“You’re the difficult one,” he said.
She crossed her arms and nodded. She was difficult. And she’d been the one to blur the lines between them in the first place, kissing him in the sleeper of that truck, something that it felt like had happened forever ago and as close as yesterday. If she hadn’t done that, he might never have pressed the issue. But it had felt so natural there, waking beside him in the afternoon light. As right and as easy as resting her head on his shoulder on the banks of the Styx. She stepped closer, barely a shuffle of feet. If she could just get close enough, maybe it would feel that natural again.
He stood still, as though he was worried any movement he made would scare her off. But his breath came faster, and she could hear his good, strong heartbeat.
She lifted her arm and slipped it around his neck. It was harder than anything. Heavier than any sword or shield she’d ever lifted. And she trembled. What guts this took. What a fool she’d been, to think Aphrodite was ever weak.
Odysseus raised his hands to her hips, and then to her sides, careful to avoid the fresh feather wound over her ribs. They stood that way for long moments, statues except for the blood rushing under their skin. Athena sensed his wanting in the eager grip of his fingers, and his rising and falling chest. But still they stood, and went no further.
“I love you,” she blurted, and his eyes opened wider. “I just wanted to tell you, in case. In case you didn’t know.”
“I knew,” he said. “I don’t remember much from the fall. Just the wind in my ears and you, wrapped around me. Your heart beating faster as mine slowed down.” He pushed her hair away from her cheek.
“I love you, too, Athena,” he said. “Always have.”
He looked into her eyes. If he kissed her now, she would let him. More than that, she would kiss him back. They both knew it, and neither moved.
It’s because he knows it’s wrong. He feels it, like I do. Our hearts, our desire will never be stronger than what stands between us. We are two different things. But oh how I want it, this time we have left.
Athena let her hands slip from behind his neck down to his shoulders.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t let go of me. I haven’t worked up the courage yet, but I will.”
“You never lacked for courage,” she said, and pushed gently away. “It’s because it’s real now. And now that we can have it, you know it’s as wrong as I’ve always said.”
“That’s not it. That’s not it at all.”
He reached for her, as if he would prove it.
“Athena!” Hermes said, and burst into the room.
“Not now, mate,” Odysseus groaned. “There’s a sock on the door.”
Hermes narrowed his eyes and tore it off the knob.
“There’s not anymore,” he said, “and you two had better get downstairs.”
He turned on his heel and left, and Athena and Odysseus followed. When the stairs turned toward the entryway, Athena was greeted by a very unexpected sight.
Standing on her welcome mat, dressed in a navy plaid button-up with sleeves rolled to the elbows, was the god of death.
*
Athena had last seen Thanatos in Los Angeles in 1972. She’d been living there then, in a small, dusty apartment above a biker’s lounge. Most of her nights she spent on a stool, belly up to the bar and a line of empty beers, watching a band called Steve Hunger Road Show do their best impression of America. Steve Hunger Road Show. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought of them. Steve had been sort of a douche, but Mickey and Jim hadn’t been half bad. They’d been her friends.