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Hermes is very tempted to dub this the most exhausting time of his life. And considering how long he's been alive, that's saying something.

He'd pulled off his most daring trick yet. He found the prettiest nymph he could and asked her to loudly tell her river god father that she would touch no man, no mortal nor god. Hermes knows his father well, and his father can never resist something he wants that someone else says he can't have.

Of course Zeus stole away to the surface to have his way with the nymph. And Hermes tipped off Hera without giving himself away--it was easy just by telling a peacock and letting the bird decide on its own that it wanted full credit for discovering the imminent infidelity and telling its mistress. Hera came roaring down from Olympus to find her philandering husband, and with the nymph as bait, Hermes sprung his trap.

The net that Hephaestus made for his wife, golden and impossible to break or escape from, sprung on Zeus and Hera together as they argued on the top of the mountain Hermes lured them to. Hermes spirited the nymph away with greatest gratitude and the sort of boon usually reserved for children of Olympians for her trouble.

That was when Hermes and Athena revealed themselves. The rage of the king and queen of Olympus was legendary. Hermes hadn't expected that Zeus and Hera could still hurt them, but some of the things said got under his skin like a thorn, and clearly did for Athena as well.

But nonetheless, they laid out their demands. Predictably, both Zeus and Hera refused. Hermes settled in to watch over the net and wait them out and Athena went to Olympus to grab control before the other Olympians had a chance to learn of what happened and possibly react negatively.

As Hermes predicted, they had the implicit support of Hephaestus, Hestia, Poseidon, and Dionysus. Ares, Demeter, and Apollo were angry and gearing to challenge Athena's authority, Artemis pulled awkwardly between Apollo and everyone else. Aphrodite cleverly abstained from declaring allegiance to anyone.

Olympus could have gone to war if Athena hadn't sent Apollo to speak to Hermes. With the wrath of their parents as distant background noise, Hermes grimly pointed out that their family had a terrible history of sons violently deposing fathers. As long as Apollo held power, he'd fear his children. Athena would never have children, and was the only hope to end this terrible family tradition.

Apollo didn't quite support Hermes' decision, but at least he laid down thoughts of declaring war on their sister. Hermes could only hope that Hestia would have the same success with Demeter, and Ares would languish without any conflict but his own.

So now, Hermes can only wait. The sky over the mountain is dark and stormy, almost nighttime at noon. The wind is cold and the ground shakes with the rage of two gods held together by netting. Hermes sits out of seeing range, tired of being the subject of verbal abuse for now and happy to let them torture each other with their shrieking.

It'll be worth it, he's sure. The hard part is over. He just has to wait them out, however long it takes.

So now hovers in the air, zipping in circles to burn energy, fighting the ever-present threat of being bored waiting for his father and foster mother to exhaust themselves.

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The stars in his flesh look as natural as veins or tendons. There's a familiarity, as if Hermes has pointed out something that was always there, but Achilles simply never noticed.

"It truly is. Somehow it's comforting to know we're made of such stuff." A deep calm softens the hard edges of Achilles' face, and he runs a thumb along Hermes' cheekbone. "All the foolish things we worry ourselves over become so very small—and perfectly surmountable."

He steps back and stoops to pick up their respective clothing. As he does, his eyes glance over the cave and, contrary to what he's just said about worries, he's back to fussing: "Have you had enough food? Rest? Perhaps I should fetch more wood. This won't keep you long."

The change between the introspective peace to fretting about Hermes has him giggle, his nose wrinkling as he does.

"Your love will keep me going, darling."

Hermes ties his loincloth back in place before carelessly throwing his chiton back on. Despite his clear lack of thought, it still settles on his body perfectly as he clasps it in place.

"I haven't felt better cared for in years."

Achilles gets dressed the mundane, mortal way—pulling on his chiton with care, straightening the pleats, and shaking his hair loose. As he affixes his belt, he glances up at Hermes. "You're certain of that?"

That answer doesn't quite satisfy him, and he fiddles with the fire and re-stacks the remaining wood, propping any remaining damp pieces nearer to the heat.

"As much as I want to stay, I really should head back." Achilles sighs and picks up the clasp with Hades' blood-red seal. He knows helping Hermes has been valuable—keeping him fresh for this battle of wills with Zeus and Hera—but Achilles' existing loyalties are tugging at his conscience just as surely as the natural order is tugging at his shade.

He pulls his cloak around his shoulders and pins it. "But when ... if I can, I'll return to you."

Sometimes Hermes feels a twinge of jealousy, seeing Achilles bear his uncle’s sigil. He wonders at it, knowing that the relationship between Achilles and Hades is purely, unerringly professional, and knowing that shades always belong to Hades. But is it so much to wish that he could take his lover into his own exclusive care?

Probably. He sets the thoughts aside, shaking his head before kissing Achilles. Soft. Affectionate.

“I’ll return to the Underworld when I can. Once all this is over.” Hermes squeezes Achilles’ hand gently. “We have such a future planned. I’d like to get to it.”

Achilles drinks in the kiss, savoring it like the last fresh water before a long journey. "I look forward to it."

He traces a finger along Hermes' necklace and each of the emblems of his own devotion.

"It's not just the two of us; so many others stand to benefit from your success." The list is long: the many nymphs Zeus took by force, the offspring thereof eyed with suspicion, the Olympians terrified to step out of line, Titans unjustly punished, and mortals treated like playthings.

Achilles' hand returns the squeeze with firm, entreating force. "Purge the anger and fear from Olympus."

It's strange to hear Achilles frame it like this: like Hermes is doing a service for everyone, and not just saving his own craven skin. Maybe Achilles sees something in Hermes right now that Hermes can't. Or maybe this is just what love does to one's vision.

Hermes squeezes Achilles' hand back, smiling at the love that radiates off him. "I'll do my best, darling. And may we all be better off for it."

He takes a moment to sweep Achilles' curly hair behind his ear. "Tell my Coz sorry about the sneaking around, but this was something our side of the family had to take care of ourselves. And hopefully, we'll be finished soon."

If Hermes believes Achilles has grown beyond his past pride and rage, Achilles believes Hermes isn't as selfish as he seems to think. They've both done things they regret when they were pushed—by grief, by fear, by the simple need to survive.

If anything, love is a mirror, and it's reflecting something painfully familiar.

Achilles tips his head into Hermes' touch, catches his hand and kisses it one last time.

"I'll pass along your apologies." He reaches for his spear and runs his hand over the haft. It's still charred where Zeus' lightning passed through it. "If he's kept your siblings from fighting over the throne, Zagreus has been a greater help than he knows."

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