Kyrillos was starting to get worried — it was before midnight already — and he had looked everywhere.

Apart from the barn.

Poor kid, he thought, seeing Arkadios buried in the pile of hay. He must have had a hell of a day, if not life — the courtesy of the raven-haired darling, to be sure. Love was a bastard.

Kyrillos wanted to take him home to a real bed, but decided against waking him. Maybe the guy wanted to be by himself. Kyrillos respected that; his old lady wouldn't have, but he did.

He looked at this huge man — who could have been his son, their son, had the gods blessed them with kids back in the day — this tough guy, so miserably asleep. There was something unique about him, something that intrigued Kyrillos; he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Arkadios… he looked like a warrior.

But there was this eerie awkwardness to the way he moved and talked, as if he — but it wasn't being shy, it was more like — more like a royal would've acted if thrown in a pigpen.

And there was something about this sudden realization that made Kyrillos like him even more.

#

Xena looked around drowsily, a bit surprised to find herself waking up to a sunset, and in a room she didn't recognize.

The events of the previous day started coming back to her, gradually but randomly, when the old wooden door opened, revealing the petite silhouette — it took her a while to recognize the face of their hostess.

"That amount of sleep would've restored a dead person," the old lady commented as she approached the bed, her smile contrasting with the choice of imagery. Xena wasn't sure why, but decided she didn't like the old lady; there was something about her that irked her.

"The name is Xena."

"Pelagia."

"Thank you for hosting us."

"It's my call to help, dear," Pelagia responded rather coldly, and that irked her too; not that she was a particularly cheerful person herself, but still; there was something condescending about the old lady that annoyed the hell out of her. "Let me have a quick look at you."

But she was a good healer, and her inventory quite impressive. Xena curiously eyed the tray full of little jars and vials. Her gaze stopped at the little jar full of an ointment of the unusually dark shade. "What's that?"

Pelagia smiled with satisfaction. "Poppy seed. Good for pain and troubled mind. That, my dear, is the reason you managed to have such restorative sleep and why nothing hurts you."

She'd heard stories about poppyseed but had long disregarded them as myths since she'd never come across the real thing. This was quite something. Gabrielle would've been stoked. Gabrielle — where was she — where was Eve? Probably still with the Amazons, but Xena didn't like to think about the possible reasons for such a hold-up. She couldn't be far away from the Amazon camp, they should have easily tracked her down here by now.

She had to get back there as soon as possible.

"Alright, dear, now that your voice is back and you can keep your eyes open, I can say that you'll be back on your feet in no time. The muscle fatigue might last a couple more days, but it looks like all the other symptoms qualify as fully reversible; apart from the memory — the memories from around the time the trauma happened, those you won't recover if you haven't by now."

"Good riddance," Xena muttered with a frown, a wave of heat warming her cheeks. She wished she had lost all recent memories altogether. "What do you mean a couple of days? I need to leave tomorrow the latest."

"I'm not holding you here, your muscles are. But it's not a symptom of concussion, the muscle fatigue — in your case there must have been other factors, likely acute stress; and menstruation isn't helping either," Pelagia added knowingly. "You should sleep some more. I have to go out for a while. Food and water are here on the stool. You shouldn't get up by yourself yet. Fresh menstrual cloths are on the bedside table," the old lady instructed. "And don't worry, dear, that husband of yours shouldn't disturb you today — the pain in the rear that he is, I made sure Kyrillos gets him busy with house chores until I'm back. If he ever wakes up, that is — he spent the night in the barn and hasn't left since. Anyhow, my husband is out in the garden working — far enough to let you sleep, close enough to hear you if need something."

And, with that said, before Xena could open her mouth, the door behind Pelagia closed.

Suddenly, the door opened abruptly.

"Your husband wanted you to know that he had sent for your friend and daughter," Pelagia added before the door closed as fast as they opened, leaving Xena stunned.

That was unexpected.

Her husband.

The thought of him had always made her pulse quicken, only this time — it was with worry. She wondered where he was, suddenly alarmed at the thought that he might have left. No, Pelagia said he was in the barn, sleeping.

She grunted, trying to pull herself up to a sitting position; gods, she really was weak. The half-sitting position was the realistic best she could do for now.

She never liked to be bedbound, but now, in the aftermath of recent events, with nothing to do but think, it was going to be a drag.

She closed her eyes, feeling a wave of emotions wash over her. What the hell was wrong with her? Her bleeding had already started, but emotionally she was no less of a mess than she had been before.

Maybe it was age.

Maybe her mind was deteriorating and it would now always be like this.

She balled her fists and held her breath.

Her husband.

It revoked a bitter memory from when he made her stand at the altar with him in exchange for him bringing Gabrielle back; one of his many pathetic attempts to make her his.

Funny, how it had never occurred to him to almost kill her first and then fuck her brains out instead.

But now that she thought of it — yes, she had been long fed up with all his lame attempts to play her and her having to, time after time after time, come up with ways to counter him, but at least it had been established — he was a nemesis, a pestering flashback from the past she'd long put behind her. The stability she had never appreciated.

Telling her he loved her, giving up his godhood to save her life — those were tricks from a new arsenal that she still had to work her way around. For now, it messed with her head more than she should allow it to.

He must have loved Pelagia, she thought with a chuckle. She had a chance to witness some of the chemistry between the two earlier at her bed — the fact that the old witch was still alive was rather miraculous.

But, in spite of everything, she couldn't help but smile at the memory of Ares trying to be civil. For her.

Maybe he was trying to make amends. Maybe he was — contrary to what she assumed before — developing a sort of a conscience now that he was mortal. Yeah, right, it had to be the almost killing her that triggered it, to be sure. She closed her eyes, her cheeks burning, her thoughts making their way to what she wanted to keep at the back of her head for now. Eventually, she would have to process it.

And forget it.

And she would do it, in due time, later.

Tomorrow.

She shouldn't put herself through it now when she was still recovering, that would've gone against the doctor's orders to avoid strong emotions.

In fact, in order to do that, she would need to stop thinking about him entirely.

She should think about something lighter.

Something uplifting.

Something trivial.

Something funny, something light and funny.

She closed her eyes and chuckled, remembering the old lady patronize Ares with a lesson on female reproductive system. That was a gem; gods, how she wished she could've seen his face, even though she had deliberately chosen not to; she didn't want to look him in the eye when he was so close, holding her the way he did. This newfound intimacy with him was something to be kept at bay, no matter how much it made her melt; a dangerous territory she needed to stay away from. Not long, just for as long as he was mortal.

Once she got him his godhood back, the problem would solve itself.

Though, as simple as it sounded, long or not, it was easier said than done. After the surgery, when the two of them had been alone in the room, when he almost kissed her face and said he was glad she was back — it was stronger than her — she had to feel him close — and then she was lost, to this strong urge to hold him and not let go.

She frowned at the flutter in her chest.

This was exactly why she had to keep her distance.

Well, there went not thinking about him.

Unbelievable, how he could still be such a pain in the ass even when not even there.

She sighed, remembering how he was holding her down during the stitching; she didn't know what was killing her more back then — the physical pain, the cringe of having him of all people see her in such state, or how awkwardly sweet he was about it.

She groaned, hanging her head down in frustration.

Where the hell was he? The sun was hanging low, it was way past noon; he couldn't still be asleep.

It was just that — as much as she tried to remember who he was and that no temporary aberration in his behavior changed it — there was something about the way he was simply there for her today, so caring, so unlike him, that — as much as she hoped it was her hormones and the opioids talking — was making her long for him with the intensity that frightened her.

She growled, rubbing her palms up and down her face.

How come she couldn't produce a single bad memory of him now that she really needed it?

Somehow, the first thing that came to her mind recently when she thought about him was Olympus. That day on Olympus, after he'd given up his godhood for her — that very day, after he had just killed his sister for her, and their eyes met, confusion and fear in his — and later that day, when they said their goodbyes at sunset — and how her whole body and mind ached to pull him close.

And how later, when she was falling asleep on her bedroll at night, and several or more other nights, she wondered, what if; what if she'd asked him to travel with them; what if, one night when he would have been there on the bedroll next to her, she would've pulled him close and told him, let him in on all she'd been hiding from him, from both of them.

It had never really left her, the guilt.

Leaving him behind back then, it felt wrong, unbearable; but she had to, for the sake of her daughter, if not just Gabrielle.

Though, did she, really? Or had she been so preoccupied with the comfort of Eve and Gabrielle that she completely disregarded the person who gave up his up his life and his own family so that she could be holding hers in her arms, alive.

Had she compromised her moral compass for the sake of what she'd made herself believe was the right thing to do? She had done right; by her daughter, by her best friend, by her own well-being; just like she always had. And he'd been on her mind ever since.

Back when she was pregnant with Eve, when they were on the run from the Olympians; that was when it had started; that was when, for the first time in all the years she had known him, his presence started to cloud her judgment. Naturally, she did a great job at hiding it both from him and herself.

She had to, because the way she found herself thinking about him, the way it felt to hear him say he loved her… it made her weak, made her hate him for the effect he had on her, and hate him yet more for how she could have never allowed herself to have him. Not without losing herself, her principles, her pride.

When the gods tried to kill her baby — that was his chance to convince her she was wrong about him, to make her trust him — which he claimed he wanted so much — and all he did was try to use her — trying to get her to give him an offspring in exchange for his help.

But she was glad in the end — worked as a much needed cold shower, reminding her who she was dealing with. But, for fuck's sake, a child, really? Did he really expect there to be even a slimmest of chances of that happening? Didn't he know her well enough to know she would've rather died than taken an insult of this caliber? And, well, while his list of transgressions against her wasn't short, but that — it was the first time when the very thought of him started to make her stomach churn. That was why the plan with Celesta's tears was so good — it would've saved not just Eve, but herself — from him.

And it had — for 25 years she had then spent locked by him in the ice coffin, which gave him plenty of time to turn her daughter into a monster.

She sat still, cold bitterness spreading in her chest, eyes open, seeing nothing. Her last chance to be a mother, he'd robbed her of it, along with the lives of her family and friends. It wasn't fair to blame him for it, she knew that. But sometimes bitterness got the better of her.

There was this one memory she hated, which would come back from time to time. When Eve was little, when they were on the run from the gods, back on that beach, when she was about to "kill herself" with Celesta's tears; he didn't stop her. He just stood there, watching her drink the potion. Buried her afterwards. Moved on. She would've rather died than admitted it, but that — the fact he just stood there and let her take her own life — hurt deeper than anything else.

And their fight at the pond, when he was dead set on killing her, almost succeeding — well, it was her fault for not carrying out the fight the way she had planned to, not backing off when she should have — he was deranged out of his mind, of course he would've killed her, he would've killed his own mother in the state he was in — but still, it stung, somehow.

But that was him. In the end, he'd always sting where it hurt. And he wouldn't be there to pick up the pieces.

Oh, he might be here now, but it was only because of his temporary mortality, which seemed to give him something of a human conscience, something the immortal God of War couldn't have grown even if he tried.

And he wasn't supposed to.

He was made for his mantle. Empathy and human conscience would've hindered performing his godly duties.

But, if she'd found herself falling for him even when he lacked humanity, staying immune to him now that he was starting to display it was going to border on impossible. She really needed to stay away from him now, shouldn't get close, she couldn't — she couldn't have him in her life now, not when being around him was starting to unsettle her in a way that felt too good to resist, that would ruin her in the long run.

Now was a good time to free herself of him, while he was still mortal. She'd been thinking of leaving Greece, anyway. They could go south; Gabrielle wanted to see Egypt so much.

Then again, the thought of him roaming the Earth, alone and mortal, without having the basic grip of how to take care of himself without his powers — she couldn't allow it. She had to restore his godhood, she owed him. But then, once she would, he would keep coming back — only this time, it would hurt; seeing him and remembering the man he used to be. The man who would no longer be there.

It was hopeless.

She closed her eyes, misery overcoming her.

Her thoughts turned bitter, roaming back to their fight at the Amazon camp, then at the pond. Maybe it was fitting, for their relationship to end that way; and fair — with him getting hurt this time, for a change.

And then, there was the aftermath of the fight; a bit blurry, but clear enough to fill her with both rage and need so wild it now made her shiver.

She wished he hadn't had a memory of it — maybe he didn't — he had been in a trance, after all. It was unsettling, not knowing how much he remembered. Though, still less unsettling than trying to find it out was going to be. If she as much as asked him directly, he'd mess with her, of course — asshole — he'd tease her and push her buttons. The buttons he now had a fucking map of. The buttons she never knew were there to push in the first place.

Well, she didn't want him to remember — not what was now flooding her in waves, not what he would've used as a leverage to torment her for the rest of her life; how much she enjoyed her defeat at his hands; how much she loved being at his mercy. It was maddening enough to have memories of it herself.

She pushed her head back against the cold metal bars of the headrest, trying to calm her breath, even though there was no one there to witness it but herself.

Herself — her own most unforgiving witness and judge, throwing it all in her own face now and forcing her to own up to and repent for it all, for every single detail that was now making her every fiber burn; and not just for him, but for him to make her feel that way again.