A/N

So, there are more mentions about Hades and Persephone in this chapter and I want to point out that I used plot elements for their story from the book: For the love of Hades, by author Sasha Summers.
I hope you enjoy!

It was with a bit of a depressed feeling that Hope pulled the door of the stately, terraced house closed behind her. Poor Emily. Those poor parents. Poor Thomas!

These were the hardest cases to deal with and it had been extremely difficult to keep it together, while trying to convince a seven year old girl, dying of leukaemia, that Death was really a very kind person. And that, even if dying was scary is hell, Death would be waiting for her and hold her hand until she would not longer be scared of the journey she had to make.

And poor four-year-old Thomas, who sensed that something really sad was going on, but was way too young to understand that 'dead' was final and not something you recover from.

As Hope approached the garden gate, her clipboard pulled against her chest, she couldn't help but imagine the walk as an arduous trek through a quagmire of relentless mud, each step sinking her boots deeper into its mire. Each footfall became a battle, tugging and pulling with every forward stride. By the time she reached the gate and walked through it, she actually felt exhausted.

And then she found him standing there, right outside the gate.

For a moment they silently stared at each other. How long had it been? Several weeks at least!

He looked good though, and she released a relieved little sigh, because she simply took it to mean that the Dreaming was okay too… and so were her friends.

Morpheus said nothing, merely flicked an eyebrow at her.

She suspected he accomplished more with that eyebrow flick than most men did in a lifetime of soul-eating toil.

At least he was dressed kind of normal. Still in all black, he'd left his absurdly long swishing coat back in the Dreaming and had exchanged if for a much more fashionable looking, shorter, overcoat. Though she did so reluctantly, she had to admit he looked very... fine in it.

"You better make damned sure that Emily has the most amazing dreams for what little time she has left." She'd meant it to sound a bit scathing, but her voice was a pathetic little croak.

Morpheus always made her feel defensive, often causing her to lash out at him. In those moments her irritation with him simply overrode the more sensible part of her brain that kept trying to warn her not to mess too much with an Endless.

He said nothing, but pulled a small pamphlet from her clipboard. The front was matte black with a gilded ankh and the name of her little business. Mors Benigna.

"It will be so."

A hush fell between them in which they did little else but regard each other. Reassessing, perhaps.

"I should like to thank you, for your thoughtful gift. I would have done so sooner, but, I confess the complications I faced... the vortex, the missing arcana… they had me somewhat distracted."

Gift? What gift?

As by some invisible cue, they both started walking in a random direction together. The streets were not overly busy and they leisurely walked past a couple of quaint looking shops, then after crossing a street they came past a small duck pond. Until Hope could no longer contain her curiosity.

"I'm sorry, Morpheus, but I don't really remember–"

"The fruit basket."

The fruit…?

Oh. My. God!

She'd completely forgotten about that!

Heat stormed her face like it was planning to take over her entire body.

He suddenly leaned in a bit closer. "Can I let you in on a secret?"

The low register of his voice made her heart go thump thump in her chest. Walking suddenly so close together, she noticed that a peculiar scent hung around him, but when it registered, it didn't remind her of anything known, like fruits, or spices… it reminded her of concepts, ideas, absurd as it may sound. It reminded her of… the air right before a thunderstorm hits, of mist covered vales, of smoke trapped in mirrors, of petrichor.

She cleared her throat. "Eh, sure."

"I'm not that fond of lemons."

Now she felt like a complete tit.

"Fuck," she mumbled. "You do know that was not really a gift?"

He gave her an enigmatic little smile and a quick inclination of his head. "I know."

It was strange, walking through London with him like this.

"So, everything is settled then? Everything okay in-in your realm? And Lucienne? And–"

"Everything is settled, and Lucienne is well. Although, thanks to one of my siblings, things could have turned out a lot differently."

"Let me guess, Desire?" Hope ventured.

Morpheus gave her a puzzled look. "Yes. How do you…?"

"Friends with your sister, remember? We do talk you know. Even about you. But, what did Desire do this time?"

"They…" Morpheus gave her an assessing look and it made her insides clench. That look could not be good! Though she'd never seen him other than absolutely cool, or throwing an Endless tantrum, the sudden restiveness he displayed seemed very out of place. "They fathered a child with the woman who was supposed to be this generation's vortex. Due to my imprisonment however, she fell victim to the sleeping sickness and… her powers were passed on to her descendants. It is one of the Ancient Rules that forbid the Endless to spill family blood. Since it's my duty to destroy the active threat a vortex poses…"

Holy…!

"If Desire had succeeded, how bad would it have been?"

"Bad," was all he said.

A coldness settled hard in her stomach, as if she'd just swallowed a mountain of ice cubes.

"That's not a prank any more," she said softly. Not to mention the fact that Desire had gotten a woman pregnant… while she'd been sleeping?

She was about to lean in to Morpheus a bit. For comfort perhaps? It was the strangest feeling to attempt to lean into him when he suddenly brandished her pamphlet. "You surrounded yourself with death. Why?"

Instead of giving it back to her, he stored it away inside of his coat.

"I used to think it would be easier that way for your sister to come and visit me."

He contemplated her answer, his face and lips pulled in serious lines as always. "Do you regret that decision?"

A straight question that deserved a straight answer. Still, the few times she'd been asked the same question, and she gave the exact same answer, people tended to feel uncomfortable. She suspected Morpheus would understand though.

"No, I don't," she said after she gave it some thought. "I find it suits me. Quite well, actually."

As expected, he didn't even bat an eye at the admission.

"Is that the reason behind your failure to forge further connections with fellow humans?"
What a statement to make!

He did have a point though.

"When you befriend someone like your sister, all other relationships sort of pale in comparison."

Though his facial expression remained the same, Hope had the sense he was pleased with her answer. Perhaps it was in the way the tension in his shoulders eased. At least, he seemed less rigid.

"Still, it was a friendship anchored in intermittent meetings, transpiring merely once a year. You had the opportunity to foster connections with denizens of the waking world, individuals whose presence you could have embraced on a more regular basis. Yet, you chose not to."

"Where others ignored me, pretend they didn't see me because it was easier I guess… your sister didn't. Even if she only came that one day a year. She gave me the feeling at least one person saw me. That I was real. That I existed. That I wasn't invisible. Is it really so strange I preferred her friendship over all others? What need did I have of people who didn't want me anyway? Besides, don't you have a friendship with a mortal man named Hob Gadling? The one you only see once a century?"

The corner of his mouth briefly twitched up. Could it be… a smile struggling to form? Nooo!

He then turned his head to face her and leaned in a bit closer. "Point well taken."

"So, you've finally decided it is actually a friendship?"

They continued walking for a few more silent moments, before he finally said, "I have."

It felt rather strange to interact in such a cordial manner with him. Usually he acted rather pissy which put her on the defensive.

"Having friends is important," she mused.

He seemed to be biting the inside of his lip against a smile. "Friends? Plural? You're one to talk."

"I have friends! Your sister, Lucienne, Merv, and I like Matthew too."

The slight dent in his chin became more pronounced. Oh! Now she was sure he was battling a smile!

"Almost all of whom you acquired in the span of a few months. In my realm."

"So? At least I now have friends, oh Dream of the Endless who's got a few billion years under his belt. What's your excuse?"

"I was otherwise engaged."

She couldn't help herself. She erupted in a burst of loud laughter that completely caught herself unawares and she repressed, though just barely, a wince. Please, don't bray like a drunk mule choking on water, in front of an Endless! she admonished herself.

"Touché. And please don't do that again. That dry sense of humour is lethal!"

"I shall endeavour to lower the witticism of my remarks to a more appropriate level."

Hope snorted. Then sharply turned her head to look at him and narrowed her eyes. "You did that on purpose."

He repaid her with the briefest of genuine smiles.

She suspected he could be entirely amiable and charming when he desired to be. Maybe he rationed it? The thought brought forth a visage of him regally bestowing his charm only on those he found worthy. It was so absurd she couldn't resist a smile.

Still, those flashes of his whimsy, if you could call it that, that dry humour… it was a bit like catching a glimpse of his real character though a vegetation of prickly thorns. And if she had to be really honest, she quite liked what she saw…

It was better not to think such thoughts though.

"Do you know what your sister has recently discovered?" she asked quickly, to restore some inner balance.

"I am sure you will enlighten me."

"It's much nicer to not limit our friendship to one meeting a year. Now that you've finally decided that Hob is indeed your friend… why not do the same?"

Silence again dropped between them like a boulder.

She slowly learned to recognise it as not awkward, just him contemplating in silence.

"I shall carefully consider your suggestion. I have observed something myself, regarding my sister. She smiles more easily than I remember."

"Perhaps you never really paid attention."

"Perhaps… but now, when she smiles, she glows. And I find myself… grateful, that you have the grace to view my sister as I do and not the rest of the world."

What the hell does one say to that? Struck dumb, Hope remained quiet.

"I also wish to extend an apology. What you did was wholly selfless and self-sacrificing and I never truly thanked you for it. So, I thank you and offer you my deepest apologies."

Finally, a proper thank you!

Heat rushed to her cheeks and Hope fought the urge to fidget. "Eh, what else are–" She stopped, realising she'd been about to say 'What else are friends for?' "I mean, you don't have to thank me. I was just–"

"Doing a favour for my sister? I am well aware. But, in so doing you also helped me, my realm and the waking world. I will not forget this." With a slight nod, Morpheus suddenly took his leave.

As she first watched his retreating back, then saw him simply vanish from her sight, Hope knew one thing for certain: he had noticed her slip up and the fact she'd not mentioned him when she counted off her friends… and decided not to comment on it.

When she arrived home, the first thing she did was check her e-mail. Three accepted offers. Two turned down. Five requests for an initial meeting. She quickly sent out replies, then threw a refrigerated ready meal into the micro-wave. She had no idea what she'd dumped in there, but it was either pasta, Chinese, or chicken and broccoli. In six minutes she'd find out.

After she poured herself a glass of dinner wine, noting her chrysanthemums looked a bit droopy as she walked back to the living room, Hope flopped down on her couch. And she froze, her hand holding the glass awkwardly stretched out in a strange, silent toast.

There was a wrapped gift on her coffee table.

Someone had been in her house!

Mentally Hope checked all of her windows and doors and she knew everything had been locked tight when she'd left home.

But, someone had managed to get inside. And left her… a gift?

Carefully, Hope set down the glass of wine–neatly on a coaster–and with one finger on top of the thin wrapped gift, she dragged it towards her. It felt like a book.

She was too curious not to open it. It was not very likely this thin a gift held a bomb inside, and who would want to anthrax her? Plus, she didn't want to discount the fact she had one and a half friends who weren't bothered by something as trivial as a lock. The one of course being Dee. The half being Morpheus. After today, she could no longer say he was definitely not a friend, but also not really a friend either. A balance she intended to firmly keep that way.

It had to have been the coat.

Instantly her mind offered up a few delectable images of him wearing said coat. Which was really not at all helpful.

She tore away the paper and she swore her heart briefly stopped beating when she saw the cover of the book. Hades, dressed in his black cloak, holding Persephone in his arms, his back riddled with Eros' arrows.

Slowly, carefully, as if something lethal might be lurking inside, Hope opened the book. The first thing she noticed was that there was extra space next to the artwork frames. The second thing she noticed was that the extra space had been used for notes printed in an elaborate script font.

Notes about the artwork from the writer?

That's what she thought at least, until she started reading the notes.

Hope,

As I understand from Lucienne, you are very interested in the myth of Hades and Kore, or Persephone, as you know her. As you were so thoughtful as to present me with a gift, I thought I might return the gesture. Please, accept this as a token of my gratitude and my great esteem.

I've taken the liberty to add some notes, as the author of this work has taken some liberties.

I thought you might enjoy knowing the real story.

Your faithful servant,

Dream of the Endless.

Such beautiful copperplate handwriting. Very distinctive, impatient even. With bold, dark upward strokes, accented tall spikes on some letters and graceful loops on the others.

It took her a moment to realise the notes had not been made by the author, but had been meticulously written by hand, by Morpheus.

She didn't know why, but seeing his immaculate handwriting, that rather formal note, in the romantic, bit steamy, graphic novel she loved so much… Hope couldn't help herself, and she burst out laughing. She quickly turned the pages and sped through the diversity of notes that betrayed a dry wit and subtle sense of humour that, she had to admit, she fell in love with a little.

And some of his comments just shed a new light on the much beloved myth. She was very happy to read that, at the heart of their story was not rape, as according to the classic Homeric Hymn, but Hades giving aid to a young goddess who'd gotten hurt while fleeing from a king who'd become obsessed with her, and he had taken her to his realm to heal her. Unable to accept her beloved daughter had fallen in love with such a stoic and cold-hearted deity, Demeter had spread the rumour that Hades had abducted and raped Persephone.

One of his first notes was:

Though Hades' hair was indeed of a most midnight black colour, and he dressed himself in dark robes, Persephone was not a red-head. Her hair had the colour of ears of wheat softly swaying in a playful breeze, shimmering in the sunlight. She was a wholesome young woman who did enjoy picking flowers though she was never so innocent as depicted in this novel.

There were many, many more notes like that, and Hope realised that it must have taken him quite some time to write all this down. Like:

It was not an errant arrow shot from Eros' bow that made Hades fall in love with her. Rather, they both saw qualities in the other that were easily overlooked by everyone else. They still rule over the denizens of their Underworld with a dignity and grace that should serve as an example to many.

Her cheeks flamed with one of his last notes:

Though I cannot attest to the verity of this part, their love was known by many. As was their passion. Though I doubt Hades would ever allow anyone else to touch his beloved but himself, that first encounter depicted in this novel might very well be accurate. That I wouldn't know as I was not there..

And it triggered something deep inside of her. Something long forgotten, or abandoned really.

The sense of thrill, of being noticed. Of being wanted. And that delicious little sliver of fear that also came with walking the edge of something high, something that could result in stumble, a fall, and a hard landing.

And she confessed to herself she'd forgotten what it was like to want. Because after Derek she'd refused to ever be that vulnerable again.

For a very short moment she allowed herself to remember what it had been like. How Derek had heightened every moment, had taught her the deepest meaning of possessing sight and smell, the very reason for skin and nerve endings, and a heart.

She even thought she caught the scent of ripe summer peaches that reminded her of then.

Hope closed the book and set it down on the table.

Because following on the heels of those distant memories, came the knowledge, garnered from a lesson hard-learnt... that a man might easily make your heart sing like a bloody nightingale, he could just as easily pluck it from your chest and toy with it, before squishing it beneath a boot.

There was a brief flash of a much different memory. Of Derek's friends in the pub. Laughing. Mischievous delight dancing in their eyes, their lips curling into sly grins. The air crackling with suppressed laughter, an invisible tension building.

And then…

Hope swallowed hard and willed that memory back to the recesses of her mind. Unfortunately it only faded after she remembered that look on their faces. Their eyebrows raised high, stretching into arched peaks of exaggerated surprise. Their eyes then widening to an impossible extent, accentuating a certain vacant, glassy stare. And finally, with a twist of their lips, forming an unnatural wide 'O', an eerie imitation of a lifeless sex doll. And then they'd started laughing.

She'd never stepped foot in that pub again.

It was hard enough having sworn off romance; she'd woven indifference for men in her every smile, every laugh, every jerk of her chin, every cell of her body.

It really didn't help having someone keep plucking at the endings.

All she'd wanted from Morpheus was merely some semblance of gratitude. A hint of kindness, not just towards her but every dreamer, to justify what she'd done. Besides, she'd only done it for her friend. Right?

Oh, for fuck's sake!

The fucking bastard had had her wanting things with one unfortunate look. And it had been directed at a raven! In a dream!

It still made her want him to look at her, just like that. Not with lust or desire, just… to be known. To be seen.

The much safer recourse was to not let him get close. Not even as a friend.

He was the King of Dreams, the Shaper of Nightmares, the Prince of Stories.

He was an Endless.

She was just a mortal.