memories and to my current
Oracle, whose standing in front of me still, her hair dripping into her t-shirt,
fury in her eyes.
So strange. Del
always smiled. Loved to make me happy. If there was anything that she lived for
it was my happiness. Iris looks like she'd just as soon slit my throat as make
me happy and I'm not completely
convinced she couldn't do it.
I grin and she
growls, low in her throat. "What the fuck did you do?"
"I'm Apollo,
Iris. I never lied to you." You are
one of the only ones I didn't lie to. "But this--what's happening to
you. I didn't intend that. I have fought for eons to prevent this very
thing."
Her eyes go
unfocused as she stares at me, and her eyes squint as she stares at me, and her
hands clench and unclench involuntarily at her sides.
"You were mad.
The mad god. They laughed and the Huntress wept and you were so fucking broken,
Apollo, how could you do that ? How could you--" she shudders,
swaying and I reach for her, taking her by the hand and drawing her down to
hover over me. Her hands are shaking. "How. Why? You were so strong. The
strongest of Olympus. Why would you throw that away? Why would you embrace your
madness?"
She's half present,
and half gone, so lost to visions I could dance naked through the room and it wouldn’t truly register.
"It's
beautiful," she whispers, and I hum an agreement, tugging her against me,
tucking her head under my chin and letting her sigh as she relaxes against my
chest. "It's so fucking pretty. I want to play with the threads," she
whispers.
"You
can't," I murmur, tugging her hands down, kissing them and then tucking
them in her lap, between her knees. "Those are lives, sweetheart. You
don't get to play with lives. You only get to observe them."
Iris surfaces, long
enough to frown at me, her pretty face a mask of outrage. "I am not a
watcher, Apollo. And don't think you're getting out of explaining this shit. I
know this is your fault."
I smile reassurance
and she huffs, grumpy, against my lips before she kisses me and shudders, the possibilities
swinging hot and heavy around us. This close, her power so wide open, I can
feel it. I can see the kaleidoscope colors, all purple and greens, scarlets and
gold and the occasional splash of black.
She smiles and hums
as I watch the city, the tiny coffee shop where Lily is working and the
hospital where Heath is sleeping.
"He hates it
here," she whispers into my ear and I know that she knows I'm following
along with her, tagging along as she takes in the shifting beauty of the city.
"I want to take him home," she adds, her voice mournful.
I'm silent.
I don't want to be
the one who tells her that she doesn't have a home now. That she may never have
one again, aside from the one at my side.
She frowns as she
stares at her brother, and I see the madness slide away, the visions slide away
and her frown depends.
“Iris?” I murmur,
and she shakes her head. Her eyes are impossibly wide when she blinks free of
the vision and we tumble into ourselves in my bedroom.
“Apollo,” she
gasps.
Ah.
“He’s fine,
sweetheart.”
“ He’s dying.”
I shake my head.
“He was. I am not just the god of the sun and prophecy,” I say, gently.
She stares at me,
her eyes impossibly wide and searching.
“I’m the god of
healing, sweetheart. And you wanted him healed.”
She makes a tiny
noise, a little half - there
sound, before she kisses me. It would be easy. And while her lips play over
mine and her body settles against me, all sweet , warm heat and a tongue that teases with lazy
strokes, dipping into the heat of my mouth and tasting me.
I almost forget.
She's writhing
against me, her hips rolling in these tight little circles and I want to shove
her off of me, pin her down and slam into her. I want to remember what she
tastes like and feels like, when she's wrapped around me and I am sane, and
there is nothing but my own guilt keeping us apart.
I almost forget
that I can't, because there is still too
Oracle, whose standing in front of me still, her hair dripping into her t-shirt,
fury in her eyes.
So strange. Del
always smiled. Loved to make me happy. If there was anything that she lived for
it was my happiness. Iris looks like she'd just as soon slit my throat as make
me happy and I'm not completely
convinced she couldn't do it.
I grin and she
growls, low in her throat. "What the fuck did you do?"
"I'm Apollo,
Iris. I never lied to you." You are
one of the only ones I didn't lie to. "But this--what's happening to
you. I didn't intend that. I have fought for eons to prevent this very
thing."
Her eyes go
unfocused as she stares at me, and her eyes squint as she stares at me, and her
hands clench and unclench involuntarily at her sides.
"You were mad.
The mad god. They laughed and the Huntress wept and you were so fucking broken,
Apollo, how could you do that ? How could you--" she shudders,
swaying and I reach for her, taking her by the hand and drawing her down to
hover over me. Her hands are shaking. "How. Why? You were so strong. The
strongest of Olympus. Why would you throw that away? Why would you embrace your
madness?"
She's half present,
and half gone, so lost to visions I could dance naked through the room and it wouldn’t truly register.
"It's
beautiful," she whispers, and I hum an agreement, tugging her against me,
tucking her head under my chin and letting her sigh as she relaxes against my
chest. "It's so fucking pretty. I want to play with the threads," she
whispers.
"You
can't," I murmur, tugging her hands down, kissing them and then tucking
them in her lap, between her knees. "Those are lives, sweetheart. You
don't get to play with lives. You only get to observe them."
Iris surfaces, long
enough to frown at me, her pretty face a mask of outrage. "I am not a
watcher, Apollo. And don't think you're getting out of explaining this shit. I
know this is your fault."
I smile reassurance
and she huffs, grumpy, against my lips before she kisses me and shudders, the possibilities
swinging hot and heavy around us. This close, her power so wide open, I can
feel it. I can see the kaleidoscope colors, all purple and greens, scarlets and
gold and the occasional splash of black.
She smiles and hums
as I watch the city, the tiny coffee shop where Lily is working and the
hospital where Heath is sleeping.
"He hates it
here," she whispers into my ear and I know that she knows I'm following
along with her, tagging along as she takes in the shifting beauty of the city.
"I want to take him home," she adds, her voice mournful.
I'm silent.
I don't want to be
the one who tells her that she doesn't have a home now. That she may never have
one again, aside from the one at my side.
She frowns as she
stares at her brother, and I see the madness slide away, the visions slide away
and her frown depends.
“Iris?” I murmur,
and she shakes her head. Her eyes are impossibly wide when she blinks free of
the vision and we tumble into ourselves in my bedroom.
“Apollo,” she
gasps.
Ah.
“He’s fine,
sweetheart.”
“ He’s dying.”
I shake my head.
“He was. I am not just the god of the sun and prophecy,” I say, gently.
She stares at me,
her eyes impossibly wide and searching.
“I’m the god of
healing, sweetheart. And you wanted him healed.”
She makes a tiny
noise, a little half - there
sound, before she kisses me. It would be easy. And while her lips play over
mine and her body settles against me, all sweet , warm heat and a tongue that teases with lazy
strokes, dipping into the heat of my mouth and tasting me.
I almost forget.
She's writhing
against me, her hips rolling in these tight little circles and I want to shove
her off of me, pin her down and slam into her. I want to remember what she
tastes like and feels like, when she's wrapped around me and I am sane, and
there is nothing but my own guilt keeping us apart.
I almost forget
that I can't, because there is still too
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