Cindy Stoll was a woman of fine tastes. And when her bank account did not cater to her preferred style, she was not afraid to reach out and take what she needed to fill her coffers. When she and Hermes first crossed paths, she said her name was Tabitha Wright and then slipped Hermes' expensive gold watch right off his wrist. Hermes let her, smitten and intrigued, then joined her on a heist that included all the best parts of Hermes' realms; no guns, no hurt, just sweet talking, sleight of hand, and an exciting very early morning stroll along a museum's halls where they had no business being.
A son was conceived in the museum, beneath the art of Olin H. Travis.
It was not a romance, just admiration on both sides, enjoyment of the moment, and deep fondness. Cindy Stoll enjoyed Hermes' company in the same way she enjoyed a drive in her stolen Mercedes, or the same way she enjoyed a glass of fine wine pilfered from someone else's cellar. Not love, but sheer pleasure at tasting the finer moments in life, high on success in playing with fire and winning.
Hermes did feel love, of a sort. Cindy was a worshiper at his alter, whether she understood that or not, and he could not help but feel drawn. Anyway, he loved every woman he gifted a child to. Not the everlasting romance that Aphrodite was so enamored with, but love nonetheless. Love enough that shortly after Travis was born, the mother already up to joining Hermes under the laser grid surrounding a rather famous Jade Conner sculpture, Hermes gifted Travis a brother.
Hermes stayed in touch. He had two children with her, now, and two demigods together could attract trouble. Besides, he was fond of Cindy Stoll. It wasn't romance or love, but he cared for his disciple all the same. Adored the worship she offered him on a daily basis. Admired her daring. And of course he checked in on his sons. In his own way, he loved Cindy Stoll.
And then came the day that Travis called for him, and the whole illusion of Happy Families came tumbling down.
"Why?" Hermes demanded, after, voice a low growl with just an edge of divine rage, "Why was my four-year-old son being shot at?"
"Oh please. It's not like he was in any real danger," Cindy answered, careless and not at all cowed by the barely controlled rage radiating off the god. Of course she wasn't scared. Danger excited her. It was one of the things that had always drawn Hermes to her. He did not feel that draw now. Cindy Stoll would likely never know how close she came to becoming a pile of cinders in that moment. Instead, Hermes breathed in, breathed out, forced himself into a false calm.
"And why is he not in any danger? He's a baby. On a jewelry heist."
"Not a baby!" Travis protested from where he was still cuddled in his father's arms.
"He's part god, yeah?" Cindy Stoll explained, still sounding far too unfazed by the events of the last ten minutes. "He can already do such amazing things! Open locks. Find secret compartments and hidden doors. And you expect me to let that talent go to waste because he's still young?"
"My children have many wonderful talents," Hermes said, mostly managing to not start shouting, "But being bulletproof is not one of them."
"Our little adventures aren't usually so exciting," Cindy protested, waving away Hermes' concerns with an eyeroll. "Anyway, you came quick enough, so all's well."
For one long moment, Hermes said nothing. He held his son close, and if Hermes were still shaking, the boy in his arms didn't protest, just cuddled him calmly back, happy to be in his daddy's arms.
What went through Hermes' head in that moment was for him alone. What-ifs, perhaps, of what could have happened if Travis had not dodged fast enough, if Hermes had been slower in coming, if the shop owner had had clearer aim. If Travis, in his moment of fright when the counter exploded above him in a horrific rain of broken glass, hadn't called a prayer to his dad. Or maybe instead of what-ifs were memories of the times Hermes had been too slow, a child less lucky. Or maybe he thought on all the things he had wanted to do, to the shopkeeper, to the mother of his children… but a child was watching and nothing could still Hermes' wrath faster than the innocent eyes of a child, his own child, watching on.
Hermes knows too well what it is like to watch a parent's wrath. To watch even when it isn't aimed towards himself. That the screaming can be as bad as blows. That watching another's suffering under a father's hand, even deserved suffering, was horrible. He never wanted his own son to wonder when that wrath, that cruel touch, would be turned on him. Hermes was not a perfect father, he was all too aware of that, all too often didn't know what he should be doing, what his children needed from him. But at least he knew what not to do.
So Hermes had done nothing more than melt the shopkeeper's gun (and maaaybe cursed his shop so that money would flow through it like water, so the latches to locks would never quite catch, so that luck turned sour, but if that were the case, no small, traumatized boys need know). Anyway, there was no death, no horrific rending limb from limb. Just a scared old man looking at the ruins of his gun and the broken remains of his counter, before Hermes, holding back on all the things he could do, gently sent him to sleep.
And Hermes did not smite the mother of Travis and Connor where she stood for endangering his child.
His children.
"And where was Connor in all of this? Left him with the sitter?"
"Connor is a baby," Travis said, with all the scorn of a child barely out of diapers towards those slightly younger, "We use him to look innocent, but he doesn't get to do the locks yet. Not like me."
"He's waiting safe and sound in the car," Cindy put in, still rolling her eyes at how dramatic Hermes was being. "I don't know why you're being so… so judgmental over this. Like you never stole a thing in your life. They're your kids and they take after you. I'd think you'd be happy."
"Happy. You think I should be happy."
And maybe he wasn't being as good at hiding his feeling as he usually was, because for a moment, despite the flat tone he'd spoken in, Cindy Stoll actually looked a bit nervous. If she was, it did not make her back down.
"Yes, happy! Travis, darling, you like helping mommy on these little adventures, don't you?"
Travis puffed up in pride, beaming happily as he said, "I got superpowers, just like Daddy! I can steal anything."
And Hermes could not help but smile fondly down at his small son. It was never the morals of encouraging a child to steal that had tripped him up. Truth be told, a part of him was happy to see his son so joyfully taking after his dad.
"Of course you can," he agreed. But the smile soon turned to a frown, his gaze returning to Travis's mother. "But there is a difference between using your 'superpowers' and being used."
Then, very abruptly, Hermes turned on his heels and strode away from the wreckage of the shop. He found Connor quickly, in a nearby car just as stated. The almost three-year-old was hunched down on the floor of the car, covering his ears and crying quietly. There was a toddler seat buckled in above him. If he'd ever been in it, he'd managed to escape to hide. With the way Cindy had been caring for his children, Hermes figured either was possible.
"Connor?" Hermes asked as he opened the locked door, and the boy quickly looked up, then launched himself into Hermes' free arm, the other still occupied with Connor's brother.
"Bad man," Connor said into Hermes' shoulder. "Bad man shoot Mommy and Trav." Like most of Hermes' children, Connor had worked out how to talk very young. He might not yet have turned three, but he could speak in proper sentences if he wanted to. That he was reduced to such simplicity was actually a bit concerning.
"No one got shot," Hermes soothed him. "Daddy stopped him. Trav and… Mommy… are fine."
"It's okay," Travis put in, reaching out an arm to pat his brother on the back. "It's okay."
But it wasn't. It wasn't okay. It wasn't okay at all.
"See, all's fine," said Cindy Stoll. "Now, shall we take ourselves home before the cops show up?"
She was wearing new jewelry, the bounty of her theft, and Hermes could see at a glance that she was utterly unrepentant. If anything, she was clearly draping herself before Hermes and giving him coy looks. It was one of the things that had originally drawn him to her; she stole, and she deceived, and she enjoyed the game and never ever felt remorse. Hermes loved her, in his way. He loved her still. Loved her enough to not destroy her over a what-if or could-have-been. Loved his sons too much to have them see her destroyed. That did not mean he would leave her unpunished for her crimes.
"Yes," Hermes answered. "We are going home. Goodbye, Cindy Stoll. Travis, Connor, say goodbye to Mommy."
"Bye-bye!" Travis answered, waving his hand and beaming.
"Bye, Mommy," Connor parroted.
Cindy had a strange look on her face, confusion that was slowly turning, not into horror, but fury, but it was too late. The first thing Cindy did when she met Hermes was steal his watch. The last thing Hermes did when they parted was to steal her children.