look very sad. At least, Arcas thought he looked sad. He tried to reach out again, to get a sense of the man sitting next to him, but all he got was a feeling of blank space, as if there was a hole in the air. Iolaus sat up a little straighter, as if he could tell what Arcas was trying to do. The younger man quickly put his mental shields up again. If Iolaus could block him, there was no telling what else he was capable of.

Iolaus was gazing at him shrewdly, so Arcas cleared his throat again and continued, "I think after what happened the first time, and then that weird thing with him marrying the golden hind but not really since he changed the past…" He brushed that one off. "And then Morrigan leaving… I think he just kind of figured he had me, and that was enough. Better safe than sorry, right?"

Iolaus had no idea what to say to that. It was a depressing thought, and it turned his mind away from Arcas trying to sneak a peek into his brain, at least for the time being. Time to change the subject. "So," Iolaus said, "I was a little… upset last night and uh… didn't really get a chance to ask your father about what she was like."

"Who?" Arcas asked, looking genuinely confused.

Iolaus gave him a patient look. "Meg. You know… my daughter?" He nudged Arcas casually with his elbow. "Well, what's she like?"

"You want me to tell you about Meg?"

"Well, yes. It would be nice… I guess. I mean, you probably know her better than anyone, right?"

For some reason, Arcas suddenly became very restless at being put on the spot. "Um…" he stuttered, "okay. She's… well… she's my best friend. We grew up together… She has blond hair." He nodded at Iolaus. "Blond curly hair. She looks kinda like you." He laughed. "My father would say she acts like you, too, when she pisses him off."

Iolaus tried to hide a smile at that.

"She's funny," Arcas continued, "she's stubborn, hell of an archer… I dunno. You're just going to have to meet her."

"Yeah…" Iolaus agreed, quietly, lost in thought.

Arcas didn't have to be an empath to note the sudden change in Iolaus' demeanor. He's going to chicken out, I know it.

Iolaus sighed and got up, brushing the hay off his pants. "So, about going to the Academy today…" Arcas repressed a sigh himself and shook his head, silently. "I… I'm just not sure I'm ready for that. It's a lot to take in. I feel like I should, I dunno… prepare, or something. And I don't want to get in the way with whatever you all were going there to do."

He glanced down at Arcas to see that the stern mask he'd had on in the house last night was firmly back in place again, and inwardly groaned. Wonderful… nice job, Iolaus. He felt like he was just making some progress with Hercules' son and now he'd unintentionally blown it.

Arcas pushed himself up off the floor, scowling irritably. Boy do I hate it when I'm right, he thought. "Look, man… that's just too damn bad. You've been gone twenty years. That's enough time to prepare. So, put your big boy pants on, nut up, and come have some breakfast." He raised an eyebrow at Iolaus before turning around and heading out of the barn, back toward the house. "We're leaving as soon as we're done eating," he called over his shoulder.

Iolaus watched him go, blinking in shock and confusion. He couldn't decide what to make of him. The kid flashed hot and cold more than a hormonal Hestial virgin. But, he was Hercules' son, and apparently his daughter's best friend, so he guessed he'd better figure out a way to make it work. He probably should have just kept his reservations about the day to himself, but felt he ought to be honest. Guess not, he thought, wryly.

Iolaus ran his hand over his face. Hercules has a son and I have a daughter… You picked a hell of a time to come home, buddy. He wondered vaguely if Bahari, the crafty old man he'd studied under in India, had secretly known about all this stuff and what Iolaus was getting into when he said he was heading back to Greece. He had looked insufferably pleased with himself that day. Of course, Bahari always looked like that, so it was kind of hard to tell. Iolaus made an annoyed noise and began lacing up his shirt. He wondered if Hercules still had any of his old clothes lying around, but then came to the conclusion that the answer was probably no.

Come have some breakfast. So, he guessed Hercules wasn't so angry that he wanted Iolaus to sit in the barn and starve. Or, maybe Arcas was just trying to screw with him and play devil's advocate. He had felt it when the younger man had tried to go snooping around in his head, but had chosen not to make a big deal out of it, at least for now. Arcas was a psi; it was a natural reaction for him to try and get a sense of those around him. Iolaus was going to have to ask Hercules more about this empathy thing. Once, of course, Hercules could talk to him again without seething. He'd been pretty upset last night. We both were, he mused, inwardly.

Iolaus realized he probably shouldn't have been so descriptive in his story, but Hercules acting like everything had been so easy, like he'd taken a nice long and relaxing vacation instead of rebuilding himself, body and soul, had cut him deeply. He's become so bitter. He thought back to what he'd seen in India, how he'd been able to use the spirit realm to see the past and present and even take a glimpse into their future lives, and wondered if he should really be all that surprised. He had seen some things he knew he shouldn't have – things that should have made him want to come home a long time ago.

An old familiar feeling was working its way up out of the depths – guilt. Iolaus had dealt with it so much over the past twenty years that he recognized it immediately. It had gone from an overwhelming burden to a dull ache over the years as he had traveled and learned and understood how to deal with everything that had happened. There had been times where it had almost been unbearable, like when Li had told him about Xena and Gabrielle, and about Zeus. He'd had to fight tooth and nail with not only Li but with himself over the overwhelming urge to run home, to get to Hercules, to make sure he was okay…

In the end, he had chosen to stay and work on himself. And he knew that he'd made the right decision, but the guilt was still there, especially now that he was back, especially after finding out about Meg and Arcas, especially after the cold, bitter way the demigod was behaving… Yes, the guilt was there. Along with regret. He truly didn't know what he would have done if Hercules had been able to tell him about Meg all those years ago, but he knew there was nothing he could do to change that now. He, and Hercules, had to continue moving forward. They couldn't go back.

Deciding maybe Arcas was right and he really had stalled long enough, Iolaus sighed and followed him before the young man, and his father, could start coming up with cock-eyed reasons why he hadn't joined them yet. Arcas would just assume he was being a jerk, and Hercules would just assume he'd been carried off by a chimera. He'd almost wished one would appear to spare him the utter disaster that was sure to be this day. Iolaus had to admit Arcas was right; he couldn't put off meeting his daughter forever. It would only make things worse. My daughter… He was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around that concept. He'd wanted a family – had had a family – a long time ago, but he'd resigned himself to the fact that it was never going to happen for him. At least she grew up in a palace with a mother that cared about her, he thought. She grew up a princess… Iolaus snorted. Of all the scenarios he could come up with for if and when he'd had another family, having a child by a queen and then having them raised to rule an entire kingdom was not one of them.

The Indian people believed in something called karma. Good deeds contributed to good karma, while bad deeds contributed to bad karma, and future suffering. Iolaus hadn't really put that much stock in it until now, believing that you made your own destiny, and he wasn't completely sure if it this was good or bad karma coming back to bite him in the ass. Guess I'll find out.

Arcas had left the front door of the house open to let in the morning sun, and Iolaus cautiously peered his head around to peek inside from the patio. The younger man was already digging into his food, and Hercules was busying himself in the kitchen. He glanced up as Iolaus slowly walked inside, and then just as quickly looked away again. He looked exhausted. Iolaus figured he probably didn't look much better himself.

"Morning," the demigod said, noncommittally.

"Morning," Iolaus said back. He rocked back and forth on his heels, fiddling with his shirt, trying to roll the sleeves up and lace them so they'd stay. Hercules noticed and said to him, "You may want to find some different clothes."

"Oh… yeah. I was thinking that. I think I have some leathers in my pack somewhere…"

Hercules nodded. "Good. Those look like the pajama things they made you wear in that underground city."

Iolaus looked at him askance. "Huh?"

"You. Salmoneus. Lotus leaf…"

"Ooooh right. Ha, yeah, I guess they kind of do." Iolaus had almost forgotten about that. Hercules just grunted and brought out a plate for him of bread, fruit, honey, and yogurt.

"There's still some duck left, if you want that, too," he said, putting it on the table. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." Iolaus sat. The tension was so thick he could have cut it with a knife. He could feel Arcas watching the exchange with interest and tried not to notice. "So, what's the plan?"

"Go to the Academy… meet up with Meg," Arcas said between swallows.

"Yeah, I got that part."

"Well, we don't know now," Hercules added, sitting down next to his son. "We, uh… weren't expecting…" He gestured to Iolaus.

"…Yeah. I got that, too." Iolaus stared at his food. He really wasn't all that hungry, and he missed the spices they had in India. He decided it probably wouldn't be wise to mention that. Instead, he tried to unobtrusively look Arcas over a little more closely, remembering something from Hercules' story the night before. He finally caught a glimpse of the piece of garnet the demigod said he'd brought back from Chin. It was strung around Arcas' neck on a short cord, the bottom of the gem disappearing into the top of his shirt. Iolaus hadn't noticed it before, because he wasn't looking for it. Not that he didn't believe Hercules' story about going to Chang'an and Hangzhou; the demigod wouldn't have had as much knowledge about Jiang, or Li, if he hadn't. But it was a physical validation, once that made Iolaus' heart heavy. He wondered if Arcas had literally worn it every day for the last twenty years…

Growing tired of thinking about it, Iolaus asked, "What's she doing at the Academy, anyway?" He was genuinely curious. "I figured you two were done. I mean, not that I mind going. I would like to see Jason, of course…" He wondered, tiredly, if the Argonaut was going to have the same reaction as Hercules, but Jason had always been a bit more levelheaded than either of his two younger friends. Or, he had used to be.

"It's graduation," Arcas explained. "Meg went to help Jason with it. He likes for Dad to come every year."

"The students like for me to come every year," Hercules corrected.

"Whatever. So, Meg and I started coming back, too. We help with the ceremony, we spar with the older kids." He shrugged. "And it's nice to see Jason. I spent a lot of time with him here, growing up. He's like an uncle."

Iolaus pursed his lips and just made an agreeable sounding noise. The guilt was coming back, mixed with a small pang of annoyance. Jason, Herc, Meg, and Arcas… Iolaus felt like the odd man out.

"I'm just surprised that Niobe let her come," Arcas was saying, making Iolaus glance over at him.

"Why's that?" he asked. Arcas and Hercules exchanged quick glances, making him scowl. "Guys, enough with the secret looks, okay? Spit it out."

"Uh… so, Niobe wasn't too thrilled on the idea of Meg going to the Academy to begin with," Hercules explained. "It was something of a point of contention."

"She obviously ended up changing her mind." Iolaus picked at a piece of fruit, rolling it around on his plate.

"Yeah… well…" Hercules cleared his throat. "You can ask her about it when we get there."

Joy, Iolaus thought, humorlessly. Tiring of the tension and forced conversation, he sat back in his chair and fixed father and son with a shrewd look. "So, how bad is this going to be?" he demanded.

"How bad is what going to be?" Hercules countered. He took a sip of whatever was in his cup and didn't meet Iolaus' eyes. He'd barely looked at him for more than half a second since Iolaus had come into the house.

"I don't know about you, but this is going to be a really long day if the two of you keep trying to deflect all my questions."

Hercules just chewed his food and still wouldn't look over at him. Iolaus waited a few beats, drumming his fingers on the table, but the demigod still tried to affect the air that he was intensely engrossed in his breakfast. The blond tried very hard to repress an eye roll. Fine.

"So, what am I in for?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and glancing back and forth between Arcas and Hercules. "Scathing comments? Downright hate? Death and dismemberment? What?"

Hercules winced at the death and dismemberment comment but Iolaus pretended not to notice, and Arcas was just oblivious to the dark attempt at humor.

"I wouldn't go that far," he said, jokingly. "But I don't think she'll be pleased-"

"You really think she grew up hating your guts with me around to tell her about you?" Hercules interrupted suddenly. He finally tore his gaze away from his plate to stare at Iolaus across the table. "Come on, Iolaus. I wouldn't have let that happen."

Iolaus suppressed a sigh. "I guess that's true," he said, agreeably, trying to put off another argument. "I just-"

Hercules shook his head and quickly pushed back away from the table, the chair making a scraping sound that made both Iolaus and Arcas cringe. "You better go get changed," he said dryly, and stamped off to the back bedroom.

Arcas fixed Iolaus with a withering look. "Now you've done it," he sighed. "He'll be back there all morning now, slamming things and muttering to himself. We'll probably miss lunch."

Iolaus just sat back in his chair in resignation and popped a grape in his mouth. At least I got him to look at me. True to Arcas' word, he could hear what sounded like Hercules randomly opening cupboard drawers and slamming them roughly back closed again. Great. Days that start out this way are never a good thing.

Then – Iolaus

Iolaus had no idea where he was. Days that started out that way were never a good thing.

He blinked his eyes open and slowly sat up on something billowy and soft, which at least told him he was in a bed. Now, if he only knew whose bed…

He looked over to his right to see not one but two sleeping forms next to him and raised his eyebrows. Well… wherever I am, apparently I had a really good time.

It was damn hot as well. He heard what sounded like the howling of wind but it was more of a whistling sound, almost as if it was coming from a tunnel, which gave him the impression that he was up high somewhere.

What the hell…?

He slowly took in his surroundings, scratching his hair. It had been three weeks since he'd taken the razor to it, and it still itched where he had gotten too close to his scalp.

He was in what looked like a stone dwelling of some kind. It was small, and seemed to only consist of two chambers separated by a curtain behind him. The bed he was in was in the front room; he could just barely make out the modest furniture through the light that was bleeding through the thatched door.

He couldn't remember anything from the night before, and as his tired mind slowly started working through its confused fog, the hunter in him started getting apprehensive. The two women next to him were still sound asleep, but he had no idea if there was anyone, or anything, else in the home with them.

Iolaus wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air. There was some kind of sour smell… Oh, he thought, catching a glimpse at the small bedside table to his left. There were still some remnants of opium powder and the burnt ends of leaves scattered across it. That would explain why I can't remember anything.

He made to get up and then realized as the sheets moved against him that he was completely naked. He glanced around the room wildly, picked up the pillows and sheets, but his clothes, dagger, and sword were nowhere to be found. Dammit. That's just wonderful.

Wrapping one of the light bed sheets around his waist, he cautiously rose out of the bed so as not to disturb the two sleeping women and padded across the room to the door, trying to peek through the cracks to get some idea of where he was. He could see at least one of his boots laying on the stone walkway in front of the house. Okay, that's a start…

He also got a glimpse of mountains. Lots of mountains. And a lot of sky that seemed to go on and on for miles.

Fuck.

Making sure the sheet was secure, he quietly pushed the door open, stepped outside, and almost lost his footing. He shut the door and pressed himself against it, eyes wide. The hut was situated on top of a cliff. A very steep cliff, with a very narrow and windy stone walkway that lead even further up the mountain.

Where am I?

His boot was lying about two steps away from him, precariously close to the edge. Iolaus just hoped to whatever gods were listening that the rest of his clothes hadn't been tossed off the side some time during the night. At least he'd left his vest at Jason's. He would never have forgiven himself if he'd lost it.

He straightened his sheet and bent down to grab his boot when he heard the braying of a donkey, and turned to see an older Persian man leading it down the narrow walkway. The height or the narrowness of the path didn't seem to bother him, and he barely gave Iolaus a second glance as he walked by.

They know how to speak Greek in Persia, right? He was having a hard time remembering, his mind was still too fuzzy from the apparent drug induced stupor he'd gotten himself into the night before.

"Uh, excuse me?" Iolaus asked, cautiously. The man slowed and turned back around to face him. Iolaus cleared his throat and, holding his sheet up with one hand and the boot with the other, said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but, um… where am I?"

At first the man merely stared at him, and Iolaus was concerned that perhaps they didn't speak Greek after all. That can't be right, though, I've spoken Greek since I got here… He hadn't had to speak Persian in years. Gods. Who knows what I'll end up saying if I try… It took Iolaus a moment to realize the man was looking him up and down with a wary look on his face. Or, he's just trying to decide if I'm a nutcase.

After a beat in which Iolaus tried to look as nonthreatening as was possible while being half naked, wearing a sheet and holding a boot, the man answered, "Ecbatana."

Iolaus' eyes widened and he leaned against the outside of the house, stunned. "Ecbatana …" he repeated in disbelief, as the man quickly turned and dragged the donkey down the path, eager to get away. How in Tartarus did I get to Ecbatana? It was technically on the way to Chin, but that still didn't explain how he got up the mountain in the middle of the night, high as all hell, and with two women in tow.

He jumped and clutched at the sheet around his waist as the door swung open lazily and a dark skinned woman came sauntering out. She gave Iolaus an appraising look, running her hands over what was left of his hair and then down his chest.

"Um… hi," Iolaus said warily, taking the woman's hand and gently removing it from the trail it was making towards where the sheet was tied.

She smiled coyly at him, then turned and walked down the path the same way the man and the donkey had gone.

Where did she come from? Iolaus blinked and then poked his head back in the door where he could still see the two women in the bed. Wow. I had a really, really good time. If he couldn't remember anything else, he wished he could at least remember that.

He shook his head to clear it of a completely different kind of fog that had settled over his brain. Okay. Enough of that. Find your clothes, and then get the hell out of here. Because he also couldn't remember where he had gotten the opium, or who from, and since he'd seemed to have misplaced his weapons, he was in no mood to find out whether they were as friendly as the women undoubtedly were. Unless he got it from them, and this was their house. He had a feeling, however, that was not the case.

His suspicions were confirmed as while he quietly and cautiously tip toed around the room, he pulled back the curtain to the next chamber and caught a glimpse one of the longest, most wicked looking scimitars he had ever seen leaning against the far wall. Yep. I do not need to meet whoever that belongs to, he thought, hastily shutting the curtain again. He peered down at the women and raised an eyebrow. I really hope that doesn't belong to one of your brothers… or husbands.

As he was mulling that over, he finally caught a glimpse of his shirt sticking out from underneath the bed. He grinned triumphantly, wriggling under it to find the remainder of his clothes and other boot. There were still no sign of his sword or dagger.

The two women started making waking noises, so he quickly threw the sheet on the floor and got dressed, hopping towards the door as he pulled on his boots. He threw a hesitant glance over his shoulder. He still needed to find his weapons. And there was all that opium on the table…

Weapons, he told himself, sternly.

Iolaus crept past the bed and back over to the curtain, pulling it aside again ever so slightly. Come on, they have to be around here somewhere…Ah! He spotted his scabbard, luckily with the sword still inside, on a large wooden table in the middle of the room. He decided he could do without the dagger or just get another one, but he had to have his sword. And he needed to get out of wherever he was and back down into the city.

His senses heightened, he slipped through the curtain and across the room. There didn't seem to be anyone else home, but Iolaus knew better than to assume. Especially in Persia. And especially when there was opium involved.

He got a flash of memory. Someplace dark, crowds of people, sour smell, barely being able to see for all the clouds of smoke… an opium den. He'd been in another opium den last night.

There had been a fight.

Iolaus immediately halted as he felt a flash of pain he had unexpectedly become aware of. He lifted up his shirt to see a large, darkening bruise on his side, at the bottom of his rib cage. Not broken, at least. But definitely cracked. He got another flash of some guy hitting him repeatedly in the side and stomach, then a hot spray of blood…

Oh. That's where I left my dagger.

He remembered now. He'd made port in Smyrna weeks ago, and had numbly and slowly been making his way through Persian territory towards India. This wasn't the first time he'd woken up like this, having no memory of the previous night's, or sometimes even days', events. He'd known exactly where to go to get what he needed; he'd tried it once before, when Anya had died, but hadn't been that far gone to tempt the fates and whoever else skulked in the dark corners of the opium dens. He hadn't wanted to put himself in that kind of danger on purpose. Funny how things changed.

Now it was a thrill, just about the only one he could get anymore. Sitting in dark corners with dangerous men and lit up women wondering, is this the night when it ends?

He bit his lip and shut his eyes against it. Last night had been the low point. He'd already been pretty dosed up by the time he'd gotten to the den in Ecbatana. He still couldn't remember how exactly he'd gotten to the city, but he figured it didn't matter. He was where he needed to be – had to be. The dreams had stopped, thank the gods, but if he didn't have more they would come again.

He remembered stumbling out sometime later; couldn't remember exactly why he'd left. He thought it was because he didn't like the looks he was getting from some of the den masters. He was Greek after all, and blond. That seemed to fascinate the people here. They always wanted to touch his skin and hair, which he really didn't mind half the time if he was being honest. One woman had even asked if his skin was made of gold and he'd invited her to find out…

But these guys were looking at him in a totally different way. A hungry way. Greedy. He'd been lucid enough to realize that if he didn't get out of there and fast, he'd probably wake up chained to a post on an auction block. Or worse… chained up in some den master's chambers.

So he'd stood up as fast as he was able through the cloud of smoke around him and hastily found the exit, which he'd marked earlier without even realizing it. His warrior instincts – the ones that told him to always take in his surroundings, to always know where and how to escape, to locate anything and everything that could be used as a weapon – were so second nature to him now that he'd barely even registered he'd been using them. He remembered being annoyed by that; he probably couldn't let anyone sneak up on him, put a knife to him, even if he'd wanted to.

Did he want to?

He figured he'd find out soon enough, as he stumbled down an alley using the outsides of the buildings to keep himself upright, and came across a young woman fighting for her life. She was definitely a prostitute, judging by her state of dress and from all the coins that had been flung haphazardly through the alley as she struggled with her attacker. Iolaus had hidden his sword earlier in the evening, as most of the opium dens wouldn't let him in with it, but they hadn't found his dagger.

He didn't have to fake most of his slurred speech or wavering gait as he told the guy to back off and leave the girl alone. He leaned against the wall again as the entire alley way spun. Was there one or two men? He thought there was only one. He blinked and shook his head as the man barked something at him in Persian. Iolaus didn't have to know the language to figure out he was being told to mind his own business, and probably some other kind of creative insults involving his mother. The man sneered at him and went back to trying to assault the girl.

"I said, leave her alone," Iolaus repeated, over emphasizing every word with the meticulousness of someone who knew they were totally and completely wasted out of their mind. He had pushed himself off the wall and was standing unstably in the middle of the alley. His dagger was safely under his shirt, secured to his back, the hilt sticking out of his belt. His fingers twitched but he made no move to grab it yet.

The Persian man roughly threw the girl to the ground and whirled on him, a mixture of annoyance and amusement on his face as he took in the wobbly form of Iolaus in front of him. He said something goading to him in Persian… Iolaus thought it was something like, "What are you going to do about it?"

Iolaus shrugged. "Come find out," he spat in Greek, making sure to look even more off balance.

The Persian grinned at him menacingly, displaying rotten teeth, before surging towards Iolaus, who backed up towards the wall. The man swung around, about to deliver a jaw breaking right hook. He put more power into it than was necessary due to over confidence that Iolaus was in no position to defend himself. The hunter waited patiently until the last possible moment, and then ducked swiftly out of the way. The man's fist collided painfully with the building Iolaus had been leaning on, eliciting a sharp crack of bones breaking and a howl of pain from the Persian.

Iolaus rolled his eyes in disgust and gave his would be assailant a brutal kick to the back of his kneecap, forcing the Persian man to the ground. "When will people learn to stop underestimating me?" he muttered, turning his back on the man in order to help the girl up off the ground.

With a snarl, the Persian suddenly leapt up and grabbed a handful of what was left of Iolaus' hair, digging painfully into his scalp and forcing his head back at an excruciating angle. Gods dammit, I thought I was done with you. He tried to use the larger man's weight against him but, before he could move, he felt three hard and painful blows to his side. Iolaus didn't know if the man was aiming for his ribs or his kidneys, but whatever he was doing caused something in the hunter to suddenly snap. A fire burned from somewhere deep inside him, and twisting out of the man's grip, he grabbed his dagger from his belt. Before he really even knew what he was doing, and long before the other man had any time to respond, he was plunging it hilt deep into his attacker's neck. Blood spurted across his hand and face as Iolaus, breathing heavily, stared at the Persian until the light left his eyes. When he was sure the man was dead, he finally removed his hand from the hilt and stepped back, allowing the body to drop to the ground.

Iolaus stared at the body for a few moments before shakily stumbling over to the girl, who was still in a crumpled heap in the dirt. "You okay?"

The girl looked at him, then at the body, before shoving Iolaus out of the way and collecting all the coins that had been strewn on the ground. She then dug around in the dead Persian's clothes until she found another sack of coins, and with a final worried look at Iolaus, she took off down the alley and around the corner.

All Iolaus could do was laugh in stunned disbelief. At least now he knew whether he would let somebody kill him or not. That was what had caused the enraged fire when the Persian had hit him. No one was going to take that power away from him ever again; not some thug or warlord or crazed sorcerer of Dahak's… If he wanted to die, he'd bloody well do it himself, dammit.

He slumped down in the dirt where the girl had lain moments before, eying the dagger still sticking out of the Persian's neck. The ground under his body was already stained a deep, ugly red. Maybe slitting your own throat isn't the way to go, he thought vaguely, watching the red take more and more of the sandy colored dirt around the dead man. It really did make a terrible mess…

Do you really want to kill yourself with the same dagger you just stuck in a rapist's throat?

Iolaus shrugged noncommittally and answered, No. I guess not.

And now I'm talking to myself…

He didn't remember what transpired next… he had vague recollections of sitting in the alley with the body before stumbling around trying to remember where he'd hidden his sword. More opium… sounds of voices… female voices… feeling of climbing up something steep (Ah, that would be the mountain). Then more opium and the feel of soft bedding and bodies…

Iolaus' mind suddenly came back to small room in the hut. He quickly shook himself out of the torrent of images that flooded his memory and took a closer look at his shirt. He could see the blood splatter on it now. His hands were mercifully clean. He must have washed them at some point in the night, figuring it wouldn't be good to be wandering around Ecbatana high and covered in blood.

He'd slit a man's throat last night. Is that where he'd gotten the rest of the opium? Shivering, he decided he really didn't want to remember.

Something changed in the room. The temperature seemed to drop, and the hairs on Iolaus' neck started standing up. Get out. Get out of here now. He took the remaining few steps and grabbed the sword off the table before his mind finally registered the word, Trap.

"If you're looking for your knife, you left it in my brother's throat."

Too late.

Iolaus stiffened and slowly turned around. There was a man in the house now. A very large man, holding the scimitar he had seen earlier. Iolaus mentally kicked himself. He'd been too busy trying to piece together the events of last night when he should have been high tailing out of there, and he was still fuzzy from all the sex and opium that he'd dropped his guard, forgot the same instincts that he wished last night would just disappear…

"You don't remember, do you, golden one?"

Iolaus blinked, trying to repress a laugh, and tilted his head to stare at the guy. "Golden one?" he repeated incredulously. "You've got to be kidding me."

The big Persian raised the scimitar and ran a finger down the edge, examining its sharpness. "That's what my sisters called you. They found you very interesting. "

Iolaus winced. Damn. At least it was a brother and not a husband. Although he was sure one of those would probably pop up any second now, just for some extra fun.

The guy was leering at him in a way that made Iolaus' skin crawl. He didn't like where his eyes were going. What is it with everybody here? Do I look like a flute boy at one of Aphrodite's temples? He made a mental note to maybe change his clothes.

"Hey, buddy… I'm up here," he said, snapping his fingers and waving his sword. "The part that talks, at least. I know on you that's probably not the case." He was rewarded for that insult with a vicious backhand that he wasn't quick enough to avoid, and it sent him spinning into the table behind him. Me and my big mouth. He tasted the metallic tang of blood and spit it out. The bastard had split his slip. He recalled Hercules telling him, on numerous occasions, that his fast and often smart ass mouth was the cause for a lot of his trouble. "What can I say, Herc?" he had joked once. "It's a gift. I can't help myself."

He heard footsteps behind him and stayed still against the table, slowly inching his sword out of its sheath, his body hiding what he was doing from his attacker. Iolaus, he told himself, Herc's right. You really need to learn to help yourself. At the last second, Iolaus spun, his sword flying out of its sheath and into the stomach of his would be assassin. The man stared at him, wide eyed. He hadn't even raised the scimitar.

"Yeah, golden one is pretty quick on his feet," Iolaus said harshly, retracting his sword and pushing the Persian out of the way. He grabbed his scabbard and quickly ran through the front of the house, startling the women who had just come out of their drug crazed sleep. He felt bad for them; they probably had no idea what had happened the night before either, and now he'd managed to kill both their brothers.

Killed. You killed two men in less than a day.

He had killed before, of course, but that had been in war or when there was no other choice. He and Hercules never killed if they could help it.

He could have helped it. He just didn't care.

Quick as a flash, he sheathed his sword and scooped up the remainder of the opium from the bedside table and then ran out the door, narrowly avoiding tipping himself over the side of the cliff as he did so. He stood there for a moment, looking down onto the jagged rocks and the city far in the distance. The hand that held the opium was shaking, covered in blood.

Iolaus felt sick – sick, dirty, and somehow violated. He opened his palm to stare at the powder before tossing it over the side of the cliff and wiping the remainder off on his pants. He regretted it instantly. That was how he knew he'd made the right choice.

He took off quickly but carefully down the path and back into the city, only stopping when he was sure no one had followed him. Enough, he told himself, firmly. Enough now. He'd almost let two people kill him in the last eight hours, could maybe remember one day out of three since he'd gotten to Persia. He'd decided last night that he wasn't going to put the rest of his life in someone else's hands like that again and not even an hour later, he was high on a mountain top risking it all, and for what? He wanted bliss, peace… and this wasn't either. You're going to die before you even get to Chin.

The dreams were going to come again now. His stomach clenched at the thought of them. But so did the sight of all the blood pouring out onto his sword. He was losing himself, losing his soul, in a way that was completely different than what had happened with Dahak.

Enough. This has got to stop. You've got to stop.

At least that's what he told himself. He had himself convinced he could do it, too. And he didn't go back to any more opium dens as he traversed through Persia and into India.

But he also hadn't been able to resist the pull, the sweet escape that opium and wine brought, and by the time he'd gotten to India he was having trouble remembering why he'd even gone there in the first place.