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Chapter Text

Character Introductions:

Helen: Ephemeral. Eyes like stained glass. Soft curves. Wide hips. Strawberry blonde, loose curls, a slice of divinity. The light that makes beauty was refracted too strongly into one soul. Men were born to die for such as her. That is not a compliment

Clytemnestra: Defiant, angry, as beautiful as violence and as bloody as a last kiss. The only thing she shares with her sister are their eyes: beautiful, blue, almost glowing from within. She has their mother’s swan-like neck and too much rage to hold in. Black hair, no curls. She has never cut it. Cannot be found without red lipstick.

Odysseus: Born to stand in a storm and laugh in its face. Too short. Black eyes filled with machinations. Wild, chocolate-brown hair. Her only honest expression is a trouble-maker’s smile. Her beauty is addictive. It threatens to throw you off a cliff.

Penelope: Regal. Thin face, proud brow. Dark hair, perpetually in a bun. Clever eyes and more clever fingers. She can make anything and more in her mind. Watch what she can do with her hands. Turquoise eyes. Odysseus is an angry sea. Penelope is a fresh pool.

Diomedes: Dark, slender, dangerous. He wears mostly leather jackets and laughs with brilliant green eyes like he can advertise the real reason he is a threat. Your mother doesn’t want you around him because of the scars on his face. You shouldn’t trust him because of the bruises on his knuckles. Or maybe you should. They are defensive wounds. He is built like a thief. Guard your belongings and your trust around him. He will take anything left untethered.

Agamemnon: His eyes are the same oak color as his brother’s and three times as cruel. He is handsome of face and ugly of spirit. Do not get too close. You will want to. He is tall. His hair is rich brown, nearly black. He is alluring in the way he smiles, in the way he dresses, in how he talks. Look closer. Are those flecks of blue in his eyes? Yes. They are the bright blue of poisonous animals. Run.

Menelaus: Ruddy, broad, strong in body and not of will. He can be persuaded to do almost anything, which is only occasionally a skill. He looks older than he is. His face is not forgiving. His eyes are.

Achilles: Golden, glittering, perfect since before he was born. Light gold hair. Honey colored eyes. His strength is something he takes absolutely for granted. When he is happy, he seems to glow from within. When he is angry– the glow is not a glow. It is a fire. It is a pyre.

Patrocles: An olive tree, built for peace in every way that Achilles is built for war. He has no fight in him, only diplomacy. Olive-oil skin and olive eyes. Athena smiles at his stratagem and frowns at his peace. Free curls in his hair. He is a growing, living thing. He knows he is part of an ecosystem.

Aegialia: Perfect skin, flawless. Drawn up and smoothed over. Her hair is always neatly braided, never dyed, only sometimes highlighted. Her eyes are gray, almost blue. Her smile is not to be trusted. Her dark complexion does not hide it when she blushes or when her face flushes with anger. One is much more common than the other. It takes very much to make her flustered and very little to make her competitive.

Hector: All of the Trojans are birds of prey. Hector is an eagle. Everything about him is straightforward. Hooked nose, sharp features, yellow eyes. Dark hair that he kept cut back. It was like he was scared of it covering his face. He never grew a beard. He wanted the world to see him for what he was. His hunger is ambition.

Paris: Paris is a hawk. Prominent eyes, sharp vision, fastest to the kill. His face is deceptively round and young. Do not miss his claws. He is beautiful. His lips are soft. His bite is harder. His hunger is greed.

Troilus: Troilus is a kite. His hair is much lighter than any of his siblings. He is much smaller. Just like a kite, though, he is faster, sharper, when he tries. He is fragile, but he does not want to admit it. His eyes are still yellow, but almost brown. He looks the least like his siblings. His hunger is envy.

Cassandra: Cassandra is a dove. A mad girl. Paris’ dark hair and Troilus’ wild curls. Her eyes see too much. They glow too brightly yellow. She sees everything. She remembers everything. She knows too much and you can tell. Her eyes hide nothing. Perhaps that is what she gets from Hector. She almost exactly like each one of her siblings. She is nothing like them. Her hunger is longing.

Athena: As quicksilver as her eyes, made all the more brilliant by the deep color of her skin. Her hair is so black it is almost blue. It flashes in its braid when she moves. She perpetually has the face of a lioness about to strike. She gets it from their father.

Hera: Built like a willow tree, ready to withstand any storm. Her hair is softer in its curling and its color, but her skin is richer than Athena's, coffee without the bitter edge. Her eyes are almost too large for her face, wide and brown and caring. She swallowed your anger just by you looking at her. She favors teal and gold and wears ribbons in her hair. She is as quiet as their mother and as angry as their father.

Aphrodite: Singular. Aphrodite is luscious. Round face, glittering eyes, not silver or gold or even brown, but brilliant hazel. Her hair curls in waves down her back, the blonde highlights mostly grown out other than around her face. Her skin is darker than any of theirs in most places. The most prominent of the light patches on her skin is a heart around her left eye.

Ares: A bull of a man, face cut from stone and will forged from iron. Everything is very straightforward and simple to him. A crop of red hair, cut cleanly. A sharp jawline. Fresh bruises on his cheek every month. He shouts insults like it is the only thing he has ever known. He gets bored as quickly as Aphrodite, and he is not sure that he is more destructive.

Apollo: Dark hair, but highlights find him like flies to honey. He should not glitter like that in the sun. He wants to try everything. The calluses on his hands are unending. Watch him sing. You are not surprised. He has a singer’s smile. He has a broken heart. Can you tell? Look closer. All you see is light, blinding. He is very good at that.

Hyacinth: Purple eyes. Singular beauty. Kind and not soft. Proud and not tall. Strong but not fierce. Hyacinth is temperance, balance. He has never been too much of anything except perhaps curious. The world is his oyster. He is built like a dancer.

Chapter Text

“Beautiful,” Clytemnestra said, setting down the mascara wand. Helen sighed and glanced in the mirror. She didn’t look that different.

People had been calling her beautiful all her life, anyway. It didn’t really mean anything.

The first time someone called her beautiful was her mother, when she was three and dressed up for Christmas. She had smoothed back Helen’s hair and smiled, but there was worry in her eyes. Helen didn’t know why.

When she was seven, she started to understand. She was shopping with her mom for presents for their father. One minute she was holding her mother’s hand. The next she had wandered off to look at toys in the mall window. A man grabbed her arm. She still remembered what he looked like. He wasn’t older than forty, with a crinkle in his eyes. His expression scared her.

She had been dragged by him, ignoring her questions, telling her that he would take her back to her mother, until she panicked and bit him. She ran as fast as she could, directly into the arms of her brothers. Castor and Pollux were nine. Pollux held her. Castor called their mom. The man stopped chasing her.

She had bit him, and he still chased her.

When she was eleven, she started middle school, and a boy asked her to be his girlfriend. She was too shy to say no, so she said yes, but she panicked when he tried to kiss her on the bus. Clytemnestra hit him. He called Helen pretty and mean.

By freshman year, she knew. She got dress coded by the teachers. She was told she talked too much. They didn’t like having her in their classes. Her mom moved her around and it made no difference. She hid under sweaters and tied her hair back. It didn’t really work. Clytemnestra had insisted on putting makeup on her for junior year.

Helen didn’t wear makeup. Helen didn’t speak much. Helen didn’t react when people spoke to her. She knew the look on that man’s face intimately now. She understood her mother’s fear. She had seen it a million times. When they called her beautiful, they meant something else. They didn’t want her. They wanted to consume her. She wanted to be left alone.

Her sister was strong enough to speak up. Her brothers were brave enough to protect her. Helen was just pretty. Pretty and scared.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure this was a good idea.”

Her twin rolled her eyes. “It’s mascara. It’s not a death sentence. Believe me, you’ll live.”

Helen just nodded, tightly, looking away from the mirror as quickly as possible. She did not want to dwell on this. She didn’t want to think about school. She had been at five schools in her life, and they were all the same. She hated it.

At least she was not going in alone.

“Nestra,” she said. “We have classes together, don’t we?”

“Sure.” Clytemnestra said, fixing her lipstick, a bright red to match her shoes. “Not all of them. But whatever. I’ll make Agamemnon chaperone you.” She snorted at that. Helen was already shaking her head.

“I’ll find Penelope.”

That was why they had moved here. They had family here. That was supposed to make it safer, but nowhere was safe from hungry gazes, not for her, not really. She hadn’t seen her cousin since she was little.

Clytemnestra stood. Helen adjusted the blue bow in her hair. She reached out and her sister took her hand. It almost felt like breathing again.

—

Clytemnestra had never had a life that was hers, not really. It was all about Helen. It always had been.

It wasn’t easy when your twin was so stunning that no one could stop looking at her. It wasn’t easy when every single boy wanted her first. It wasn’t easy when some creep tried to take her at the age of seven. And they had to move, all the time, because Helen was always accused of starting trouble, and Clytemnestra had to protect her every time. At least Penelope was here. She doubted that would truly make this better, but it might.

Helen was acting like she wanted to disappear into her own skin. Her nails were ragged, probably from picking at them. It really didn’t make a difference. She worried about mascara and lip gloss, but that was only because she never looked in a mirror. It didn’t matter what she did. Her skin was glass, her reddish hair fell into waves effortlessly, the sweaters she drowned herself in complemented her eyes, and her smile could have stopped a team of oxen in their tracks. Clytemnestra didn’t get it, but she saw the effect it had on others. She didn’t have that effect.

She did have Agamemnon. She had no idea why he wanted her, but he did. They moved here this summer, and a month later she was riding in his car and he was pulling her into the backseat. It felt good to be the priority. He wasn’t driving them today. She was.

“Helen,” she said. “It’s gonna be fine. Get in.”

Helen got into their car, tentatively. Clytemnestra had been forced to half-pull her outside like some scared child. She understood Helen’s fear and she didn’t. Helen had everything going for her. She just had to know how to use it.

“What are you so scared of?” she asked. “No one knows us. And the people who do like us.”

Everyone liked Helen. Every time. It wasn’t alienation she was afraid of. She acted like she wanted to disappear.

Helen picked at her fingernails. “Castor and Pollux aren’t here,” she said quietly, which was a total non-answer. Clytemnestra stayed silent for the rest of the drive.

She pulled into the parking lot and turned to Helen one final time. “Come on,” she said. “You don’t have our brothers. You have me.” Helen finally cracked a smile, and she decided not to push her luck. She got out of the car.

Agamemnon was there, by her locker, arguing with his brother. He laughed when he saw her.

“Damn,” he said. “I guess I need to learn how to dress.”

She rolled her eyes. Helen was trying to scoot past them unnoticed, so she stepped to the side to allow her twin to access her locker. “You do just fine,” she said. “Not everyone can pull off red lipstick.” He did look fine in his varsity jacket.

He didn’t answer, just reached around her waist and kissed her, pulling her close to him. He hadn’t even looked at Helen. She tried not to count it as a victory and failed, smiling ever so slightly.

“I have class,” she said, a little breathless, hoping he would ask her to skip. She had lost track of her sister.

“So do I,” he replied, putting his hands in his pocket. “But I’ll walk you.”

It wasn’t as good as skipping. It would do. She finally remembered her twin. “Helen–” she said, turning to look behind her. Agamemnon’s brother was talking to her. Helen looked slightly farther from a panic attack then this morning.

“Menelaus has got her,” he said lightly, looping an arm around her shoulder. “Seriously. My brother can be a dick, but he’s not gonna get lost.”

She laughed. It was easy to not look behind her.

Chapter Text

Odysseus slid into Diomedes’ car, carrying ridiculously hot coffees, her hair whipping behind her. “Christ,” she declared, setting one in the cupholder. He was pulled up outside her house, and definitely trying to do some bad-boy thing with the sunglasses, but he just looked like an idiot.

“Where did you even get these?” he asked, lifting the lid off the one she handed to him, which was ridiculously light. “I mean seriously?”

“It’s called a Keurig, Diomedes. Look it up. But drive first.”

He didn’t even bother rolling his eyes at her. “Close your door.”

She would have sipped her coffee on the way to school, but it was hot, and she had already burned her hands. He was enjoying what he liked to call coffee.

“Up to your standards?” she asked, shaking her hands, trying to cool them off.

“Very good. Very light.”

“Thank you. See, the trick is to put no actual coffee in it. I just fill the entire cup with milk and then hand it to you. You’re like a toddler, I swear.”

He rolled his eyes. “Then what’s the Keurig for, Odysseus?”

“Mine,” she said neatly. “It burned my hands.”

He didn’t even have the good grace to look bothered. “I noticed.”

“You cared nothing for me in my time of injury,” she said melodramatically. “I’m wounded.”

“Stay wounded,” he said, turning into the parking lot so fast he could have sent their driving instructor into cardiac arrest. She didn’t even flinch.

“You can’t drive,” she said emphatically, knowing good and well that she would be riding with him tomorrow. “But I’ll forgive you. What’s your first period?”

He groaned and slammed his head against the headrest. “Chemistry. You?”

She smirked even wider. “Classics. And guess who will be joining me.”

He tilted his head to the side, eyebrow raising.

“Penelope.”

Diomedes groaned, getting out of the car. “Jesus, Ody.”

“No. No. Hear me out. I have a shot this year. I mean, a real shot. Because we have not one but two classes together, and she definitely likes me.”

“Odysseus. I’m not convinced she knows your name.”

Odysseus grabbed her backpack and followed him into the school, talking quickly. “She will. Two classes, Argive. Two. That’s more than last year, you’ll notice, which was none. And no one is impervious to my charm. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Diomedes stopped by his locker, largely ignoring her. “Have fun,” he said sarcastically.

She pointed at him. “Be nice if you want your milk tomorrow.” Diomedes didn’t even respond, just flipped her off and walked away.

“Do it yourself, you coward,” she muttered. He definitely couldn’t hear her.

–

Penelope had been in Classics before as a freshman. This was an honors class. All of her classes this year were honors, which would have felt more worthwhile if she actually had a college plan. But if they weren’t she would have been bored.

She sat next to Helen, the elusive cousin she hadn’t seen since she was about six. Helen had walked here with some boy, but it wasn’t Antinous, so Penelope really didn’t notice.

Everything was fine until Odysseus sat next to her.

Penelope had been avoiding Odysseus since eighth grade, at least. She had enough complicating factors in her life, and Odysseus was just one more. It was fine when she knew her as the girl who was friends with Diomedes and funny and smart, but when she started getting distracted trying to decide how best to categorize the color of her eyes, that's when she knew she had a problem. She needed to be there for her dad. She needed to get through to college. She did not need to have a crush, definitely not a girl, definitely not Odysseus.

Relax, she told herself. She probably doesn’t even like you. Maybe she’s here to talk to Helen. It would have been easy to say that Odysseus could have very well not even been interested in girls, but anyone who had been within ten feet of her could guess otherwise.

“Penelope,” Odysseus said cordially, crossing her ankles. “What a surprise.”

Penelope blinked. Did she sound sarcastic? She really couldn’t tell. “Hi, Odysseus. This is my cousin Helen.”

Helen leaned forward and waved a bit, eyes wide in concern.

Odysseus propped her elbows up on the table. “Helen. Pleasure. What brings you to our humble abode?”

Helen blinked. Her face didn’t change, not even a little. “Uh. Moved.”

Odysseus furrowed her eyebrows. “Uh-huh.”

Penelope flashed a quick smile. “Why did you choose classics and not chemistry?” she asked, trying to change the subject. Helen didn’t like to talk about the previous schools, the stalkers, the harassment. Helen didn’t like to talk about her brothers getting into fights. Penelope didn’t like to talk about her father getting sick. They kept each other’s secrets.

“I have plenty of chemistry,” Odysseus said without blinking. “And I like classics better. Also Diomedes is in chemistry, and I would have to be his lab partner.” She wrinkled her nose.

Penelope tilted her head. “Don’t you… choose lab partners?”

Odysseus nodded. “Exactly.”

Penelope tried not to laugh and failed. Dammit. This was not the time.

Their teacher strode in, silver hair and frown lines, and set their book on the table. “Classics,” he declared, setting his hands behind his back. “Socrates. Plato. Sun-Tzu. And so on. My name is Dr. Ovid, and I will be your professor this year.”

Odysseus’ hand shot up. Penelope bit back a smile. “What’s your PhD in?” Odysseus asked.

The teacher smiled, setting his hands behind his back. “Greek and Latin from the University of Notre Dame.” He said. “I considered seminary school but instead found my true calling. Teaching. I only teach this class at Aegean West, and then I teach two classes at Illium State.”

Odysseus nodded, something glittering behind her eyes. Penelope knew she was planning something. She was irritated by how curious it made her.

“But today is the first day of the year. So. Classics, a brief overview.

“Tragedy, drama, epics. Literature is meant to take us on a journey. What defines a work as a classic and not simply a work? We will touch on legends and treatises throughout history. But the defining question of this class is what the difference is between lasting and legendary, and what the difference is between intriguing and immortal.”

Chapter Text

Helen had survived until lunch. That was a good sign, at least. She was wedged between Clytemnestra and the end of the bench, with Menelaus leaning across the table, quizzing her about her first day. He was nice.

She had been scared, when her sister left her behind. She knew that she was in Classics and Clytemnestra wasn’t. She still didn’t like to walk alone.

“You’re Helen, right?” He had asked, seemingly ignoring his brother walking away. Helen was trying to peer over his shoulder and failing. He was tall.

“Yes. Clytemnestra is my sister,” she said, nodding slightly. She was nervous and he was making her more so. It wasn’t that he wasn’t handsome– he was. He was ginger, like her, but his hair had a darker coloring that hers. He was tall, and from the looks of his jacket, he was an athlete. All of that was fine until she got to the look on his face. It was that hungry look again, badly concealed.

“I know. I met her. What do you think?” He asked, looking overly invested in her answer. She wanted to melt into the wall.

“Of the school?” she asked. “It’s nice. I really won’t know until I–”

“Until you take some classes. Got it. Most of the professors are fine, really. Not even that strict. Just don’t skip too much. Agamemnon caught hell for that last year.”

Helen did laugh at that, just a bit. “They’re really made for each other, aren’t they?”

Menelaus shrugged. “Does she get in trouble?”

Helen shook her head abruptly. She didn’t get in trouble as much as their brothers did. Even Helen got in trouble more than her sister, really. Clytemnestra knew how to act innocent. Something about Helen made her seem guilty, she supposed. Her mother was stricter with her and the adults took issue with all her clothes and everything she had to say. She tried to be quiet and she got called rude and unapproachable. She tried to be friendly and she got called disruptive. There was something fundamentally wrong with her. Beauty had a cost.

“Well, then,” he said, taking her odd silence in stride. “We have yet to see. Do you have to go?”

She thought that was thoughtful of him to ask, but maybe he just saw her peeking at the clock, trying to stand on her toes.

“Do you know where it is?” she asked. “Classics, I mean. Can you walk me?”

Menelaus smirked, and she saw the flash of victory in his eyes. She tightened her grip on her sweater and breathed out. She was not a prize. She refused to be. But she couldn’t be anything if she got lost.

“Sure,” he said. “You haven’t walked your classes?”

She shook her head. She had, of course, but she didn’t walk alone. Not since freshman year, when one of the teachers started following her and trying to talk to her after classes and getting her to come to his house for “tutoring.” Even before that it made her uneasy. People walking past would try to talk to her or corner her, and one boy in middle school grabbed her hair and almost pulled some of it out. It wasn’t the usual teasing. They tried to snap Clytemnestra’s bra strap and she elbowed them in the ribs. Helen moved to the other side of her, but they never reached for her. When people touched her, it was always vicious.

Menelaus walked her without complaint. “Will you be late?” she asked, as they neared where he said it would be. “To your first class?”

He just laughed and rolled his eyes. “Have a good day, Helen.” She wasn’t sure she liked that answer. He treated her like everything she said was obvious. Was he trying to play it cool? She thought he was funny.

As soon as she found an empty seat, she sat down, not unpacking her things. She was only a few minutes early. When she saw Penelope, she waved.

It was safer here, between Penelope and the wall. No one was looking at her. She pulled out her notes, doodling in the margins. Little flowers. Ivy. In her mind, she was back in her garden. She missed this summer. She missed her garden.

She missed it even more, sitting at lunch, trying to listen to the story Menelaus was ostensibly telling to the whole table but clearly directing at her. Something about the time Agamemnon almost crashed their truck. He was going on about how it was new, and their father was furious when he found out, but his description of the anger didn’t sound that angry. Clytemnestra was laughing. Further down the table were two boys sitting across from each other, deep in conversation. They looked young.

“I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting, but he didn’t look bothered. “Who are those?”

Menelaus laughed. “Hey! Achilles!”

The blonde one looked up curiously. He had bright curls and glittering eyes that were so light brown they were almost gold. The color reminded her of honey. There was something about his face, though, that was too sharp and serious for the rest of him. He knew too much. She could see it in his eyes.

Menelaus gestured to Helen. “Introduce yourself. This is Helen.”

Achilles smiled, and she could have sworn she saw a flash of teeth. That smile was uncanny. “Achilles. This is Patroclus.”

The boy next to him nodded politely. His hair was dark and short, his skin equally tanned. His eyes were deep and drooping and nearly silver. His face was round, but he carried himself like he was ready for an insult or a blow. His hand was nearly on top of Achilles’.

“Our starting line,” Agamemnon explained, reaching for Clytemnestra’s hand. “Or the most important part. Aegean soccer is back,” he said empathically. Helen tried not to flinch. She went back to scanning the room.

Clytemnestra was asking questions about their playbook. Clytemnestra was good at that. She was thoughtful, and she listened, and Helen was self-centered. She knew it, and she was ashamed of it, and she couldn’t seem to change it. People-watching was much more interesting than talking. Most things were more interesting, at least when people wanted her to talk about herself.

What was there to say? Her name was Helen. She was afraid of everything except for bees. She remembered everyone’s name. She would rather be in her garden. She was superficial.

Those around her didn’t look superficial. They looked fascinating. She saw Odysseus again, who was sitting at a table of five, the only girl there. Penelope was nowhere to be found. Maybe she had a different lunch period. The boys surrounding Odysseus were an eclectic mix. A tall, serious boy who looked like a sophomore, with dark skin and a blank expression. A cheerful, animated boy wearing glasses and talking with his hands so much he threatened all the cups around him. A slender wisp of a sophomore who was staring at the wall. There was also someone next to Odysseus. Helen tilted her head.

She didn’t know who he was, but he was stunning in a way she couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t superficial. Dark hair, tall, handsome. It was more than that. He turned and his eyes were so green they could have been bottleglass. Iridescent. She knew it was rude to stare, but he looked more alive than anything she had ever seen before. His face was not cleanly cut. His hair was not flawlessly combed. He did not sit with poise. Helen was a superficial creature, a breathing sculpture, imprisoned in her own marble. Those eyes were recklessly alive.

He looked up and caught her staring. They met eyes and she was sure she saw a glimmer of a smile on his face. He didn’t look triumphant. He looked intrigued. She turned away as quickly as she could, staring back down at the table.

“You good?” Clytemnestra asked. She had interrupted another story, Helen knew. She raised her head and half-smiled. Her face was unbreakable again. “Yes. Keep going.”

She knew, as she had always known, that she would not have to ask them twice.

Chapter Text

Diomedes, on principle, saw school assemblies as a complete waste of time. Really, it was the first week. What did anyone have to say that was so goddamn important?

But Aegialia wanted him there, because image mattered, and he didn’t actually have a reason to refuse. Also, he had brushed his hair today, so she definitely couldn’t complain.

He fought back a laugh when he saw her, intricate braids and careful makeup like she sewed herself together with a needle every morning.

He saw the looks people gave them when they stood next to each other. They were an odd pairing, but her plan had worked like a charm so far. No one doubted it. Well, Odysseus had almost immediately, but that basically didn’t count.

His calculation was nowhere near as cunning and quick as Odysseus, not that he would ever admit it. She was playing chess in her head. He was trying to find the path of least resistance. They weren’t the same. That didn’t mean they couldn’t work together.

Aegialia was a different story. Every piece of her was so smoothed over it was hard to tell what was real anymore. Sometimes he doubted any piece of her was. But she was good with a scheme, and he could respect it.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. Her eyes didn’t quite glitter. There were too many machinations happening behind them.

He smiled, kissing her cheek lightly. He knew people were watching them. “Early as always, future class-president.”

She smiled and rubbed her hands down the front of her shirt. There weren’t any wrinkles to smooth out. “We’ll see.”

“I’ve never heard you sound nervous before.”

She shrugged slightly. “Penelope is going to run.”

Diomedes shook his head. “No she’s not.”

“Hera will.”

“That one’s a given,” he conceded. “But she has all of senior year to worry about.”

Aegialia glanced behind her shoulder. It was odd for him to see her like this. She was the self-assured one, from the first day that they met.

Halfway through the summer, she had walked up to his house and knocked on the door. His mother had answered, and he could overhear them from his room.

“Excuse me, Ms. Argive. I need to see your son.”

His mother was concerned and pleased. Considering the last time he had dated anyone that she knew about had been Odysseus, Aegialia was quite the step up.

Honor roll. Track runner. Piano player. The only thing Diomedes really cared about was soccer. Or it was the only thing he acted like he cared about. By now, it was secure.

“Aegialia,” he had drawled, leaning back against his headboard. “What brings you here?”

His room was more carefully constructed than she expected. He could see it in her face. He didn’t like messes. It would be why he never left any behind.

“I need you to be my boyfriend,” she said briskly.

“How romantic.”

“Not actually,” she insisted. “I’m too pretty for you.”

He half-snorted. “Aegialia. You are very nice, but no one is too pretty for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “We’re going to date for long enough for it to look real. We’re going to break up in December. I will look professional for keeping my grades up. The breakup will be your fault.”

“Oh,” Diomedes said. “I’m so glad we could get this out of the way now. Saves me a lot of trouble. What did I do?”

“Cheated on me.”

“With who?”

She shrugged. “Odysseus?”

“Absolutely not. Been there, done that, got no t-shirt.”

“That was two weeks in middle school,”

“And so it will stay.”

She sighed, sitting down in his desk chair. It was the same dark blue as his bed covers. The mahogany desk matched the doors. Supposedly it had been his fathers.

He didn’t really want it.

“You can close the door,” he suggested.

She gave him a horrified look. “I’m not closing the door.”

“I’m not going to impugn your virtue. Good god.”

She crossed her arms, pointedly not closing the door. “If you don’t want to damage your reputation that badly, fine. Bad communication or something ridiculous that people often break up about.”

He stared at her. “One, you changed the subject. Two, are you positive you aren’t a very advanced AI?”

“I am,” she said, not even comprehending his sarcasm, which was really another point to the AI theory. Unless she was admitting to changing the subject? “Which will it be?”

“Why are we doing this, exactly?”

“Class presidency,” she said, smiling for the first time in the entire conversation. “I will get sympathy votes. And like I said, look professional.”

“A scheme?” he asked, leaning forward and setting his elbows on his knees. “You could’ve led with that.”

She looked the same then as she did now, dark skin and regal features, intricate braids with carefully chosen highlights. The only difference was that the facade had cracked, just for a second. It was intriguing.

This was why he had agreed, wasn’t it?

“All of senior year,” she echoed. “I suppose. Let’s sit in the front.”

“Oh, are we watching the cheerleaders?” he asked with mock excitement. Cheerleaders had never really been his type.

Walking across the room, he saw the same girl from the cafeteria. The new redhead. Her hair was looser today, and somehow she looked even more bunched up than when he saw her yesterday. He tilted his head.

After being at a school, you got to know everyone there. And he was sure he didn’t know her. One, he would remember that face. Two, there was something about her that stuck out to him. It wasn’t that her eyes were too bright or that her face was almost too symmetrical. Her build was small and soft, with rounded hips. He wasn’t at all sure she was solid. She looked ethereal, like if he reached for her, she would just fade away. When their eyes met yesterday, it felt like looking through stained glass. She moved fluidly. She looked more statuesque than human.

She was staring at the ground, like she was trying to look anywhere but him. That was also weird, since she was definitely staring at him yesterday. Or she had been until he saw her and Odysseus kicked his chair out from under him. At least they had bleachers today.

“We are not going to watch the cheerleaders,” Aegialia said, grabbing his wrist. “We are sitting in the front.”

He slid his hand down into hers. She half-flinched. “Relax,” he said calmly. “I’ll be so attentive, you’ll think I was replaced by you.”

She almost laughed at that, which he would take as a success. He saw Odysseus from across the room and sighed. She was already dragging her baby sister towards them.

“Citi is officially a highschooler,” she crowed. “She gets to sit in the special baby section.”

Ctimene rolled her eyes. If he hadn’t known them since middle school, he wouldn’t have known that she and Odysseus were related. Ctimene had light hair and soft features. Odysseus was all dark curls and sharp edges, like she had been born to stand in a storm. Apparently Ctimene took after their mother.

“I’m not a baby,” Ctimene muttered, crossing her arms. She threw a quick glance around the room and Odysseus laughed. “Eurylochus will be here, Citi. Relax.”

Ctimene’s cheeks went bright pink. “That wasn’t who I was looking for,” she protested, but her smile betrayed her.

“You had to have a crush on him?” Odysseus demanded, walking towards the bleachers. Aegialia followed, releasing Diomedes’ hand. He still didn’t really have a choice. He wasn’t about to go sit with Agamemnon, even if he technically was the soccer team captain.

Ctimene shrugged. “Could have been Diomedes.”

Diomedes actually snorted at that. Odysseus recoiled in horror. Aegialia looked very calm for someone who had a freshman supposedly discussing having a crush on her boyfriend.

How professional, he thought sarcastically.

“She made a better choice than me,” Diomedes said, still laughing. Aegialia crossed her ankles and he copied her, but he just looked ridiculous. She glared at him.

“Where is Eurylochus?” Ctimene asked anxiously.

Odysseus sighed. “Maybe they’re sitting with the rest of the team?”

Diomedes turned behind them, checking. Third row, on the left. Agamemnon, Menelaus, the two sophomores that Odysseus wanted, Achilles and Patroclus. There were two girls sitting next to Agamemnon, but no Eurylochus.

Wasn’t one of those girls the redhead from earlier?

“Who’s the girl next to Agamemnon?” he asked. “Also, no Eurylochus.”

Odysseus glanced behind them too. “Helen, Penelope’s cousin. Look, there they are.”

Sure enough, Eurylochus, Polites, and Elpenor approached, Eurylochus with skin almost darker than Aegialia’s and his ridiculously large school bag, Elpenor who truly looked like he had slept in his clothes, and Polites, in his neat sweater vest. Diomedes was half surprised he wasn’t wearing a bowtie.

“Eurylochus,” Ctimene said. He was pretty sure she was actually bouncing in her seat. “You can sit next to me.”

“He cannot,” Odysseus said, glaring. “You, go. Special baby section.”

She frowned, and Polites laughed. “Hey, Elpenor and Eury had to do it last year. It’s really not that bad.”

“Eury?” Ctimene asked. “Can I call you Eury?” She failed to keep the excitement out of her voice.

“Huh?” Eurylochus asked, setting down his bag. “Sure?”

“Yay!” Ctimene was up and running to the freshmen section like she was trying to leave before he changed his mind. Diomedes laughed as the trio took their seats.

“Your mom drove you today?” he asked Odysseus. She nodded.

“I knew you’d be driving Aegialia,” she said. “My mom did it this week, but next week can you bring Ctimene too?”

She said it like it didn’t matter, but he knew her too well. Everything mattered, or Odysseus wouldn’t have done it. “Yeah.”

He didn’t point out that his car had room for all of them. Aegialia had been silent since Odysseus had gotten here. He knew Odysseus had noticed.

“You’re quiet,” he said to Aegialia. It was true, she was always quiet around Odysseus. The two of them really didn’t know how to talk to each other, which could be awkward at times, but this was different. “Are you still nervous?”

She shook her head. “I was thinking. Helen. The name sounds familiar.”

He tilted his head. It wasn’t an insanely rare name, and Aegialia had even more connections than his family. That being said, he felt like he recognized something about her.

“She reminds me of someone,” he said, thinking, glancing behind him again. She was looking right at him. They met eyes, and she ducked her head again, trying to engage the girl next to her in conversation. He squinted. Maybe she was just shy?

The sophomore on the other side of Menelaus, the one Odysseus had recruited. That was who she looked like, he realized, eyes scanning the team again before facing the front as the assembly began.

Achilles. Her uncanniness reminded him of Achilles.

Chapter Text

Helen followed Menelaus closely into the assembly room. He was very tall, and he had very bright hair, and this room was very crowded. Clytemnestra was ahead of her. She fought to keep her face calm.

Except for the first day, her poker face had not broken. As long as it didn’t, she was fine. As long as she didn’t really feel or didn’t really show it, there were no problems. Few took offense at a statue.

Agamemnon sat down like they had assigned seats. Maybe their team always sat here? It was all the same people from yesterday, but she was positive they needed more than four people for a soccer team. “Menelaus,” she said, talking past Agamemnon, who looked unbothered. “Who else is on your team?”

“Ah.” he said. He looked pleased, too pleased. “The four of us. Odysseus, Eurylochus, Polites, Elpenor. Nestor. Diomedes.” He was counting off names, pointing to a group sitting three rows ahead of them. She recognized Odysseus and no one else until one of them turned around.

Turned and looked at her. Green eyes again.

Diomedes. She had a name now. She didn’t know anything else, and she was far too scared to ask her sister. Clytemnestra would know her right away because she always did. Because they were sisters. Maybe Penelope…

“Where’s Penelope?” she asked.

Clytemnestra scanned the room quickly and nodded. Penelope, dark hair and regal face, was sitting with an over-excited golden retriever of a boy and a tall, serious, spear-like girl. The girl was clearly the oldest.

“Who are those?” she asked.

Clyemnestra elbowed Agamemnon. Something odd flashed on his face, just for a second, but he corrected it to a smile so quickly, Helen might have been imagining it. “Yeah?”

“Who’s that by Penelope?” Clytemnestra nodded.

“Some freshman,” Agamemnon said, shrugging. “Telemachus? He came to our practice last night but he’s way too young. We told him to play JV. And the girl is Athena. Our manager?”

Clytemnestra nodded. “You mentioned her.”

Helen didn’t ask when they had this conversation. Purportedly Clytemnestra had been home all last night, but even if they didn’t share a room since their brothers had moved out, Helen doubted it.

“So they have all the ages,” she commented. Menelaus leaned forward at the sound of her voice and laughed. “Nah. They need a sophomore.”

“Maybe Paris wants to do it,” Agamemnon snorted. “No one else is gonna want him unless they need a matching set.”

She watched as one of the boys in front of her visibly tensed. It was true, he was sitting by himself. She thought Paris was the captain of the JV team. Why wouldn’t anyone want to sit with him?

“Paris?” she asked Menelaus curiously.

“It’s just a joke,” he said quickly, too quickly. “He’s the JV captain. Down there somewhere. Total pretty-boy,” he snorted. He was speaking too derisively. There was more there.

As soon as Menelaus stopped speaking, the one in front of them that had tensed turned around. Was this Paris? She tilted her head. Soft lips. Round face. Hair like a halo. He looked like a cherub in a picture. He was looking at Menelaus with a furious expression that didn’t quite fit his face until he saw her.

His gaze softened and she smiled. Perhaps she had been overly anxious. She went back to speaking to Clytemnestra, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

That was how she saw his face shift from an idyllic smile. It was quick and she was not quite paying attention, but she saw it, that hungry expression again. Directed at her.

–

Her first class could not have come fast enough after that assembly. Helen had sat through the entire assembly mostly by distracting herself by listing the plants that would be good to plant in the fall. It was a very short list, so she moved on to spring plants. When they lived in the south, gardening was easier. She knew her bees hated the move.

Her mother was understanding though. Her brothers were kind. Lots of families wouldn’t have bothered to even move bees. They would have made her get rid of them. She heard her mom and stepfather arguing about it before her freshman year. Her family had moved her twice, now, and trying to move bees was no small task. But her mother was adamant.

Helen felt guilty, in a way, for her mother and stepfather arguing. Every argument she had heard had been about her. Her and Clytemnestra. She knew why, and she knew she had no control over it. She also hated it.

There was a lot she couldn’t control.

She walked with Menelaus or Clytemnestra or sometimes Penelope everywhere. That hungry expression was haunting her. She had seen it before, but not like that, not since her last school. She fought back a shudder.

“Hey,” Penelope said, coming up behind her as they switched between classes and lunch. “It’s a shame our classics class got canceled. But I’ll see you in piano, right?”

Helen nodded. She had two classes with Penelope and two with Clytemnestra. It was the others that stressed her out more than she’d like to say, but she always at least had someone to walk with her. It seemed that Penelope was walking her to lunch. Maybe she was going to sit with them today.

“Where do you eat lunch?” Helen asked, thinking of four days ago on Monday when she couldn’t find Penelope anywhere. She hadn’t seen Penelope at all this week.

“Sometimes with Aegialia and Athena.” she said. “But I also like to go to the concert hall and play during lunch.” She glanced down as though she was considering saying something else. “Anyway, Aegialia was sitting with Diomedes most of this week, I think? And it calms me down to play.”

Diomedes. That name again. Helen’s throat went slightly dry. “Who is Aegialia?”

“Another Honors student,” Penelope said. “We take math together. She’s Diomedes’ girlfriend. There she is now.”

Helen’s eyes widened, and that was it. She didn’t look shocked or horrified or even bothered. Her face barely shifted. She looked to where Penelope referenced.

Indeed, there was a girl there, tall and regal and perfectly put together. Her makeup complemented her dark complexion exactly. Her outfit was smooth and organized. No sweaters. No bows.

She’s prettier than me, Helen thought, all in a rush, before she could think anything else.

That made her freeze slightly. Penelope tilted her head and Helen just smiled and sat down. She was ashamed to admit it, but she had never thought that before, not about anyone. Maybe she took it as a given that they wouldn’t be, or maybe she didn’t care. Sometimes she even doubted that she was really pretty at all, but more often she doubted that it was worth anything. She had never thought that in comparison to anyone else.

It was true, though, wasn’t it? This girl tried and Helen hid. Someone being prettier than her was almost a relief. But it felt dangerous, too.

If I tried, she wouldn’t be anymore. Helen thought. I could do it. I know I could.

She thought about that. It was like the whole room was buzzing. She wasn’t even jealous, just horrified with herself. Wasn’t that what everyone accused her of doing? Trying to be the prettiest? Trying to be the one who got all the attention? Trying to take whatever she wanted with no thought to the consequences?

And the truth was, through all of it, she had never been trying, not once. She had seen her sister try and the students around her try and the boys who wanted her attention try, but she didn’t try. Helen didn’t do anything but hide.

Now she was intrigued. Now she was almost scared.

She remembered that hungry look on Paris’ face. Before she had always been afraid of what it would mean, what they would do. She had seen what people had done. But that was always, always, because she was trying to hide and they wouldn’t let her.

What does it look like if I try?

Could she even live with herself? Would it be trying to be her own person and not a toy, or trying to make everyone else a toy? There was a big difference, she knew. She had learned that beauty had a consequence. She had learned that there was a lot she couldn’t control. What could she control? What if she lost track of the consequences?

Helen shook her head. She could try, but she wouldn’t be able to live with what came next. If hiding brought bad things, then being well and truly alive brought worse things. And there was a deeper fear to all of it.

She could try to be living and call her beauty her own and to take what she wanted, but she could also fail. Deep down, she was fairly sure that she didn’t have it in her.

Menealus turned to her. His voice was taut and he was tapping the table. “Helen,” he said. “Would you want to get coffee next week?”

Helen looked up, surprised, but she was already nodding. She saw his face change to triumphant. He was smiling like he had won a trophy. She said nothing.

She’s not prettier than me because she was born with it. Helen realized. Clytemnestra. Penelope. It was more than just this girl. She’s prettier than me because she’s stronger.

Chapter Text

Penelope tilted her head, studying the poster Odysseus was unfurling on the floor. “I like it,” she said thoughtfully. The colors were good. Purple and gold. School colors.

She drew her knees towards her, resting her chin on them. She was sitting on her bed, Odysseus cross-legged on the floor. She blinked. “Penelope for Student Body President,” she read aloud. “Are you sure it shouldn’t be my full name?” She asked.

“It’s not done,” Odysseus said, which wasn’t really agreeing, but she didn’t argue. It was too entertaining to watch her, tracing the curling outlines around the words with her fingers. There were worlds unfolding in her head, and Penelope just wanted to watch. She still couldn’t quite believe she was present. “It needs something about voting. Okay.”

Odysseus stood, her curls spilling around her face. She was still facing Penelope, but she wasn’t looking at her anymore. She spread her hands. She was about to start painting a picture. Penelope could tell.

She dropped them. Penelope froze and looked at her. Odysseus had furrowed her eyebrows again. “That’s not right. No.” She was talking more to herself than to Penelope, and half the time it felt like she forgot anyone else was here.

It didn’t feel rude. It felt special. It felt like being able to watch a piece of Odysseus no one else knew existed.

“What were you going to do?” Penelope asked, trying to be soothing and mostly coming across as scheming. “Maybe it just needs one or two changes.”

“What if we made the outline gold and the words purple?” Odysseus suggested. “And I was thinking first name conveys familiarity, but maybe it's too formal. Do you have a nickname? Are you sure we can’t make some kind of a pun on the ‘pen’ thing?”

Penelope sighed, standing to move next to Odysseus. Trying to keep up with her was like fighting the current. She resolved to answer each question in order. “Full name.” She said. “No puns. Aegialia will try to look more professional, you know she will. I need to match her.”

Odysseus nodded thoughtfully. “What would you do?”

Penelope breathed out, trying to choose her words carefully, trying to weave a picture that would make sense the first time around. Odysseus plunged ahead with everything she did, school, jobs, this campaign. Penelope hated undoing her work.

“The border needs to be more elegant,” she said. “I am not a minimalist. I shouldn’t try to be. I like the purple, but the main poster needs color. What if we made the poster purple, and the border and text white?”

Odysseus’ gaze narrowed even more, if it was possible. “No gold?” She asked. “The other two campaigns are using gold. It’s our main school color.”

Penelope was already prepared to recant her idea or walk it back already when she looked up to see Odysseus smiling. She had only seen that smile twice before this campaign. Now it felt like every day. It was a troublemaker’s smile, the smile of someone who was entirely too smart for their own good and knew it. It was the only honest expression she had.

“I like the way you think.” Odysseus said.

Penelope was not at all sure how she had found herself here. It was a Saturday. It was late. Most weekends, she would have excused herself and done work. She would have read. She might have tried playing piano, but only if her father’s medicine had kicked in already.

Now she was spending it with Odysseus, of all people.

None of this had been her design, two weeks ago, when she had chosen Odysseus to be her partner for their first project of the semester.

“Alright,” Dr. Ovid said. “Projects. Most of your work in this class will be in pairings. You may choose your own, but if there are issues, I will revoke that privilege. Our first project will be an overview of Plato's Symposium.”

Penelope did a sharp intake of breath. It was a long work. That was all she really knew, but then she looked to her left and Odysseus was smiling. Penelope paused.

She wanted to be Odysseus’ partner, but she could feel Helen’s eyes on her. She turned to speak to Helen when she realized it wasn’t her cousin watching her.

“Penelope,” Antinous said, a slow smile spreading across his face. She froze in her spot. She had known he was here, of course she had known, but the first week she had been busy focusing on Odysseus, and he never engaged in class, and…

“Where’s my cousin?” She demanded, suddenly even more afraid. She could handle Antinous. She could stall him. Helen could not.

“Relax.” He said. He chose every word like a soldier prepping a sword. “She’s back there.”

Penelope glanced to where he gestured and to Helen, who was already paired with Patroclus’ sister. She couldn’t say she knew the girl, but Helen didn’t look downright terrified anymore, which was usually a good sign. She didn’t relax.

“I’m not going to talk to you,” she said, knowing full well that if he had asked to be her partner and Dr. Ovid had already said yes, there was nothing she could do. She could feel her skin crawling at the thought.

“Or what?” He asked, tilting his head, his eyes flashing. “You’ve never been very talented at making good on threats.”

“She might not be,” cut in a second voice. “But it is one of my many, many skills.”

Penelope turned to see Odysseus standing to her side before sliding back into her seat, studying the two of them, how Penelope’s hands had bunched into fists, how Antinous looked thrown off-balance by her sudden presence.

“But you know that,” Odysseus said, and her eyes were so dark they were almost ink-black. “Don’t you?”

Antinous set both hands on the table, and Penelope was suddenly struck by how much taller than both of them he was. Maybe he wouldn’t start a fight here, but Odysseus could end up with an enemy she didn’t want without even meaning to.

Or perhaps she entirely meant to.

Penelope smiled slightly, smoothing over her features, constructing a careful lie. “What I meant, Antinous, is that I can’t talk to you. I have a partner for this project. Odysseus. And you are cutting into our time.”

He raised an eyebrow. They both knew by her tone that her message the first time had been nothing like what it was now, but his smile just grew when he realized he had gotten her to budge. Or so he thought.

“Then I’ll talk to you after class,” he said sarcastically. Odysseus’ eyes tracked him as he walked away.

“Was he bothering you, sweetheart?” She asked, turning to look at Penelope, her tone an odd mixture of concern and sarcasm. “That was very action-movie of me.” She said.

Penelope was torn between being flustered at being called sweetheart and irritation at Odysseus’ absolute confidence in herself. “I think I was really the one who saved you,” she returned. “What were you thinking?”

“That you’re my partner now, apparently, and you looked uncomfortable.”

Penelope sighed. “I was fine. I’ll handle it. I’ve been handling it.”

“For how long? What does he want?”

“Since freshman year.” Penelope said, side-stepping the second question. “And I’m fine so far.”

“You don’t look fine,” Odysseus muttered, but she honestly sounded more petulant than anything. Penelope almost smiled.

“The symposium, Odysseus.” Using her name was curious.

“Isn’t the second week a little early to be doing projects?” Odysseus asked, staring at the ceiling. Penelope shrugged, unsure how to feel about this turn of events. Selfishly, she wanted to be with Odysseus. She hadn’t realized how much she held back until she had one conversation with the girl. Odysseus didn’t talk like anyone she had ever met before. Her father, her uncle, their friends, they all talked over her, telling her exactly what a smart girl like herself should do with her life. Aegialia always had a plan and never time to listen. Athena was writing more than she was actually speaking. Telemachus was two years younger than her. She had spent all of high school only half-visible, unless it was to Antinous.

Odysseus was looking at her now like she was explaining all the secrets of the universe. Odysseus looked at her like she was the only person she had ever spoken to, like she was the only person who mattered at all. Her mind was always wandering and never elsewhere. It was a phenomenon that had not broken yet.

Penelope could not figure her out, and that in and of itself was exciting. Maybe that was why she had agreed to run. After all, running for student body president had been Odysseus’ idea.

“I’m exhausted of our recitals getting cut,” she had complained one day during lunch. She wasn’t sure when she had started eating lunch with Odysseus and Diomedes, but she couldn’t say she minded. Even if Odysseus’ friends were a bit curious. “Piano is just as important as any other student activity, but we keep getting passed over for funding. They want to give it to the choir. They want to give it to the theater department. Apollo is truly getting ridiculous for what he wants for the sets.”

Apollo had been the student director of their yearly musical since before she could remember. She had never had any interest in it, even when he tried to recruit her. She was a pianist. She was an artist. That was more than enough to fill her time.

She also needed to be there for her dad.

“Protest,” Odysseus said, poking at her salad like she was hoping it would change into something else if she waited long enough. Or perhaps waiting for the moment to strike. She had been stealing fries off of Diomedes’ plate for the past ten minutes. The pile had shrunk in size nearly to half, and he still hadn’t noticed.

Diomedes nodded. “You know, the Student Government has some say in that. I think when Aegialia wins she can also help.”

“Where is Aegialia?” Penelope asked, watching as Odysseus also took Diomedes’ ketchup and moved it to the other side of her plate.

“Campaigning.” He said, staring down at his plate in confusion as though he had just caught on to what was happening. “She’s gone crazy with the button maker. Where is– Odysseus.”

Odysseus froze with three fries and the entire ketchup pack on her plate. “Yeah?” she asked, blinking innocently.

“You little–” He swatted at her and she ducked, grabbing the last two fries off his plate.

“Oh no,” she said dramatically, dropping them on the floor. “What a tragedy.”

Penelope laughed. “You can’t even eat them now.”

“Not the point,” they both said, then looked at each other in horror.

“Anyway,” Odysseus continued, clearing her throat. “Not the point. The point is he can’t have it.” She drummed her fingers on the table, then snapped and pointed at Penelope. “You could run!”

“What?” Penelope asked.

Diomedes just rolled his eyes and got up with his tray. “I’m going to see if they’ll give me more fries,” he said, giving Odysseus a dirty look. She smiled.

“Good luck!” She said, waving cheerfully. “They definitely won’t.”

Penelope shook her head. “Back to me running. What do you mean? I’m not joining track and field.”

“No, no. Run for president. Student Body President. I’ll manage your campaign.”

“Dare I ask why?” Penelope asked, fairly sure she already knew the answer.

“It will be a fun competition.” Odysseus said with a bright smile. “Diomedes!” she called. He was returning with an empty tray. “No luck?” she asked, failing to sound bothered.

“You will get me coffee tomorrow.” He said, glaring at her with no real malice. “From a store.”

Odysseus sighed. “Fine. Old news. I have an idea.”

“God help us all,” Penelope said, raising her eyes to the ceiling, and Diomedes actually laughed.

“It’s a good idea,” Odysseus insisted. “Penelope will run for student body president. I’ll manage her campaign.”

“Why?” Diomedes asked.

“Competition,” she said, and they both smiled. That was the first time Penelope had ever seen that troublemaker smile on Odysseus’ face. She should have known, then, that this was more than something light-hearted between friends. She had no idea.

Even now, designing the poster with Odysseus standing behind her, she wasn’t sure she truly knew what she was getting into. Penelope knew what she was. She was someone who could build stories without ever uttering a word. She wove ideas together. Odysseus was a presenter. Odysseus was loud and everything she did was calculated. Penelope almost hated how well they worked together.

“Shouldn’t we be doing our Symposium report?” She asked.

Odysseus paused and turned to look at her. “I’ve read it already,” she said. Penelope blinked.

“What?”

“I read it. This summer. I don’t need to read it again.”

“I didn’t mean read it. I meant start the report.”

“Isn’t it due on Tuesday?”

“Yes.”

“Today is a Saturday.”

Penelope sighed. “Odysseus, how long would you need to do this?”

“An hour?”

She froze. “What?”

“Is that a long time?” Odysseus asked. She looked genuinely curious and Penelope almost laughed. It would have taken her nearly four, and that had been praised by her friends before.

“It would just take me at least four.” she said.

“How much of that is redoing it?”

She looked up to see Odysseus staring at her, dead serious, an almost devious glitter in her eyes. “At least half,” she admitted. “Why?”

“You keep redoing this poster,” Odysseus said, gesturing to the screen and sitting down on Penelope’s bed. “You keep redoing the slogan. You redo everything. Start again and again. It will never be perfect.”

Penelope gave her a wry smile. “I won’t know until I try.”

Odysseus didn’t argue. “Fair enough. What is the symposium about? Just tell me. This can be your first draft. I’ll save you time.”

“Love,” Penelope said, trying not to meet Odysseus’ eyes and failing. Odysseus didn’t waver. She wouldn’t either. “Each of the philosophers talk about what love means. They conclude by declaring that the greatest knowledge of all is the knowledge of the form of beauty.”

Odysseus shook her head. Now she was smiling, and that devious glitter was back, but she didn’t look at all serious. “That’s not what they conclude with.”

“It concludes with Alcibiades trying to seduce Socrates. He fails.”

“Isn’t it funny,” Odysseus said, swinging her legs. “That Socrates can give a whole speech on love, yet he cannot be swayed by it?” She was studying Penelope again. Penelope didn’t say anything.

“That’s why I don’t give speeches.” Odysseus said. “I just act. What good are words?”

Penelope raised her head. “You give speeches all the time,” she said. “You just pretend you don’t. Your actions are the only true thing about you, but you are one of the best liars I’ve ever met. Or is that why you don’t like words?”

Odysseus hadn’t stopped looking at her, hadn’t dropped that glittering look. She was always moving, but now the only movement in her was that honest smile. “I like the way you think.” she said.

Chapter Text

Really, he should have known better than to take a challenge from Odysseus.

Diomedes realized this far too late to help anything, though. Of all the ways he was expecting to wake up today, almost falling out of his bed was not one of them. Higher on the list was his alarm, or even more probably, getting yelled at by his mom after he slept through his alarm.

Instead he was awoken by the five-foot-three whirlwind that liked to call itself Odysseus.

He wasn’t even sure how she had gotten in his house.

“Diomedes,” she said, springing onto his bed like some kind of deranged cat. This would have been all well and good had he not been asleep at the time. Instead, he flinched so hard he almost fell out of his bed.

“Jesus. Odysseus. Why are you in my house?” He demanded, blinking, trying to make sense of what was happening. He glanced at his window. “It’s literally still dark outside.”

“It’s six.” she said. “In the morning. You’ll be fine.”

He stared at her, willing himself to wake up faster, trying to put pieces together, namely: Odysseus, and Ridiculously Early, and In My House.

“How did you get here?” He asked incredulously. “You don’t have a car.”

“Walked,” she said, sitting crossed legged on his bed. Either she hadn’t noticed that he didn’t have a shirt on or she didn’t care.

“Walked? At six in the morning?”

“It was five forty-five when I left. I know how to fight. I had my knife. Now come on,” she insisted, throwing open the curtains, which did absolutely nothing because, as previously mentioned, it was still dark outside.

He just stared at her before groaning and falling onto his back. “Where are we even going?” he complained.

“Coffee store. To meet Aegialia and Penelope.” She looked entirely too excited about this. “I have information.”

He was aware that however she had gotten into his house, she was definitely not going to leave until he agreed to come. He was also aware that he had been asleep for about an hour before she showed up.

“Get out,” he sighed, resigned. “I’m getting dressed.”

Her smile widened, which was never a good sign. “I knew you’d see sense.”

Diomedes only stared at the ceiling for about ten more minutes before actually getting dressed, which he thought was fairly impressive, and yet somehow when he got downstairs Odysseus was sitting at his table, eating a croissant, and talking very animatedly with his mother.

“You keep stealing my food,” he complained.

“Diomedes,” his mother said sternly. “Odysseus tells me she walked all the way here to wake you up for a school project. Why didn’t you set an alarm?”

While his mother generally disapproved of all of his choices, especially that of company, she had never taken offense at Odysseus. A fact he thought was truly ridiculous, because out of all the stupid ideas he had come up with, a great majority of them had been engineered only with Odysseus’ help. “Is that what she tells you?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes,” His mother said. “When you get to this coffee store, be sure you buy her coffee. You need to be polite.”

Odysseus swung her feet back and forth under the table. He fought the urge to kick her. “I’m always polite.”

“Diomedes is hailed around the school for his wondrous manners,” Odysseus added. His mother didn’t quite catch the sarcasm.

“Good.” she said. “How is your mother these days? I know it can be so hard to lose a spouse.”

Odysseus went from reclining to shifting in her seat. He had seen it before in her, and it was always odd and uncomfortable. He was starkly aware that he was witnessing something that he wasn’t meant to be, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Odysseus didn’t falter. It wasn’t in her makeup.

“My mother is well,” Odysseus said, setting her croissant back onto her plate. “It’s been some time.”

“May I ask how it affects Ctimene?” His mother asked, and he felt even more out of place, standing awkwardly behind the kitchen table.

“She never knew him.” Odysseus said, now pushing the croissant away from her entirely. “There is nothing to miss.”

Diomedes knew altogether too well that there was plenty to miss. He didn’t ignore the way his mother pursed her lips, but he also didn’t have any interest in indulging her misplaced concern. He knew what she was trying to do, that she was trying to bait him into talking. He crossed his arms.

“Anyway,” Odysseus said. “I have to go. I’m getting bought coffee and all that.”

“If you don’t get that smug look off your face right now–” he threatened. She put her hands up in mock surrender and followed him to the car.

“Hey. I just told your lovely mother my side of the story.”

“Shut up.” He muttered. “Which coffee store?”

She didn’t answer, just stared out the window. This was what he had been worried about. He hated it when she got this quiet, when she decided to retreat into her own mind. He felt like he was going to lose her there, and he wasn’t at all sure what to feel about it.

She was a nuisance and she was an integral piece of his life. He was as irritated by her presence as he was scared of losing it. He didn’t like to think about it, but this kind of silence was always a precursor to her crying, something that set him off guard faster than anything else.

He had only seen her cry twice. She had only seen him cry three times. They did not discuss their feelings much, not with each other, not at all. It wasn’t their style, and he preferred it that way. People trying to get him to talk– his mother trying to get him to talk– it felt like being peeled open, raw and wrong. He didn’t like to think about his three times.

The first time he had seen her cry was at the funeral. The second was after her diagnosis. He hadn’t even known she had a psychiatrist’s appointment, but apparently, she had been mentioning some strange things to her mother, and apparently, they had scheduled her an appointment for someone who specialized with 14-15 year olds, and she hadn’t mentioned it because she was sure it would be nothing, and then his mother got a call from Odysseus’ mom.

“Odysseus ran out,” she had said. She was on speaker. "I think it’s what she heard from the psychiatrist. You know that—“

His mom saw him. She took her off speaker.

Diomedes didn’t need to know anymore. He only had his permit, but he could pass for a junior if he really tried. He was not going to sit here while the adults argued. He was going to find her.

He threw open the back door to his garage, keys in hand, and Odysseus was sitting there, on the hood of his car, knees drawn in to her chest. She was shaking.

“Ody?” He asked, tentative and unsure.

“I’m fine.” She insisted, but she had already started crying. He didn’t know what to think.

“What psychiatrist?” He asked. “We really shouldn’t stay in the garage. They’re looking for you.”

She looked at him through tears. “How do you know about that?”

He considered, briefly, lying. He felt like she was going to judge him for eavesdropping even when that was patently ridiculous given that they had done worse. He also felt like he was being smothered in this tiny garage. “I heard my mom on the phone. Look, we can go somewhere else-“

“Does my mom know where I am?”

“No.”

“I don’t want her to.”

“She’ll worry.”

Odysseus went silent at that again. He knew she didn’t want her mother to worry. He also knew that she was impossibly stubborn, and once she had made up her mind it would not be changed.

“If I stay here, she’ll find me.”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to go somewhere else?”

“I suggested it.”

“How worried did she sound?”

He paused. He could lie to her. He could make this easier. He wasn’t sure it would work. “She was okay.”

“You’re a liar.”

He sighed. He didn’t want to tell her the truth, because the truth would make all this harder. She would also see right through him, every time. “You know what happened last time someone went missing.”

Odysseus didn’t even flinch, and that’s when he really started to worry. Her father had been gone for a day before they found his body and the note beside it. She had never even told him– he had to hear it from his mother. They had never mentioned it. Every time it was even alluded to in her presence, she looked like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin. And now she just kept shaking.

“Odysseus?” he said, again. He felt like he was watching someone drowning.

“There wasn’t anything wrong,” she said. “The appointment just scared me.”

“Now you’re the liar.”

“Are you so sure that there’s something wrong with me?”

“You’re crying.”

He would have almost been amazed that she was deflecting, even now, if he hadn’t known her for years. He could instead barely bring himself to be surprised. He stood.

“Come on.”

Odysseus followed without protest, which was another sign that something was terribly wrong. She was never obedient, never helpful, not without another angle. Maybe she had finally realized that his garage was not a very effective hiding place.

Maybe he would regret showing her how to get onto the roof of his house, but he doubted it. As a freshman, she needed help to get up to the first branch of the tree, and she had not grown that much now. This was a rare moment where his height actually worked in his favor. It ought to have helped him in soccer, but she was just vicious to make up for it.

After she had pulled herself on the roof, she turned to look at him. She had almost stopped crying. “Can’t they see us?”

He shook his head. “We’re on the other side of the roof. No one can see anything from the street.”

Odysseus nodded and almost relaxed. He knew it had to cost her something to forgo her pride to let him see her like this, but it was better that it was him. He couldn’t explain it, but he could understand it.

His mother used to tell him he took after his father. After last year, she stopped.

It could have been him crying, and if it was, he would have preferred it was in front of her. That didn’t mean he knew what to say.

He hadn’t said anything then. He had just sat next to her in silence for nearly half an hour until she started to talk, haltingly, with lies sprinkled in everywhere, but still more honest than he had heard her in a long time.

“The psychiatrist was half an hour away, and we left Ctimene at home,” she said. “My mom’s dad watched her. She probably learned some new magic tricks. But mom said that I shouldn’t be worrying all the time about locking doors, and that it worried her that I had to check on Ctimene again and again. I just keep thinking– what if she falls? Her room is on the second story. I mean, I know she’d have to jump, but what if she did?”

Diomedes said nothing. If he interrupted her now, she would never finish. She would swallow the words, and they would rot her from the inside out. He knew the feeling. He sometimes worried that one day there would be no more room for all the truths he did not say, and they would devour him instead, that liars never lived long. It seemed unlikely. His uncle was still alive.

“And so we went, and we talked, and the psychiatrist started talking about early-onset and obsessions and compulsions and I just–” She looked at him for the first time, and he felt like he had never realized how dark her eyes were before. “I will not be my father.”

“You aren’t,” he said. He couldn’t prove it. He had never asked her father’s diagnosis– he didn’t need to know. She had never asked where his father lived or what his wife’s name was. That was what she thought, and she didn't ask. She deserved to know the truth. He did. He knew her father was dead, that he had killed himself. She knew that Diomedes’ father was gone, that he was his spitting image. They didn’t talk about it.

“You never knew him,” she said. “I barely did.”

“You never knew my father,” He challenged. “You know I’m not him.”

“I know you,” she said.

“Exactly.”

They hadn’t settled anything. He wasn’t even sure he had really made her feel better. She grabbed his wrist and he wrapped his arms around her. She stopped shaking. His shirt was wet from her crying on it, but he didn’t complain.

They had never talked about it again, but it sat in the back of his mind, every time she mentioned forgetting her meds, every birthday he had since. He wasn’t sure that she would have really made the whole thing up to help him ignore his father’s absence, but he was fairly sure that the date for her appointment wasn’t a mistake. Odysseus already knew what they were going to find. She trusted him. She had done it to help him.

He was absolutely not going to hug her now. They could pretend it didn’t happen once, in freshman year, but he was pretty sure that she would break one or several of his bones, which was reassuring. He wasn’t that kind of friend. They weren’t even friends. They were just the same.

“What are you so quiet for?” He asked. “You got free food out of this.”

She snapped back to attention like nothing had been wrong. If he didn’t know her, if they weren’t the same, he might have believed she was just tired. “I do. Do you see how I played that? I had to walk, yes, but now I am being driven, and I got to wake you up, and I get free coffee.” She grinned. “Stick with me. You have a lot to learn.”

Diomedes laughed, shaking his head. “No, I saw this coming, Odysseus. I’m gonna get you back, just you wait.”

“Is this your way of saying you want to buy me coffee again?” She asked cheerfully. “Because I’d allow it.”

“Tell me which coffee store first.”

“Sure. Turn left.”

He rolled his eyes. “Now you decide to answer.” He was more pleased than he wanted to admit that everything was back to normal, or as normal as it would get with them.

He had called her a whirlwind earlier, but that wasn’t true. They were storms, both of them. There was never getting out of the hurricane. There was only finding the center, the moments of calm. There was only trying to stay there.

They weren’t even friends. They were just the same.

<><><> 

When they arrived, Odysseus had brightened up considerably. She knew Diomedes had noticed her reaction to his mother’s questions. No one else would have noticed. She saw the look he gave her.

It was easy to pretend it hadn’t happened.

When they arrived after some thick arguing about the best shortcuts, Penelope was already there. Odysseus fought the urge to start grinning as soon as she saw her. She was too beautiful for either of their own good.

She knew perfectly well that Penelope was anxious around Helen. She had seen the looks she gave her cousin. She had also never understood it. Helen was unearthly. Penelope was solid. Odysseus would much prefer someone real. She certainly wasn’t.

“Our favorite future president,” she said, grinning at her. Aegialia stood from the table she was sitting at.

“Are you referring to me?” she asked. Odysseus laughed slightly.

“Good one. You’re funnier than your boyfriend.”

“I’m most things more than him,” she returned, winking at Diomedes. He shook his head in disgust.

“The abuse I take in this place, Penelope.”

Penelope looked patently unsympathetic as she took a seat at the table. Odysseus did not miss that she left the seat next to her empty. Maybe she assumed that Diomedes would want to sit with Aegialia. Maybe. “I think you take the abuse everywhere, Diomedes.”

“Call her Pen.” Odysseus said, throwing her a wicked grin. “It drives her crazy.”

“Call him Dio.” Aegialia challenged. “It will shut him up.”

Diomedes wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like this game.”

Odysseus shrugged. “Deal. We can’t all have cool nicknames, like me and Lia here.”

Aegialia almost winced. “Never call me that again.”

“Okay. We can’t all have cool nicknames, like me.”

Penelope laughed. “What are you getting?” she asked Odysseus. She drummed her fingers on the cup in front of her. Odysseus couldn’t see what it was, but she had to guess it was tea. She had never seen Penelope with coffee.

“Ask Diomedes,” she asked. “He’s paying for it.”

Diomedes crossed his arms and sighed. “I am woken up absurdly early. I am dragged to a strange place. I am the one driving. And now she’s making me pay for it. Odysseus, I don’t think this relationship is very balanced.”

“Good.” Odysseus returned.

He sighed and stood up again. “I just sat down. Are you making me order now?”

Odysseus didn’t answer. She was watching the door.

She knew that they were all wondering why she dragged them here, so early. They still got along, even if they were running opposite campaigns.

The door swung open. Odysseus smiled. “You can go ahead.”

Helen walked in at 6:30, just like Odysseus had guessed. The girl came to school, every day, at seven, with an almost empty teacup. From this store. It was not hard to put together the general timeframe. And, the cup was hot, which meant that she couldn’t have been getting it a day early and saving it. Not that anyone did that, but Odysseus liked to cover all her bases.

“Odysseus,” Penelope said, looking at her face. “Are you stalking my cousin?”

“So I’m guessing you wondered why I asked you guys to meet me.” She said. “It’s because another person is running.”

“Helen?” Aegialia said, throwing her a side glance.

“Odysseus.” Penelope repeated. “Stalking?”

“And,” Odysseus continued, ignoring them both. “I have a plan to combat him.”

“Him?” They both asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Shocking, I know. Unlike men to participate in anything. However this specific man…”

“Apollo?” Penelope asked.

“Paris.” Aegialia said.

“Diomedes,” Diomedes said, sitting back down and setting a coffee in front of Odysseus. “Why are we listing people’s names?”

“Someone new is running. They were guessing.”

Diomedes shrugged. “Not me.”

“Agamemnon.”

Everyone at the table rolled their eyes. Odysseus had to fight back laughter.

“Agamemnon?” Penelope said, sounding truly exasperated. “Really?”

Odysseus nodded. “And so here we are, because he and Clytemnestra broke up, and I want to know why.”

“They did?” Diomedes asked, sounding just a bit too interested. “When?”

“You can’t date Clytemnestra,” Aegialia scolded. “We haven’t broken up yet.”

“I would never dream of it,” he said. “I more want to know what he did.”

Odysseus smiled her sharpest smile. “So do I. And so here we are.”

“You were stalking my cousin!” Penelope said, sounding a bit too excited. Helen was now ordering at the counter, and they were all doing very bad jobs of being subtle.

“For you, my dear.” Odysseus said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Diomedes bite back laughter. She fought the urge to flip him off. Penelope was blushing.

“You want our help in burning his campaign.”

“Hera is running, and we can’t do anything about her,” Odysseus said. “Really. Athena would kill me. But Agamemnon is fair game.”

Penelope had no way of knowing much, but she must have heard rumors about a fight between Odysseus and Agamemnon, and now she saw the look on her face. “Is this personal?” she asked Odysseus.

Odysseus met her eyes. “What do you think?”

That was the worst answer she could have given, because deflection meant she didn’t trust herself to come up with a good lie. Penelope had only heard snippets, Odysseus knew. She couldn't know the truth. But she did know something.

She knew what Odysseus was. She was not a fool. She was secluded and overly thoughtful, but she was not a fool. There had been rumors in middle school, fights and vandalism and things going wrong, cars going missing and being returned, people getting in trouble for things she must have doubted they actually did.

And Penelope must have decided that Agamemnon would have to pay for whatever it was, because she didn't argue. “Alright.”

Odysseus didn’t even look surprised. “So. Helen. Clytemnestra won’t tell us. Helen will.”

Diomedes tilted his head. “She will?”

“She’ll tell you,” Aegialia said thoughtfully. “Odysseus is right.”

“Or she’ll tell Penelope.”

“Hang on,” Penelope said. “I don’t want to trick her.”

Odysseus grinned. “That’s the beauty of it. We won’t have to. See, I bet that she knows what happened, and I bet its making her furious. I know that if it was my sister, well…”

She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. They all knew what Odysseus considered appropriate revenge, and it was far beyond the norm.

“I’ll talk to Helen,” Penelope said, standing. Odysseus allowed herself a moment of private satisfaction as Helen heard her name and turned.

<><><>

Helen would have been more concerned if she thought Odysseus meant any harm, but her being here was not an accident. Maybe she was underestimating Odysseus’ malice. Maybe she was overestimating her own importance.

She knew brutality, though. She knew cruelty. Odysseus was not those things.

Overall, she doubted it.

Every morning, she came to the same coffee store. She would check on her beehives. She would get some honey out of her cabinet and put it in her bag. She would walk and she would get tea. She would pour honey in. She would stir it. Clytemnestra would drive her to school.

She got an hour each day, if she was lucky. An hour of silence. The rest of it was all noise. It was a cacophony.

And now when she walked in, there were four people sitting at a table. No one was ever sitting here this early. This store was all sleepy businessmen and tired parents, but these four were sitting here, and they were all from her school. As soon as she walked in, one of them got up to order.

It was Diomedes. Odysseus smiled at her when she entered. She was almost positive they exchanged a nod.

Helen froze. She wasn’t sure what this plan could entail, but she had heard Clytemnestra allude to some things about Odysseus she couldn’t quite make line up with the girl in her classics class. Clytemnestra seemed convinced she was some sort of conniving mastermind, someone planning all of their downfalls. Odysseus had never been anything but kind to Helen. She was the first person Helen had ever met that treated her like anyone else that wasn’t her family.

Sometimes Clytemnestra couldn’t even manage to treat her like everyone else, but that was partly Helen’s fault, wasn’t it? Her sister deserved to know and Helen had said nothing. She was terrified she would somehow be blamed.

This was too similar to what had happened last year.

Penelope saw her. Penelope stood, and smiled. There were five chairs at the table. Helen froze. Diomedes was coming back from ordering. He had a coffee in his hand. He set it in front of Odysseus.

She realized she was staring. Penelope set her hand on her elbow.

“Helen,” she said, and something odd almost flashed on her face, a sharp-toothed smile that Helen had only seen on Odysseus before. “Can I borrow you?”

There were five chairs. Helen nodded.

She sat down. She felt more foreign than she had on her first day. The table was a rectangle, two chairs on each side, Helen sitting on the end of the table. Penelope and Aegialia were farthest from her. Odysseus on her right. Diomedes on her left. She tried not to look at him, but it was hard. He was looking at her, altogether too intently.

“Yeah?”

Odysseus smiled and it was not comforting. “Look, Helen, we want to talk to you, but I want you to know that we get you’re loyal to your sister first. I’m an older sister. I get it.”

Helen did not argue. She did not say that she was not loyal at all, that she was a traitor who would run at the first sign of causing any trouble. She did not say that Clytemnestra was older than her by sixteen uncrossable minutes. Her face did not change. Odysseus was an actor. Helen was a statue.

“I’ll get your coffee,” Diomedes said. She forced herself to look at him, to register those green eyes, to remind herself of his girlfriend right next to him. “What’s your order?”

Helen flexed her fingers under the table. They would not see her move. “Tea, black. Two creams. I will add my own honey.”

He tilted his head and did not argue, just set his hand on Aegialia’s shoulder. “I know what you want.”

She smiled and looked back at Helen. Odysseus just watched, eyes dark and unflinching.

“Anyway,” Odysseus continued. “We know Clytemnestra has good reason to be angry at Agamemnon. I bet you do too. We want to know why.”

Helen turned to her, fighting again to keep her face calm. Tragically or fortunately, she had plenty of practice.

She had learned, when she was small, that everyone would read anything they wanted to see from her. Every smile was personal, every frown dismissed, every movement weaponized. She had learned how to not move, not cry, just keep her face still and calm and bite her nails. The first day of school, she had been trembling, but her face had not changed, not once. It was more habit than skill at this point.

“What is your interest in it?” she asked, and she started to wonder if her sister had been right, if Odysseus was someone to be avoided. Her cousin was here. Aegialia was here. Diomedes was returning with tea and iced coffee. She knew who the planner of all this was.

“Agamemnon is running.” Odysseus said, and Helen knew she was lying. Even if that was true, that wasn’t the real reason. This was more personal than that. “And we’re separate campaigns, but if we can combine against him…” She shrugged. “I’d rather Aegialia win than him.”

“I feel the same,” Helen said. “But you assume my sister has reason to be angry with him, and she is not angry.”

“That does not mean she does not have reason,” Penelope said, folding her hands on the table. “That does not mean you are not angry.”

Two sentences, and Penelope had reached out and unwound her lie. She did not know how to admit the truth to them. Her face betrayed nothing and she betrayed everyone. She was just hoping she was wrong.

On Monday, she had been working with Briseis, Patrocles’ sister, and they had started to talk. Everything had been fine. She even liked working on the Symposium with her. Patrocles had offered to help them. He seemed fond of it. While she was somewhat hurt that Penelope had chosen Odysseus, she was also not at all surprised. And she was happy to see her family happy.

She had thought Briseis was sweet. She had thought everything would be fine. Then Briseis started complaining about her boyfriend.

“He’s so bad at responding,” she sighed, flipping open her computer. “He takes forever to text back. And his truck is so loud, he almost never picks me up.”

Helen paused, raising her eyes to Briseis, weighing her next words carefully. “What kind of truck?” She asked. She only knew two brothers with a truck.

Briseis shrugged. “How should I know? It’s just awful. And we always stay at my house or his, and I’ve never even met his brother. Not that he’s ever met mine, I suppose. But dinner wouldn’t kill him.”

Helen could feel cold dread creeping up her next, which was silly. Plenty of people had trucks and brothers. Plenty of people had never met Patrocles. It seemed like everyone at this school knew each other, but that was a silly idea. She was being too anxious again. “Who’s his brother?”

“Menelaus,” Briseis said dryly, picking at her nails. “On the varsity soccer team. Again, never met him. I don’t go to their matches. I’m just a lowly freshman, so I have a separate class schedule. Why?”

Helen felt the name like a slap in the face. She had expected it to be Menelaus who was cheating, not Agamemnon. Maybe Briseis’ boyfriend had lied about his brother’s name, but she doubted it. “What is your boyfriend’s name?”

“Agamemnon.” Briseis said cheerfully. “He’s a junior, like you. He was so impressed I got into honors, but I was a really good student in middle school. You know. Anyway, I guess I never mentioned that we know each other, but either way, don’t tell Patrocles. He doesn’t even know I’m seeing someone.”

Helen thought of that awful moment when something nearly disgusted flashed in Agamemnon’s face when he saw Clytemnestra. Had she not been imagining it, then?

Helen fought to keep her breath even. She fought to keep herself steady. She had fought then and she fought now. Then she had nodded, and sworn to herself to tell Clytemnestra, and failed to. Now she just looked at Penelope blankly. They weren’t supposed to know so soon. She was supposed to have more time.

“I am angry with myself,” she said. “It is my own failing. What do you know?”

Odysseus’ lips curved up in a smile. “Helen, this is about what you know. Did you hurt your sister?”

Helen shook her head.

“Hey,” Diomedes cut in. “If she doesn’t want to tell us, she doesn’t have to.”

“I want to tell you,” Helen said. “My sister isn’t angry, though.”

“She doesn’t know,” Aegialia said, eyes widening. Everyone turned to her. “You know what he did and she doesn’t.”

Helen nodded. Cracks threatened in the marble of her face, but they did not break through. She would never escape her shell. “She has reason to be angry, and I want him to pay for it, but she doesn’t know, and I need to tell her. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell her. I was hoping I was wrong.”

She was never wrong. She had seen the very worst of the world. Fate had bared its teeth at her.

Odysseus drummed her fingers on the table, thinking. “I’m sorry,” she said, and it was the first time she sounded honest this whole conversation. “I ruined your morning. I assumed you’d want revenge.”

Penelope half laughed. “Not everyone thinks like you.”

“You do,” Odysseus returned. “You do.”

Penelope fell silent. Helen stared at the table. Diomedes set a hand on her wrist. Her eyes snapped up.

“It’s fine.” He said. “Like I said, you don’t have to tell us. And even if you do want revenge, we can protect your sister.’

Helen just looked at him, at his hand on her wrist. She was half-expecting him to pass right through her. She didn’t feel honest enough to be real.

“He’s dating Briseis,” she sighed. “Behind my sister’s back. Behind Patrocles’ back. She’s a freshman and he’s a junior and I’m the only one who knows. She doesn’t even know that I’m seeing his brother.”

“You’re dating Menelaus?” Diomedes asked. “Typical.”

Helen looked at him almost quizzically, but Odysseus shot him a dirty look. “Shut up. Okay. Briseis.” She looked back at Helen. “Damn. This changes everything.”

“Not everyone thinks like you,” Helen said. “But I want revenge. I didn’t tell Clytemnestra soon enough, I know. But I can do this. I can protect her.”

They just nodded. They didn’t understand. There was a debt to repay.

Helen did not like to think of where she would be without her sister, but she knew. Even if she avoided the worst-case scenarios didn’t mean she didn’t know them.

Her brothers had protected her from the man who grabbed her when she was seven. Her sister had kept her away from the creeps and the gossips and every other kind of danger in the social scene. Last year, when that girl attacked her, it was not her brothers who interrupted. It was Clytemnestra. She did not like to think of where she would have been without her sister. Maybe this was her way of finding out, of testing the waters. She spoke in definitives, but this was an experiment.

“Where do we start?” she asked.

Odysseus smiled.

Chapter Text

Penelope was pleased that they had gotten through to Helen. She was pleased that it had all worked out. She knew how close these things could be– if Odysseus had made Helen uncomfortable, Penelope would have put an end to all of it. Social situations, rumors, they were all delicate things.

What she didn’t understand was why.

Odysseus was brilliant. Odysseus was a schemer. Odysseus was a liar. Odysseus never did anything that did not serve her. All these things could be true at once. All of these things were true at once.

Penelope was a builder, a storyteller, a woman who did things over and over until they were perfect. She was honest. She didn’t want to be, but she was. And she knew when Odysseus was lying.

They thought the same. She still didn’t understand why.

Odysseus did not care this much about the election. She simply didn’t. She wanted to help Penelope, fine. She wanted to challenge Diomedes, perhaps. That was debate preparation and putting up posters. This was a vendetta. Why bring in Helen? Why not go to Clytemnestra? Why was she trying to surprise Agamemnon with this? If all she wanted was for him to drop out, then she could do it quietly. It would be better for their campaign to do it quietly. Maybe she could even get an endorsement. And even that didn’t matter. It was a school campaign. Odysseus had bigger, better things.

All of this had been her idea.

Everyone else stood. Penelope didn’t. She was watching the table. She was putting the pieces together in her mind. She could see it like a storyboard, threads raveling and unraveling. She was moving everything into place. It all clicked together into one piece. She stood.

“Odysseus,” she said. “Walk me to school?”

Odysseus froze where she was by the door, throwing Diomedes a sideways glance. “Sure.” She said, “Let me get my bag.”

Penelope nodded.

She waited outside while Odysseus pulled her things out of Diomedes’ car. His car was one of the new ones with all the safety features, the kind her father tried to get for her. “Helen,” Diomedes called to her cousin who was already trying to walk away. “Do you want a ride?”

She hesitated, then nodded briefly. Aegialia smiled and got into her own car. She seemed very… secure. Either that, or she genuinely didn’t care. Those two were an odd pairing.

Odysseus was carrying her backpack, a black bag that should have split at the seams from all the damage it took, covered in pins, as though Odysseus didn’t already have a jean jacket for that. Penelope genuinely didn’t know where she got all those pins, but she was wearing them proudly with her hightops. She looked almost menacing, black turtleneck, black skirt, and ruined shoes. Penelope was not worried.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, pulling her lilac cardigan closer around her, trying not to shiver. It was already cold, too cold. She was shocked it hadn’t rained yet.

All Odysseus had for a jacket was denim, and she didn’t even look bothered. “I guessed. You do own a car, don’t you?”

“I don’t like driving.” Penelope said. She didn’t elaborate. Odysseus didn’t ask.

“Fair enough.”

“Earlier,” Penelope began, frustrated at the situation she had put herself in, knowing that there was no undoing now, “I asked if this was personal.”

“I answered.”

“You deflected.”

“And?”

“What’s the truth, Odysseus? Not what you want me to believe. The truth.”

Odysseus stopped walking and studied her. Penelope expected herself to be intimidated or even afraid, but she could not bring herself to be anything but curious. She was fairly sure she already knew. What had Odysseus said?

“Not everyone thinks like you do, Odysseus.”

“You do.”

She had been looking at Penelope then.

“I can lie to everyone but myself, I suppose.” Odysseus said, resuming walking.

“We aren’t the same.” Penelope said, but she couldn’t think of a good reason why.

Odysseus smiled. “You can lie to everyone but yourself, Penelope.”

“You’re better than me.” Penelope protested. “Better at all of it.”

“Better at all of what?” Odysseus sounded genuinely curious, not like she was fishing for compliments. She sounded like she wanted to know what Penelope thought. She made it seem like Penelope was the only person who’s opinion would ever matter to her.

“That,” Penelope said, gesturing to her. It was better to keep walking. She didn’t have to look at her. “You make every single person feel like you have never spoken to anyone as interesting as them.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Odysseus asked conspiratorially. “I’m only honest with you.”

Penelope wasn’t sure she believed her. “I’m not the most interesting person you’ve spoken to, Odysseus. You live in your own brain.”

“It’s exhausting. I don’t recommend it.”

Penelope rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” Odysseus pressed on. “If you don’t believe me, tell me everything you think, and I will tell you if you missed anything.”

“What if you lie?”

“I’m only honest with you,” Odysseus repeated, but there was something else on her face. Penelope knew what it was.

“I’d know if you were lying.”

“Exactly.”

Penelope sighed, willing herself not to get the threads of this scheme tangled, willing herself not to ruin all of this at all. They had ten more minutes to the school. She could do this. She would not need to start over.

“You wanted me to run. It was your idea. Brought up during lunchroom, but it was your idea.”

Odysseus nodded. She did not interrupt.

“You wanted to go against Diomedes. You wanted it to be a friendly competition. Then you found out that Agamemnon was running and things changed. It was not friendly.”

“Agamemnon is not my friend.”

“Is Diomedes your friend?”

Odysseus didn’t answer. Penelope kept going.

“It was angry. You. You are angry. I can see it in your face. You hide it so well I think you don’t even know how angry you are. I know.”

“How do you know, Penelope?” Odysseus asked, and there it was again, that furious, stormy look.

“The daughter shows the father’s temper,” Penelope replied. Another work from their classics class. Antigone.

Odysseus raised her head. “You never knew my father.”

“I know my father.” Penelope said. “I know myself. I know you. It is enough.”

“So I am angry at Agamemnon. Is that all you accuse me of?”

“This isn’t an accusation.” Penelope said, trying not to stall her steps, trying to force herself to finish the story, not to start over, not to undo the work. “I was thinking. And you promised to tell me the truth.

“Go on, then.”

Penelope sighed. “You are angry at Agamemnon. I do not know why. And then I was thinking.”

Odysseus is brilliant. Odysseus is a schemer. Odysseus is a liar. Odysseus never does anything that does not serve her.

“It was your idea for me to run. It was proposed over lunch. You said it lightly. You said it like it had just occurred to you.

“You knew where Helen was before this Monday. You had to. How do you find out where someone goes to get their coffee in two days?

“You wanted to get information on Agamemnon, but you don’t need information to ruin his campaign. You could point out his lack of experience. You could point out that he was already running the soccer team. Probably, you could convince him not to if you wanted to. Or you could make something up.

“And you’ve been helping me with this campaign, for weeks, making posters, making speeches, and doing more than that. You’ve been doing research. You’ve been getting information. You’ve been doing more than you needed to win. More than you needed to just challenge Aegialia.

“And so, I ask. What if you knew all along that he was going to run? What if I was an excuse to join the race so you’d have an excuse to hurt him? What if you heard something he didn’t expect for you to hear, and you responded? And I think I already know the answer.

“The only thing I don’t know is the reason. Odysseus, how angry are you?”

Odysseus did stop, this time. They would be late to classics. Penelope didn’t care. Odysseus was breathtaking, not breathtaking like a painting, but breathtaking like a punch. She had never looked so beautiful before now, unashamedly angry, eyes glittering and hair threatening to break free of its braid. Penelope felt like she was facing a fire. She felt strong.

“Has it never occurred to you that you were the reason?” Odysseus asked, tilting her head. Her eyes threatened to swallow Penelope whole.

“It has occurred to me that you can have more than one reason for doing things,” Penelope returned, refusing to back down. The storyboard was done. The tapestry was nearly finished. There were only a few loose threads, and those she would need Odysseus to help to work back in.

“You are missing things,” Odysseus said. “You are missing a few things.”

“I believe you.”

She had never seen Odysseus like this before, dark and quiet. She had seen flashes of it in rare moments, but she had challenged her, and now it was here. She had asked how angry Odysseus was. She was fairly sure that now she knew.

“You are missing what Agamemnon did.” Odysseus said. “You are missing that I knew where Helen took her coffee a week ago, but it's not because of this campaign. You are missing that I didn’t hear anything about Agamemnon running. He just told me he would.”

Penelope didn’t want to ask what Agamemnon had done. She didn’t know. She knew it had to be bad. “Why Helen?” she asked. “Why did Agamemnon tell you?”

“I’m not explaining this on the street, where anyone can hear me.” Odysseus said. “I don’t know why I agreed to explain this at all.”

“I will find out,” Penelope said. “You are only honest with me, remember.”

Odysseus almost smiled, and it was that honest smile again, and Penelope hated how pleased it made her. “Alright.” she said. “We will be late. I will tell you later.”

Penelope caught her wrist. “We are already late. No one is at my house.”

Odysseus arched an eyebrow and Penelope didn’t flinch. “I’m interesting, right?”

Odysseus didn’t even nod. She just turned on her heel and followed Penelope. She didn’t need to agree, not after that.

Penelope knew her father wouldn’t be awake or wouldn’t be paying attention. It was barely even seven yet, and he didn’t get up until eight or nine at least. His nurse would be here around then, but for now, the house was quiet. The door was unlocked.

Odysseus had been to her house before. She had been in her room. This felt different, and it wasn’t just the indecipherable look on her face. Something had drawn taught between them.

Penelope didn’t pause in front of the mirror, didn’t fix her bun, didn’t hesitate. She sat down on her loveseat and crossed her ankles over each other. Odysseus gave her a long look and then sat on her desk chair.

Odysseus sighed. “I knew where Helen took her coffee because I saw her teacup. Diomedes was talking about it a week or two ago.”

“Why?”

“He was going to ask her to coffee,” Odysseus said. “She’s a tea drinker. It was a point of argument. Whether you can ask someone to coffee even if they order tea.”

“He has a girlfriend.” Penelope protested. “You didn’t tell Aegialia?”

Odysseus half-laughed. “Do those two seem particularly attached? They’re going to break up.”

“That’s not a good enough reason–”

“No, I mean they are planning to break up. Halfway through Aegialia’s campaign. I don’t know exactly. It’s going to boost her standing, I suppose.”

Penelope stared at Odysseus, trying to process this. “You didn’t tell me?” she asked, finally. This was directly relevant to the campaign. This would affect their strategy. She deserved to know.

She could see Odysseus deciding whether or not to lie. “No.” she said finally. “I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t my place. I wouldn’t betray Diomedes’ trust.”

“So you betrayed mine?” Penelope almost wished she had lied.

“You don’t trust me.”

“I did.” Penelope said, frustrated with herself, because Odysseus was a liar, and she knew it. “I did.”

Odysseus almost looked startled. No one trusted Odysseus. This was a point of fact. They told her things and they followed her, but they never seemed to trust her, not really. It had become painfully clear to Penelope that the only people who trusted Odysseus were Polites and Diomedes.

And now her.

“I’m sorry,” Odysseus said, and Penelope didn’t even know what she was apologizing for. “I didn’t know.”

Penelope sighed. “Why did Agamemnon tell you?”

“Bragging about it. Before you started to run, he said that being captain looked good on a resume. He challenged me to beat it.” Odysseus paused, dragging in a slow breath. “So.”

“You challenged him to run,” Penelope said, realizing too late. “You challenged him by saying the Student President was better. You knew he’d take the bait, so all you had to do was convince me. Then you would have a reason to go after him. And I’d take the fall.”

“Not all of that is true.” Odysseus said. Penelope could feel the blood in her ears. She wasn’t sure she cared.

“Is that all everyone is to you?” She demanded. “Pieces in this great game you are playing?”

“Only if I win.” Odysseus said. “Are you any better?”

Penelope wanted to argue that she was, but this was a private conversation, and there was no one else here but them. She hadn’t agreed for her resume. She wanted to see what Odysseus would do. And she hadn’t had this conversation in front of the others because she wanted to know a secret. She didn’t talk about her father in front of anyone. She would have only intervened with Helen if she had to.

“You should have told me.” Penelope said. “I would have done it.”

“I know.” Odysseus said. “I was trying to keep you distant from it. I didn’t tell you so you couldn’t be blamed. I said. Not all of that is true.”

“You would get me to win.” Penelope continued, finishing Odysseus’ thought. “And beat Diomedes, and hurt Agamemnon, and I would never know.”

Odysseus spread her hands, almost like she was surrendering. “I am a very, very good player.”

“Not better than me.”

“I said you were better. Now you believe me.”

Penelope didn’t. She was being sarcastic. This was the kind of plan she could only wrap her mind around because she might have come up with it, but it seemed so elaborate, she couldn’t imagine what prompted it. “Why do all this?” she asked. “What did he do?”

Odysseus hesitated, and Penelope realized she had been avoiding the question this whole time. Everything else she had answered with ease, as though she had been waiting for someone to figure it out. “Odysseus?” She pressed.

“It’s a very long story.” Odysseus said.

“I have time.”

Odysseus sighed, and then she started to talk.

She was not the storyteller that Penelope was. She lacked the patience or the skill. Or maybe she was a fabulous storyteller as long as she was not being honest. It was hard to tell. She did not follow disciplines of rhetoric or conventions of speech. She was not trying to be witty anymore. Everything she said rang true, and it was all underlined with a sense of such brilliance that she did not have to try to impress you with how complex her mind was. Any listener could tell.

“My father died when I was thirteen,” Odysseus said. “He was killed by taking too many of the same medication.”

“I know,” Penelope said. “The prescription was wrong.”

Odysseus shook her head. “He killed himself,” she said, without flinching, staring straight ahead. “He thought people were chasing his family. He thought that the only way to protect us was for him to be dead. He loved his family more than his own life.”

Penelope did not interrupt. She would not know what to say.

“He had schizophrenia. The medication that they were treating him with didn’t work. He killed himself with sleeping pills.

“When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Do you know what that is?”

Penelope nodded.

“It greatly increases your risk of developing schizophrenia when you are older. Usually family medical history can help with treatment. All they can say about my dad is what didn’t work.” Odysseus paused, like she was coming to the end of something, but none of this had anything to do with Agamemnon at all.

“Hector was our middle school’s assistant coach. For soccer. He was in high school then. Do you know Hector?”

“No.”

“He convinced me I could play co-ed soccer even in high school. He is very kind, very smart. He was the team captain his senior year.”

“That was last year?”

Odysseus nodded. “Hector has one weakness. His brother. I have one weakness. My dad. Agamemnon likes to hit you where it hurts.”

Penelope was starting to follow, but not really. “Why did he want to hurt either of you?”

“Hector would not let him or Menelaus play varsity. They were sophomores. They were good enough. But he said they had an attitude problem. So, instead of fighting him, Agamemnon had an idea.

“Agamemnon is not very bright, but he is vicious. He and Menelaus started picking on Hector’s brother. Paris. He was a freshman. It started out like every other case of bullying freshmen. But like I said, Agamemnon is not bright. He is vicious. He got an idea to make up this girl, Oenone. They started messaging Paris pretending to be her. It got pretty dramatic. Paris said he loved her or something. Then they screenshotted everything. Sent it to everyone. That was winter break last year.

“I found out. I was furious. We were all JV last year, but it could have really hurt us if the administration found out. Athena was a junior. She was even angrier. Hector knew who it was, of course. He was going to tell the school not to let us compete.

“I made them apologize. I mean, I tried. Menelaus was going to. He had done all of that to make his brother happy. I don’t think he cared. He got to be JV captain. He was fine with waiting another year. Agamemnon’s pride had been offended. And then he found the apology Menelaus had written, and Menelaus convinced him that it was all my fault.

“He waited until practice, when everyone was around. He waited, and then he started asking me questions, more and more demanding, about Menelaus, about Paris, and then he showed me the apology. He called me a coward. He said I was a bitch. He said that if I wanted to meddle in everyone else’s lives so badly I should have killed myself like my father did.”

She said all this flatly, all together, like she was forcing herself to talk. Penelope was sure she was. She tried not to react too much, not to make Odysseus feel like she had made a mistake in telling her, but at the same time, she understood all of Odysseus’ anger, all at once.

“I keep my knife in my bag. The pocket knife he got me when I was nine. I can’t bring it to school, but soccer practices are outside, and it stays in my soccer bag. Maybe I’d get in trouble. I don’t know. I didn’t even answer, just grabbed the knife and pressed it against his throat. Athena had to pull me back.”

Penelope wasn’t even surprised. Anyone who had looked at Odysseus twice would have known better than to cross her so severely. She wasn’t even surprised she had never been reported. “No one said anything?”

“Diomedes and Menelaus denied anything happened. Agamemnon wouldn’t talk. I wouldn’t talk. Athena wouldn’t talk. We were the only ones who were there. Somebody claimed they saw a knife, but no one could prove anything.”

“And so this is all to get back at him?”

“You asked how angry I was.”

Penelope could have shamed her for her anger, could have told her revenge was not the best course. She would not lie to Odysseus, not now, not ever. She reached across the space between her loveseat and her desk. She grabbed Odysseus’ hand.

“You don’t have to say anymore.” she said. “I understand.”

Chapter Text

Apollo preferred heights.

His sister mocked him. She called him grandiose and delusional. She had always known how to hit him where he was really insensitive.

Hyacinth thought he was ridiculous. He said that an actor, a good one, could do just as well on the ground as on a stage.

Apollo didn’t care. He preferred heights.

This set wouldn’t work if it was too short, and everyone was ignoring him. He had pushed and pushed, but all he kept getting was “you aren’t the stage manager.”

It was a pathetic excuse, really. At least this hill was the closest thing he could get to heights around the school. They said an hour away there were mountains. He wouldn’t know. Their parents didn’t usually have time to take them.

Hyacinth knew where to find him because he knew too much. This spot overlooked the soccer field and the roof of the school. He had never figured out how to get up there, but he was determined to.

They didn’t see each other enough. Apollo knew it was his fault. Apollo also knew that he couldn’t have dropped any of his hobbies, because he didn’t know how not to be busy, and that he couldn’t refuse Hyacinth either. He tried to balance it.

Maybe that’s why Hyacinth never asked.

Hyacinth sat down next to him without speaking. His dark hair was almost gleaming in the sunset. “Are you not going home?”

“Aren’t you?” Apollo asked.

“I’m not leaving you.” Hyacinth said. “Not here. Not anywhere.”

Apollo bit back a laugh. You will. “That’s very daring of you. This is not a particularly secure hill.”

“I suppose you’re still trying to get onto the roof of the school?”

“Of course.”

“What if you got a ladder?”

Apollo shook his head. “No way to hide it.”

“Absurdly elaborate set that requires drilling a hole in the roof.”

“How do I get up there, though?”

“Climb the set?”

“I could hijack the crane.”

“That would always work.”

Apollo laughed then, really laughed, and set his head in Hyacinth’s lap, laying on his back. He couldn’t see anything but leaves and violet eyes.

“Have I ever told you that you are the only person I’ve ever met with purple eyes?”

“Again and again,” Hyacinth said, running his hand through Apollo’s golden hair. He looked almost drowsy with relaxation.

It almost made Apollo’s stomach turn.

“You never compliment my eyes,” he half-pouted. Hyacinth just laughed.

“I will when you drag yourself out of your studio and join me.”

“Join you in what?” He didn’t sit up, but he couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice. Any reason not to go home. Any reason to be with Hyacinth more.

“There’s this kid,” Hyacinth said. “Troilus?”

Apollo nodded impatiently.

“And he needs a tutor. I told him I know a remarkable singer. Does he sound familiar?”

Apollo shrugged. “You?”

Hyacinth laughed then, and it was almost a musical sound. He would believe that Hyacinth could sing if he wanted to. Maybe he had never tried because no one else would bother ever again.

“Not me,” Hyacinth said. “You.”

Apollo half-gasped. “You think I’m remarkable?”

Hyacinth smiled even more. It was heart-wrenchingly beautiful. “Of course.” He said. Apollo hated that, how sure he sounded. It made him far too easy to disappoint.

“You are the most stunning thing I’ve ever encountered,” he said to Hyacinth, catching his hand. “And I have seen a lot.”

“You are a romantic,” Hyacinth said, and was that bitterness? Or was that just Apollo’s own fear, biting and vicious, hungry and wailing to be let in? He did not know.

“Only for you,” he replied. They both smiled. They knew he was lying.

Not only for Hyacinth, or Daphne, or anyone else. He had been a romantic since he was a child and he had been hopeless before that.

“When do you want me to meet this kid?” He asked, blinking in the low light. “So I get my compliments and all that.”

“If you’re very nice, I might even give you a kiss.”

Apollo gasped in mock surprise. “Well, then, I change my question. How soon can I meet this kid?”

Hyacinth studied the soccer field like he was looking for something. The varsity team was there, mostly blots of color against the green of the field. Theater practice had ended. Everyone else would be home now.

“Tomorrow,” Hyacinth decided. “He’ll have left by now.”

“I guess I get you all to myself,” Apollo said

“I suppose you do.”

—

Apollo was never early to school. If someone was going to show up late to their own funeral, it was him. One, his makeup routine took him long enough. Two, he drove himself because Artemis had practice early every single morning, and he could not drive at all, so he always went absurdly slowly. Three, coffee.

Knowing this, he had scheduled himself a free first period his senior year. As a treat. However, none of that mattered now, because Troilus apparently also had a free first period, and Hyacinth had asked for a favor.

He could not refuse him.

He was a jack of all trades, a master of none, always darting off to some practice or another, never devoting his attention to one thing or person, but he could not refuse Hyacinthus.

He knew he would be late to the studio, but perhaps because it was Hyacinth or perhaps because he was intrigued, he was only five minutes late. The kid was already there.

And he was a kid. Apollo was not just referring to him as such because he was a freshman. His eyes were glittering, only golden when the light hit them, nothing like Achilles. He was like an overexcited puppy, sure he would be kicked. He almost flinched when Apollo opened the door.

“Relax,” Apollo said, leaving his cup on the piano. “I reserved it.”

He had not reserved the room.

“Okay– um. Hi. I’m Troilus.”

Apollo surveyed him. He was not at all what he imagined. Tall and lean, like a runner, or a dancer. Not a singer. Not really an actor. “Apollo,” he said. Everyone already knew, didn’t they?

“I’ve heard about you.” Troilus said hesitantly. There was something familiar about him. He was stringy, yes, and his eyes were unique, but the slope of his face was familiar. Like a bird of prey. He wasn’t trying to, but he looked hungry.

“Most people have,” Apollo said in a way that could almost make it sound like he was proud of that.

“My sister is afraid of you,” Troilus said. “She says I shouldn’t trust you.”

Apollo arched an eyebrow. “Who’s your sister?”

“Cassandra.”

Apollo winced slightly. “Yeah.” He really hadn’t meant to make it seem like he was hitting on her. She was just a freshman, and that was creepy. He was just trying to recruit people for concert choir, but apparently he had been entirely too friendly. Hyacinth still liked to mock him for that one. “That was not intentional.”

“You can flirt with people by accident?”

Apollo sighed. “You have no idea.” At least Hyacinth understood. Or wasn’t jealous? It had never bothered him.

“Um.” Troilus said. “Alright. Do you want to hear my solo?”

“What are you trying out for?”

The kid looked like someone had kicked him. “Hyacinth didn’t tell you?”

“No!” Apollo lied. “No, he did tell me. I’m just… dumb blonde. So forgetful. Bleh.”

“Alright.” Troilus said doubtfully. “I’m trying out in the spring.”

“Not the fall?”

“I was settling in,” He was clearly lying, but Apollo didn’t press. None of his business. Also, didn’t care.

“Okay. Go ahead.”

It wasn’t that Troilus wasn’t talented. It wasn’t that he hadn’t practiced. He sang well, clearly an auto. He would do well in choir. But he shied from the higher parts of his range. He seemed like a seagull that swooped mid-dive. He couldn’t commit.

“Well done,” he said anyway, clapping slightly. Troilus deflated like a balloon.

“I just—“ Troilus sighed. “I can’t be like you.”

Apollo scoffed. “Don’t be like me. Be you.”

“I’m not sure I’m that impressive.”

Apollo finally placed it, the shape of his face. He was Paris’ brother. Everyone in that family was a wild kind of hungry. He could see it in Troilus now. It was eating away at him.

“I’m not the only person in the world who’s impressive,” Apollo said, half-laughing. “You didn’t even let me give you critiques. You assumed it was bad. You are making yourself seem unimpressive.”

“Seem?” Troilus asked. He sounded too hopeful.

“Everyone is impressive,” Apollo said. It almost sounded like a lament. Troilus just blinked at him, blissful and clueless. He sighed.

“Again.”

Troilus did not loosen up. Either he did not know how or simply didn’t want to. He sang with too much tension. He sings like he expected something to get thrown at him.

“Okay,” Apollo waved his hand. “Stop. Stop. What’s wrong with you?”

Troilus flinched. “Nothing?”

“One, don’t say it as a question. Two, what are you so afraid of?”

Troilus shrugged and sat down on the stool. Apollo rapped the top of the piano. “Hey.”

Troilus looked up. Apollo drew his face to deadly seriousness. “Troilus.”

He knew what his reaction would be. Everyone looked exactly the same. Shocked and scared and then compliant. They expected it from Artemis– everyone flinched out of her way. They did not expect it from him.

She was an athlete. She had been doing gymnastics since she was three. She wore black and silver and threatened to get into fights. She had furious silver eyes. They were their father’s eyes. Their mother only slipped through in her smile.

Apollo was his mother. He had her golden hair and her glittering eyes. He smiled softly and easily. He was radiant. It was only when he tried that he looked like his father.

He hated it. It was useful.

“I–. What if I don’t do enough? What if I’m not ready for the spring show? I don’t feel like I’m good enough to be a highschooler. I wish I stayed in middle school. I wish I never met anyone here.”

“Anyone?” Apollo said skeptically, washing the seriousness off his face almost gratefully.

“Anyone.”

The kid was lying. He was on edge and tense and lying. This was turning into more than a singing practice.

Apollo wasn’t going anywhere.

“You can be ready for the spring show,” Apollo decided. “You’re talented. You need to relax. Who here is giving you trouble?”

“What?”

“You can’t have issues with everyone here. Who’s giving you trouble?”
“No one.”

“Is it Odysseus? It’s usually Odysseus.”

“...what?”

“Small. Feral. Knife, maybe.”

“Knife?”

Apollo raised his eyebrows. “You don’t need to jump out of your skin. That was a rumor. Just a rumor. Probably.”

“Oh,” Troilus said in a small voice. “Okay.”

“So it’s not Odysseus,” Apollo said. That took the most likely candidate. “Who?”

Troilus threw his eyes to the side, then to the floor, then back to Apollo. “Achilles,” he said.

“Achilles?” Apollo tested the name. It sounded familiar.

“Soccer.” Troilus seemed to collapse in on himself with every word.

“Plays soccer.” Apollo said, remembering. “Yeah. He’s good. Okay. Why is he bothering you?”

“He’s not.” Troilus said, curling his arms around him. “Forget it.”

Apollo’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Troilus. You know why Hyacinth recommended me, right?”

“You’re a very good singer?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Apollo said, emphasizing the last word. “Okay?”

Troilus looked back up. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Apollo said. He was fighting back a smile like he did every time someone brought it up. It was just that this was lasting. These things never lasted. “So if you have a crush on Achilles, it's fine.”

Troilus blushed bright pink. “Okay.”

“So,” Apollo prodded. “Achilles?”

“He has very nice eyes,” Troilus half muttered. “Kinda like yours. His are prettier.”

Apollo gasped. “No one has prettier eyes than me! Does anyone else know?”

“Hyacinth,” Troilus admitted. “He’s tutoring me in English.”

“He’s very good at it,” Apollo said fondly. “I am very, very bad.”

“You’re good at poems, he said.”

“Did he say I wrote him some?”

“No. Is that how you got him to date you?”

Apollo laughed. “No. I didn’t write him poems until after.”

“How did you get him to date you?” Troilus asked. He could not keep himself from sounding hopeful.

“I didn’t do anything.” Apollo said. “He asked me.”

“How?”

Apollo sighed. He wanted something to set this story to, some harp or flute. He wanted this to be epic poetry. He wanted to tell them: look. This is where the story ends. We sit in the sun and that is all. He does not leave me.

He could not believe it.

“We met freshman year.” Apollo said. “I had a girlfriend. Daphne. She was sweet and anxious and… I don’t know. She was afraid of everything, I guess. She broke up with me pretty fast. She was sure that I was cheating on her. Some people get that from me.” Apollo shrugged. Some of it was his fault, wasn’t it? He knew how insecure she was and he flirted anyway. He wanted to prove to her that nothing would happen. Instead he proved that she had reason to be afraid.

“Hyacinth is an athlete. He does track and field. I do soccer with the varsity team.” he said smiling. He hadn’t been there for the whole unfortunate purported knife-incident. That had been last year’s JV team. And this year, nothing nearly that interesting had happened.

“Anyway. I had to work on my running. So I go to the track team, and I say, let me run. And the captain, Aegialia, says she doesn’t have time to train me. We were friends, so that kinda surprised me. I guess Hyacinth asked her to say that. But I didn’t know that. And Hyacinth says he does.

“He was taking five classes at the time. He was on the honor roll. Mind you, he was a freshman at the time. He did not have time to tutor me. He did anyway. He says he was waiting for the chance. Waiting for me, I guess. I don’t know. I said yes. It was hard to say no. You haven’t seen beauty until you see Hyacinth run.”

Troilus looked up at him and almost smiled. “I think I understand.”

He closed his eyes and he could see it now. Hyacinth with his dark hair streaming behind him, eyes glittering, form immaculate. Apollo had laughed and chased him and never caught him until the last time.

Hyacinth stopped running. Just allowed himself to be caught. Apollo wasn’t expecting it. Laughing, he crashed into him, knocking both of them over. He was on the ground by the time he released what had happened, Hyacinth beneath him. He was smiling. His eyes were so purple they almost glowed.

Hyacinth kissed him. The sun was on his face. He couldn’t say all that to Troilus, now. There was no poetry for a moment like that. It was too simple. He wanted me. The sun was on my face.

What else was there to say?

“He chose me,” Apollo said. “He asked me. I think that’s all it is. Just ask.”

Troilus looked doubtful. “Hyacinth is so funny and nice, and I’m just me.”

“‘You’ is a plenty fine thing to be,” Apollo said. He could feel a sort of dread in the back of his mind, but he was probably being silly. “Just ask. If he says no, he says no. You proved yourself to be brave.”

Troilus nodded. “Okay.” For once, he actually looked relaxed. “I will.”

Apollo beamed. “Good.” He said. “Sing again.”

–

Apparently, he spoke too soon. He had felt that creeping dread when he heard Achilles’ name, but he had brushed it off. It had been easy to brush off. Achilles could have been unnerving for any number of reasons. The kid had a reputation for being emotional and too trusting. Apollo wouldn’t really know. He didn’t know him.

At least, he had thought it was nothing until Hyacinth found him the next day at lunch. His purple eyes were stormy.

“Apollo,” he said in a low voice. “What did you do?”

Apollo hated that question. It was the question after he fell out of a tree and broke his arm when he wasn’t even supposed to be outside. It was the question after he hit his sister too hard and she nearly snapped her wrist. It was the question when Daphne ran away from him freshman year with no explanation.

“I don’t know.” He said. He hated that answer even more, and it was always the same.

“Troilus is sobbing,” Hyacinth said. Apollo could see tear stains on his shirt. The kid had hugged him. His stomach flipped. This was not good. “He left English early. I can’t find him.”

“Shit,” Apollo said. He threw a glance sideways to the table with Menelaus and Agamemnon and Patrocles. Achilles was there. His ears were red. His eyes were glittering. “Shit.”

“What?” Hyacinth demanded.

“Look.” Apollo said, grabbing his hand. “I misjudged. Let me– don’t go. I can fix this.” His hands dug into Hyacinth’s palms. It was always the same. I don’t know what I did, but this is my fault. Let me fix this. Don’t leave me.

Hyacinth raised an eyebrow. “Alright. I trust you.”

You shouldn’t. Apollo thought, but he didn’t say it. He smiled and kissed his cheek. “Let me talk to our dear captain.”

Agamemnon shouldn’t have been captain. It should have gone to Apollo, and everyone knew it, but it had gone to some junior by way of a vote. Odysseus had rigged that vote because she would lose and Agamemnon was easy to control. That’s what Artemis had said when he told her. Maybe she was lying to make him feel better.

“I’ll come.” Hyacinth said. Everyone looked at them when they approached. Menelaus and Agamemnon were obnoxious in high school and had not changed one bit now, but they didn’t bother him. He gripped Hyacinth’s hand tighter.

Clytemnestra was beautiful like a punch to the mouth was beautiful. Looking at her, he could taste the blood in his mouth, but he could not deny how tempting it was. Agamemnon had set his hand on her shoulder. Apollo rolled his eyes. He had a boyfriend. He was not the cheating type.

Helen was unnerving. She almost reminded him of Achilles or his sister. He knew that everyone in his family bothered people sometimes– Olympian and related. He knew that there was just something uncanny about them, that they were better at things than they should be. Helen reminded him of a little sliver of that. Her face was too smooth, like someone had polished it down to bone.

He would, personally, rather be alive.

“Hyacinth,” she said neatly. “Hello.”

“You haven’t met Apollo yet,” Hyacinth said. “But you should.”

Agamemnon grinned, and it was full of malice. “He plays with us. Apollo, I mean.”

Helen nodded. “Helen,” she said politely.

“Apollo Phoebus,” he said. “Is this seat taken?”

She was sitting across from Menelaus, but the two seats on the end of the table were empty. Clytemnestra shrugged, and Apollo slid into the seat next to her.

Achilles glanced at his and Hyacinth’s entwined hands. His ears went redder.

Apollo dropped Hyacinth’s hand regretfully so that he could sit across from him. “You know, I realized it would be rude not to meet my boyfriend’s family,” he said lightly. “And his parents don’t even seem to know I exist.”

Helen nodded doubtfully. “Right.”

“Your sister hates me,” Hyacinth pouted. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Apollo shrugged. “You’re a guy. You’re dating me. That’s two strikes against you.”

Agamemnon’s posture was still tight, but Menelaus had relaxed the second they sat down.
“Apollo, we never see you outside of practice. Why is that?”

Apollo smirked. “I’m flattered, really, but I don’t think you could handle all my talent. Not with Achilles here, at least.”

Achilles’ eyes snapped up. “I’m sorry?” He asked politely.

“Well, you’re supposed to be some superstar,” Apollo said. “You know, I’ve got this theatre student. But what he really wants is to learn soccer. And I’m afraid I don’t have time to teach him.”

“Oh,” Menelaus asked. “What’s his name?”

“Troilus.” Apollo said. “You know him?”

Achilles was already shaking his head, but Apollo wasn’t looking at him. He was watching Patrocles, who was trying very hard not to react. Too hard. He could see him glancing up at Achilles. There was something in that look. Something nearly alive.

“Paris’ brother.” Helen said. “Isn’t he?”

She sounded too sure. Apollo arched an eyebrow, but that was something to investigate later. “Yeah. You think you could do it?”

“No,” Patrocles said. Too fast. It was the only time he had spoken this entire conversation. “Sorry. No. We’re pretty busy.”

Menelaus gave him an odd look. “Tell him to try JV,” he said finally. “And Hyacinth. Nice to meet a friend of Helen’s.” He smiled at her, and it seemed to go right through her. She was drumming her fingers on the table.

Hyacinth set a hand on her shoulder and she almost flinched. It wasn’t noticeable unless you were looking for it. Apollo was looking for it. Hyacinth saw it too. “Good to see you, Helen.”

“Sure,” she said, brow furrowing in confusion. “You too.”

As they walked away, Hyacinth leaned towards him. “You want to tell me what that was about? I mean, you didn’t really want to make small talk with them, did you?”

“No.” Apollo said. “It was Achilles I cared about.”

“Why?”

Apollo sighed. “Troilus likes him. I told him to confess. I thought– I don’t know. He needed to relax.”

“And now he’s upset,” Hyacinth said, releasing.

“And Patrocles is talking for Achilles because Achilles won’t even talk about it.”

“How do you know Patrocles wasn’t just jealous?” Hyacinth asked.

“If you were jealous, would you shut it down?”

“No, I’d let you sit there and deal with it.”

“Exactly.”

“We’re not the same.”

Apollo shrugged. Achilles and I are. He thought. Or nearly the same.

Maybe that was what he didn’t like about him.

“So Troilus is upset.” Hyacinth said. “Something went wrong.”

“Yeah,” Apollo said. “And I think I know who to blame.”

“Achilles?” Hyacinth asked. Apollo shook his head.

“Achilles isn’t cruel. He’s trusting and emotional, but not cruel. You saw him. He seemed embarrassed. I think he’s afraid people will start talking about Troilus.”

“Why?”

Apollo shrugged. “All the rumors with him and Patrocles? Maybe somebody saw it.”

Hyacinth nodded slowly. “I guess? It seems unlikely, but he is only a sophomore.”

“So someone embarrassed Achilles,” Apollo said. “Maybe.”

“Someone wanted to.” Hyacinth said. “Agamemnon?”

“Why?”

“Insecure.”

“Mm.”

Apollo twisted it around in his mind. He wasn’t really a schemer, and this all seemed very elaborate. Would his sister know? She hated Agamemnon. He forgot why.

“Who else?” He wondered out loud. “Paris?”

“Would he do that to his brother?”

“I don’t think so.” That family seemed to pride themselves on always being loyal, no matter what. It reminded him of his mother. She encouraged everything he and his sister tried, even when it was stupid, or reckless, or improbable. “Do you think someone just wanted to cause trouble with the team?”

“That’d be a different school,” Hyacinth said. “Maybe Achilles is just scared of his mom. She’s super strict, I think.”

Apollo nodded, but something was bugging him about all of this. Who would know that Troilus even liked Achilles? And why would that be a big deal at all? Most people might threaten Troilus with it, but if Achilles rejected him, then nothing would have changed at all. Unless someone lied and said Achilles hadn’t rejected Troilus. But why would they? Agamemnon had no way of knowing at all.

“This makes no sense.” He said. “Who’s in English with you?”

“Mostly seniors.” Hyacinth shrugged. “That’s why Troilus gets a tutor. He’s just a freshman.”

“Mostly seniors? Like Athena?”

“Athena is in calc for second period.” Hyacinth said. “Aphrodite. Ares. Hera.”

Apollo’s eyes widened. “Did they see Troilus crying?”

“I don’t think so,” Hyacinth said. “We went into the hall. Oh, but…” he trailed off. “Oh.”

“What?” Apollo asked.

“Aphrodite came outside while we were out there. I asked her if she was skipping and she said she was just going to fix her makeup. She asked Troilus if everything was okay.” Hyacinth looked up at the ceiling like he was hoping the story would change now that he was telling it. “He said he had just had a rough first period. What if she saw him with Achilles?”

“Or someone else did, and they told her.” Apollo swore under his breath. “This is exactly the kind of thing she would do, because she thinks it's funny. Did you see her talking to Achilles?”

“Yeah.” Hyacinth said. “In between second and third period.”

“Shit.” Apollo said again. It had been almost six months since Aphrodite had started trouble. Probably, she was bored. “I’m going to find Troilus.”

Hyacinth nodded. Apollo walked away, slightly incredulous.

“Only Aphrodite,” he muttered.

Chapter Text

Aphrodite laughed, throwing her head back, letting her curls flash in the air, revealing the column of her throat. She glanced to the side and smiled. Her teeth flashed. She could see Paris staring at her. His face went pink.

She smirked and turned back to Ares. He was still speaking. Ares didn’t notice. He never did. Not when she tilted her head to show the highlights that framed her face. Not when she outlined the light patch around her eye that was shaped like a heart. Not when she turned slowly, too slowly, so that he could take in every part of her. He took it for granted. He imagined that she was always like this, that her beauty was effortless, that the world was what it seemed at face value.

She found it endearing.

Some of that was true. It wasn’t hard for her to be beautiful. It did come naturally, every step, every movement. That didn’t mean it was effortless.

“Darling,” she said, drawing out the word, setting her hand on his forearm lightly. “Excuse me,”

He had been telling some story that she found only vaguely amusing. She laughed anyway. She wanted to see what she could do. Now she had her answer.

Ares didn’t argue, didn’t complain. She loved that about him. He never did. He didn’t question things. He just faced them, head on.

She couldn’t help but ferret out the nuances in everything.

“Paris,” she said, greeting him, leaning against the wall next to him. His eyes widened. She smiled.

“Do I know you?” He asked skeptically.

She laughed. “Don’t you want to?”

Paris glanced to the side and she rolled her eyes. “You do. I’m Aphrodite.”

“Aphrodite,” he said, testing out the name. “Alright.”

She threw a glance behind her. Ares was there, waiting, rigid. He had not interrupted yet. She was pleased. He had learned to trust her, at least a bit. Maybe they really could move past everything with his brother.

“I have two sisters,” she said, like it was some kind of secret. “Athena. Hera.” She rolled her eyes. They were triplets and she was the baby. No one liked to let her forget that. The eye roll was mostly for show and sympathy, though. “And as we are all seniors this year, there is a lot of discussion about superlatives. You wouldn’t possibly know anything about that, would you?”

She let herself stretch out a little more, almost selling the disbelief. Of course he knew about it. She wasn’t going to say anything.

He had probably met her sisters. Athena was the spitting image of their father and it disgusted her every time she thought about it. Hera was the oldest daughter, the picture of their mother, kind and thoughtful and demanding. Aphrodite was singular.

“The yearbook?” Paris asked. “Or your sisters?”

Aphrodite shrugged. “Either.” She let her eyes wander across his face, curling her hair around her finger and then uncurling it. She thought about his brother. Such a shame that he had graduated. He almost resembled Hector. He was blonde and Hector had a much darker complexion, but the bright blue eyes were the same. The hunger on their faces was the same. Hector was more driven and Paris was more longing, but their faces were nearly the same. “I mean,” she purred. “I knew your brother.”

Paris’ eyes snapped up. “I know about the yearbook,” he said, eager to impress a friend of his brother. As long as she didn’t tell him about what she did to his cousin. Aphrodite fought to keep a straight face. The Anchises story probably would have killed him.

“What do you know?” she asked, leaning forward.

“I’m on the committee.” He said. “I mean, we decide the superlatives.”

“You decide the superlatives?” Now her eyes widened. Now her smile grew– hopeful, not scheming. “Oh, how wonderful. Maybe you can help me.”

Paris nodded, then froze. “Do your sisters want superlatives too?”

Aphrodite shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You said they did.” Paris said. “You should let people vote, then.”

“Or,” Aphrodite said, digging in more. “You could save them the trouble.”

Paris glanced at her like he was realizing what she wanted. “Maybe,” he said. His smile grew crafty. “There’s something I want, though.”

“Perfect.” Aphrodite returned. Her smile grew, like she wasn’t expecting this, like this was just a fortunate event. “How can I help?”

Paris smiled. Aphrodite smiled back. It was the precursor to a bite.

She would eat him whole, and he would thank her.

–------

“What was that all about?” Ares demanded. “I’ve had about enough of you and all these Troys.”

“Troys?” She asked, laughing. She was not really listening, tuning out his anger. She knew he was jealous and she found it endearing. “Anchises was one time, darling. And I told you, didn’t I?”

Ares rolled his eyes and didn’t argue. She knew that she had dated other people while they were technically together, and she knew that he had too. It was old news, honestly.

“Hector.” He muttered. “You wanted him.”

“He only had eyes for that girlfriend,” she said. “And I didn’t get pregnant, she did, so really, we all won.”

“Did she win?”

“Eh,” Aphrodite said. “He married her.”

Ares shook his head. “Crazy.” He said.

“I’m not wife material?” Aphrodite gasped sarcastically.

He threw her a side-eye. “Hell no.”

She scoffed, half-laughing.

“Married couples don’t have sex this good,” he continued. She covered her mouth, trying hard not to burst out laughing in the hallway.

“Ares,” she scolded. “We’re in public,”

“They can watch.”

Aphrodite shook her head. “My sisters will notice I talked to him.”

“Everyone noticed.” Ares muttered. “You were undressing yourself with your eyes.”

“Darling, that’s not the saying.”

“With you it is.” Ares arched an eyebrow. “Also, why does it matter what your sisters think?”

Aphrodite sighed, throwing a glance to where Athena and Hera stood now. “They will know why.”

“Why?”

It seemed she had been spending too much time with her own family. Ares didn’t think like them. He was a bull of a creature, stubborn and sure and strong enough to get his way every time. He had a face chiseled from stone and a will forged from steel.

It really was quite attractive most of the time. She didn’t have to scheme with him.

“It’s a bit of a sister competition,” she said. “I suppose. We’ve always been competitive, you know.”

“I know,” Ares said. “What the hell does Paris have to do with it?”

“It’s the yearbook,” Aphrodite said. “The ‘most likely to succeed’ superlative I mean. Hera will be class president, Athena will be valedictorian, and I’ll be prom queen. But ties are no fun.” She laughed a bit at herself there. Apollo would be furious when he learned about the little spat between the varsity team, but she thought it was good for them. Odysseus, Agamemnon, Diomedes, Menelaus. When they were all fighting last year it had been so much more fun.

“So you’re fighting over a superlative?”

“Don’t say it so dismissively, darling.” Aphrodite chided. “Paris is in charge of the committee. Students are supposed to vote, yes, but it's’ so much easier to go the source, don’t you think.”

Ares rolled his eyes. “I really don’t care.”

“And that’s perfectly charming of you,” Aphrodite agreed. “But one of us has to be the schemer.”

“All of you are schemers,” Ares muttered, glancing back at her sisters. Athena had left Hera and now was deeply in conversation with that pet junior of hers. Odysseus. Aphrodite just shrugged nonchalantly.

Athena was as quicksilver as her eyes, made all the more brilliant by the deep color of her skin. Her hair was so black it was almost blue. It flashed in its braid when she moved. She perpetually had the face of a lioness about to strike.

She got it from their father.

Hera was built like a willow tree, ready to withstand any storm. Her hair was softer in its curling and its color, but her skin was richer than Athena's, coffee without the bitter edge. Her eyes were almost too large for her face, wide and brown and caring. She swallowed your anger just by looking at her. She favored teal and gold and wore ribbons in her hair. She was as quiet as their mother and as angry as their father.

Aphrodite was singular. Aphrodite was luscious. Round face, glittering eyes, not silver or gold or even brown, but brilliant hazel. Her hair curled in waves down her back, the blonde highlights mostly grown out other than around her face. Her skin was darker than any of theirs in most places. The most prominent of the light patches on her skin was a heart around her left eye.

They all looked like sisters, not like people were sisters, but like hurricanes and earthquakes and tsunamis were related. They were all the same sort of natural disaster.

They were more than just schemers, and Ares knew it. She didn’t correct him.

“Let them play their games,” Aphrodite said. “I’ll play mine.”

“Isn’t it all the same game?”

“Close enough.” She shrugged. “They’ll make offers, I think.”

“To Paris?”

She nodded.

“You all could just collect votes.”

“That’s so… fickle. So changeable. This way is better. We all make offers, and the best one wins.”

“Paris wants something from you?”

“Of course.”

“And you think you’re going to win.”

“I know I’m going to win.”

“It’s why you did it that way,” Ares said. “You wanted them to see you talking to Paris.”

“Maybe,” Aphrodite said. She was smiling.

“What are you even going to give him?” Ares asked. “Because it better not be–”

“Relax.” She set her hand on his shoulder. “It’s got nothing to do with me. I just know what he wants.”

Ares sighed. “What does he want? Revenge?”

“For once, darling, you are very, very close. And I know how to get that.”

“Dare I ask how?”

“Helen.” She said.

“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” Ares asked. He almost sounded enthused, now. She was fairly sure he already knew that this was going to get messy. Ares loved it when things got messy. So did she.

“Not for long,” Aphrodite responded. “Not for long.”

----------

“Athena!”

Athena turned, blinking. Odysseus was walking towards her. No, walking wasn’t the right word. It was more like bouncing.

“Odysseus?” She asked, confused. Aphrodite was leaning up against a wall, flirting with some sophomore. She was definitely trying to cause trouble.

“I need your help.”

“Alright?”

“So there’s this girl,” Odysseus said. “And she’s super smart, don’t worry. And she’s very nice. And I need your help.”

“Odysseus, I’m not opposed to having another girl on our soccer team,” Athena said. “You don’t need to ask me.”

“So I’m going to– wait. What?”

“You want me to get her on the team, right?” Athena asked, brow furrowing.

“No!” Odysseus laughed. “No.”

“Odysseus,” Athena said slowly, growing slightly more concerned. “You said this girl is intelligent, right?”

“Very.”

“So she can’t need tutoring.”

“Nope.”

“So then what do you need me for?” Athena was truly trying to think of other possibilities. None came to mind.

“I need to ask her out.”

You have got to be kidding me. “That’s very nice, Odysseus.” she said, getting ready to walk away.

“No,” Odysseus insisted. “No. Not nice. I mean, it is nice, but no. I know what ‘nice’ means with you.”

“And what does it mean?” she asked sarcastically.

“That you won’t help.” Odysseus said.

“What is there for me to help with?” Athena asked finally, after thinking for far too long. “I am not going to pass notes.”

“That’s not what I want,” Odysseus returned, rolling her eyes. “You know that.”

“Then what do you want, Odysseus?” Why couldn’t she ever just spit it out? It wasn’t that difficult to get to the point, really, yet in the four years she had known Odysseus, she had never known her to be… succinct.

“I need you to be my wingman. I’ve got a whole plan.”

Athena finally wrapped her head around what Odysseus wanted. She had imagined something much less involved. Finding out class schedules. Helping Odysseus come up with impressive projects. Something like that. Being a wingman? “Odysseus, I do believe you have the wrong sister,” she said finally. “Really. Try Aphrodite.”

“I can’t stand Aphrodite.”

“Hera?”

Odysseus snorted and Athena sighed. “Ask Diomedes,” she suggested.

“But I trust you!”

“You trust Diomedes.”

“Ehhh.” Odysseus shrugged. “On occasion.”

“He would help you.”

“He absolutely would not.”

Athena sighed again. He wouldn’t. She wanted to argue against it, but they both knew the truth. “What do you need?”

Odysseus grinned. “So there’s this girl.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And her name’s Penelope.”

Athena nodded slowly. “I know Penelope. Telemachus is fond of her.”

“You know Pen?”

“Pen?”

“Penelope.”

“Ah. Nicknames, I see.” Athena nodded approvingly. “That bodes well for you.”

Odysseus grinned like she had achieved something. “So, other than your favorite freshman being fond of her. What do you know?”

“She’s on the honor roll,” Athena said thoughtfully. “Does piano. Crochets. That’s it.”

Odysseus shook her head. “You’re not very good at listening to people.”

“I wasn’t planning on asking her out,” Athena argued. “You were.”

“Touche.” Odysseus says. “She likes flowers. And ferreting out secrets. And she schemes, Athena. She has schemes!”

Athena would argue that it was improper for Odysseus to sound so excited about that if it didn’t make her like the girl more. “I was really hoping for the success of your relationship with Diomedes,” Athena said thoughtfully. “Mostly because I did not want to have to deal with breakup drama.”

“Us? Drama? Never.”

“You pulled a knife on a man last year, Odysseus.”

“That was one time.”

Athena shook her head. “You are lucky I will be a very good defense lawyer.” She said.

“Or unfortunate that you will be a very good prosecutor.”

“It’s true,” Athena agreed. “I haven’t decided yet. What is this plan of yours? That you need me to be a wingman for?”

Odysseus grinned wider. “I’m glad you asked.”

Athena took in her smile cautiously. “Suddenly, I’m not.” She glanced around the hallway. Aphrodite was over by her locker, arguing or conversing with Ares. She didn’t know which.

Penelope was at the end of the hall, hair wrapped into a bun. Athena tilted her head and studied her.

Thin face, soft features, sharp eyes that betrayed nothing. High cheekbones and proud brow. “She is beautiful,” Athena considered. “Objectively speaking. I will help you.”

Odysseus laughed. “Look at you being the patron saint of lesbians.”

“You are not a lesbian,” Athena pointed out. “And to be a saint, you must be dead.”

“Mm. Both true,” Odysseus agreed. “Still, I like mine better.”

“I’m sure you do.”

It was odd to be thinking about this. The last time she had cared at all was with Pallas, and this was not the same, even if Odysseus looked even more like her than when she was a middle schooler.

It was a bit unnerving. It wasn’t as though they were related.

You’re being trivial. She told herself. They both have curly hair, and it is the same shade of brown. Pallas was much softer than Odysseus, and taller. She was a sunbeam, and Odysseus is a forest fire. You are equivocating.

She knew it was true. It was easier to pretend that this was a replacement than to admit what was irreplaceable.

“So, step one,” Odysseus said. “The election.”

“Student body president?” Athena asked. “Hera is running.”

“You don’t want to sabotage your sister?”

“Are you kidding?” Athena laughed. I’d like to see you win any superlative now. “Of course I do. What do you need?”

–--------

Hera didn’t like what she was seeing, but that did not mean that she wouldn’t rise above. Hera could always rise above. She was the oldest, the wisest, the most patient.

Since two weeks ago when they had argued, the sisters had all silently agreed that the winner of the “most likely to be successful” superlative would be the most successful senior. She had no idea if that was an accurate measurement. In competitions, it didn’t really matter, did it?

Aphrodite would flirt her way in. Athena would scheme her way in. And Hera? Hera would rise above.

Her sisters really were dreadfully predictable. She was adaptable.

Hera strode down the hall, passing her sisters, not acknowledging them. She had places to be.

The concert hall seemed empty, but as she stepped inside, she saw a lone figure seated at the piano. She walked up to the stage and stood as a performer entering a play. She knew her lines already.

“Aegialia,” she greeted, nodding cordially to her opponent.

“Hera,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her voice was dignified. Polished. Hera liked her.

“I would speak with you. About the election.”

Aegialia smiled. “Are you here to tell me you’re dropping out of the race?”

“Of course not. Darling, would you like to win that easily?”

Aegialia’s eyes flickered. Hera grinned.

Aegialia was as a queen should be. Composed. Perfect skin, flawless. Drawn up and smoothed over. Her hair was always neatly braided, never dyed, only sometimes highlighted. Her eyes were gray, almost blue. Her smile was not to be trusted. Her dark complexion did not hide it when she blushed or when her face flushed with anger. One was much more common than the other. It took very much to make her flustered and very little to make her competitive.

Hera was quite the same in that last respect.

“You wouldn’t,” Hera continued. “I know it.”

“Let’s say you are right,” Aegialia said. “What is there to discuss?”

“You will take out Agamemnon.”

“You are quite skilled at revenge, Hera.”

“Maybe. But you want to.”

Aegialia dipped her head, barely an admittance. It wasn’t a denial. “So I do.”

“And that leaves me.”

“Yes.”

“And Penelope.”

“Of course.”

“Here is my concern,” Hera said. “I like you.”

“Is that so bad?” Aegialia was smiling. They were enjoying this. Matching wits was rare. Matching spirits was rarer.

“I want you to win, if I do not. I will, of course. But I adapt.”

“I respect that about you.”

“You respect me.” Hera smiled. “Good.”

“Good?”

“I deserve to be respected, do I not?”

Now Aegialia laughed. “You are not wrong.”

“That means I am right.” Hera enjoyed being right. She enjoyed it more than almost anything.

She only enjoyed winning more.

“You are. And I want you to win if I don’t.”

“Not Penelope?”

Aegialia shifted, throwing her eyes to the side. “I like Penelope.”

“You do not trust Odysseus.”

“Does anyone?”

“She will not take Diomedes from you,” Hera soothed. “I will not allow it.”

“Wait, what?” Aegialia looked up. “No. No, I–”

“I enjoy you two together.” Hera continued. “I appreciate that he is protective of you. It is more than plenty get.”

Hera had been protective, always, from the first. Protective of her sisters, yes, but protective of young girls. She glared at teachers and shut down bullies. She broke up with boyfriends for her friends and made matches. She knew good when she saw it and she knew bad. At least, that was how she liked to think of it.

“Thank you,” Aegialia said. “We won’t last.”

Hera tilted her head. “You do not want to try?”

“Not particularly.” Aegialia shrugged. “He doesn’t love me.”

“Does he have to?” Hera enjoyed the romantic ideal, but she was not Aphrodite. She was a warrior, a defender, a leader. She knew that sometimes, good was good and better was unattainable. Love was not all that mattered. Faith, loyalty– those things mattered.

“Maybe not.” Aegialia agreed. “I trust him. We could do it: get married, have a life. I will not do that to him.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He would hate it. Not me. Never me. The quiet. The lack of flair.” Aegialia sighed. “Look at him. Look at what he is. Odysseus cannot take him from me, but the world will.” She shook her head. “I will not lose him; he is not mine to keep.”

Hera nodded thoughtfully. This is not a conversation she was expecting to have here. She sat down next to Aegialia on the piano bench. Aegialia’s hands rested over the keys. Hera’s rested on her lap.

“You are mature.” Hera said. “That is good. It will protect you.”

“From what?”

“The same world that would take him.”

Aegialia drums her fingers on the top of the piano. “What does this have to do with our election?”

“You would not have Penelope win.”

“I said that.”

“Athena will be involved in the election.”

“She always is.”

“And you expected her support.”

“I mean no offense, Hera,” Aegialia said, turning, her eyes careful and ernest. “But your sister generally opposes anything you do. Either sister.”

“Now Odysseus is part of it.” Hera said. “We all know she is backing Penelope, for reasons I cannot tell. Athena will choose her.”

“No,” Aegialia said, but Hera can hear the doubt in her denial. “She trained Diomedes too.”

“And who does Athena favor?” Hera asked. “She will have to choose. Say that Agamemnon drops out. She will oppose me. And she will choose.”

“She will choose Odysseus.”

“Yes.”

“I could ask Diomedes.”

“Don’t you know what he will say?”

Hera didn’t pretend to understand her sister’s fascination with the mortals, but she knew that Odysseus was a pet project of hers. She was the first girl to play on the team, and she was a brilliant debater. Athena saw her as a picture of herself.

Was she right? That didn’t matter at all.

“I do.”

“Will you make him admit it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to. You know what to do.”

Aegialia nodded slowly. Hera was watching the machinations with a certain sort of pleasure. No more would her opponents be shrieking children. This was a battle.

“Thank you for telling me. Why did you?”

Hera tilted her head. “Do you love him?”

“What?”

“Answer my question. I will answer yours.”

Aegialia sighed. “Sometimes I wish I did. Then everything I did would not be one more calculation.”

Hera understood. Hera remembered family holidays and taking the pans out of her mother’s hands and washing them, because her father wouldn’t help. She remembered putting the children on various chores, all of them, even when she was a child herself, so that the boys would learn to contribute. She remembered glaring at useless uncles and grandfathers and fathers and never saying a word. She remembered calculations.

“I want to be sure of your motivations,” Hera said. “There is nothing you will do to make him love you, do you understand? Him or anyone else. They are what they are. You are better.”

Aegialia looked back at her, and for a moment, she was not Aegialia at all. She was Hera, smaller and afraid, trembling under her father’s angry gaze. She was Hera, trying to vanish so she would not be targeted. She was Hera, weak and uncertain.

Hera will never be any of those things again.

“I love many things,” Aegialia said. “A job well done. A fight well fought. Winning.”

Hera smiled. “Do it for those loves. They do not leave you. They are not fleeting.”

“So that is why you told me? Because you suspect I have the right motivations?”

“Because I will be gone next year, and there is still work to do. Someone has to protect our students.” Someone has to protect my girls.

“I will, Hera.”

Hera set her hand next to Aegialia’s on the piano, not quite touching, like they were playing some ghostly duet. “You said you wished you loved him, sometimes.” Hera set her hands on top of Aegialia’s. She looked into her eyes.

“No, you don’t.”

Chapter Text

Helen really did love Halloween as a concept. Clytemnestra enjoyed the parties and the celebration and the total lack of any serious classwork, but Helen loved Halloween as a concept.

Execution was messier.

Her brothers were home for the weekend, since it was Halloween. She got to dress up as anything she wanted and half the time, people didn’t even know it was her. She could be warm and cozy and still cute, and there was nothing remarkable about her. She liked all of that.

The problem was that Clytemnestra and Menelaus wanted her to go to the party at his house, which sounded entirely too much like people paying attention to her for hours on end. The problem was that she did not like her brother’s solution at all.

“Tell them we’re having a party here and we just absolutely have to have your help,” Castor suggested Friday afternoon, looking up from his phone as Helen complained. Pollux wasn’t really listening.

“Why me and not Clytemnestra?”

“I don’t know,” he said breezily. “But you can invite other people here and all dress up as furries.”

“I am a pokemon.” Helen protested. “I’m Pikachu. Not a furry.”

“Okay.” Castor said patronizingly. “Whatever you say.”

“You don’t even have a costume!” she argued.

“Absolutely we do.” Castor said. “Tell her, Pollux.”

“Bad influencer apology videos.” Pollux said, nodding seriously.

“That was last year.”

“Man going to work on a windy day?”

“Couldn’t invert the umbrella.”

“What are we then?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I told you to tell her.”

Helen looked balefully at her oldest brother. “He called me a furry.”

“Don’t call her a furry,” Pollux chided. He paused. “Are you furry?”

“I’m Pikachu.” Helen said, emphasizing the last word by pointing at her headband, complete with Pikachu ears. “See?”

“Why are you wearing the ears now?” Pollux asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Furry behavior,” Castor muttered.

“I wore them to school.” Helen said. “To show Penelope and Clytemnestra. I think we’re gonna all match.”

“Well then,” Pollux said, as though that solved anything. “You have a costume.”

Helen glared at him. “We weren’t discussing costumes. We were discussing hosting a party here.”

“I don’t care.”

Helen threw her hands up. “Useless.” she told him. “Both of you.”

“Oh, come on Ella.” Castor said. “Ignore him. He’s reading something to impress a girl.”

“Phoebe is my girlfriend, Castor. And her sister is cute, if you even care.”

“I do not!” Castor said cheerfully. “Helen can throw the party and invite whoever she wants. And we’ll dress up as… dolphins or something.”

“I have old my little pony horns,” Helen suggested.

“Great,” Pollux said without looking up from his book. “We’ll do that.”

“It’s settled!” Castor said with a wicked grin, which left Helen a bit unsure of how she ended up in this situation at all. Why had she even agreed to host a party?

She sighed. “Ok.”

“Who do you want to invite?” Castor asked. It looked like he was taking notes. Had he been planning this? Probably not. Castor always wanted a reason to throw a party.

“Probably her boyfriend,” Pollux reminded him tiredly.

“She has a boyfriend? Did we agree to this?”

“I’m seventeen,” Helen protested. “And you weren’t here.”

“Is it Diomedes?” Castor asked. Helen flushed. She knew they were friends from middle school, yes, but everytime someone said that name…

“Oh my god.” Castor said. “Oh my god. I was joking.”

“It’s not Diomedes!” Helen protested, but Pollux was already looking at her curiously. “It’s Agamemnon’s brother.”

“I hate that guy,” Pollux muttered, leaving it unclear which brother he was referring to. Possibly both. “Why does Nestra even like him?”

Castor and Helen shrugged in unison.

“Have no fear, Ella.” Castor said with a slightly alarming grin. “We’ve got a plan.”

Pollux set down his book. Helen buried her face in her hands.

Why did her brothers have to get involved?

–

Once her brothers were involved, though, there was no stopping them. Helen got kicked out of the house pretty quickly.

“Now, we’re not inviting too many college kids,” Castor promised her. “So you can invite people your age. Pollux, where are we on the liquor?”

“She’s seventeen and I’m not buying liquor.”

“Boo.”

“What’s all this?” Clytemnestra asked, coming down the stairs in an oversized band t-shirt on Saturday morning. “And there’s alcohol?”

“There is not alcohol.” Pollux said sharply. “And it’s Helen’s halloween party.”

“Aw,” Clytemnestra said with a smile that seemed nearly forced. “You’re throwing a party? What about Agamemnon’s?”

“I can’t go,” Helen lied. “I, uh. I promised to hold one here. Sorry.”

Why was she lying about that? Why not say she didn’t want to go? And why did Clytemnestra look so pleased by it?

Helen pushed it out of her mind and fixed her sleeves. She needed to go on her run either way. And Castor told her to be out of the house for at least an hour, for some reason.

She wanted to tell them they could stop protecting her, that she would go with Clytemnestra and handle it. She wanted to tell them that she wasn’t a kid anymore and they didn’t have to protect her forever.

She didn’t. She pulled on her shoes and went outside.

When Helen ran, it was more of a light jog, wandering through the streets of their gated community. Not too many people were out today, but everyone had their Halloween decorations up.

There was one other person out running. Odysseus, in all black, with headphones in. Helen wasn’t going to interrupt her, but then Odysseus stopped upon seeing her anyway.

“Helen,” she said, pausing. She had been running surprisingly– or maybe unsurprisingly, seeing her status on the varsity team– fast. “What brings you out here?”

“My brothers wanted me out of the house.” she said. “What are you listening to?”

Odysseus turned around her phone. It was a podcast from The Economist.

“Alright.” Helen said, not really sure where to go with that.

“How long are your brothers in town?” Odysseus asked.

Helen shrugged. “The weekend, I think. Why?”

Odysseus blinked at her like it was obvious. “I knew them.”

“Right.” It was odd for her to think about the time before she was here, back in the south, back during middle school. She tried, mostly, to cut it out. “You could come over later. We’re having dinner. Or something.”

“Or something?” Odysseus asked curiously, but not suspiciously.

“I’m honestly unsure. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Odysseus nodded and shrugged. “Why not? Can I bring some of my friends?”

“I don’t think I care.” Helen said.

“Ok.” Odysseus grinned. “I’ll let you keep running. But, hey. You should invite Penelope.”

Helen raised an eyebrow and Odysseus didn’t drop her grin. “Okay.” She finally agreed.

“See you at six!” Odysseus said. It wasn’t until she had turned away that Helen realized she had never told her a time.

Why did her brothers have to get involved?

–

Diomedes was here for two main reasons: the first being that he really didn’t want to go to the party at Agamemnon’s house because he hated drinking at parties, and the second because Odysseus told him in no uncertain terms to show up. Not that he directly took orders from Odysseus, but she was a menace when people refused her out of spite.

By ‘people’ he mostly meant himself.

He had gotten there early, it seemed, even though Odysseus was acting like she lived in Helen’s house. He didn’t know what to make of the house itself– it was polished and clean and mostly expensive. He knew that Tyndareus was a lawyer of some sort. He knew that he had money.

He remembered something Helen had said about a bee pun, and how she brought her own honey to the coffee store. There wasn’t anything to suggest there were bees outside, but it was after six in October. It was dark. There also wasn’t anything to suggest that there weren’t.

“Diomedes!” Castor half-crowed when he saw him. “Fabulous costume. What is it?”

Diomedes rolled his eyes. “I’m Anakin Skywalker.”

“Who?” Castor asked. Pollux rolled his eyes.

“You’re not funny.”

“I am hilarious.”

“Castor,” Diomedes cut in. “What are the two of you?”

“Ponies,” Castor said, gesturing to the horned headbands they were wearing. “My little ponies.”

“Alright.”

He had enjoyed making this costume, even if it was over complicated. While it would seem that he ought to have been able to get it as a set, it was more of a piecemeal operation with Aegialia helping him hunt down all the pieces. He honestly hadn’t expected she would help, but she did.

She was something of a friend, now. It would be odd when all this was over.

He was interrupted by Castor dropping something, a plate he was carrying over to Helen and Odysseus. They were setting up the table. He froze when he saw Helen’s costume.

“Pikachu?” He said aloud, turning to Pollux. Pollux shrugged and nodded.

“Penelope is Eevie. Our cousin.”

Diomedes sighed. If he never heard that name again it would be too soon. Odysseus would not stop talking about her. “I know her.”

It wasn’t that the costume was scandalous. It was that no one person should have the right to wear a matching set that adorable. Helen turned and saw him and waved slightly. Her ears flapped when she moved.

Was she doing that on purpose? He waved back.

“Damn,” Castor said, leaning against a wall to stand next to him. “Ody grew up.”

Diomedes blinked. He had not been looking at her. Yes, she had discarded her pirate coat, and yeah, the tank top she was wearing showed more skin than usual, but she really didn’t look any different. “Did she?” He asked blankly.

Pollux, walking around the island to stand on his other side, glared at him.

“I’m not judging the two of you,” Diomedes said, and then paused. “Well. I’m judging you because it’s Odysseus.”

“You had your shot.” Castor reminded him. “And that lasted, what? Two weeks.”

“Two weeks too long,” Diomedes returned.

Pollux and Castor glanced at each other. “So nothing there?” Pollux asked.

“Absolutely not.” Diomedes said, squinting. “Wait. Why.”

Pollux and Castor shared that look again.

Good god.

“Helen,” Castor said slyly, grinning. “She likes you.”

Diomedes fought the urge to slam his head against the wall. “Helen is dating Menelaus.”

“Menelaus is stupid and we’re going to find a way to get them to break up,” Castor argued.

“We will not.” Pollux said. “We absolutely will not.”

“We should.”

“Helen can make her own bad choices if she wants.”

They shared that look again. It reminded Diomedes, somewhat, of the look that he and Odysseus shared when they knew they were getting themselves into trouble on purpose. Castor and Pollux were agreeing to something, and he didn’t know what, but couldn’t he guess?

Helen said they were half-siblings and she also said that she would be dead without her siblings. Helen said that they always tried to protect her and he listened. Castor and Pollux wanted to protect her from something, which meant they were telling him this because they were deciding to trust him. That, at least, was touching.

“There’s something up with her and Clytemnestra,” Pollux said finally, quietly. “Something they are fighting about without saying, and they won’t tell us. And our mom won’t get involved, and you already know our father doesn’t care.”

It was somewhat of a miracle that he hadn’t noticed sooner, wasn’t it? Castor and Pollux were nothing like Helen and Clytemnestra. They all had the same wide eyes and long lashes, the same gentle waves in their hair, but Helen and Clytemnestra had a sharpness to their faces that Castor and Pollux didn’t. Castor and Pollux had distinctly Roman noses and thin smiles, just like Tyndareus. Where were those on Helen and Clytemnestra?

Nowhere. He should have seen it sooner, but he hadn’t been looking. He had seen Helen and gotten blindsided, and he had to guess that was how the secret had stayed as such for so long.

“I know,” Diomedes said instead. He was thinking too much, but he didn’t have to say it all.

Castor narrowed his eyes, and again, there was that flash of their father Diomedes had not seen in Helen one time. “Do you know what it is?”

“I can’t say.” Diomedes said, crossing his arms behind his back and pushing himself off the wall. “If Helen doesn’t want me to say.”

Pollux was watching him, but he didn’t look annoyed. He looked like he was smiling.

“She’s right to like you.” Pollux said. Diomedes didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say, and anyway, Helen was there, next to them.

“Can I steal you, Castor?”

“I’ll help.” Diomedes said. Helen grinned. He went to set up the dinner.

—

Helen looked up, and it was too little, too late.

Being here was a good idea. It was better than being with Menelaus, that she had to admit. She liked him alright– he was polite and careful, but she always felt like a trophy around him. He didn’t seem to like her Pikachu idea very much, and absolutely refused to go as Eevie, which was more of a disappointment after she had worked so hard to be sure she could find ears in his size. Still, that wasn’t even the reason that made her decide not to go to the party.

It was that he kept coming to her with costume ideas, all ideas that she felt like she would probably be cold and definitely be uncomfortable in. It was that when she did go to parties with his friends, she was either glued to his side or uncomfortably stranded. She didn’t feel comfortable talking to the others there when he looked at her like she was betraying him just by holding a conversation. She didn’t feel comfortable at all. It was as though he wanted her in some suspended state, to only exist when he was paying attention to her.

Sometimes she wondered if Clytemnestra felt that way too, if that was how she looked past Agamemnon’s flaws. Clytemnestra seemed to light up whenever he looked at her, whenever he smiled in her direction, and even if he snapped at her it seemed better to her than being ignored. Menelaus wanted someone like that, but Helen simply wasn’t like that. She didn’t want to be like that, at least.

Did anyone else notice? Did they even care? It was hard to tell. Penelope certainly wasn’t like that, and after Penelope and Odysseus got close, Odysseus was even kinder to Helen than usual, even kinder than the rest of Menelaus’ teammates. Helen didn’t know what to do with that, because she had taken it for kindness until Odysseus had asked her two weeks ago about Agamemnon. Then Helen didn’t know anymore.

She didn’t know what to do with Odysseus and she didn’t know what to do with Diomedes. He was so clear and clean and straightforward. He made her feel like he was looking right through her, which she wasn’t sure was better than suspended animation.

Her options were to only exist when she was being observed, to not know where she stood, or to be seen so cleanly she felt like stained glass.

She thought about what Diomedes said. They’re looking anyway. She knew it was true, but that didn’t make it better.

It would have been easier, probably, if Menelaus didn’t like her at all. It would have been easier if he didn’t smile at her jokes or tease her when no one was looking, but he did. And then his brother was paying attention to them and Helen felt like she stopped existing to him. So she decided to have a party at her house and Odysseus showed up precisely at six with three of her friends in tow.

That wasn’t even where the trouble started. When trouble wasn’t following Odysseus, that was concerning.

They were all dressed as pirates, but with varying degrees of success. Odysseus had a coat and a hat and an eyepatch. The shorter boy behind her with curly hair had a false leg, and the wispy one had a hook, but the tall serious boy behind her seemed to have been forced into a coat that didn’t quite fit him.

“Come in,” Helen said anyway, smiling, making sure her ears were straight. She had even done the makeup for this, complete with blush dots and Pikachu nose.

“This is Polites and Elpenor,” Odysseus said, gesturing to the boy with the false leg and hook in turn. “And Eurylochus.”

The one in the oversize coat just raised his eyebrows at her. Helen nodded in his direction. “Do you need a hat?” she asked him. “I’m sure we could find one.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” He said. The other three he was with watched him expectantly. “Captain.” He added regretfully. Helen turned to Odysseus quizzically.

“He lost a bet. Has to finish every sentence with ‘captain,’” she explained. Eurylochus rolled his eyes.

“Odysseus rigged a bet.”

Odysseus shrugged. “So I did. But he took one, which was his first mistake.”

Helen laughed. “You all can help me set up, and Eurylochus doesn’t have to call me ‘captain,’” she offered.

“That’s a deal.” Odysseus said.

“Captain,” Polites offered unhelpfully.

Helen just smiled.

The trouble didn’t even start with Diomedes. She was anxious that he was there, because she knew that he would be there, but that wasn’t trouble. She waved when she saw him. He waved back. The trouble started when her brothers wanted to talk to him. That made her uneasy.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her brothers. It was that she knew they would always protect her, no matter what, and there were some things she wanted the right to handle on her own.

He was helping her set up plates now, though. And he wasn’t looking at her like her brothers had said anything awful or damning, so that was a brightside.

“I think we’re done.” Diomedes said. “Who all is coming?”

“I think this is everyone.” Helen said. “Unless Penelope is coming?”

“Probably,” he sighed.

She bit back a smile. Sometimes she felt like a statue, preserved and unchanging, more an ideal than a person, and sometimes she could find a way to make the oil meander off canvas. It was moments like these, surrounded by people who weren’t looking through her, that reminded her that she was real. She just wished Clytemnestra was here to see it, but Clytemnestra wanted to feel real too. So she went with Agamemnon.

Odysseus walked over to them with Penelope slightly behind her. They were laughing about something that Helen was sure she wouldn’t understand and Penelope was dressed as Eevie, though her ears were crooked.

“You look adorable!” Helen said, laughing, hugging her cousin. Penelope shrugged.

“It was honestly a welcome invitation,” she said. “And the costume is very cute. But then, what is Clytemnestra going as?”

“Butterfly,” Helen said. “Or ladybug? Something red. With wings.”

Clytemnestra had not asked for help with her costume or makeup. Clytemnestra had barely spoken to her all day, and Helen was fighting to not let it bother her.

“Eurylochus!” Odysseus called, gesturing to her friend that had been talking to Castor. “Tell them about the bet.”

He groaned. “I will not.”

“I will!” Polites said. “Odysseus bet him that she could beat him at four rounds of poker.”

Everyone but Helen gasped. Helen tilted her head.

“Odysseus cheats at poker.” Diomedes explained.

“Magnificently,” Odysseus said proudly. “I’ll teach you.”

“Hey,” Pollux interrupted. “Food?”

They all turned. There was, in fact, food. Where it had come from, Helen honestly didn’t know, on account of being kicked out of the house for an hour, but she had a distinct feeling she would need to thank her mother tomorrow. She grinned.

“Help me serve it,” she said to her brother, rushing over to the island to grab the first dish. This looked more like a Thanksgiving gathering except for the costumes and she wasn’t sorry. “Oh, she made the honey cornbread.”

“Hey,” Castor said, lifting the salad. “She? We could have helped.”

Helen laughed. “Sit!” she said, holding out the pan towards the table. Everyone sat. Diomedes left three seats next to him and she pretended not to notice.

Helen didn’t feel suspended at all. She felt genuine and real and present. She loved hosting more than she wanted to admit. She served the dinner and they argued about what her brothers had put in the punch and Odysseus taught her to cheat at poker.

Helen was happier than she ever really expected she would be. She was happy when she realized the honey in the cornbread was hers, when she sat next to Diomedes and could see his hand even though he didn’t notice, when she told them all about her beekeeping and Penelope asked real questions about the kinds of bees she had. She just felt happy.

If this was what being real felt like, she would have to try it more often.

Chapter Text

Achilles was angry. What else was new?

It seemed to him that he had been born angry; came screaming out of his mother’s womb. It seemed to him that he was just like her.

He should not have been angry, really. It was a good day. It was a Patroclus day. He was with his father.

When you were born to be angry, though, you never really shook it. Achilles could feel the anger, trailing him, hungry and devouring. It would swallow him.

Not yet. Not yet.

If Achilles was born to be angry, Patroclus was born to be soothing. Achilles was golden, glittering, perfect since before he was born. The gold of his hair is the glint of a blade. Honey colored eyes set in his face could not manage to be soft.

His strength was something he took absolutely for granted. When he was happy, he seemed to glow from within. When he was angry– the glow was not a glow. It was a fire. It was a pyre. He would lay his hubris on it and watch it burn

Patroclus was nothing like him. Patroclus was an olive tree, built for peace in every way that Achilles was built for war. Achilles marveled at it. He had no fight in him, only diplomacy. Olive-oil skin and olive eyes. Athena smiled at his stratagem and frowned at his peace. Free curls in his hair stuck in Achilles’ mind like handprints. He was a growing, living thing. He knew he was part of an ecosystem.

Achilles did not know how not to be solitary. He was trying to learn.

The anger made it hard.

He had woken up angry, even as he tilted his head to watch Patroclus breath in the dim light. He did not know if his father knew that they shared a room. He did not believe it mattered. He would not stop them.

Thursdays were meant to be good days because he was at his father’s house. Wednesday to Saturday was with his father and Sunday to Tuesday belonged to his mother. He tried to explain it and his teachers told him it sounded exhausting. Achilles shrugged. He could not remember a time his parents were married.

When pressed, when demanded, his father would tell him. They had been married until he turned two. They both agreed to be divorced. Peleus kept the house. Achilles nodded along and realized it changed nothing. His parents didn’t love each other now, did they? Maybe they never did.

He didn’t like his mother’s house, gilded and glistening, sitting on the top of a hill. She was surrounded by the affluent families. He tried to avoid their children at school: Diomedes, Athena, Hera, Aphrodite, Ares, Agammenon. Perhaps that was unfair. He did not trust them. He did not trust his mother.

He loved his father’s house for what it contained. His father had been fostering since Achilles turned six. He was good at it. Patroclus had been here for three years.

No one would take him away.

Achilles knew there was pressure for Peleus to adopt him. Achilles knew that Patroclus would never be returned to his family. Achilles knew social services wanted to move him.

He would not allow it.

Patroclus breathed in, and Achilles stood. “We should go.” Even then, he was angry, even if he didn’t know why. It was not the lecture his mother had subjected him to yesterday– how his performance had suffered at the last game. It was not school. Something was off here.

He went for a run. He was not less angry. He passed Odysseus’ house, down near his father’s, and her light was on. It was five in the morning.

He did not trust her either.

He went back to his house. He was not less angry. He got breakfast. His father awoke. Achilles told him he would need to be driven to school.

Patroclus came downstairs. His hair was ruined. He smiled.

Achilles was less angry, all at once.

It didn’t last.

“Achilles,” Patroclus said. “We’re eating lunch with the captains again, right?”

Achilles tilted his head. “Who else?”

“Odysseus?”

Achilles was already shaking his head. “I do not trust her.”

Patroclus laughed. He didn’t understand, exactly. That was good.

Odysseus was the one that had put him on this team. Her and Diomedes, and he could not tell who was more culpable between the two of them. Maybe both.

When he first met her, he did not know what to think. Odysseus had approached him and Patroclus his freshman year. He had been playing soccer since he was a child. His mother wanted him to try out for club soccer sophomore year. It was rare to join late like that, but it seemed better to practice at a lower level team for a year. To distinguish himself.

It was foolish, he knew now.

Odysseus had grinned, and Patroclus tensed next to him. Achilles thought she must be harmless. She was a girl. She was tiny. She had a deceptively open smile.

“You’re brilliant,” she said, and something flashed behind her eyes, a moment of discontent in a calm sea. “You should try out for varsity next year.”

“Thank you,” Achilles started, ready to explain that he was going to be playing club, but she cut him off.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Her bright smile almost convinced him that she said that with no malice.

“Sorry?” He turned to Patroclus slowly, confused. Patroclus was watching her. His eyes were narrowed.

“I was referring to your, ah, friend here. Patroclus?”

“I never told you my name.”

“I like to know who I’m recruiting.” He hadn’t imagined it. She looked right at him then. “So you’ll be at tryouts?”

Patroclus smiled. He was a good player, and always overshadowed by Achilles. It had never seemed to cause a rift between them, but this made Achilles wonder. Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see. “Sure. When are they?”

It was not until Achilles looked past her, in her deep blue jacket, to the boy watching them, that he started to feel uneasy. He didn’t know why, exactly, but they weren’t being watched casually. There was an expectation there.

Patroclus went to tryouts. Achilles came too. He didn’t want him to go alone. Diomedes– and that was the one who had been watching them, standing dressed in all black, said he had heard Achilles had some talent. Odysseus had laughed and said she doubted it.

Achilles was angry then.

He told them to throw any play at him they wanted, and he would try it. If he did it well, they had to admit he was talented. His pride won.

They did so almost reluctantly. He did well. He knew it. He looked up, and they weren’t frowning at all. Their grins were matching and wicked.

Tryouts were binding. His mother was furious.

He was almost angry, but they let Patroclus play with him. Club wouldn’t have allowed that.

He had liked the team so far. He didn’t trust Diomedes– he had never stopped watching, it had only become less unnerving. Odysseus spoke with two tongues and smiled with a multiplicity of faces. Menelaus was reasonable and inconsistent. Agamemnon was brash and prideful. He almost put Achilles to shame.

Achilles had put up with it all. They made Patroclus smile.

Agamemnon was threatened by him, he knew. He had heard rumors about Agamemnon being banned from varsity as a sophomore by the last captain. He knew he was better than all of them. He knew that Agamemnon was the first junior to be captain in a long time, and Apollo, a senior, was waiting for him to fail, or he had been. Agamemnon had something to prove.

Achilles had a lot to lose. He had never thought anything would come of it. That was before Troilus, of course.

Troilus had been Tuesday. Tuesday was his mother’s day. Tuesdays were not good days. Troilus cornered him after algebra. Achilles should have run. The kid– and he was a kid, just a freshman– was blushing.

He confessed. Achilles was angry. He panicked.

He winced, now, when he thought about it, and didn’t tell Patroclus. What was there to say? I am terrified, because if people think I would date a boy, they will think I am dating you. What if it disgusts you? What if I lose you?

I was awful. I was afraid.

That did not sound good, even in his mind.

He had thought that was the end of it. A freshman would cry and move on. All would be well. Until Apollo walked up to them, talking about training Troilus. His gaze was on Achilles.

Diomedes was watching them, Achilles noted, but his eyes were on Helen. That didn’t soothe him much.

Agamemnon had said they would consider it and Patroclus refused. How did he know? He never asked Achilles about it, not all of Wednesday.

You fool. You think he wouldn’t know you, any place, any time?

That was supposed to shut it down, until today. Agamemnon smiled at him during lunch and Achilles tensed. He never smiled at anyone except for Clytemnestra, and with her he smiled like he was clenching his teeth.

Did he know that Briseis was Patroclus’ sister? Half-sister, technically. She was not fostered with him– she stayed with her mother’s aunt. Patroclus had never said anything about being jealous, but Achilles was suspicious. He knew what it was like to want a family that was anything but yours. Agamemnon was cheating on her– and Clytemnestra.

They had said nothing. They didn’t know how.

“Should we tell her?”

“That he has a girlfriend? She’s happy, for once.”

“He’s only getting away with it because of our different lunch schedules.”

“I know.”

“We could ruin it for him.”

“He hates you already, Achilles. I do not want to make things harder for you.”

Make it harder for me. I would take on the world to see you safe.

“It’s your choice,” Achilles said. That was all. They never addressed it again.

Agamemnon either didn’t know or didn’t care. He invited them to lunch with Clytemnestra. Achilles wondered, not for the first time, if he was baiting them. He remembered the look on Odysseus’ face when she introduced them. It almost looked like honesty, it was so foreign on her.

“Achilles,” Agamemnon greeted. “I have good news.”

“Oh?”

“You have a new student.” Agamemnon’s smile was the smile of someone who thought they had won. “You will meet them at practice.”

Achilles had been nervous then, but not really. He thought nothing could hurt him.

He was a fool. Patroclus was right there.

Practice started easy, simple. Drills and yelling. Apollo was nowhere to be seen. He had quit, apparently. Achilles didn't ask. Athena watching with those quicksilver eyes. Was that where Diomedes learned it from? Agamemnon kept them focused. Patroclus laughed with the wind in his eyes.

Achilles was not angry.

Troilus walked to the field.

Achilles was angry.

“Achilles!” Agamemnon’s smile was a knife. “Meet your student.”

Achilles could hear the blood in his ears. Patroclus stopped laughing.

“I said I would not train him.”

“Patroclus said he would rather we didn’t,” Agamemnon corrected. “Does he command you?”

There was a goading edge to every word. Achilles understood, in a horrible rush, that look on Odysseus’ face. It was not even hatred. It was disgust. This was the most base plan, one without honor. Briseis. Troilus. They were arrows, pointed at a single target– Achilles’ heart. Patroclus.

“He does not. But he spoke correctly. I do not train freshmen.” Achilles tried to stay calm, to smile easily. It came out like the gritting of teeth. “I am only a sophomore myself.”

“You are very talented. You have plenty to teach him.” Agamemnon tilted his head.

“I don’t have time.” Achilles clenched his fists. His attempts at nonchalance were slipping away.

Agamemnon’s eyes were bright. The green in them was all the more obvious. “I would consider it a favor.”

“I can decline a favor.”

“Then as your captain, I am telling you.”

“I will not.”

“I know,” Agamemnon said. “Why you are denying it. It is not in your best interest. Trust me.”

Troilus was trembling. Achilles could see it out of the corner of his eye. He did not falter. “I know things about you too, Agamemnon.”

“Tell them yours, and I’ll tell them mine.”

A horrible rush of understanding. He was doing this in public on purpose. No one intervened. They wouldn’t. They wanted to see who would win.

“No?” Agamemnon shrugged. “I’ll go ahead anyway. Troilus here has a little–”

“Briseis.” Achilles interrupted. “I know.”

Agamemnon faltered, just for a moment. “What do you think you know?”

“I’ll tell Clytemnestra,” he threatened. “I’ll tell your brother.”

“You think Menelaus here doesn’t know?”

Yes, Achilles thought. I think he doesn’t want to. “I think his girlfriend doesn’t.”

Diomedes went dangerously still. Odysseus stepped forward, as though she would speak. Achilles threw a hand out.

“Agamemnon challenged me, Odysseus. I would answer it.”

She watched him, eyes blazing, a tiny smile on her face. It was not reassuring. She stepped back.

“I did not challenge you,” Agamemnon scoffed. “I am your captain.”

“Captain control players on the field.”

“This is a matter for the team.”

“Ask someone else. I do not have time.”

Patroclus was glancing at Athena. She was unmovable. She knew, like any manager, that this had to be settled organically or it would hang over them like a bloodstain.

“Are you too busy seeking the embrace of dear Patroclus here?” Agamemnon asked. “Because I can assure him I will chaperone you with Troilus.”

There was a sharp intake of breath beside him. Maybe it was his own. Achilles did not think, just leapt forward, ready to swing. He would kill Agamemnon for that. He couldn’t think. It was all anger, all pride, all rage. He never learned.

His collar was caught. He was dragged back. He turned and Athena was holding him. She had moved so fast. How?

“Enough,” Athena said, shoving him behind her. She pointed at Agamemnon. “You go too far. Get to the bench. Menelaus will take your place for the tournament.”

She wheeled on Achilles. “You do not get into fights here, ever. Do you understand?”

“I can see Athena has favorites,” Agamemnon taunted. “Her little bitch can bring a knife to practice.”

Athena struck him so fast Achilles didn’t even see her move. His eyes were wide with shock. He had never, ever seen anyone move like that. Not even him. Diomedes had already stepped forward, his jaw clenched. Menelaus leaned back almost instinctively. There was a massive angry welt on Agamemnon’s face.

“I do have favorites,” Athena said. “You are not one because you are the lowest kind of fool. Get to the bench.”

Agamemnon went silently, but Achilles knew this was not the end. “I will not apologize,” he said to Athena. “I was insulted.”

“Your pride is not more important than this team.” He wanted to scoff at her hypocrisy, but he knew that her authority and her pride were not the same thing, and his were. He could not help but respect her. “Apologize to your teammates, both of you.”

Agamemnon raised his eyes bitterly. The green in them was the green on chemical warning signs. “I apologize for taking away your practice time.”

“And what of my insults?” Achilles demanded.

“Will you apologize for insulting him?”

“No.” The word was out before he could think twice. He could see Athena surveying him. He did not know how to feel.

“And to your teammates?”

“I did nothing.”

“You could have complied with your captain, discussed it with me after practice. That would be the thing to do.”

“I will defend myself.”

“And not apologize?”

“No.”

“Then you will not play,” Athena said, so simply it shocked him.

“You can’t–”

“On the contrary,” she countered, eyes flashing. “I can. You will not play.”

Achilles could feel the anger now, like a forest fire, like a comet. It was threatening to consume him. How dare she take this from him. How dare all of them. He was the one who was wronged and they were silent. He ripped off his jacket and threw it to the ground.

“Take it,” he spat. “I do not need you.”

He spun on his heel and stalked out. Athena’s last words trailed him like the red string of fate.

“You do not need your pride. It will be your undoing.”

He didn’t listen.

—

Achilles was walking, and he didn’t know where. The anger was still there, thrumming in his ears. He heard footsteps behind him and turned, ready to see Odysseus, ready to fight.

He was not expecting Patroclus. He relaxed, all at once. All the fight left him.

“Are you ashamed of me?” he blurted out, before he saw what Patroclus was carrying. His varsity jacket, number, hood, and all.

“No.” Patroclus said. “Agamemnon was out of line.”

“Did it–” His voice caught. He forced himself to stand still. “Did it disgust you?”

“What?”

“What he said about us.”

Patroclus’ eyes snapped up. They never talked about it. That was the rule. They didn’t talk about it.

His mother wouldn’t allow it, ever. She had dreams for him, straightforward dreams, straight dreams. His father didn’t care, but it would get back to her. Patroclus would suffer for it. He didn’t know how, but she would find a way.

“It didn’t disgust me,” Patroclus said. “It scared me.”

“Why?”

“Your mother,” Patroclus said. “You.”

“Me?”

“You are so angry.” Patroclus paused, throwing his eyes to the side. “And so perfect.”

Achilles’ breath caught. “Perfect?”

“I cannot breathe around you,” Patroclus said quietly. “But it is worse without you.”

Achilles stared at him, openmouthed. He had forgotten all about the anger. He had forgotten the rest of the world. All there that was left was this moment, the world being rediscovered, biting into the apple. Color creeping in. “I know.” Achilles said. “I am the same with you.”

Patroclus stared at him, olive-colored eyes soft and full of a peace Achilles had feared he would never know. He was too close. When had he stood that close? They had pressed together a thousand times between games and hugs and fights. This was different.

Patroclus moved forward at the same time Achilles leaned forward. Their lips met. He froze. He did not know what to think.

Patroclus leaned back, eyes wide and startled.

Achilles turned and ran. He left Patroclus with the jacket.

He was a coward, then, or angry, or scared. That was not the world being rediscovered. That was a more perfect chord, a more wonderful fusion. He had known it existed. That was peace, that moment, and it terrified him.

He looked back only once. Patroclus was staring at him, fear and hope in his eyes.

I will learn, Achilles vowed. He turned his steps towards home. He would give Patroclus time to walk, to think, and then they would speak. I will learn peace and you will teach me. I would learn anything to feel that again.

He turned too early, he would realize later. He should have watched Patroclus pull on his jacket. He should have stopped him.

–

Someone knocked on the door. Achilles threw it open, eyes glittering, an explorer who just discovered the eighth wonder of the world, a poet on the verge of breakthrough. Patroclus’ name was on his lips.

It was Odysseus, in all black. Her eyes glowed like some horrible harbinger of death.

“You should come to the hospital,” she said. Her voice was measured, careful. “There has been an injury. It’s bad.”

“Who?” Achilles asked.

She stole the name out of his mouth. Patroclus.

Chapter Text

Diomedes hated hospitals. Of course he did. He was here anyway.

Achilles walked out of the room with his father. Peleus’ brows were knit so tightly they might have been wound yarn. They didn’t know enough.

It was Odysseus who found Patroclus. She had showed up at his house. There was blood on her hands. She was shaking.

“What if it was me?” She asked. “What if I hurt him?”

Diomedes understood her fears, somewhat. He knew they ebbed and flowed. He knew Agamemnon today had made them worse.

“You didn’t,” He reassured. He was already getting his keys.

“I called 911,” she said. Her eyes were shifting. “I made sure they got there. Then I– I came here. I want the police to check DNA. Or security. Something. I want to know it wasn’t me.”

“We can do all that,” Diomedes agreed, throwing her a jacket. He wasn’t sure if she was shivering from fear or cold. She didn’t even argue. “We need to get Achilles. That’s his foster family, right?”

Odysseus nodded numbly. She knew everything about them, from when they had recruited Achilles.

“Alright.” He said. She pulled on his jacket. She stood. They left.

She got Achilles from his house. They sat outside the hospital. Athena sat with her. She spoke in low tones. Odysseus slowly stopped shaking. He did not know what Athena said.

Achilles approached them hours later. He was burning, more incandescent than even today at practice. His eyes were pyres.

“There were two people,” he said. “That’s all the police will say. Two people who did this.” He tightened his fists. Diomedes could almost feel Odysseus relax beside him. “I want them.”

Her eyes snapped up. She almost smiled. Diomedes was nearly grateful.

“You came to the right people.”

–

Probably, sitting in the back of someone’s car and waiting for them to show up was stalker behavior.

If anyone asked, he would blame it all on Odysseus.

She sat in the front seat, boots on the dash, her usual jean jacket exchanged for a smoother dark one. The jacket he had given her was forgotten at the hospital.

“He’s not going to miss the random person in his car, Odysseus. Why change jackets?”

Odysseus looked at him and laughed. Honestly, if she had just showed up in his car with that look on his face, he would have been pretty sure she was going to kill him. Luckily, that was exactly the image they were trying to inspire. “Why not? It’s heist attire.”

“This is not a heist,” Diomedes said. “We’ve been sitting here for ten minutes.”

“You look very intimidating,” Odysseus mock-soothed. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

He looked at her boots. They were noticeably not shaking.

“It wasn’t a bad plan,” Diomedes said, checking his watch. “He should be here by now.”

“Relax. I’m not insulting your plan. He’ll show.”

“Why go after Dolon?”

“I like not getting my head bashed in by Hector when he finds out we went after his brother.”

“No, I mean, why are you so sure it was Paris?”

“Who else?”

“Agamemnon?”

Odysseus shook her head. He wasn’t sure how she was so certain. “Agamemnon was with us.”

“We don’t know how long Patroclus was there for,” Diomedes argued. “It could have only been a while.”

“Maybe,” Odysseus concedes. “But I don’t think so. This reeks of Paris. Paris or someone equally underhanded. None come to mind.”

“And Achilles is furious.”

“There will be somebody’s head on a spike,” Odysseus agreed. “I want to control who. It should be Paris.”

“Paris wanted Achilles’ spot, fine. Dolon knows everyone, fine. I’m here, I’m helping. You don’t need to lie to me. You can say you’re not sure.”

Odysseus’ smiled a cheshire-cat smile. “But lying is so much more fun.”

Diomedes would have argued, but he saw Dolon walking towards them. Towards his car. “About damn time,” he muttered.

The car door swung open. Dolon saw Odysseus inside. His face shuttered between shock and fear before he slammed the door. He was already trying to run.

“Jesus,” Diomedes said, throwing open the car door. The kid hadn’t gotten that far. He grabbed his shoulder and dragged him back. Dolon spun, ripping himself from Diomedes’ grasp. Odysseus was behind him, by Dolon’s car. She was cutting off the only fast way out. Dolon saw this. He swung at Diomedes.

Diomedes slipped to the side before the boy had time to react. His punch fell short. Odysseus didn’t move. He knew she had her knife. He also knew what it would cost her to use it.

He threw her a glance and shook his head. He could handle this.

It was easier with this kid, anyway. Dolon was shorter than him. Dolon wasn’t as strong. And frankly, he didn’t care if he hurt him.

That was the problem with Agrius– not that Diomedes couldn’t hurt him, but that his mother didn’t want him to. Maybe his uncle did mean perfectly well, but Diomedes doubted it. Someone who meant perfectly well wouldn’t have tried to hit his mother.

Succeeded, you idiot. It was easier to fight when he was angry. You weren’t there.

Dolon caught him upside the head. Maybe it wasn’t better to fight angry after all.

“Diomedes–”

“Shut up, Odysseus,” He grit out, hitting the kid in the shoulder, slamming his elbow into his chest. Dolon ducked.

Diomedes bit back a swear again and made contact this time, hitting his jaw. He grabbed Dolon’s shoulder by his shirt and slammed him against the side of his car.

“Nice,” Odysseus said approvingly, moving forward so that she was directly in the sophomore’s face.

“This is what you’re going to do,” She said. She looked like a viper, ready to bite. “You’re going to tell us about your friends.”

“Friends?”

“You heard her,” Diomedes said, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder. “Paris. And stop shaking.”

It irritated him a little bit. Since when has he become the muscle? Really, they needed to reevaluate this whole threatening-people thing. He didn’t want to be the only one who had to beat people up while Odysseus got to do all the cool threatening.

Actually, he didn’t mind the fighting. He just wanted the threats too.

It wasn’t like Odysseus handling this fight would make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. The bruises would be there tomorrow, or they would be on his mother.

He had made that choice three years ago. One thing about him, he did not waver.

His father had left for the first time when he was eleven. He had to move for work. His mother and Diomedes would follow.

Diomedes didn’t really want to. Even then, he loved soccer. Even then, he was sure he could protect everyone around him.

He had been a child. Children were naive.

His father never came back. One day, he was on a flight to the west coast to work, and the next day, he was dead. He had been hit by a car on his way from the airport.

His family came for the funeral.

Diomedes didn’t know his father’s family. He mostly spent time with his mother’s side, his aunts and cousins there. His father’s family didn’t care for them much at all. They decided to show up for the wedding. He had learned, then, that people cared most about love when it was gone.

He met his uncle. Agrius. The rest of them left after the funeral, went back to their suburbs and their pets and their lives and forgot the son they didn’t care about. Agrius decided to stay, to protect his brother’s legacy.

That was five years ago. Three years ago, Diomedes had seen the bruises on his mother’s arms, on her cheek.

He shouldn’t have known who it was. Deipyle insisted that she had just tripped. That was the problem with Diomedes, though. He knew things he shouldn’t. Odysseus ferreted out secrets and Diomedes guessed. He was almost never wrong.

The next time his uncle and mother had fought– about him, because it was always about him– Diomedes put himself in between them. He dodged and feinted and threw light blows. He was bruised by the end of it, but he could bear it. And he decided that he would keep doing so.

His mother refused to send him away to boarding school like his uncle wanted. Diomedes refused to go. His mother refused to make him take early college classes or apply to Ivy Leagues or any of the other things his uncle wanted. His uncle always sneered at her that she was disgracing his father’s memory. Diomedes guessed that wasn’t really true.

The more he saw of his uncle, the more suspicious he became. He was less and less sure that his father’s legacy was those diplomas that regaled him as an engineer at all. He was pretty sure his father’s legacy was the bruises on his son’s fists. Fists holding cloth, slammed against a metal car.

Dolon’s eyes were wide with fear, like a deer caught in headlights. “Paris?”

“Patroclus is my friend,” Odysseus said. Her eyes were black. He couldn’t tell where the pupils ended and iris began. “You hurt him. I don’t tolerate that.”

Diomedes didn’t either. Maybe that was the real reason nothing had ever happened with him and Odysseus. They were brilliant partners in crime, but the black of her eyes now was the black of her eyes right before she kissed him the first time. They could never take their armor off, not with each other.

Since that day three years ago, Odysseus practiced with him and never asked what for. The two of them were bursting with energy and impatience then, getting into fights over everything and nothing, pulling hair and dirty tricks. They were scrappy in middle school. People made the mistake of thinking they were scrappy now.

“We will make you regret not telling us more than you think we can,” Diomedes said. “Don’t think for a second you will get away with it. You hurt one of our players. You made a mistake. Everyone does.”

“The thing they don’t do is get away from us,” Odysseus said. Her breath was deceptively even. He narrowed his gaze at her and she ignored him. “Was it Paris that beat up Patroclus? Or was it Hector?”

Dolon raised his eyes to the sky, then sighed. “Both. It was both.”

Odysseus slit her eyes sideways at him. He shrugged. “Why?”

“Will you let me go if I tell you?”

Odysseus’ grin spread across his face, slow and horrible and real. “Of course.”

She was lying. Of course she was lying. Dolon believed her, poor fool.

Diomedes understood. There was a piece of him that wanted to believe her, even now. It was easier to believe her. Unfortunately, he knew her, and one really couldn’t do both.

“Okay.” Dolon sighed. “Troilus likes Achilles.”

Odysseus blinked. “What?” Diomedes was just as surprised. Agamemnon wasn’t lying?

“Troilus likes Achilles. And Paris, Paris wants Achilles’ spot on the varsity team. And Troilus tells Achilles he likes him, and Achilles is nasty. I don’t know what he said.”

Fuck. Diomedes knew why. Achilles wasn’t purposefully cruel, just reactive and scared. His mother barely let him be around Patroclus. She had dreams for her boy, and those dreams didn’t involve being gay, even if everyone could see what he was.

Diomedes thought it was ridiculous. It didn’t make him a worse player, did it? She was scared it would distract him, but until now, it had been a motivator.

Until now.

“So?” Odysseus asked.

“Paris finds out and tells Hector. Ordinarily, Hector would not hurt Achilles. But now Achilles has hurt his brother.”

“Why hurt Patroclus?” Diomedes asked.

Dolon flushed. “It was an accident! Okay? Paris comes to me and says to really take on Achilles they’ll need more people. I don’t think Hector knew. I think Hector was planning to handle it himself, but then I was there, and Paris, and Hector tells me to stay back, so I do, but we see his jacket and it’s like–” He free arm jerked up like he is trying to shrug and Odysseus grabs his wrist, lightning-fast, and pins it down. He flinches. “It’s like Paris just lost it. Ran at him and started hitting. Hector was behind him, trying to get him off, but then the kid– Patroclus?-- hits Hector, and then he’s mad.”

“And you?”

“I ran. I never hurt him, I swear.”

“Jesus,” Diomedes mutters, looking at Odysseus. She is as surprised as he is; she just hides it better. “Why would Patroclus do that?”

“Instinct,” Odysseus said. She cannot quite make it sound like a guess. “Better to go down swinging.”

Diomdes shook his head and snorted. “Don’t I know it,” he muttered to himself.

“So you’ll let me go now?” Dolon asked hopefully.

Odysseus smiled. “As I said.” She looked at Diomedes. He nodded.

Dolon never even saw the blow coming. He was out before he hit the ground. Odysseus shook her fist out.

“He’ll still remember us,” Diomedes cautioned, grabbing her jacket off of Dolon’s car and throwing it to her.

She studied her knuckles. He will have to bandage them for her. “He’ll remember the headache more.”

–

Diomedes wrapped her fist. It felt odd to be on the other side of this. He kept the bandages and gauze in a cabinet in his bathroom, easily accessible even if he doesn’t use them much anymore unless he is talked into it. He cannot think of how many times Odysseus or Athena has done this for him.

“Cut it longer,” she said, watching him, brushing her hair out of her eyes. He listened.

“Do you need some kind of antiseptic?” He asked, cutting out strips of equal length. “Or just the bandage?”

“Just the bandage.” Odysseus says. “I’m not really bleeding.”

“I’m surprised you hit him.”

“Why? You wouldn’t let me join the fight.”

Diomedes’ eyes snapped up. “You know why.”

Odysseus sighed. She was staring out his window like she has never been here before. “It’s mostly people close to me,” she said. “Citi. My mom. Polites. I don’t really– When I hurt Dolon, I am in control of myself.”

“Losing control.” He nodded. “I get it.”

“Do you?” she asks. “I mean. You help. Do you get it?”

Diomedes wasn’t sure he knew how to answer that. He knew her. He wasn’t sure he understood her. He knew that there were good days and bad days. Good days, there were no clouds, no storms, nothing was wrong. Bad days, she left her room because she was scared that she would sit up in the night and strangle Ctimene in her sleep. Bad days, she counted locks on her safe and gave him her knife so that she could not use it. Bad days, she was distracted, always asking him if she ran into that person or if someone looked upset with her. Bad days, she came and stayed in his room because she was convinced she could not hurt him. That doesn’t mean he understands why.

“You tell me,” he said instead.

“I am afraid I will be like Paris,” she said. He sees her, now, counting to herself. He knew she was checking the number of times she locked her safe this morning, the one she keeps her real hunting knife in. Her pocket knife was on the farthest side of the room from her. “Get so angry that I just snap. Just start hitting.”

“That has never happened.”

“I attacked Agamemnon.”

“You were in control.” Diomedes said. “The whole time. You’re always in control, Odysseus.”

“You think?” She propped her head up on the fist he has finished bandaging and quirked a smile. It was like a punch to the throat.

“Jesus,” he muttered, trying not to flush, picking up the bandages and putting them back in the cabinet. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“What?”

“Flirt. Try to distract me. You know it’s not going to work. I know you.”

It was her turn to flush. “I know,” she sighed. “Habit.”

“Your flirting never distracted me,” he told her. “And only sometimes did it fool me.”

“I don’t think it ever fooled you,” she returned. “Some of that was genuine.”

“Which parts?” he asked. She smiled more.

“Tell me which parts you think.”

He laughed. “Oh, no. Odysseus, I know too many of your tricks. You want to know if I was being honest.”

I know too many of your tricks, he thought as he watched her plan her answer. You know too many of mine.

They were the same, and they knew it. They were exactly like their fathers, and they knew it. Their fathers were not the same.

Or were they?

He was a kid. She was a kid. This was why he wished his dad was still alive.

It is one reason. The other is just exhaustion. He has been in a defensive crouch for three years. His legs are cramping. Soon he will not know how to stand up.

Maybe he has already forgotten.

“Se storgo,” Odysseus replied. “The last day of eighth grade. That was true.”

Diomedes was surprised to find that he believed her. With this, he almost never does. But then, they did believe in family. They believed in rebuilding and possibilities.

They were children.

Now? He doesn’t know how to have a family that doesn’t bite back.

Maybe that’s why he smiles. “Se storgo, Odysseus. Hm.”

He is surprised he can say it at all, but then again, she is not gentle or comfortable. She will make him bleed, sooner or later. She already has. He can love her for the ways they are different, but at the end of the day, she will hate him for the ways they are the same.

Who is he kidding? He hates her for that too.

Not the biting back. That part is expected.

Her hand is bandaged. Dolon will be waking up in a parking lot now. If he became a threat, would she do it to him?

Storge. He doesn’t know how to have a family that doesn’t bite back.

Yes. Yes she would.

“Is that reciprocation, Diomedes?”

“Why not?” he said. “I agreed then.”

“People change.”

“I haven’t.”

“You haven’t.” Odysseus agreed. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You changed.” Diomedes said. “I don’t resent you for it. But you’ve changed.”

Is this what they’ve been avoiding, this raw honesty? He would rather she gutted him with a knife. This room feels too small.

“Do you resent me for other things?”

“Do you resent me?”

Odysseus laughed. It was a wry laugh. It was a liar’s laugh. “You know how I feel.”

No. he thought. No I don’t. I don’t think you know either. “Of course I do.”

The moment was gone. She was not looking at him with those bright eyes anymore. He was grateful.

It was hard to look at her. When she smiled like that, they weren’t here at all. They were children, and life was simple, and fights were resolved by teachers, and his father was alive.

Of course he was protective. He will not lose that again.

And it frightened him.

Maybe it frightened her too.

He could not imagine her afraid. She could not imagine him fragile.

“And I know you’re protective,” Odysseus said, studying him. She had let him sit in silence too long. She knew something she wasn’t saying and she said something she wasn’t sure of. “You didn’t want me to fight Dolon,” she said. “You were being protective again.”

“I was being greedy. The kid is now officially more scared of me.”

“You are protective.”

“Not over you.”

“You think I can handle it?”

“I’ve seen you handle it.” I could not bear to see you not handle it. I would rather not be there at all. I never want to see you afraid again.

“Well,” Odysseus declared. “I’m not protecting you. One, your own dumb ideas have their own dumb consequences. Two, Athena is basically your guardian angel at this point.”

“And where would we be without Athena?”

“Dolon would be conscious.”

“The world would be a worse place.”

“I’ve never agreed more.”

“Now, if only we can take out Paris too.”

“Why is his voice so annoying?”

“I’ve never really listened to him talk,” Diomedes said. “I can imagine.”

“Just imagine yourself talking.” Odysseus said. “That annoying.”

“Shut up.”

“Nah.”

“You’re letting me bandage your hand.”

“I tolerate you, and everyone wonders why.”

“You’re here.”

Odysseus laughed. Her eyes were not dark, not brittle, not stormy. They were the imperceptible infinite of an ocean. He wanted to drown her. “Where would I go?”

She needed to stop doing that.

Chapter Text

Athena helped. Odysseus shouldn’t have doubted her, but she did.

She didn’t know Athena, and it only bothered her when she remembered that fact. She knew Athena’s history. She knew that Athena had been dating a girl named Pallas and now she wasn’t. That was all she knew.

She had been a middle schooler and too wrapped up in her own grief to see anything else. Now she realized that seeing everything else meant she didn’t have to think about the grief at all.

And she did see everything else. She saw how Aegialia was pulling away from her, even if she didn’t know why. She saw how Athena looked at her sisters. And she saw how Penelope was looking at her.

It felt like a challenge.

She accepted. They spent even more time together. She finished the posters. She organized a debate.

“Aegialia,” she called, a week ago, before she knew if Agamemnon was dropping out. “We’re doing a debate. Or we’re trying. I can reserve the auditorium if you just give me dates. I’ll get some from the others too.”

Aegialia had pursed her lips. Her eyes ran a thousand calculations. She looked at Odysseus like she was an X-value that just wouldn’t solve.

“I will get them to you,” she said finally.

When she did get the dates to Odysseus, it was Diomedes who handed them to her, along with Hera’s on the same sheet.

She didn’t ask. He didn’t explain.

There was something there, something she needed to look out for, and she had said as much to Penelope, but Penelope just shrugged.

“What could I do?”

“We.” Odysseus corrected. Did that change the answer at all?

No. It made Penelope smile.

She had been avoiding Diomedes since then, because that was the day she found Patroclus. She was almost certain that Agamemnon was not going to run anymore. He had to do damage control. Everyone was furious with him.

And she had been too focused on Patroclus to check.

She hated how Diomedes was looking at her at the hospital, even how he was looking at her on the drive over. She was wearing his jacket because she was shaking, but the shaking had nothing to do with the cold. She had blood on her hands. It wasn’t hers. She had called the ambulance and it had taken a great deal of willpower not to tell them she had beat him up.

It was her worst nightmare. She found Patroclus, on the ground, in Achilles’ varsity jacket, bleeding, and she was suddenly sure she had done it. She had images in her mind that were as invasive as memories of her hitting him again and again. She couldn’t think of why she would, but didn’t she have blood on her hands?

It was the OCD. The meds helped sometimes. The compulsions weren’t as strong. That was probably the exposure therapy Athena had talked her into. She hadn’t really enjoyed it.

Athena was the only person who was logical about this. Athena was the only person who knew how to talk to her in a way that didn’t make her want to crawl out of her skin. Athena and Penelope. Athena did research on treatments and side effects. A few days after Odysseus finally told her about her diagnosis, Athena put a binder into her hands, a binder she had composed on OCD management.

“I kept a copy of the section titled ‘For Friends and Family,’ for my own reference.” Athena had said.

Odysseus smiled for the first time that week.

At the hospital, Athena had seen the look on her face and the blood and had sat down next to her immediately.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Is that Patroclus’ blood?”

“Yeah.”

Athena took her hand. Odysseus looked up, startled.

“It’s not your fault.”

Odysseus scoffed. “How would you know?”

“Logically, it doesn’t follow.”

Odysseus breathed out, once, twice. She had been holding herself back from going home to check the locks on her safe. She was trying not to call Ctimene to make sure she was fine. It wasn’t really working. “Thank you.”

Athena hesitated, which made Odysseus look up. That was entirely unlike her. “You remember Pallas?”

“Vaguely.”

Pallas was lovely and soft. She made Athena melt just by being around them. Odysseus had been small when they met, but she remembered light green eyes and lilac dresses. She remembered Athena smiling.

“I always blamed myself for Pallas leaving. It was no one’s fault. People move. But I thought I should have found a way–” She broke off, shaking her head. “It was no one’s fault. This is not your fault.”

“But it is someone’s fault.”

“Probably,” Athena conceded. “I’m not comfortable saying without more information.”

Odysseus squeezed her hand back before releasing it. “Pallas wasn’t your fault.” She said to Athena. “I don’t remember much. I remember that.”

Could she convince herself that she shouldn’t have gone after Achilles? She had tried to make up for it. She had gone along with the Dolon plan. It went swimmingly. And she vanished as soon as her hand was bandaged.

She didn’t want to talk to Diomedes. Se storgo. Why had she said that? It was true, but she was supposed to only be honest with Penelope.

She was walking over to Penelope’s now. Her hand was bandaged. She would have to make up a reason why so Penelope could ferret out the truth.

She hadn’t considered Penelope when she had hit Dolon. Maybe Penelope would find it brutish.

Probably not. She understood necessity.

Odysseus walked up the driveway, tightening her grip on the bag in her hand, raising her hand to knock on the door. She had never met Penelope’s father. He never opened the door. Today was no different, true to character, it was Penelope who greeted her.

“Come on in,” Penelope said.
–

Odysseus looked wrong in her room, Penelope considered, finishing a row of crocheting and moving to the next. She was sitting on her floor, pouring over her laptop, totally at odds with the rest of the room with her sharp lines and dark hair. Penelope didn’t mind.

“What are you working on?” she asked, setting down her project momentarily.

“Debate notes,” Odysseus said. “I was writing an essay and I got bored. I’m trying to write Aegialia’s notes like I’m Diomedes, but I don’t know if he’ll help her much at all.”

“Will Agamemnon debate?” Penelope asked. “Did you invite him?”

“I had asked for dates.” Odysseus said. “I got them back late, but whatever. I don’t know what he’ll do now. Probably he won’t run.” She was forcing herself to sound nonchalant. Penelope shook her head.

“I heard about your team,” she said, taking a stab in the dark, testing the waters. Odysseus had been quiet today, all day. She hadn’t been bored. She had been restless.

Odysseus looked up. Her eyes betrayed nothing but black and more black. “Did you?” she asked.

Penelope nodded. She picked up her crocheting again. “So he has a lot to handle.”

“He has a lot to fix.” Odysseus corrected, watching her crochet, laptop forgotten. “Athena will make him fix it.”

“Fix what?”

“Achilles is offended. Achilles was over-proud, but Achilles had good reason to be offended. And Agamemnon only apologized for wasting time, not for insulting him.”

There was something she wasn’t saying. Penelope waited. Odysseus sighed.

“He insulted Athena. Athena and me. He said she had favorites, that I was a bitch that brought a knife to practice and he couldn’t even insult Achilles.”

“He is a coward,” Penelope said, and the hate in her voice was thick. Odysseus looked almost startled.

“I did not know you could do that,” she said. She was looking at Penelope in an entirely new way. There was that troublemaker’s smile again.

“Do what?”

“Be angry.”

Penelope shook her head. “I don’t have as much practice as you.”

“How do you know?”

“What happened to your hand?”

Odysseus looked down at the bandage that they hadn’t mentioned. Penelope wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but now she did. It felt like a challenge, to prove that Odysseus couldn’t make her flinch. “I bruised my knuckles.”

“Doing what?”

“Breaking someone’s jaw.”

She said it simply, easily, staring Penelope down. Penelope did not widen her eyes. She did not pull back. She nodded.

“Do you need another bandage?”

Odysseus laughed then, some kind of raw laughter. She shook her head. “I do not. It was not a bad bruise. If you know how to punch, it’s not so bad.”

“You should teach me.”

“I don’t think you want to learn.” Odysseus said. “I think you’d rather decimate with words.”

“Agamemnon is a coward,” Penelope said again, which was almost agreeing. “A base fool who cannot lift himself up, so he tries to make others afraid. Helpless when you stop being afraid of him. Simplistic and unthinking. Unoriginal.”

“That’s why he hates me?” Odysseus sounded almost like she was asking. Penelope would have thought she already knew.

“That’s why he hates you.”

Odysseus shook her head wryly. “He should stop trying,” she said. “The things I’m scared of, I will stay scared of, and nothing else. And no one will know what they are.” She was fidgeting with her hair again. She seemed to do that a lot.

I could guess. Penelope does not say that. “Come here,” she said instead.

Odysseus looked at her curiously again, but she didn’t ask any question. She sat on Penelope’s bed, across from her.

“I want to try braiding your hair.” Penelope said.

“It can’t be braided,” Odysseus said, turning around regardless. “It’s too curly. Ctimene has tried.”

“I want to try.” Penelope said. “I’m very good with my hands.” She was kneeling, and Odysseus was sitting with her back to her, knees drawn in.

She looked over her shoulder to glance at her, eyes scanning her face, eyelids shuttering. “I’d believe that,” she said. There was almost a smirk on her face.

Penelope nearly dropped her hair. Odysseus turned forward like nothing had happened.

“I made you something.” Odysseus said. She leaned forward to the end of the bed, grabbing a bag she had left there, passing it to Penelope. Penelope sighed and set down the strands of hair to open it.

It was a yarn ring. A yarn ring attached to a finger brace, connected by a chain. The chain was gold with eight beads in them, all purple. She read the letters out loud.

“P-E-N-E-L-O-P-E.” She slid the ring over her ring finger. The brace slipped over her index finger. It fit like a glove.

“You made this?” she asked.

Odysseus nodded. She watched her carefully, almost nervously. That was impossible, though. Odysseus was never nervous.

“Why?”

“I need to do something with my time.”

“Other than breaking people’s jaws?”

Odysseus shrugged. “I don’t care for it.”

“Care for what?” Penelope asked. She cannot believe that something crafted this delicately could be made without care.

“Violence. That’s how I know you don’t want to learn.”

“You don’t care for violence?” Penelope said incredulously. Odysseus was violence. If she was beautiful, it was the beauty of the rocks below a cliff you’ve already fallen from. If she was brilliant, it was the brilliance of a sword that has ripped clean through your throat.

“I like making things.” Odysseus said. Penelope laughed.

“What?”

“You’re just– you’re such a liar.”

Odysseus froze, turning to look at her again, but she seemed truly uncertain. “You think it’s funny?”

“It’s like you can’t help it. Odysseus, you broke someone’s jaw. You want me to believe you didn’t want to?”

Odysseus shrugged, but she was smiling. “What if I prefer making things?”

“You can prefer that and still be violent.” Penelope shook her head and stretched out her fingers. The chain clinked. “You’re good at this.”

“Thank you.”

“What gave you the idea?”

“The ways we love.” Odysseus said. It seemed more like a recollection than an answer. “Everyone wants to be loved a certain way. To life. To death. In sickness and in health. Loved enough to be left alone. Loved to violence or to peace.” Odysseus shrugged. “I love to creation. I cannot die for anyone and I don’t think I can live for them, but I can make them beautiful things that are stronger than I am, to be there when I can’t be.”

Penelope was struck breathless. “Who taught you that?”

“What?”

“The ways we love.”

Odysseus looked down again. Penelope counted. She knew she would answer. She just wondered how long it would take. “My father. He loved us in words. He loved us to death.”

“I know.”

Odysseus shook her head. “I don’t know how you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Get me to be honest.”

Penelope laughed. “I know when you’re lying and I think it's funny. What are you going to say next? You’re only yourself with me?”

“I am the least myself with you.” Odysseus said. She was dead serious. Penelope stopped laughing. “I mean– I am honest with you. I am my best self with you. That is nothing like me.”

Odysseus was a paradox, most honest when she was a liar, most indecipherable when she let herself be laid bare. What was Penelope in comparison? “I am my cleverest with you,” Penelope returned, far too neat of a statement for such a complexity that was this web they had caught themselves in.

“You are your cleverest always,” Odysseus teased. She was smiling and studying the contraption Penelope was wearing. Penelope flexed her fingers.

“Fine. I am my most convoluted with you.”

“And what a compliment to be paid.”

“Are you ever serious?”

“You’ve thought I was joking?”

Odysseus laughed anyway. Penelope laughed too.

“You make me laugh too much.”

“Laugh too much for what?”

“Laugh… more.”

Penelope didn’t laugh after her mother left, because she had her mother’s laugh and because her father winced when he heard it. She didn’t laugh because there wasn’t much to laugh at. Icarus was sick and her mother had left and Penelope did her best. It wasn’t really enough.

The disease attacked his bones. Wasn’t that funny? They were supposed to be the most solid part of anyone, and her father was the most solid man she knew. It didn’t matter when his own body turned against him, when it hurt to walk, when it became clear that she couldn’t help him alone and they hired a nurse, but not someone full time. Penelope had no idea how she was supposed to leave him for college.

She realized dimly that she could explain this to Odysseus now, and it would be the first time she had said anything to anyone. She also knew there was really nothing anyone could do.

“I like seeing you laugh,” Odysseus said, with that near-imperceptible tone of pointedly not asking a question. “You deserve it.”

“What caused you to discern so?” Penelope asked, taking off the bracelet and setting it on her night table, resuming her braiding, leaving the unsaid alone.

“I know you.” Odysseus said it so simply it felt like a punch.

“I know.”

“I want to invite you,” Odysseus said, tilting her head back as though Penelope wasn’t taller than her. “To a party this weekend.”

“A party?” Penelope was almost baffled.

“After the debate. Hector is hosting,” Odysseus said, which really failed to be an explanation, but Penelope knew they had been close. “I don’t want to go alone.”

“Take Diomedes.”

“I said I didn’t want to go alone.” Now Odysseus was interrupting her braiding again, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in a smile, tilting her head back further. Penelope slackened her grip. “What do I have to do to get you to say yes?” She was smiling, but Penelope wasn’t at all sure that she was joking.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I think that will suffice.” Her words were quieter than she wanted and totally true. How could she deny her?

“What if I kissed you?” Odysseus asked, slow and dangerous and cunning. “What then?”

Penelope’s eyes are blown wide and she does all she can to keep her cool. They have been dancing around this, talking like it was kissing and never getting close, leaving the unsaid alone. Her mind is surprisingly clear. This feels like a test of wits.

“I would allow you one question.” Penelope said. “And I’d answer honestly.”

Odysseus’ eyes are the darkest she’s ever seen them, twin whirlpools. “I’d take that deal.”

Penelope is reaching for her as she leans forward, and it is not a kiss so much as a collision. They crash into each other and Penelope falls back, hair splayed on her mattress, and Odysseus is nearly on top of her. She is softer than Penelope imagined, and more solid under her hands than seems possible. Her hair smells like saltwater. She tastes bitter.

“I’m going to save my question,” Odysseus says, leaning over her, hair falling over the sides of her neck. Her curls are brushing Penelope’s cheek. She wants to dig her nails in them. “On account of I’d very much like to do that again, uninterrupted.”

Penelope is laughing. “I’d take that deal.”

Chapter Text

Somewhere, somehow, the anger had burned out.

Maybe it was the three nights Achilles didn’t sleep, sitting by the hospital bed. Maybe it was when his mother stepped into the room and stood like a torch at the end of the bed and told him he needed sleep.

No, it couldn’t have been then. He threw her out.

Maybe it was when his father came back with sandwiches and asked him about Patroclus’ favorite flowers. Maybe it was when the team returned with get well cards.

No, it wasn’t that. Agamemnon had been there.

Maybe it was after Odysseus came back and gripped his hands. Diomedes had lingered by the door and watched with those obnoxious green eyes. Odysseus had looked at him, and made him look at her, and given him a name.

Not Patroclus. Paris.

No, it wasn’t then. That name made him furious. There was a second name, though, one said by Diomedes without looking at him. Diomedes said it watching Patroclus’ vitals go up and down.

“Hector.”

Alright. Maybe Achilles had never stopped being angry. Maybe he was digging nail marks into his hands. Maybe he couldn’t get his mind to slow down. Maybe he was saying those names like war chants.

Odysseus had convinced him to go home, finally. She had tried the first day and the second and he had refused. “I failed him,” Achilles said quietly. “I will not abandon him as well.”

Odysseus nodded. “I don’t think it was your fault.”

“You don’t think?”

“I wasn’t there.”

She was the only one who was honest, because if she had been there, she would have known it was. “I was a coward.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

Odysseus tilted her head. Diomedes was gone. “Of course.”

“How?”

Odysseus shrugged and stared at the ceiling. The monitor trilled and he was not encouraged by it. “Just a feeling.”

She was lying. Odysseus didn’t guess. She must have decided somewhere that he was a coward when he fought Agamemnon. Maybe she knew before that. Odysseus seemed to know things before everyone else, but they still found out soon enough.

“Has Patroclus woken up?”

“Once or twice.” Just for a moment. It had been three days. He had broken ribs and a broken nose, but the problem was the internal bleeding. He couldn’t really breathe. He was on a ventilator. Something about a punctured lung. Patroclus’ eyes had fluttered open and the room seemed brighter when viewed through that shade of olive green.

“That’s good.” He looked down and saw half-moon imprints on her palms too. They matched his. He loosened his hand and reached for hers.

That was when he stopped being angry, when Odysseus grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Eat.” she said. “You do no good to anyone dead.”

“What does it matter, when I failed him?”

“Survive to succeed for him.”

She changed his mind. He went home and ate. He showered. Odysseus walked home and refused rides from anyone. There was something in the furrow of her brows when he walked out with her, but Achilles didn’t pretend to know what it was. He would ask Patroclus– wait. No he wouldn’t.

His hair was damp when they went back to the hospital. His mother was silent and dropped him off outside. She did not want to sit with Patroclus, a foster boy that she didn’t understand. Achilles didn’t know if Odysseus was coming back. He didn’t know how to ask her.

He walked up to reception. The boy behind the counter had glittering blonde hair, newly dyed. He looked up with a brilliant smile, but it looked strained. Achilles paused.

“Apollo.”

Apollo– and that’s who it was– blinked. “Achilles?” He sounded tentative, like he wasn’t sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

“Yeah. I’m here to see Patroclus, room 6122. Wait, what are you doing here?”

“I work here.”

Achilles paused. Apollo had vanished from school a week ago. He was no longer on the team. Achilles had wondered why, but he had not asked. He had vanished before the fight at practice, and then Achilles wasn’t thinking about anything but Patroclus. “Where did you go?”

Apollo raised a shoulder. “I’m playing club soccer now.”

That was not at all an answer, and Achilles was uncomfortable with how this boy was looking at him. He was burning more than Achilles was. It was probably good he had stopped being angry.

“Okay…”

“How’s Troilus?” Apollo’s words were biting and baiting. He was taking time with the visitors badge. Achilles shifted.

“I don’t know. Sorry. I don’t have time to train him.”

“Liar.” Apollo said neatly. Achilles looked over his shoulder. Odysseus wasn’t there.

“Me?”

“I know what you did.” Apollo set the badge on the desk in front of him, and Achilles went to reach for it, but he froze. He felt pinned under Apollo’s gaze, like a butterfly on a wall.

“Me?”

“What you said to him. Troilus. I know.”

Achilles had never heard someone sound that angry. He curled his hands into fists. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

“No kidding.”

“Is something wrong?” Achilles demanded. Apollo was not like this, not the last time they had met. Before, he was balmy and calm. Now he seemed like a drought.

“You’re a coward. That’s all.”

“That’s the second time someone has said that to me.”

“Good.”

“Trust me, I know.” Achilles shook his head. “I get it. I shouldn’t have let Patroclus go alone.”

Apollo scoffed. “Let him go alone? You ran from him. You physically ran.”

Achilles froze. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t fight this. Achilles was a coward. What else was new? “How do you know that?”

“I saw you running,” Apollo said. “Not nearly as lovely as some.”

“It gets the job done.”

“If I had someone–” Apollo’s voice nearly faltered. “If I had someone that paused because they wanted to run after me, I would never let go. But it’s alright. Let him be gone. Let him slip away. Keep being a coward. I hope to see you on the field.”

Achilles snatched his badge back, fully unnerved now. “Why?”

“There are no rules between lions and men.” Apollo said, like he was quoting something. It felt like something Achilles might say. Apollo was the lion, Achilles supposed, and he was just the trembling coward. “I will kill you and eat you raw.”

<><><>

Odysseus was back at the hospital. Her mother was worried about her, but too bad. She stopped by the receptionist desk and Apollo was there. His eyes were glittering in some shade of pain. He seemed to be staring off into the distance, not moving. She wasn’t used to seeing him still.

“Apollo,” she said. “We miss you on varsity.”

“No you don’t,” he said flatly.

“Alright. Give your mother this for me.” She slid a throat lozenge across the table. He lifted it and blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“She really gave it to the administration, huh?” Odysseus had been late to class eavesdropping on Leto challenging the principal about her son’s mental health. It had been the most interesting thing that happened to her before everything with Patroclus. “She might want one.”

Apollo held it up like it was some kind of secret weapon. “Alright.”

“How are you?” she asked. His smile was half-hearted and musing.

“You know,” he said. “Rearranging my own biology.”

She thought about how Penelope tasted. She thought about resting her head on her collarbone and feeling her pulse like a second heartbeat. She thought about how she fell asleep faster listening to the sound of crocheting than anything else.

“I do know.” She took the badge from him. She smiled.

Apollo didn’t respond. He was staring into the middle distance, and now she could see what was happening behind his eyes. Not musing. Writing. There was a symphony happening there.

She did not interrupt.

Chapter Text

Aegialia had planned for this day for the past five months of her life. It was all she could do, it seemed. The backstage was dark, but the path forward was clear.

Things went wrong at home. Her parents were wildly irresponsible and she handled it. She took care of herself. She planned for this. She was ready.

“Do you need help with your notes?” Diomedes asked her, his eyes looking past her. “Or do you need help planning for the questions?”

Aegialia hesitated. She didn't want anyone else’s help. She had figured out a formula already. She had worked out the questions they liked to ask at student body president debates and the most common questions across the state and then the ones they hadn’t asked recently, and she worked from the top down.

Odysseus was across from her, but it was easy enough to ignore her. Or it had been until now.

She couldn’t stand Odysseus. She pretended to tolerate her to make all of this work, but every time she thought of her, something in her became angrier. And after her conversation with Hera?

It wasn’t fair. It was absurdly unfair. Everything came easily to that girl and everyone was tripping over themselves to make things easier for her, and she acted like she deserved it. She didn’t even have a shred of humility. Helen, at least, had the good grace to be modest about it.

It wasn’t just those girls. It was the captains of the varsity teams who acted like they were owed everything because they played a sport. It was Apollo who thought he could smile his way out of everything. It was all the people who didn’t work for what they had.

She liked Diomedes because she knew he had to put work in and she was irritated by him because he was always trying to protect her. Whatever she had, she would earn.

She had her planning and little else. When her mother was home late because she was drinking, Aegialia had a plan. When her father was “absent” for the better part of a weekend and couldn’t seem to be bothered to explain why he had charges to a hotel room for two, Aegialia had a plan. When she was alone or afraid, she was never unprepared. She did not want anyone to take that from her.

“No.” she said. He grinned, then furrowed his brows. She almost panicked, but he stood and walked over to her, reaching out with one hand to straighten her braids, smoothing her hair in a gesture torn between affection and perfectionism.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

“The debate is about to start.”

Diomedes nodded. “Stand up.”

She didn’t want to ask why, though she was terrified there was some kind of stain on her collar. It seemed impossible, considering that she had skipped lunch today, but still.

“Did no one teach you how to tie a tie?” He asked her, hand hovering above her collarbone. Aegialia shrugged, forcing herself to look at him.

“My dad tried.”

He nodded and pulled it off, flipping it around to retie it. She didn’t move. There was something oddly careful, oddly intimate about this moment. It wasn’t like them.

If she breathed wrong, she would shatter it, so she would just hold her breath.

He finished his work and smoothed it down. “There.” He said. “Is there anything else?”

“No.” Aegialia said. She hesitated. She didn’t know what to say, but the enormity of what she had roped him into was hitting her just now. She had taken it for granted because it was a plan, a good plan, and she never said no to good plans. But he had no reason to help her. “Thank you,” she said instead.

“Thank me when you win this,” Diomedes told her, still smiling. He did not look nervous.

“Did you ever doubt me?”

“Not in my nature.” Diomedes said. “I’m faithful to a fault.”

She wanted to laugh at him, to call him a liar, but she wasn’t sure she could. He was loyal to a fault. She knew that about him altogether too well. It made her an odd sort of angry. This was supposed to be her plan. Why did she care what he thought?

Aegialia wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she was overwhelmed by that. Overburdened by it. It was not what she wanted from him. “Have faith in my plan.”

His eyes still glittered. “Oh, I do.”

She could feel Hera’s eyes on her back, and when she turned, the senior was there. She walked up to Aegialia, and seized her hand in an overly-tight handshake.

“Do it for the love of the things that will last,” Hera says, and she knows she saw it, Diomedes’ hand on her tie and his slight smile, the way Aegialia froze when he neared her. She should have broken up with him by now.

“I will.” Aegialia wanted to believe that she would be able to keep her promise. Diomedes would believe that she could do anything.

–

While her sisters inherited the knowledge of matters of the heart, Athena was left devoid, it seemed.

Wisdom was knowing when you were in the dark, and Athena was feeling very wise.

Penelope was holding Odysseus’ hand. They were speaking quietly in a corner. No one was supposed to know that the two of them were together, but Athena knew. Athena knew because Odysseus smiled at her and then showed her the glove she had made for Penelope. Athena knew because she saw them clutching hands now. Athena knew because she felt something clawing at her throat, and it might just have been the heart she had buried four years ago.

She had been through too much to let it out now.

She honestly couldn’t name the feeling. Jealousy? Fear? Anger? If she was jealous, she didn’t know what of.

She adored Odysseus. Odysseus was more like her than anyone she had ever met. But if she loved Odysseus, she wasn’t sure she knew how to love anyone, and if she loved Odysseus, she wasn’t sure Odysseus knew how to be loved.

Penelope was better than both of them. Odysseus looked at her, and smiled, and she knew they both knew it.

Odysseus let go of Penelope’s hands and walked over to Athena.

“You should be backstage for her.” Athena said, suggesting all of the things she never did for anyone. She understood the actions lovers took, like reading a script for a different person. She understood the actions that would never be taken for her.

“No. I will watch in the back. I want to be able to see her face. I want her to be able to see me.”

“She could see you in the wings. No one else could.”

“What makes you think I don’t want them to see me?”

Odysseus was smiling, and this was exactly the sort of thing that she would plan. She wanted Penelope to win, but of course she wanted the credit.

“It’s a good plan.”

“Ask the question you want to ask, Athena.”

Athena looked at Odysseus, grey eyes solemn. “I would ask it if I was ready.”

“By ready, you mean already knew the answer?”

“Yes.”

In all honesty, Athena had too many questions, and knew all the answers, and wouldn’t dare make Odysseus say them out loud. She was torn between “What did you say to her” and “What would you say if it was me” and “I wouldn’t say anything if it was you.” So she just said nothing.

She had loved Pallas without limits and she had lost her. Odysseus was the only person who had said it wasn’t her fault, and that felt more like an admission of guilt than anything else.

Pallas was nothing like Odysseus or Penelope, but together, they were a little like both of them. She didn’t want Odysseus to lose Penelope. She didn’t quite love her, but wishing that on someone else was hating them.

She had learned that loving was losing when she was young, and she had only strayed from her defense once. She would not again.

Athena’s mother had loved their father, well and truly, and he married her, but that didn’t make him love her. That just made her stay while she withered away, while he took mistresses that Aphrodite and Hera ignored, while he acted like she was a trophy to put on a shelf and only pull out at galas. Hera was kind to their mother, helped her with chores, protected her from their father’s anger. Athena watched her shrink inside herself, the beautiful, brilliant woman who had read to her as a child, and swore to be different.

She was enough like her father, as much as she hated it, that once she set her mind to something, she would do it. She had one exception. No more. Certainly not here, not now, not like this. How could she? Odysseus was just like her, and Pallas was everything she wasn’t.

Pallas was light and Pallas was lovely. Pallas wore long skirts even in their freshman year of highschool and tried to put flowers in her hair. Pallas could name every romantic poet and would quote Keats at Athena when she felt that Athena wasn’t paying attention. Athena taught her Greek and they would translate Sappho together.

Athena was a poet. Pallas was poetry.

Now, all the beauty she had would be the beauty she created. It was better to be alone.

So instead, Athena set her hand on Odysseus’ shoulder and looked her in the eyes and said “You did well.” She kept her face neutral at Odysseus’ grin and watched Hera over her shoulder. Hera’s eyes were glittering in a way she didn’t like.

She walked over to Penelope and surveyed her, leaning forward to whisper so that no one would overhear her.

“They will have all the facts, Penelope. So do you. If you understand what people want to hear, and not just what the facts say, you will always succeed.”

Poetry is about what people want to hear, Pallas had said before. About putting the things they love into words. The truth is bundled up in that.

Penelope nodded, and Athena wanted to hug her, to tell her she was proud of her, to tell her to hold on to Odysseus and not let go, but she didn’t. She folded her hands in front of her and reminded herself that she was well and truly wise.

She was Athena, and even though Pallas had called her Thea and convinced her to wear flower crowns and go on walks to nowhere and play soccer in the dark, Pallas was gone, so she would be Athena and never lose anyone again. She would pretend not to be conflicted as she stood in the dark and saw Aegialia whispering with Diomedes and watched Odysseus hold Penelope. She wouldn’t ask the question and her facade would never crack. And it would be better that way. To love was to lose.

–

Aegialia was sure that Odysseus already had projections of how this would go, but so did she. She had done even better than projections. She had made plans.

She couldn’t stand Odysseus. She had admitted that to herself before, but she had to hold it in her mind as she stepped onstage. She liked Hera and tolerated Penelope, but it was Odysseus that she couldn’t stand. It was that Athena was helping Odysseus for no good reason. It was that Odysseus was so sure that if push came to shove, in any contest against Aegialia, she would win.

It was that Aegialia wasn’t so sure she was wrong.

She couldn’t place what made Odysseus a stronger competitor than she was, but she could feel it simmering in the air now. She could feel those black eyes on her. Odysseus had made a gamble, and now she wanted to see if it would work.

Well, Aegialia had made a gamble too. She had made a gamble when she had chosen Diomedes and when she had waited this long to end things. She would be able to cut everything off tomorrow, and that should give her an advantage, no matter what Odysseus pulled tonight. Aegialia wanted to trust Penelope, but she knew Odysseus. There would be tricks.

It wasn’t even Odysseus watching her that worried her the most. It wasn’t the knowing smile that Hera gave it. It was that Athena was sitting in the front row, and she had a kind of imperceptible smile on her face. That made Aegialia nervous and angry.

It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t get past that point. It wasn’t fair that Athena hadn’t chosen her. She understood, to a degree, why Athena liked both Odysseus and Diomedes, but why she preferred Odysseus was an eternal mystery, and why Athena never even considered Aegialia irked her daily. Athena had been speaking to Penelope. She saw it. She wanted to know what was said.

She could not place it. She was always planning, always ready, always prepared. She was everything the senior was supposed to stand for and yet she was not good enough.

It was that endless inadequacy that haunted her even on this stage, but she had done all she could do. All that was left was to trust herself.

After all, there was no one else to trust.

“First question,” Aphrodite said, preening from the moderator’s seat. Aegialia didn’t have time to wonder who had given the position to her. “What’s your prom theme?”

The auditorium laughed, but Aegialia didn’t. She knew this question mattered, but it was just so… trivial. So much about this felt trivial, and she wanted to get the point. She didn’t even hear the other two answers.

“I’d let the student body nominate and vote on themes,” she said, reminding herself to face the crowd and to smile. Authenticity was almost impossible to replicate, but she had been practicing acting more welcoming. She didn’t want to come across as abrasive, but really, how much did smiles help her? She had good answers or she didn’t.

They helped her more than she liked.

Aphrodite grinned and turned to the crowd as though she had just said something revolutionary. Aegialia cast her eyes to the left. Diomedes was leaning against the wall, near the corner of the auditorium, apparently choosing not to sit. His arms were crossed and his expression was an almost-smile that straddled the line between troublesome and menacing. Aegialia looked to the right and Odysseus was leaning against the other wall of the auditorium, nearly the same grin on her face.

Aegialia pretended not to notice.

The next few questions were meaningless. She didn’t know another way to bother, and in her own mind, she had privacy, so she called them meaningless. She looked offstage and Diomedes was grinning at her like they were sharing some private joke. Maybe they were.

She heard a sharp inhale. All her attention was back to Aphrodite. Had she been making enough eye contact with the crowd? It seemed like it. But Aphrodite was pursing her lips and shuffling the cards and even if that was minute, it could only mean one thing. Something important was coming.

“Mental health days.” Aphrodite said. She put the cards on the table, metaphorically and literally. “Yes or no?”

Aegialia blinked. This was not in her flashcards, but it didn’t matter, because there was a study from three years ago.. And there was one performed by Johns Hopkins…

Everyone was looking at her. She looked back up, faced the crowd. Diomedes was loyal to a fault and everyone else was waiting. She looked out of the corner of her eye.

Odysseus smiled and it was the precursor to a bite.

Aegialia couldn’t think about that right now. She rolled her shoulders back. She had a plan. She would always be ready.

“There are pros and cons to mental health days,” she said, her words sure and clear. She knew, without a doubt, that this– speaking on a stage, commanding attention– this was what she was born to do. “They provide students with a much-needed break from the stress of their studies. After all, we know that stress impedes focus and cognitive ability.”

She paused. No one was looking away, not yet. Someone was nodding along, though that might have been nothing.

“That being said,” she began tentatively. “It seems like reducing overall homework has more clinical success than full days off. Full days off interrupt the flow of a school week. If every class cut their homework, say, ten minutes a day, that could significantly reduce workload, and any need for days to catch up.”

She nodded, satisfied with herself. No one was rolling their eyes or shaking their head in boredom. She had their attention, and she had the facts. She turned to Hera.

“A good answer,” Hera said approvingly. “To a degree, we are in agreement. I also am concerned about interrupting full class weeks, even if students are using the time to catch up on homework. That being said, I’m not against either mental health days to start or end long weekends. I also might recommend cutting the homework assigned on weekends as an alternative.”

She sounded so pristine. Regal. Aegialia grinned at her and Hera smiled back. Maybe she didn’t need Athena’s approval after all.

Penelope inhaled and Aegialia turned to her. It would be hard to beat either one of them after that.

So why was Odysseus smiling like that?

“What the fine candidates across from me fail to consider,” Penelope said, her voice more clear than Aegialia had ever heard it. “Was that the question was about mental health days, not catchup days. Not every student uses a mental health day to catch up on homework, and nor should they.”

Aegialia blinked. Where were her facts? But then she faced the audience, and Aegialia had the terrible sensation that she didn’t need them.

“School is hardly the only stress we face as students.” She was smiling now, speaking to every person in the room individually and yet all at once. She had learned that from Odysseus.

Or had Odysseus learned it from her?

“Social, parental, romantic.” Her eyes undeniably flitted to the right. “Mental health days are about taking time for ourselves. If they are only for catching up on homework, that’s barely a balm on the issue.”

“A student’s learning environment requires a healthy student. And the best way to do that is to be attentive to our students as individuals.”

It wasn’t reasonable. That wasn’t a fact. There was nothing that could prove that. But Penelope was saying it with conviction, and there was no doubt that her message was landing.

“So I am in favor. Unequivocally. And in fact, I believe that mental health days are just one measure that can be taken, and that there are more that can be implemented– educating students on emotional intelligence, more restorative justice programs in schools rather than punitive. The list goes on, but I won’t.”

Penelope smiled again, gave a little nod. There would be more questions after that, Aegialia was sure, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just lost.

—
Penelope almost didn’t believe it. She knew she could tell a good story. She knew she could make people listen. She had never felt so brave, so sure about it.

It took a lot not to run directly into Odysseus’ arms, but they agreed to keep their relationship a secret from everyone but Athena for now. So she walked, slowly, measuredly, to the backstage area.

Then she collapsed into Odysseus anyway.

“Just talk to me,” Odysseus had said to her, right before the debate. “You know I know that you’re the smartest person in the room. Don’t feel the need to prove it. Just talk to me.”

Penelope wanted to argue, say that Odysseus was smarter than her by leaps and bounds, but she hadn’t argued then, and she couldn't deny that it worked now.

Odysseus wrapped her arms around her, resting her palm right below Penelope’s neck. “You were brilliant,” she whispered. Penelope just laughed.

“Thank Athena,” she said. The senior had been there, just watching, a small sort of tragic smile on her face the entire time. Penelope didn’t know why and she didn’t want to pry. “Thank Athena for me.”

Odysseus nodded. “I will.”

–

Aegialia couldn’t get off the stage fast enough. She bypassed the backstage, cutting around to stand in the parking lot. Diomedes followed her, saying nothing. She wanted to scream.

“What is it?” he asked instead, as even-tempered as always.

“What–” she broke off, realizing in horror that she was about to cry. She put a hand over her mouth and started to pace before turning to face him. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Diomedes took a step towards her and she threw a hand up. He froze. “Ok.” He said it gently, like he was soothing some rare creature. “Ok.”

“That question. The– The mental health days questions. Where did they get that?”

“What do you mean?” He didn’t even have the good grace to look alarmed as the tears started streaming down her face. This was her worst nightmare. She had planned and planned and planned, and that question was not one of their most common questions. It was in the bottom ten percent, because most student governments had no control over mental health days whatsoever, and she had given a good answer anyway. So why did it feel like her plan had failed?

“That question. It’s uncommon. It’s more than uncommon. Does the student government even regulate that?”

“I don’t know– Look, it was one question. You did great, and–”

“No.” Aegialia shook her head. “No. Penelope knew that question was coming. Somehow. I saw her talking to Athena, and– and Odysseus’ smile.”

“Aegialia?” He sounded almost unsure, but Aegialia was furious, and the anger kept her from being afraid, or worse, disappointed.

“Someone convinced Aphrodite to ask that question. Someone had to. Why would she ask it otherwise? You think Aphrodite thought of that?”

Diomedes paused, glancing to the side, before inhaling. “Ok. Walk me through it.”

Aegialia froze in her pacing. “What?”

“Walk me through how this ‘adding question conspiracy’ works. Walk me through it inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Aegialia blinked at him, but he was dead serious, so she just nodded and followed him to his car.

She hadn’t ridden in his car much. Odysseus was always there. But now she was, and the frost on the window panes didn’t quite soak through to the interior. She didn’t ask where he was going. They were probably just driving to drive.

“Walk me through it,” he repeated.

“It was in the bottom ten percent of questions, because the student government has no control over days off.” She forced herself to breathe evenly. “The question about mental health days. But they asked anyway.”

“Alright.”

“When I looked at Odysseus, during that question, she was smiling like a shark about to bite.”

“She does that.”

“This was different.”

“Alright.”

He was so measured, so calm. She genuinely couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and it unnerved her.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“Alright.”

She didn’t know how to argue. She did know she should have asked sooner.

“So Odysseus or Athena put the question in there.”

“It wasn’t Athena.”

“Why?”

“Aphrodite wouldn’t help her.”

“Even to spite Hera?”

“Even then.”

His voice was tight. He wanted to believe it wasn’t Athena because he couldn’t stomach Athena betraying them like that. She didn’t know why it being Odysseus was better, but maybe he was just expecting it.

“They prepare Penelope but not the rest of us.”

“Alright.”

“They picked a question I’d be weak at. Emotional, not logical.”

“Alright.”

“The only person who makes sense is Odysseus.”

He turned on his blinker. Had his movements slowed? If they had, it was minutely. “I agree.”

“You’re not surprised.”

“She was going to pull something like this. I’m not worried.”

“Why?”

“You have a plan.”

He looked over at her. He smiled. Aegialia could breathe again.

They were at her driveway. She hesitated. She was supposed to do something, to say something, to thank him, but she didn’t know what. She paused, then took a deep breath and leaned forward.

Diomedes’ hand caught her shoulder. “What are you doing?” He sounded genuinely alarmed.

“I was going to kiss you.” She didn’t let her voice falter, though his face was making her more unsure.

“Why?”

“I thought–” she cut off. She thought that it was something she was supposed to do. He was her boyfriend, wasn’t he? Although that was supposed to be in name only.

Some part of her wanted to. Her stomach turned. “I misread. I apologize.”

“Do you want to?” He sounded as unsure as she felt.

She didn’t know how to answer that. There was too much happening now, and she panicked. She thought about Athena’s face and Odysseus’ smile and Hera’s advice. Do it for the love of the things that will last.

She had a plan. She’d have to break up with him tomorrow.

“No.” She lied. “I should go inside.”

If she was a liar, then she almost hoped they were a pair of them, because he let her go inside without complaint. What did it matter, though? She was the one who let him go first.

Chapter Text

Helen knew that she had always been a cause of division. It was easy to pretend she wasn’t, because she was so lovely, and everyone was so eager to forget, but she had always been a cause of division.

It started when she was born. That sounded silly when she said it out loud, and Clytemnestra rolled her eyes at her when she mentioned it, so she didn’t mention that. She still knew it was true.

Her mother had cheated on their father, a fact they danced around, a fact nobody talked about. Tyndareus had loved her and that hadn’t been enough for Leda, and she had left with the twin girls that weren’t born yet.

For the first eight years of Helen’s life, that was how it was. It was just her, Clytemnestra, and Leda. She remembers when things were simple, when she didn’t fight with her sister, when they could wear matching clothes to school and everyone would pretend they were identical. Her brothers would visit on weekends and hold her hand on walks and push her on swings.

Then she got older, and her brothers came to visit them one weekend and a man tried to grab her at a mall. Then she got older and her mother wouldn’t let her walk alone. It wasn’t safe for Helen anymore. So they moved back north, where Tyndareus was. He still loved Leda and Leda loved her daughter.

Not that the move really helped anything. She had still been forced to switch schools. She still hated dark classrooms. She still flinched when people touched her and she wasn’t expecting it. And she hadn’t told Menelaus why.

Maybe it was her fault for being stupid. Maybe this was all her fault, but now he was upset with her. She wanted to cry. She wanted to tell her sister. Her brothers were back at college. Helen was alone again, and she was causing problems because that’s all she ever did.

Menelaus had kissed her at school before, and that was fine. He was nice. She couldn’t be upset. But then he was driving her home and tried to kiss her in the driveway and it was dark and she flinched.

Menelaus pulled back, confusion and hurt in his eyes. “Helen?”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t.” She said. She wanted to act like she wasn’t shaking. “It’s just– It’s dark.”

Menelaus furrowed his brows. “Have I upset you?”

“No!” She shook her head. She knew how ridiculous she sounded. ‘It’s dark’ isn’t a reason to not to be able to kiss someone, not unless she was going to explain, and she knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t bear him hating her the way everyone else had. She couldn’t bear that look on his face.

She didn’t want to explain. He would blame her, because everyone blamed her, because all Helen did was cause problems. “You should meet my family,” she said instead, speaking abruptly, trying to fill the silence with something other than the truth. “I mean, my parents. You’ve met Clytemenestra. Obviously.”

Helen paused, feeling her heart beat too quickly in her chest. She was flushed and if it hadn’t been so dark he would have seen it. Her pulse was racing and it wasn’t just adrenaline. It was fear. She needed to get out of this car.

She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the apprehension in his voice. “No I shouldn’t.”

Helen paused, brushing her hair out of her face. She hadn’t forgotten her fear, but he almost calmed her with his hesitation. They were both afraid. “Why?”

“Helen–” He broke off, throwing his eyes to the side. She had never seen him like this before. “You don’t know, and your sister doesn’t know, but your dad will know.”

“Know what?” She narrowed her eyebrows, almost comforted by the darkness. She had been comforted by the darkness before Aeneas.

“Atreides.” He said his last name like a curse. “My father. My uncle.”

Helen tilted her head. Could he see her curiosity? In the darkness of night, did she stop looking perfect? There were no eyes on her now, but even the stars seemed to follow her sometimes.

“He was on the city council,” Menelaus said, not meeting her eyes. She could see the glint of his jawline in the half-light. “My father was, I mean. His own brother ran against him and the campaign– He was fired. Thrown out.”

Helen didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say, except that those kinds of disasters were usually things she caused.
“So my father ran again, and my uncle– his brother, not my mom’s– said he was corrupt. His own brother. And he was right.”

Helen watched him, breathing in and out, thought of the way he and Agamemnon regarded each other like they were waiting for the other one to strike first. It made sense now.

“He was right?” She asked instead, quietly.

“Embezzling money to pay off debts. Gambling debts. Gambling was still illegal here. So he got fired, and he got indicted, and I had to sit there and look at Thystes’ smug fucking face–”

His hands were curled into fists. He sounded angrier than she had ever heard him and she was having a hard time breathing. She traced the stars. His anger didn’t scare her, but anger did.

“Thystes?”

“My uncle.” He said, unfurling his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you upset.”

She shook her head. “Did you ever get along with him?”

He threw a glance to the side. “People say I look like him,” he said softly. “Me, not Agamemnon. He’s my twin, so there’s no way we have different fathers, but there were rumors.”

Helen nodded. She knew about rumors. “It’s worse when the rumors are true.”

“They may still be.” Menelaus said. “Him and my mom– I don’t know. I shouldn’t think about it, but there are memories that don’t add up.”

Helen knew what he meant. Fights between Leda and Tyndareus that made no sense, a father she only kind of knew, a shine in her eyes that looked nothing like him. “Tyndareus isn’t my father.”

She said it quietly, nearly in a whisper. Had Clytemnestra even told Agamemnon that? Helen didn’t know. They hadn’t been talking, not recently, and she didn’t know how to fix whatever she had done wrong. The only people here who knew were Diomedes– and probably Odysseus.

Menelaus was looking at her again, but not in the way he had been earlier, full of concern and anxiety. That made her nervous. Now he was looking at her like she had just turned the color on behind his eyes, like she was making it all make sense.

“He isn’t?”

She shook her head. “Don’t meet my family,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Let’s just go somewhere with more light.”

Menelaus smiled at her. “I have practice in the morning.” He turned on the car light and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She nodded. It wasn’t until she got inside that she realized he hadn’t asked about the darkness. She couldn’t help but be grateful.

<><><>

Odysseus was pacing back and forth in front of her room, cracking her knuckles. She wished she had someone here to talk to, but she didn’t.

Her mom was at work. Her mom didn’t have to work most Saturdays, but she was working this Saturday. And this month had been expensive, so Odysseus didn’t complain. She promised to keep an eye on Ctimene and told Achilles she couldn’t make it to the hospital and walked home after practice.

And heard Ctimene crying.

Her first response was to go in there, and demand to know what was wrong, who hurt her, and then hit them with a car. On reflection, Ctimene probably wouldn’t tell her.

Her second response was to find Eurylochus and blame him for whatever was wrong, because Ctimene liked him so obviously it was almost painful. On reflection, though, if it wasn’t him that was making Ctimene upset, she would have been wasting time.

Her third response was to find some way to be comforting, and this was her best idea yet. Odysseus had no great skill in comfort– she had been existing in a world of sharp edges since her father died– but she would try anything for her family.

Se storgo

So she paced, and cracked her knuckles, and ran ideas through her mind. Ctimene couldn’t have known she was there, because Ctimene didn’t cry in front of other people, not ever. So she had to make a gentle entrance.

Finally, Odysseus leaned against the door and rapped it with her knuckles. She heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Who is it?” Ctimene asked. Her voice was shaking.

“Nobody,” Odysseus said, waiting for her sister to laugh. It was their own private joke. Who had started the fight? Nobody. Who had spilled the water? Nobody. Who snuck out last night and left their window open? Nobody. They shared the name just like they shared the trouble.

Ctimene didn’t laugh.

She didn’t tell her to go away either.

Odysseus opened the door.

Ctimene was not sitting on her bed, like she expected. She was sitting on Odysseus’ bed, her knees pulled into her chest, holding some picture.

Odysseus’ temper flared. She kept pictures of her friends on her nightstand. She needed to add a picture of Penelope, but she already kept a picture of the two of them in her wallet.

If she has the picture with me and Eurylochus, so help me–

Odysseus crossed the room and sat down next to her sister.

And froze.

It was not a picture of her and her friends. She wasn’t even in the picture. She had almost forgotten she had it, but it was an old, old picture of her mother and baby Ctimene.

And their father.

There were teardrops on the picture.

Odysseus breathed out and sat down next to her sister, hesitant to reach for her.

“Mini?” She asked, unsure of what to make of it. She had always assumed that Ctimene had nothing to miss. Had she misjudged that badly?

“I just–” Ctimene tilted her head back, looking at the ceiling like the cracks of paint would have an answer she didn’t. “I miss him.”

Odysseus paused, hovering on the edge of being at a loss for words. She was an excellent liar, but there was no lying to Ctimene about this. Their father was gone. “I do too.”

Maybe she was still lying.

“And I don’t know–” Ctimene closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face like a perfect Renaissance painting. The light highlighted every tear and every stress line on her face. “I am afraid I am awful, because I only sometimes remember him, but I do miss him. And I don’t know how to not blame myself.”

Odysseus pauses, turning those sentences over in her mind like she could take them apart and put them back together. A mechanism to be put back together. The issue was that hearts broke, and she hadn’t found the way to make the pieces slide back together neatly. She had never found a machine she couldn’t crack, though. She would find a way.

Would she leave her sister waiting? No. Surgeons stitched together broken things and Penelope was teaching her to crochet and suture. Odysseus would mend this, with trembling and broken hands.

“You are not awful for the forgetting or the missing him. That– those are feelings. You cannot blame yourself. Those are inner workings of the mind. We cannot control them.”

Yet.

Ctimene shakes her head and breathes in. She is breathing in like she will be tested on it. Odysseus is still not touching her sister.

“I blame myself because he’s dead,” Ctimene said, in the smallest voice Odysseus had ever heard. She was curling into herself. “He died five years ago today, did you know that? He died to protect us.”

Of course Odysseus knew. Of course Odysseus had the date branded into her mind like a tattoo over her heart. Odysseus had been moody all day and Penelope hadn’t asked, but she had practiced her sutures like she was doing them on herself.

She nodded. She put her arm around her sister. Ctimene felt entirely too fragile, entirely too small. Odysseus was terrified that she would break her. She didn’t speak. She waited.

It was excruciating.

“And if we hadn’t been there, maybe he’d be alive.” Ctimene looked up at her, eyes wide and pleading. “Am I being awful?”

She wanted to be lied to, Odysseus realized dimly. Or she thought she did. She wanted her sister to set it all right and call her silly.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Odysseus was not tempted to lie.

“You are not being awful.” Odysseus said. “You are being logical, but you are missing a piece. I do not blame you. He did die to protect us, but that’s not all.”

Odysseus was shaking now, and Ctimene was courteous enough not to comment on it. Maybe she truly didn’t notice. Weren’t they both moving forward, through hell and high water, with trembling and fear? Wasn’t that the only way to move forward?

“He died because he loved us. When everything else was gone, he remembered that he loved us. When he heard things that weren’t there and saw things that weren’t real, he remembered that he loved us.”

Odysseus had turned that fact over in her mind on a thousand cold nights, terrified of ending up like her father. She still cannot say if it comforted her, but it was true then and it is still true now.

Maybe knowing that one truth was the thing that made her a liar.

Chapter Text

Odysseus had invited her, and so she had come.

It shouldn’t have been so simplistic. There was a time when Penelope would have flat out refused to go to a party, because her father needed her. There was a time when she would have refused because the novelty made her nervous.

But since Odysseus kissed her, it has been terribly hard to say no. How could she, when Odysseus looked at her with those new moon eyes like she was the sun that was missing? How could she say no to being wanted, really and truly.

Diomedes didn’t drive Odysseus. Odysseus came over to Penelope’s house and they walked. Her father didn’t even ask where she was going. He was just sitting at the table, staring straight ahead.

“Did you take your meds?” She asked quietly. Odysseus was standing in their foyer.

He didn’t really answer.

She wished her mother– step-mother– was here. She wished they weren’t alone. She wished her absence wasn’t Penelope’s fault.

She met Odysseus in the foyer. Odysseus had smiled at her. Penelope pretended she wasn’t feeling shy.

She had allowed herself to get a dress for this– a real minidress, purple and knitted, with cold shoulders and a halter neck. She pretended not to notice that Odysseus was wearing the butterfly clips she had given to her a week ago.

Penelope was also wearing butterfly clips, butterfly earrings, and butterfly details on her shoes. She still thought Odysseus wore them better.

Odysseus looked so perfect it was a little difficult to breathe. There had been times before this, when she had caught Odysseus’ eye in the hallway or she had seen her laugh from halfway across the room and she had felt her heart speed up. This was absolutely worse.

Odysseus’ hair was clipped back, but only barely. She was half smirking at Penelope, her hands in her jacket, her grin lethal. She was wearing a black denim miniskirt with one of those waist chains, complete with tiny butterflies on it. Penelope didn’t even know she owned such a thing. Her shirt was slick and cropped, like something that would have been popular in the early 2000s, a dark red matched by her lipstick. She was wearing a cropped black denim jacket that someone had sewed Penelope’s crocheted flowers onto.

“Nice dress,” she said, as though Penelope couldn’t feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.

“I like the chain,” Penelope returned. She pursed her lips, then paused. “Is that lipstick smudge-resistant?”

Odysseus looked like she was on the border of a laugh. “Why?”

Penelope did laugh. It wasn’t really an answer, but then again, yes it was. By the way she was smiling, yes it was.

They walked. Penelope didn’t even care that it was dark. She was cold, but she didn’t complain. It was New Year's eve. The fireworks kept throwing Odysseus into different lights. All of them were her color.

They reached the door together. Odysseus knocked. There was a moment of silence.

Odysseus put her hand on Penelope’s back. Penelope’s dress that had seemed thin in the cold January air now felt entirely too solid. She turned.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Just–” Odysseus threw a glance to the side. “Aegialia might be there.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Might?”

Odysseus’ hand on her back turned into a more of a grip on her dress. “Will be there.”

“Aegialia hates you.” Penelope said. “Not me.”

Odysseus’ eyes narrowed more, but if she was going to say something, she was interrupted by the door opening.

A boy– no, man– stood there, tall and broad and serious. He looked like an eagle, all sternness and authority, but he grinned when he saw Odysseus.

“Ody!” He said, wrapping her into a hug.

“Hector,” she said, returning it, much to Penelope’s surprise. “Are you gonna let us inside?”

“Of course,” Hector said with a smile. “As long as you’ve got a gift.”

They both followed him in, though Penelope stayed close to Odysseus. “Isn’t he the one that Achilles–”

Odysseus shook her head sharply. “Not here. Not now.”

Penelope listened. And listened. And waited. She waited while Odysseus greeted every person in the entire building, while she picked fights with Athena, while she talked to Hector about his baby.

“Do you want to hold him? He’s asleep, upstairs, with Andromache, but–”

Odysseus cut him off. “No. No, I’m afraid I’d drop him.”

Hector laughed. Penelope didn’t.

She waited.

Finally– finally, and it felt like it had been forever, Odysseus disentangled herself from a conversation with Eurylochus. Penelope grabbed her elbow.

“You know Hector?”

Odysseus nodded, her eyes going everywhere else. Penelope knew that look. “Don’t lie.”

“I do.”

“And he’s the one that hurt Patroclus?”

Odysseus shook her head. “Paris did.”

Penelope furrowed her eyebrows. “Wasn’t he there?” She was certain she had heard something about it, and now she was doubting herself.

Odysseus softened, all at once. “Yeah.” She sighed, shaking her head. “He was trying to pull Paris off of him– then Patroclus hit him. But he’s…” She trailed off, watching Hector weave through the crowd. “An old friend.”

Penelope nodded, and it felt like a lie. She didn’t understand. She didn’t know how to understand. What did ‘an old friend’ even mean? For Odysseus, it could have meant a thousand things. For Penelope, it meant her mother.

Her step-mother, but she couldn’t bear to call her that, so it was just “an old friend.” The woman that raised her. The woman her father had lied to.

The woman that had left, and it was Penelope’s fault.

Penelope had been adopted. Not that she knew it. Not that Odysseus knew it.

Her father had said she was his niece, and her mother, or step-mother, or old friend, had taken her in and raised her. Until she found out Penelope wasn’t Icarius’ niece.

She was his daughter.

By her best friend.

And he had tried to drop the girl off at social services, but he realized there were cameras, and they would try to match her back with blood relatives, so he concocted that elaborate lie.

So she left.

And it was Penelope’s fault.

She hadn’t told Odysseus. She hadn’t known how. She had been too afraid, and then too embarrassed, and then too sure that Odysseus would somehow blame her too.

She could bear anything but Odysseus blaming her too.

So she didn’t have old friends. She watched Odysseus with hers.

“Is something wrong?” Odysseus asked with furrowed eyebrows. Penelope hesitated, her hands finding their way to the crocheted flowers on Odysseus’ jean jackets.

“I don’t know,” Penelope admitted. They had been totally fine tonight, but for the last week Odysseus had been quiet and odd, watching Ctimene with something brushing right up against concern. And she still wasn’t speaking to Diomedes. And then there was whatever was wrong with Aegialia. “What was that about Aegialia earlier?”

Odysseus sighed, blowing out her breath like it was cigarette smoke. Her hand fluttered over Penelope’s, which was still fidgeting with her jacket.

Finally, she closed her grip over Penelope’s wrist and tugged her backwards.

“Come here,” she said quietly. Penelope followed without questioning it. That was more of the same problem.

She did not expect to be tugged into a closet. Odysseus pulled her forwards and then shut the door with her heel and suddenly it was dark and all of the sounds of the party felt very far away. Penelope flushed. Someone’s coat brushed against her cheek. The wall pressing into her back was cold, but she felt very warm.

She heard a dim thud and watched Odysseus’ outline lean against the door. She was only barely visible, limned by the light from outside the door.

“Ok.” Odysseus said. “Ok. I’m gonna talk. Stop me if I lose you, ok?”

Penelope, privately, was really wishing that Odysseus would do anything other than talk right now. Her hair was an ink stain against the light leaking out from under the door. Penelope briefly considered wrapping it around her thumb, but she knew then she’d never know. She nodded.

“Aegialia has this. Thing. She hates me, like you said, but she’s like Agamemnon. She never goes at it head on.”

“You never go at it head on,” Penelope pointed out.

Odysseus almost laughed. “Alright, fair. She’s like me. Maybe that’s why she hates me– it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Penelope opened her mouth to argue, to say that she wasn’t hateable, that she needed to think better of herself. Odysseus just shook her head. “So she goes after the people closest to me. She didn’t need Diomedes as her fake boyfriend. But she wanted him. And I’m just–” She looked down, like she was hesitating. Penelope nodded in a way she hoped was encouraging.

“They’re gonna play spin the bottle tonight. That’s the kind of shit she loves to rig. I don’t want her to use it to get back in Dio’s head. Or yours.”

She looked at Penelope, eyes darker than ever, scanning her face for some kind of reaction. Penelope grinned for the first time, reaching forward to twist Odysseus’ hair through her finger.

“We don’t have to play,” she said quietly, moving closer to Odysseus until she was the one pressed against the door. “It works just fine with just the two of us.”

Odysseus’ face split into that troublemaker’s smile again. “In that case,” she said, her lips even closer to Penelope’s so that she was almost speaking into her mouth. “I like your solutions.”

Penelope supposed there were plenty of ways to find out if a lipstick was smudge resistant.

<><><>

Odysseus should have brought Penelope in on the scheme she was planning, but she didn’t tell her, because she had never told anyone any of her schemes. They were either Diomedes, and they figured it out, or they didn’t know. Besides, this was a scheme thrust upon her by unfortunate circumstances.

She hated to say that she seemed to be neglecting Polites, but it was true. Elpenor, too, but he had other friends. Polites was friends with everyone, but he seemed worried about her. It started when she asked him to get the blood out of Diomedes’ jacket.

“It’s not mine,” she said, and Polites nodded tightly in the way he did when he didn’t approve of her behavior. She wanted to explain, but she didn’t know where to start. She told him her schemes when they were already starting. She felt like she was losing allies.

She hadn’t given Diomedes his jacket back. She was holding on too tightly to him, and she didn’t know if it was out of some sort of dig at Aegialia, or fear of losing anyone else. Polites was slipping through her fingers. There was a time when he would have asked. There was a time when Polites would have noticed that something was wrong and he would have challenged her on it. Ever since the rumor with Agamemnon and the knife, though—

Polites had approached her about it. He was the only one. Diomedes had grabbed her arm and pulled her into some dark corner of the school, and with her back against the wall she almost thought he was going to kiss her again. Maybe he was, but he didn’t.

“Give me the knife,” he said, and that was almost a kiss. “Then they won’t find anything on you.”

“And if it’s on you?”

“Then it’s on me. My family can afford a lawyer.”

But Diomedes hadn’t asked about her. He hadn’t asked how she was. He just asked for the knife, and she gave it to him.

Athena had told her that she had a plan to keep a secret. “I’m not doing this for you,” Athena said, point-blank. “We need to have experienced players. If you get expelled for pulling a knife, we’ll lose a player.”

Odysseus had smiled, then. She and Athena were close from that moment on, because they both smiled in the face of something categorically awful. They smiled because they saw the opportunity.

But Athena hadn’t asked how she was feeling. Underneath the smile, Odysseus was shaking.

Polites had asked. He had found her, and pursed his lips, and hugged her. It wasn’t what she expected.

“I’m sorry about your father.” He didn’t ask about the knife or the anger. She knew he had heard about it just from the way he was looking at her. “How are you? I mean— I know you’re not ok. How can I help?”

He was the only one who asked. When she handed him the jacket, he didn’t ask, like she had finally slipped. She was too far gone.

She couldn’t even confide in Athena. Athena had been an odd sort of distant since the debate, like she was both moving closer and running away all at once. Or like she couldn’t decide. That might have been the case with anyone else, but Athena was nothing if not decisive. Nothing. Decisive and ambitious, and Athena wouldn’t lie to her.

So when she walked in with Penelope, she tried to warn her about her anxieties and the sense of foreboding she had been feeling since the debate. Had she done it well enough? Penelope was distracting. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Odysseus could almost forget her fears about Aegilia, how everyone seemed to be growing away from her, how their team chemistry was falling apart.

She didn’t tell her the full truth about Aegialia. She didn’t lie, because she had promised not to, but she didn’t tell her the full truth either. She knew too much and she didn’t know how to talk about it. She had talked to Athena mostly in whispers.

“Athena,” she said, feeling Penelope lingering in her periphery. Odysseus knew that she’d be talking to some of her friends or laughing at the perfect time and watching everything. It was one of her favorite traits about Penelope— she saw everything. But she also knew that if she disguised this as an argument, Penelope wouldn’t look past it.

She should have told her, but she didn’t know how.

“Odysseus,” Athena said, turning towards her fully. Athena wasn’t dressed the way Odysseus expected. Honestly, Odysseus hadn’t expected her at a party at all.

Athena was in a gray sweatshirt, cut cropped just below her ribs, silver shorts and silver boots. Her hair was braided into a crown. She had the name of a college on her sweatshirt, some college out west. It wasn’t her usual look. Odysseus quirked an eyebrow.

“A gift from one of their students.” Athena said, smoothing the shirt. “I’ll explain later. What is it.”

“Pretend like you’re arguing with me.”

“No.”

“Now you’ve got it. I need to tell you something, and you cannot react in any way.”

Athena sighed and set down her cup. Odysseus could now see that it was filled with lemonade and she almost laughed. They were exactly the same. She never drank at parties either. “What makes you think I care much about what you have to say?”

“Aegialia cheated on Diomedes.”

The tiniest widening of eyes. Athena picked her cup back up and sipped it slowly, letting the rim cover most of her face. Her eyes were burning. “How do you know?”

Odysseus paused, thinking about the aftermath of the debate and the way Aegialia stared her down. She thought about the boy two rows back that her eyes kept tracking towards and the way she hesitated before leaving with Diomedes. She should have seen it sooner. Polites shouldn’t have had to tell her.

“I’m telling you something I shouldn’t,” Polites said, handing her back Diomedes’ jacket. The bloodstains were totally gone. “I’m telling you because it isn’t my place, but it might be yours. Odysseus, please do the kind thing.”

He hadn’t asked her to do the right thing because he knew they had wildly different ideas of what was right. He asked her to do the kind thing and she still didn’t know what that was.

“Aegialia has been seeing someone. I know the situation with Diomedes is weird, but we take piano right after each other, and we got to talking, and she told me…” Polites sighed, adjusting his glasses. “I shouldn’t be saying this, but he was my friend first. She said she had to break up with him. She said she’d been “lying to him for long enough,” and she wouldn’t tell me what that meant, but I think… Ody, it can’t be good.”

Odysseus accepted this information with a calm demeanor even as she could feel it slipping into white-hot rage. Of course she knew that Aegialia and Diomedes hadn’t been real, and Aegialia knew that too, but Odysseus knew Diomedes. He would never get over this slight, and it was ridiculous, because Aegialia could have broken up with him whenever she wanted, she just didn’t.

Odysseus didn’t say that. “Polites told me,” she said instead. “He asked me to be kind.”

Athena’s lips quirked. They both knew the irony of that request. They were prudent and responsible and clever and vicious, but they were terrible at kindness.

“With who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Know.” Athena said, lifting her drink back to her lips, eyes gleaming over the rim. “Before you do anything, know.”

Odysseus would know. She couldn't find out now, but she would know.

The party was well-planned. It was good to see Hector again. She didn’t look for Paris, because she didn’t want to see him. It would make her too angry. Achilles wouldn’t go anywhere near Hector. She had asked him to come, and his refusal had been tight-lidded anger.

Patroclus was doing better. Walking, out of the hospital. He would be back at school after winter break. She had been thinking about going back to school. They’d get the new student body president for the spring semester. Penelope deserved it. She had won that debate.

They didn’t have to play spin the bottle. Penelope was right. It worked better with just the two of them, and it was nice not to wonder where Agamemnon was, or why everyone in this school was underhanded, or why Athena and Polites and Diomedes were all tired of her and how long it would take Penelope to decide the same. It was nice to know that Eurylochus was with Ctimene and she’d be safe. Odysseus had just let herself relax into Penelope’s touch when she heard the yelling.

Penelope's hands were tangled in her hair, Odysseus pressing her against the wall of the closet with her hips, an arm around her back. But her eyes flew open and she spun towards the door, her hand still lingering by Penelope’s hip bone.

Her eyes flew open. That was Diomedes shouting. That was– He didn’t just sound angry, he sounded afraid.

“I have to—”

Penelope nodded tightly. “Get the lipstick off your face.” Her eyes were sparkling. “Be safe.”

Odysseus nodded, and pushed the door open.

Chapter Text

<30 minutes ago>

Helen was very good at pretending not to notice things, as a rule. She was good at pretending that nothing bothered her. And she was good at pretending that she was fine when she wasn’t.

All of her skills were being tested at this party.

Menelaus was acting strangely. She wanted to pretend like he wasn’t, but it seemed as though he was hoping they could both forget their conversation in the dark, like it was something to be ashamed of. Maybe he thought it was. Maybe she was meant to be a set piece for him, and she had broken her shell. That always seemed to be where it fell apart.

Everyone liked her as a statue. If she was just an image, she couldn’t cause too much difficulty for anyone. And so she was very good at pretending not to notice anything, because statues were, as a rule, unobservant.

She walked in, still pinned to his side, even if Menelaus wouldn’t look at her. She had actually tried to get dressed up for this party, and now she regretted it, because the sensation of eyes on her was so palpable it could have been an itch.

The blue dress she was wearing was a gift from her brothers, a gift for Christmas that seemed to have passed weeks ago when it was only a few days. A new years party was a lovely occasion for new Christmas dresses, especially one she was too scared to wear, and she was grateful for the knit quality of the fabric with the chill of the air conditioning inside the house. She knew there would be a crush of people, warming up the house, but it still felt like overkill to have the air conditioning on already.

The dress reached to just above her knees, but she still felt a draw to tug it now, since it clung to her skin enough to ride up sometimes. The light blue color didn’t exactly fit the black-and-gold of the decorations, but it was still a wintery shade. And the cold shoulders were as fun as they were impractical. She was only selectively chilly.

“I’m going to find my brother,” Menelaus said, and then he was gone. He didn’t give her a chance to ask him to stay, to reach for his arm, to pause. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. He left her alone with the weight of all those eyes.

Helen has been bearing that weight alone for a very long time. She just thought that with Menelaus, it might be different.

The crush of bodies was even more intense here, and Helen was about to panic, to freeze, to run out, when she felt a hand on her arm.

Aphrodite. Aphrodite grabbed her arm and pulled her back into some corner that must have been near the kitchen, what with all the cabinets and the strong smell of spices.

This house was designed for a party. It had a tiny foyer, where shoes and coats ought to have gone. It was instead crammed with people greeting each other, laughing and grinning and forcing conversation. The foyer has a hallway off to the left that she can’t see down, but spills into a dining room. The dining room was a mess, the table littered with cups, and an open living room marked only by a change from hardwood floors to carpet. The living room was full of people on couches, people on the floor, people in line for the bathroom that was just to the right of the living room. And beside the tiny powder room was the kitchen, with an island blocking it off from the dining room and counters and sinks, and apparently, a spice cabinet.

It was in this spice cabinet that Helen stood, staring at Aphrodite as she leaned by the refrigerator. Aphrodite smiled. Under the overwhelming scent of cinnamon, Helen smelled something else. Apples.

“You look lost,” Aphrodite said, and Helen noticed that the crowd seemed to move around them, as though Aphrodite was warding them off. Helen shook her head.

“I’m not lost. I was just waiting for Menelaus, but–”

“Oh,” Aphrodite said, eyes widening. “I thought Menelaus had left.”

“...Left?” It had been just a few minutes. Helen’s breath caught.

“Gone,” Aphrodite continued breezily, waving her hand at nothing. Helen wanted to close the door of the spice cabinet, wanted to stop inhaling so much cinnamon, wanted to be able to focus. “Off with his brother, but of course it was important.” Her eyes widened a beat too late. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Helen shook her head mutely.

Aphrodite sighed. “Well, Agamemnon left your sister here as well. All for the best, I imagine. I’m sure he said something about getting liquor, but I heard the most delicious rumor…” She trailed off, appraising Helen almost hungrily.

“What?” Helen asked, unable to refuse the curiosity. It was foolish and she knew it, but she also just couldn’t help it. “What is it?”

“That he’s going to pick up Briseis,” Aphrodite said. “But I’m sure that isn’t true. A freshman would be terribly embarrassing. And Menelaus is such an upright man…”

Helen could feel her heart in her throat. If Menelaus was going with his brother— if Agamemnon was going to cheat, and Menelaus was okay with it—

She was snapped out of her reverie by a hand on her arm. “We’re going to play spin the bottle,” Aphrodite said softly. “I know this is upsetting and I hate to tell you, really. Do you want to take your mind off it?”

Helen hesitated, and hesitated, and hesitated more. She thought about what Diomedes said to her. “They’re watching anyway.” She thought about how she had known about Briseis for a month and didn’t know what to do. She thought about how she had noticed everything Menelaus had done, and she was angry.

“I want to play truth or dare.”

Aphrodite pulled her hand back, contemplating Helen like she was seeing her in a new light. Then she smiled and nodded. “Deal. Let’s go.”

Against or towards her better judgement, Helen followed.

<><><>

Clytemnestra was almost surprised to see her sister here, even though she didn’t know why. Menelaus was coming. Why shouldn’t his girlfriend?

Except— those two didn’t act like they were dating. Menelaus had gone to the Halloween party alone. He drank beer out of shitty plastic cups and made jokes with Agamemnon that seemed designed to go over her head on his own. He had seemed perfectly happy doing it.

Helen hid more. Clytemnestra sort of hoped this school would be a fresh start for them, where they could get out of each other’s shadows, and it was, but not as she had hoped. Helen just started hiding from everyone. Clytemnestra had never felt shut out by her before.

She almost felt guilty for liking it. Today, she got ready for the party on her own. She pulled out her cropped shirt with “angel” in graphic font. She did her own eyeliner and aggressive lip. She didn’t listen to Helen deliberate over mascara like it was the end of the world. Her skirt was as tiny as she wanted and there were no brothers sighing over her shoulder.

She wanted to be left alone by her family, and now they had, and she almost hated it.

She didn’t text any of them. She didn’t ask them to drive her or facetime her brothers or ask what was happening with their girlfriends. She let Agamemnon drive her in the truck she really hated now, because it was loud and obnoxious and reminded her of him, and ignored him when he tried to put his hand on her thigh.

They weren’t even at the damn party yet. She wasn’t going to miss it for whatever it was that he wanted.

Honestly, she was one to judge Helen for asking like she wasn’t really dating her boyfriend. Even though Clytemnestra walked in with his hand in hers, she let go almost immediately.

She didn’t know when something started to feel off about him. He was undoubtedly handsome and charming. He could smile and persuade people to do what he wanted. But he also spoke so bitterly about his teammates, stared down everyone who had anything he didn’t have, and glowered at her in silence for weeks. He could be perfect, or he could be awful. She was tired of the rollercoaster.

That probably didn’t make her behavior right. She didn’t know if what she was doing was really cheating, but it felt close.

She couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he found out. A kind of anger she didn’t want to think about. He was chronically bitter and periodically found a way to lighten it, but she had learned that the anger wasn’t the passing storm. His anger, his bitterness— that was the root of him. Especially when he was home.

She liked kissing in his car. She liked feeling special. She hated being in his house. The whole place felt rotten. She wondered if the decaying part of him was an extension of that. She knew she couldn’t save him.

She had tried.

Hera was standing in the corner, watching the drinks table with falcon eyes. Clytemnestra didn’t ask why, didn’t look behind her to see if Agamemnon was still looking for her. She didn’t want to see the poisonous green in his eyes and know she had missed it. She didn’t know how to get out.

“Hera,” she said, smiling slightly. She had become closer with the senior, recently, through a mutual acquaintance. Her cold demeanor was challenging, but she seemed so in-control. It was soothing for someone who could feel everything slipping through her fingers.

Even here. Hera wore a peacock blue dress that zipped up the front, starting from below her knees and going up to her collar. It was sensible and tight-fitting, paired with peacock-feather earrings and a braided crown. The texturing on the dress was subtle ridges. She looked effortlessly put together. Clytemnestra suddenly felt gaudy in her presence.

“Clytemnestra. Where’s your other half?” Hera smiled slightly when she said it. She knew she was issuing a challenge.

Agamemnon? Or did Hera know. If Hera knew… Clytemnestra sighed, leaning against the wall calmly. “Oh, he’s somewhere.”

“He?” Hera’s smile stretched wider. “If you say so.”

Clytemnestra could feel her skin itching under Hera’s gaze. She wasn’t ready to admit what the girl was clearly searching for, but she also didn’t want to leave the conversation that was currently her anchor. If she went back into the crush of people, it might mean confrontation.

Just then, she felt a hand on her arm. She turned. Aegialia stood there, two fingers lightly on her upper arm.

“Hello,” Aegialia said, smiling at both her and Hera. She leaned in, so that only Clytemnestra could hear her. “Darling.”

Hera smiled wider. Clytemnestra did too. She couldn’t help it.

Chapter Text

Helen walked towards the circle of those seated in the living room with Aphrodite beside her. Aphrodite took her place on the opposite side of the circle, leaving Helen between Briseis and another freshman she didn’t know.

She knew Briseis only tangentially, only from her discussions with Odysseus.

Her presence sent a cold shock through Helen, just as much as Agamemnon’s presence on the other side of the room.

And his brother– her boyfriend, next to him. Agamemnon smiled at Briseis, and the girl returned a smile. Menelaus refused to meet Helen’s eyes.

She didn’t want to believe that Aphrodite could have been right, but now there was no other option. Now, she had to make a choice. She could let this lie, or—

They’re watching anyway.

Aphrodite interrupted her thoughts, as she smiled and addressed everyone.

“Truth or dare,” she said cheerfully. “Nothing illegal, unless it’s very exciting.” She winked, and everyone laughed, but Helen did not get the sense that she was joking at all.

The beginning was easy. They went around the circle.

And then it came to Briseis, who dared the girl just before her, Iphis, to name the hottest teacher they had. Helen didn’t remember who she named.

And then it was her turn.

They’re watching anyway. Helen took a steadying breath. Her sister stood in the corner of the room, talking to two other girls. But she was in earshot. Helen knew it.

“Agamemnon.”

His attention snapped back to her. He had been staring off into the distance as those before him had taken their turns, but now he didn’t seem bored at all.

Helen leaned forward. Agamemnon was grinning at her almost like he was about to devour her, and Menelaus was shifting in his seat. She set her hand on the ground between them and gave him her sweetest smile.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” He leaned back like she had issued some kind of challenge. He had no idea.

“Cool.” She kept her smile, sticky sweet. She waited for the room to go quiet. It didn’t take long. Everyone was watching her with baited breath just because they could. “Isn’t it true that you cheated on my sister with a freshman?”

The room went quiet. Clytemnestra stared at her. “Helen- what the hell?”

“He hasn’t answered,” Helen said quietly. She could feel the electricity in the room, all the eyes on her. She could feel the draw she had. For once, she wasn’t hiding from it.

They’re watching you anyway.

“No. That’s ridiculous.”

“Really?” Helen asked. She stared at Briseis, who was staring at her, eyes wide. “Briseis?”

“You have a sister?” Briseis said. She turned to Agamemnon. “You have a girlfriend?”

No one moved– wait. There was movement out of the corner of her eye. Beside Penelope. Odysseus was covering her mouth, but her shoulders were shaking.

She was laughing. Odysseus was laughing. Diomedes was beside her, with a cheshire-cat smile. He was looking at Helen.

She met his eyes. She winked.

There was a blur in the corner of her eye, Clytemnestra storming out, Agamemnon shoving himself to his feet. Menelaus stared at her with wide, shocked eyes.

Helen could not bring herself to feel sorry. She stood, shoving herself to her feet. “That was it for me.”

Everyone moved around her to fill the gaps, but she could hear the charged silence in the room, people glancing at each other. Aphrodite’s ringing voice called out above the crowd, sounding like she too was on the edge of a laugh.

“Well,” she said. “It’s time for a new game, then.”

Helen left them inside, shoving herself out the door Clytemnestra had just exited through, the cold of the garden shocking after the heat of indoors. Hector’s house– Paris’ house too– had been heated by all the body warmth inside, but now it was just the two of them in the cold.

“What the hell was that?” Clytemnestra demanded, spinning around on her heel. Helen took an involuntary step back, as if she would flee inside. As if it was any safer.

If she was being honest, she didn’t know. She had been feeling tired and fed up and exhausted, and she just wanted something to change. She wanted to do something about that change.

And Menelaus had ditched her, and Clytemnestra hadn’t noticed. She was angry with them.

Was this just about hurting them, then? Was it just her own selfishness? She felt guilty about not telling Clytemenstra. Of course she did. But she had waited for months to tell her anyway, because—

She didn’t know why. Because.

“You deserved to know. Briseis deserved to know.”

“And that’s how you decide to tell us?” Clytemenstra demanded, her eyes wide. She was breathing hard, like her shirt was too small for her, like the necklaces were tightening around her neck. “In front of everyone? God, Helen, it’s like you’re trying to overshadow me.”

Helen forced herself not to take another step back, eyes wide. “What do you mean?” she asked. Her voice was weaker than she would have liked, as weak as she felt.

“Really?” Clytemnestra asked. “Really? You don’t know? How self-centered do you have to be?”

It felt like a slap. Clytemnestra was the only one who believed her, the only one who stood by her, the only one who trusted her at their old school. She had defended Helen her whole life. What had she said to Diomedes? Her siblings kept her alive.

And Clytemnestra was talking like she hated her.

“We moved here because of you, Helen. Because of Aeneas, and it was the right thing to do. I hated that prick. I protected you from him. But we get here, and you start dating my boyfriend’s fucking brother. What, did you want double dates so everyone would be staring at you this whole time?”

“You introduced us!” Helen protested, trembling. “You had him show me around. I thought– I thought you wanted–” she was on the edge of crying, running the memories back in her mind. She thought Clytemnestra wanted her to end up with Menelaus. They had always been together. “We were always a set.”

“Oh sure, Helen and her shadow,” Clytemnestra said derisively. “You might have thought that I made people look at you less, but I don’t want to be your sponge for unwanted attention forever, Helen. I’m so sorry that you’re so gorgeous it ruined your fucking life or whatever, but I am sick and tired of you making it my problem.”

Helen was really crying, sobs wracking her body. She had just wanted things to change. “I wasn’t trying to humiliate you,” she said, forcing herself to speak through her tears. “I was trying to embarrass him. Him and Menelaus.” She was angry that Menelaus had left her to help his brother cheat. She was angry at the idea that Menelaus could cheat on her. She was confused by the distance between her and her sister. She wanted to fix it. “I wanted to make it better.”

“You made my boyfriend cheating on me about you!” Clytemnestra said, throwing her arms out. “Now that’s what everyone is going to be telling me about, how Helen exposed him, how Helen is so brave. But I know you. This is something you decided to do. Maybe if you decided to tell me— but you didn’t. You wanted the spotlight, didn’t you?”

“How could you think that?” Helen demanded. “I hate it. I hate it. If you want the attention, take it.”

Clytemnestra scoffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t even care about the cheating, Helen. Really. I wanted a reason to break up with him. But you didn’t tell me! You went and pulled this shit, and you didn’t tell me.”

Helen knew that she was awful. She had been the cause of division since she was a child: uprooting her family, worrying her siblings. She knew that she was awful, but she took some comfort in it being inherent, not a choice. And now–

Was she really choosing to be awful? Had she somehow engineered all of the situations she had gotten herself into just for the attention? Had this all been about the attention?

“I wanted to do something good with it,” she said. “The attention. I wanted to help.”

“You could have helped by telling me,” Clytemenstra said. “You could have helped by being my sister.”

I’m still your sister, Helen thought, but she wasn’t even crying anymore. Her stomach was in knots of anger and fear and shock; anger at herself and Agamemnon, fear that Clytemenstra was right, shock that everything had gone so horribly.

The worst part was she still didn’t feel sorry about what she had done. It felt good. She was angry, and she had done something about it. Maybe imperfectly, but she would—

She would do it again. She took another shuddering breath. She wiped her tears and pushed herself back into the living room.

<><><>

What was she expecting? The house was the same, Athena and Odysseus in a corner, debating about something, hands flying. Aegialia was staring at the door that Helen exited too intently, her lip curling when she saw her. Helen took another steadying breath.

She should have felt worse. After everything that had happened, she should have felt worse. About not telling Clytemenstra. About all of it. But she didn’t— she felt angrier than ever.

It was Agamemnon that had done this, Agamemnon and Menelaus, driving a wedge between her and her sister. They were nowhere to be seen. Probably, they ran off. Menelaus had told her the truth and held her hand and been sweet, and then he abandoned her at this party and had the audacity to act hurt when she exposed his brother. She had just been trying to help.

All she had done was try to help.

A soft hand on her arm. Helen half expected to see Diomedes, but she had no idea where it was. Instead, Briseis stared at her with wide eyes.

She reminded Helen distinctly of a doe with her wide eyes, dark curly hair, light brown skin. The freckles dotting her nose resembled the dappling of sunlight. However, it was the way that her lashes fluttered as if she was blinking back tears that caught her attention.

“Briseis?” Helen asked softly. She shouldn’t have felt worse about this than Clytemenstra’s rage.

“Was it true?” she asked, pulling her hand back. “Was it?”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true,” Helen said harshly, pulling her hand back. She wasn’t angry at Briseis. She hadn’t done anything wrong. But she was angry at the situation, at everything else.

Briseis blinked faster. Helen sighed. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s true. I’m sorry.”

“Where’s Clytemenstra?” Briseis asked. Helen bit her tongue, trying to decide how to answer, but then Hera was pushing her way through the crowd, taking Briseis’ arm.

“Briseis.” Hera said. “Let’s talk outside.”

Briseis stared at her, and past her, to the door, before giving Helen a long, serious look, contemplative. Then she nodded to Hera and followed her out without another word.

Helen sighed and turned around, just to see Aphrodite standing before her, as if she had materialized out of nowhere. She stared at Aphrodite in a near-mirror of the look Briseis just gave her.

She finally noticed how Aphrodite was dressed, the pink halter top with the pattern of a heart on the front, her fur skirt that ended just above her knees, the tall white boots and white bow holding her hair in a ponytail. Helen felt overshadowed, but it just wasn’t as grating as Clytemnestra described it. Her nails dug into her arms.

“You did good,” Aphrodite said, smiling softly at her, another hand on her arm. Helen was sick of people touching her. “Don’t worry about the fallout. He deserved it.”

Helen let herself be pulled forwards through the crowd, towards a circle in the middle. They were all gathered around a bottle.

Oh. Helen finally snapped out of her reverie and pushed Aphrodite’s hand off her arm. “I’m not playing,” she insisted. “I need to find Menelaus.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes. “He’s the last person you need. He ran off to comfort his brother. Helen, if he’s ok with cheating, who’s to say he hasn’t done it already?”

Helen took in a sharp breath. Aphrodite was giving a dangerous voice to thoughts she had been harboring for the past hour. She didn’t want to trust her, but what possible alternative motive could Aphrodite have?

“I’m just trying to help,” Aphrodite said. Helen knew the feeling.

“Ok,” she said.

Aphrodite laughed, clapping her hands. “I’ll spin for you!” Her dark hair swung behind her as she stepped forward, reaching for the clear bottle. It glittered ephemerally as she knelt to spin the bottle, glittering like her eyes did when she turned to look back at Helen.

Helen had no proof that Aphrodite rigged anything, and she never would. It was a glass bottle on an uneven floor. How could that even be rigged? But she couldn’t deny that Paris seemed to step towards her even before the bottle finished spinning, like he knew how it was going to end.

“Oh,” Aphrodite said, her tone too pleased. “Paris!”

Helen’s head whipped around to Aphrodite, starting to shake her head, but then Paris’ hand was on her shoulder, and she couldn’t bring herself to shove him off.

“Helen,” he said, holding out his hand to her, eyes earnest. He didn’t look the way he had the first time she saw time: hungry and bitter. He looked open. He was smiling at her.

Helen hesitated, her hand hovering mid-air. She was still terrified. She didn’t want to kiss him. She didn’t want to kiss anyone in this circle. She could see the wide, expectant eyes staring her down, and the crush of them was unbearable. She had to get out.

She took Paris’ hand and let him pull her towards a closet. Anywhere away from eyes. Anywhere away from—

They were in the closet, and it was dark. Helen fumbled for a light switch, but she couldn’t find one, and his hand was on her waist, shoving her towards the wall. She stumbled backwards, shocked. The light filtering from under the door illuminated him, and she could see the look on his face, ten times worse than before. It wasn’t even predatory, it was just so openly hungry, she thought that look could consume her on its own. She finally saw the resemblance between him and Hector. Hector’s severity was Paris’ desire, now digging his nails into her waist, now kissing her too hard, now a hand around her back, now–

She shoved him off her, kneeing him in the stomach, hard. This had happened before. It felt like a memory. It felt like a nightmare. Paris took a step back, wheezing. She went to shove open the door, but it was locked.

It was hard to breathe.

“Helen,” he gasped, holding his side. “Come on. You wanted to kiss me a minute ago.”

Helen wanted to scream. She didn’t want to kiss him, she just wanted to get away from those eyes. She didn’t want to kiss him, she was just beautiful and she held his hand. “I never said that.”

“It was obvious,” he protested, moving closer to her. Her breath shortened as she stumbled back into the wall. “Unless that’s not all you want.” A hand towards her thigh. She grabbed his wrist, shoving him backwards.

“I don’t want you,” she said. “I don’t want–”

He kept moving towards her, and she wondered if it was pointless to even argue. She was locked in here, and this had happened before, and everyone would blame her. It didn’t matter what she said or what she didn’t. They would decide she instigated. She grabbed his hands, fighting the urge to recoil at touching him.

“Paris,” she said earnestly. “I don’t want to kiss you. I don’t hate you. I just don’t know you.”

“Then you just need to get to know me,” he muttered, leaning towards her. “What better way?”

She pushed him back again, trying hard to keep her head straight. It wasn’t her instinct to stay calm. She could feel her muscles freezing up, her mind screaming at her. “No.” she said. It was dark again, and she was trapped, but she couldn’t— she couldn’t.

She slammed on the door, hard. Nothing happened. The party was so loud, and she was hyperventilating as Paris eyed her in a disappointed sort of way.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “It’s just a kiss.”

“I don’t want to.” she insisted, sliding to the ground, curling herself into a ball on the ground. Another knock at the door, weaker. She was trying to make herself as small as possible, but he just knelt, invading her space again.

“You’ll want to,” he said, hand on her neck, tilting her head up towards him. She wasn’t sure if she really had it in her to shove him off again. She didn’t think he’d stop. Her breath shortened even more as his grip on her tightened.

This was all her fault. For alienating Clytemenestra, the only person who wanted to keep her safe. For listening to Aphrodite. For thinking she could go out by herself. For wearing this dress. For–

The door swung open.

Light flooded the closet as the door swung open. Paris whipped around. Helen knocked him over, driving herself towards the door, towards anywhere that was away from him.

Diomedes was holding the door, staring down at Paris, his face unreadable. He reached out, lightly, pulling her away from the door. It didn’t even feel like he was touching her, his hand was so light. Helen was still trembling, her eyes adjusting to the bright light of the house, all the people around her. She couldn’t catch her breath.

“Son of a bitch,” Diomedes said softly, his eyes locked on Paris, who was pulling himself up from the ground. She watched his face change, from unclear emotion to outright anger. “Paris,” he said, like he was spitting it, before spinning around to face the crowd.

“Menelaus,” he called, the anger even more obvious. Menelaus pushed his way through the crowd, taking in the sight of Helen trying to shove herself into the wall, Diomedes holding the door so tightly his knuckles were white, and Paris, standing, frozen.

“What?” he asked, eyes shifting between the three of them. Helen could see it all, the accusing finger, the snarl, the demands to know what she was doing. And then he and Paris would fight, and Paris would say she wanted him, and no one would think to ask her.

“You let him lock her in there?” Diomedes demanded, his voice rising. He wasn’t even looking at Helen. “You left her? She was pounding on the door— your girlfriend— and you didn't even notice? What, too busy consoling your little bitch of a brother?”

Menelaus’ fists tightened, pulling himself up to his full height. “What did you say?”

“You brought Helen here,” Diomedes said, growing more annoyed as he spoke. “And yet you’re the first one to ditch her? All because your brother had to try and two-time a freshman?”

There was something simmering under the anger, Helen thought, some fight with Agamemnon or Menelaus that had been kept quiet. Maybe it happened before she got here.

She knew she should have gotten out of the way. She could see a fight starting, the crowd muttering, Paris looking well and truly afraid. She just didn’t have any more fight in her, frozen against the wall.

“Helen.” Odysseus spoke insistently, her eyes glued to Diomedes. “Let’s go.”

Odysseus was standing there with smudged lipstick, a coat hastily thrown around her shoulders. Menelaus was responding angrily, and then there was Agamemnon, his eyes fixed on Helen.

“Helen.” Odysseus repeated, her tone deadly serious. “Now.”

Helen spun and walked, Odysseus close behind her, towards what she now saw was a side door. How did Odysseus even know about this? It wasn’t her house. As they pushed their way through the crowd, Penelope walked her way towards them, coming from some hallway. She was worried, grabbing Odysseus’ arm.

“What happened?”

“No time,” Odysseus said. “Get Helen out. We have about three minutes.”

Helen wanted to ask, three minutes until what? But Odysseus was already shoving her way through the crowd, back towards Diomedes, and Penelope was standing beside her.

“Ok,” Penelope said softly. “Helen, let’s go.”

“My coat,” Helen started, trying to turn around. Penelope seemed to be carefully avoiding touching her, like she knew. Like Paris was still a stain on her. Penelope shook her head and wrapped an unfamiliar jacket around her.

“This is Odysseus’ coat. ” Penelope said. “You’ll be fine. But if Odysseus says we don’t have much time, we don’t.”

Helen listened, following her out the side door, onto the street, in an unfamiliar part of town. She didn’t understand how Penelope could be so calm. She didn’t understand how all of this could seem so simple to her. And she didn’t understand how Penelope took a glance around, staring at the dark streets, before nodding in a direction and setting off. Helen followed her, holding the coat around her shoulders, watching Penelope’s hair twitch. Her breath was still uneven, but the cold was cleansing.

Finally, as they approached a main street, Penelope seemed to slow down, checking her phone. It was more brightly lit here, but Helen still felt uneasy. Penelope sighed and glanced over Helen.

“Nothing from Ody,” she said. “Are you ok?”

Helen didn’t know why she was asking, if it was the wide pupils or the fact that Odysseus basically handed her off, or some other reason.

“Paris, he–” She forced herself to breathe. “He locked me in there.”

Penelope’s face hardened into an anger she had never seen before, glancing to the side. “Can I hug you?” she asked, finally. Helen nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.

Penelope wrapped her arms around her as Helen started to sob into her shoulders, thinking that it was her own fault that this wasn’t her sister’s embrace. She almost told Penelope as much, but then the sirens started to wail.

They both sprung apart, the sound shockingly loud when it was that close. Penelope turned, eyes wide, as they watched the cop car speed past the street they had just come.

“They’re going to Hector’s house,” Helen said, nodding.

“Odysseus said three minutes,” Penelope returned grimly. “She better have a plan.”

Chapter Text

As a rule, Odysseus was good with deadlines. It was something she enjoyed about soccer, how the whole thing was timed. They had a game to get it done, and then that was it. She preferred that to regular grudges, which could drag out indefinitely.

If she had a choice, she would have given herself a little more than three minutes, but she didn’t. It wasn’t up to her since she made the call.

First there was the yelling, Diomedes’ voice rising above the crowd, Penelope letting her go. When she arrived, she saw four things. Those four things led her to a decision.

First, Diomedes was angry. He was holding the door with white knuckles. His entire frame was primed for a fight. She had seen him really, truly angry four times in her life. This was the fifth.

Second, Helen was terrified. Ineffectively, for she seemed to have frozen against the wall, but her pupils were blown like a deer in headlights. One of the sleeves on her dress was slipping off. She seemed torn between sprinting out of the building and melting into the floor, but she was terrified.

Third, Menelaus and Agamemnon were going to pick a fight. She had seen what Helen had done just a few minutes ago. She had laughed. She had held Penelope’s hand and let herself get pulled into a closet, but first she had watched and she had laughed. And even then she had known. This just cemented it.

Menelaus was embarrassed, but Agamemnon was furious. Such a stark betrayal, so public– he would never forgive it. He was going to pick a fight, and Menelaus would back him up, because he always did.

Finally, Paris had hurt Patroclus. That was not something new. She had known that and she had hated him. But now he was here, in his brother’s house, in a closet, looking like he got caught redhanded. She saw the look on his face and she spun on her heel, walking back to the closet where Penelope was standing, hair around her shoulders. She sighed.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, kissing her. Penelope laughed.

“I don’t believe it was settled that easily.”

“No,” Odysseus said, allowing herself one more lingering look at Penelope’s smiling face. She was so close to pretending none of this was happening, but she couldn’t. They both knew it. “No,” she sighed, pulling off her jacket, pressing it into Penelope’s hands. “I’m gonna get Helen. You need to get her out.”

“What?” Penelope was already taking the jacket, pushing herself off the wall, staring down the back hallway. Odysseus put her hand on her back and guided her out of the alcove.

“Side door,” she said pointing. “Put the jacket on her. You need to get as far from here as possible. Go to Diomedes’ house. Their key is under the potted sunflower on his porch. Go straight up the stairs, right off the foyer. His room is the first one. Call me when you do.”

Penelope stared at her, mouthing instructions. She was positive she was going to have to answer questions, which she didn’t have time to do before things escalated, but Penelope just nodded.

“How long do I have?” she asked. “I think I got it.”

Odysseus pressed her lips together, not even bothering to hide her grin. She cupped Penelope’s face in her hands and kissed her again. “I love you,” she sighed. “Three minutes.”

“Odysseus–” Penelope said, shocked. She was already walking away, taking Helen by the arm, leading her back to Penelope.

“Three minutes,” she repeated. Penelope was staring at her, a painfully gorgeous smile on her face.

'Love you,' Penelope mouthed, handing the jacket to Helen. She turned and pulled her cousin out the side door. Odysseus pretended she didn’t feel like she was just punched in the throat.

“Three minutes,” she muttered to herself, and then she dialed 911.

She spoke quickly and clearly, giving her address, telling them that she suspected she had just witnessed a sexual assault, giving them Paris’ description as clearly as possible, his name, everything.

“We’ll be there in three minutes,” the operator said. “Who is this that I’m speaking to?”

Odysseus hung up.

She drove herself forwards through the crowd, shouldering her way past the circle of people that had gathered around Diomedes, Menelaus, Agamemnon, and Paris.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, cutting above the noise, Menelaus and Diomedes snapping at each other.

They all began to speak, overlapping at once. Odysseus cut them off.

“Diomedes. What’s going on?”

Diomedes’ hand was still on the door handle, the bruises on his knuckles even more obvious. “Helen was locked in the closet. No, Paris locked her in the closet, and she was banging on the door. Menelaus here–”

“Oh, enough about my brother.” Agamemnon interrupted. “Where’s Helen?”

Every eye turned to Odysseus. She raised a shoulder casually. “She’s gone.”

“Gone?” Menelaus demanded. “That’s my girlfriend.”

“Is she?” Odysseus asked. “After what happened tonight?”

Agamemnon scoffed. “Of course,” he muttered. “Of course.”

Odysseus crossed her arms, training her eyes back on him. “Something to say, Agamemnon?”

“Who put you in charge?” Paris snapped, standing in the closet, arms folded across himself like he was building a wall. “What, you storm in here and demand answers like our mother?”

Odysseus snapped her attention back to him, eyes narrowing. She knew exactly what he saw, a girl in a miniskirt, the kind of girl he was used to using just like Helen. But she also knew that when she turned her full attention to something, it was nothing short of terrifying. She unsnapped her waist chain and wrapped it around her right fist, holding out her left hand.

“You want to find out?” she asked. “Paris? Come at me. I’d love an excuse.”

Paris took a step back at the venom in her voice, the carefully restrained hatred that was fighting to work itself free. She could be with Penelope right now. She could be with Penelope, and she would be beautiful and perfect, and instead she was dealing with him.

“It was you,” Paris said, staring at the chain around her fist, as if she would strangle him with it. “Dolon was you.”

Odysseus smiled. “And it’s about to be you. Or you can let Agamemnon speak.”

The room was very quiet, all of a sudden. This was her element, the violence she pretended to hate, the energy she could command when she tried. This was what she was good at. This was the reason she wanted Penelope out of the room.

Three minutes was now two.

“Fine,” Agamemnon snarled, turning back to her. “Fine. See, you can scare Paris with your threats, but I fucking know you, Odysseus. You didn’t get Helen out of the kindness of your heart. You got her out because it was your idea to have her make that little announcement, wasn’t it?”

In all honesty, she didn’t expect him to do this here. She didn’t expect this many witnesses. She didn’t expect to have it all aired out, now, with Achilles nowhere to be found. Diomedes stepped forward, but she shoved him back.

“No,” she said. “It was Aphrodite.”

“What?”

“You’re not angry with Menelaus or Agamemnon,” she said tightly, holding his arm, staring at his eyes. They were so bright, they were almost glowing. “It was Aphrodite that locked her in. Paris has been handled. Keep him here for two more minutes and it’s done.”

Diomedes stared at her, his fist slowly loosening around the handle. The room was silent. It was full of high schoolers and it was silent.

She did that. Her words and her carefully timed choices and her information. She wanted to pretend that it wasn’t exhilarating, that she hated it, that she wished she could have stayed in the closet with Penelope, but she didn’t.

This was her worst nightmare, the brink she knew she would hit. Her OCD made her think she would start hitting and be unable to stop, but she knew, didn’t she? The fight would never be physical. It would be here, a war of words, and she could not stop. There was too much bile and vitriol inside her. She could not swallow it down any longer.

“What are you asking?” Diomedes said, staring at her like she was the only one in the room. It was unnerving when it was used on her.

“Trust me. Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” he agreed.

Closer to one, now. She rounded on Agamemnon.

“What if it was my idea?” she said, crossing her arms. “What then?”

“What?” he asked, stiffening.

Odysseus did not have the prowess he had. She could not pull herself up to her full height and make a difference. But she did have an intensity that could melt glass. She could focus it on him.

‘Agamemnon is a coward,’ Penelope had said. ‘A base fool who cannot lift himself up, so he tries to make others afraid. Helpless when you stop being afraid of him. Simplistic and unthinking. Unoriginal.’

“What if it was my idea?” Odysseus repeated, staring him down. “What if I did it to humiliate you? Honestly, Agamemnon, I could have just waited for you to open your mouth. But let’s say it was intentional. What are you going to do about it?”

It was a challenge, as open as she had ever issued one. It was a calculated risk. Thirty seconds, and there would be police at the door. If he attacked her, he would go to jail. If she could survive for thirty seconds—

Agamemnon lunged at her and she side stepped, shaking her head at Diomedes. There was gasping and muttering, but no one intervened. Maybe that was the power she commanded. Maybe they all had more self-preservation than she did.

And then a figure, barreling through her periphery. Clytemnestra, shoving her way to the front of the crowd, Aegialia close behind her. Odysseus let her gaze drift for a second— just one second— to where their hands almost brushed, to the shocked look on Clytemenestra’s face, and then three things happened very quickly.

First, Agammenon grabbed her neck, slamming her towards the wall, leaning in towards her with a viciousness in his eyes that she did not honestly believe he possessed.

“You don’t have your knife now,” he said, driving his knee into her stomach. Odysseus could feel the bruise forming even as he drew it back for another strike.

Second, Diomedes locked eyes with her and she shook her head, putting her hands up against the wall as if held at gunpoint.

Third, sirens sounded outside.

<><><>

As was to be expected at a party full of high schoolers, when the sirens sounded, everything went to hell.

Diomedes couldn’t tell how Odysseus knew they were coming, but he knew she knew. She had given him a time limit, an amount of time to get out of the way, to keep his eyes pinned on Paris and his anger to himself.

And in those two minutes she had managed to pick a fight with Agamemnon, to catch him in the worst possible moment.

The most unnerving part of Odysseus is that he could not tell what was opportunism and what was calculation with her. He knew this was all part of a plan, but he had no idea how old this plan was, and that bothered him. If this could be done in just a few minutes, he had to wonder what she could do with some serious thought.

That wasn’t his problem. His problem wasn’t the fact that everyone was running or yelling. His problem wasn’t the sirens screaming outside.

His problem was that, just as police pushed open the door and caught a glimpse of Agamemnon pinning a defenseless Odysseus to the wall, Odysseus shoved him off of her and sprinted out the side door.

Diomedes stared at Paris, frozen like a deer in headlights. He could stay here and see to it that this was handled. Or he could trust Odysseus.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and then took off behind her. Trusting Odysseus. Everything really was really going to hell.

He followed her without question through a series of alleys and side streets, only slowing slightly when she paused behind a coffee shop on main street.

“What are you doing?” he asked. And then, slightly after it. “Is that my coat?”

“It is,” Odysseus said. “I grabbed it off the rack before I made the call.”

“The call– Odysseus, you called the police?”

She stared at him. He couldn’t even see her eyes, it was so dark outside. He didn’t want to admit how much she had scared him.

“Odysseus, that’s— fuck. You called the police? I was worried.”

“About me?” she asked wryly, catching her breath. “Whatever for?”

She didn’t sound like herself. Her tone was strained, and he was sure that if he could just find her pupils, they would be blown. She was staring past him.

“Give me my jacket,” he said, and she complied. He crossed his arms. It had to be near midnight, and he was freezing.

“We can’t stay out here,” he told her. “It’s suspicious as hell. Where are we going?”

“Your house,” Odysseus answered, staring down main street, where more cop cars were flying past. “Penelope’s there.”

“You told Penelope where we hide the key?” he demanded, sighing.

“Helen’s with her,” Odysseus returned pointedly. “Ok. Let’s go.”

They weren’t running anymore, driving their way up the hill towards his house. He didn’t ask many questions. He didn’t know where to start.

Finally, the only thing he could think of that he was sure wouldn’t implicate him in anything criminal. “Did you see Hector?”

Odysseus turned to him, freezing. Like she was expecting a blow. Like that was the blow she was expecting.

“His baby was crying,” she said, continuing to walk.

“What?”

“The sirens woke the baby,” she said. “Scamandrius. He wanted to let me hold him, but instead, the sirens woke him up and made him cry. I saw Andromache holding the baby, but he kept crying. Hector looked right at me, and his baby was crying.”

Diomedes listened, trying to place the strain in her voice, the instability he felt from her. Maybe he was just unstable too. He could feel the adrenaline in his veins. He could feel himself shaking.

“Does he know you called the police?”

“He thinks it.” Odysseus said. “He thinks it, and he’s right. Which part is worse?”

“You handled it,” he told her. Telling himself too. “You handled it. Most of it.”

“Most?” she turned to him, like she was worried or hoping he was implying there was more work to do.

“I’ll handle the rest,” he said.

He was grateful that she didn’t ask anything all the way up the hill.

<><><>

They reached his house in the dark, all the porch lights on his street off. Just a few houses up was Thetis, where Achilles should have been staying. Odysseus didn’t make an indication they’d need him, which was reasonable.

Diomedes tested the door. Locked. So Penelope had, at least, the thought to do that.

Odysseus handed him the key. He unlocked the door and passed it back to her. She slid it back under the flower pot. He pushed the door open.

The house was silent, the light from his room leaking into the foyer. He and Odysseus made their way up the stairs, both of them skipping the sixth step that creaked.

“I forgot to tell Penelope about that,” Odysseus muttered.

“It’s fine.” He knew his mother wouldn’t be listening for it. Not anymore.

And then they pushed open his door, and just as Odysseus said, Penelope was there. Alone.

“Where’s Helen?” Odysseus said, scanning the room like she might pop out of the floorboards.

“Bathroom across the hall,” Penelope said. She was sitting on his bed, a glass of water on the nightstand. “She’s showering.”

Diomedes raised an eyebrow. “She’s in my shower?”

“She needed to get him off her,” Penelope said. “Paris. All of him. I assume you know.”

He nodded tightly, staring at Odysseus as she sat down next to Penelope. In the light, he could see that his suspicions had been correct. Her pupils were blown.

“Poor Helen,” she quipped, forcing a smile. “He has no shampoo in there.”

“I wash my hair,” Diomedes protested. He didn’t quite know what was moving Odysseus to be some semblance of comforting, but it was making him deeply uncomfortable. “Do you want a change of clothes, Penelope?” He was sure Comaetho had left some of her clothes here. Hell, he was sure Odysseus had an outfit stashed somewhere.

“I have clothes in Comaetho’s room,” Odysseus suggested, confirming her suspicions.

“I need to get some for Helen,” Penelope said. “I need to get off my makeup.”

It was only then that he noticed that Odysseus was wearing makeup, which was odd, because she never did that. He narrowed his eyes at the two of them sitting next to each other, shoulders brushing.

“There’s a bathroom there too,” he said. “Can I borrow Odysseus for a minute, though?”

Penelope stood, brushing off imaginary lint from her dress. “Of course.”

Odysseus watched her retreating form. Diomedes watched her watching.

“You’re in love with her,” he realized, staring at the shining look on Odysseus’ face. Glowing like she was staring at art.

A long pause. Odysseus finally tore her gaze away from the space Penelope had filled.

“Yes,” Odysseus said finally, slowly. “I am.”

It bothered him.

Not the fact that she loved Penelope. He supposed he should have seen it coming.

What bothered him was that she had looked at him like that before, and he had never been able to place it. “There was a time in our lives when you were in love with me,” he realized.

“What?” Odysseus said. “Diomedes—“

“No. You’re looking at her like— that. And you love her, and there was a time you looked at me like that. Like you loved me.”

Why did this bother him so much? He didn’t want it back; it had always unnerved him. But knowing the truth cut differently. With Odysseus, it always did.

“I told you,” she started. “Storgo.”

He waved a hand. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. I mean that you loved—“

“Fine!” Odysseus interrupted, like she couldn’t bear to hear him say it again. “There was a time in our lives when I might have loved you. It’s gone. It’s not coming back.”

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, shocked.

“No.” Odysseus said, crossing her arms.

“What else haven’t you—never mind.” He cut across himself, realizing all at once that he didn’t want to know. “Comaetho kept her t-shirts in her dresser.”

“Diomedes,” Odysseus started. He knew that neither of them would know where to begin.

“Do you really want to talk about it now?” He wasn’t even trying to hide his exhaustion anymore.

“No.”

He hasn’t expected anything else from her.

And then she was retreating down the hall, after Penelope, and he was alone in his room. He sat down on his bed, dark green blankets beneath his fingers like inkblots.

He didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t feel anything. He was just— numb. Tired. Numb.

What difference did it make? She hadn’t told him. She never would have told him. And even if she told him—

He knew her too well to be angry. He knew her too well to ask what made Penelope different, because she would never tell him. Odysseus had made her plans and her choices and he was just—

She was never going to tell him. He would always be a spectator. He should have known.

A shadow crossed his doorframe. He looked up to see Helen standing in his doorway, one of Comatheo’s shirts dwarfing her, a sky blue that pulled out her eyes. Somehow she looked more radiant with wet hair, standing in his doorframe, than she had when she tried.

His world flipped again. He knew Helen was gorgeous, because it was a fact of life. But so soon after Odysseus’ revelation, it felt like new information. Like it clued him in to why he was so angry with Menelaus.

He let himself pause, soaking her in, considering. He was not a deeply thoughtful person. He just knew things that were true and he guessed most other things, and then he tried to operate as best he could within those parameters. Odysseus always tried to smash the board.

Why was he comparing himself to Odysseus again? Didn’t he know how to define himself outside of her, outside of being her first choice in every worst decision? There was a time when he had. Now he was just numb.

“Are you ok?” Helen asked, finally. He almost laughed at the question. “You’re staring.”

“I’m thinking,” he said. “It’s this new thing I’m trying.”

Helen sighed, and it looked like collapsing. Without thinking, he stood, wrapping his arms around her.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s ok.”

She froze up and he swore at himself, dropping her instantly, stepping back. Hadn’t he just witnessed Paris trapping her in a closet? “Sorry,” he said. “I should have asked.”

“No, it’s—” she sighed, “It’s fine. I just didn’t expect it.”

“...Expect it?” He asked, sitting back down on his bed, leaving more than enough room for her, if she wanted it. He was honestly surprised that she took the space.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said.

“What?”

“Since we started school,” she continued, like that explained it. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Had he? It had never been intentional. “You were with Menelaus,” he said. “I don’t run in his circles. Not really.”

Helen scoffed, pulling her knees in towards herself. “Now I see why,” she said, eyes filling with tears. Diomedes swore under his breath.

“Helen, that wasn’t a dig at you,” he said, hand hovering above her shoulder. “Can I?”

She nodded and he put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in. She sighed. He could feel the exhale ricochet around his bones. “I made a mistake, telling everyone,” she said softly. “Clytemnestra was furious. I should have told her. There were a thousand things I should have done, but I should have told her.”

“She was angry?” He asked. He thought he knew. He was usually better at not asking.

“She hated me,” Helen said. “She was more than furious. And she was right.”

He measured his breaths, trying to find the right thing to say. He could be wry and creative and put people at ease. He could be decisive and direct and take control of a situation. He had little practice in being like this, careful and honest and raw.

“You were trying to help her,” he said. “You were trying to make things better. Even if imperfectly. You were trying to make it better.”

“I think I just wanted the attention,” Helen said. “Or– I fear. I just wanted the attention, and then I got it.”

Another count. Another heartbeat. “Do you mean Paris?”

Another sigh. Another ricochet. “I mean— I mean that this keeps happening, Diomedes. You have no idea, but I was there.”

“Give me an idea.”

She pushed away from him, staring at him full in the face. It was as terrifying as when Odysseus fixed her full attention on someone. It felt like drowning.

“What?”

“Give me an idea,” he said, refusing to break her gaze. “What is it like?”

Another shudder. Another breath. He waited.

“At my last school,” Helen said, finally. “There was a boy older than me. I was a sophomore and he was a junior. His name was Aeneas.”

The way that she said it was new. It was a venom he didn’t know she had. That didn’t mean it surprised him.

He didn’t interrupt.

“His name was Aeneas, and he was like Paris, I guess. Hungry. He wanted— I don’t think he wanted me. He wanted the idea of me.”

The object of his affections, emphasis on object. Something to claim. Diomedes nodded.

“And I didn’t like him, because he had a girlfriend, but that didn’t matter to Aeneas. He caught me alone, in the art room, in the dark, and–”

She took another shuddering breath. He tightened his fist. He had his idea. He already knew how this story was going to end. But it was hers to tell.

“He shoved me against a wall and kissed me. Hard. I got away from him, but then he was angry, I guess. He told everyone I kissed him, and of course his girlfriend believed him, and then everyone believed him. I think they wanted to.”

“So you had to change schools,” he guessed. She nodded.

“So I’m afraid of the dark.” Helen admitted. “Because it was dark in there, and it was dark in that closet, and… I see their faces mingled together. When I close my eyes.”

He couldn’t imagine it. He had an idea, but this was not one of his neatly filed truths. This was not something to be cleaned up and set aside. This was not even something he could fix. He could just sit and listen. He hated it.

He had opened the door and dragged in the light. It wasn’t enough.

“Helen,” he began, not knowing where to finish. She stopped him with a hand over his.

“You pulled me out.” Helen said. “It’s enough.”

It’s nowhere near enough. She didn’t deserve a piece of what happened to her, and he had plenty to make up for.

“What can I do now?” he asked instead, tilting his head. “What do you need?”

She was forcing herself to breathe. He wanted to lend her some of his oxygen. “Tell me my sister will forgive me.”

Wasn’t that ironic? “She will.”

“How can you know?” Helen whispered, wringing her hands, pulling them back. His smile grew more disingenuous.

“I know.” It wasn’t enough of an explanation. He stared down the hall, down the closed door Odysseus was presumably still behind.

“My sister,” he began. “Comaetho. We weren’t always close, but for a brief moment in our junior year, we were.”

It was hard to force himself to remember. He wasn’t proud of how he handled it. His sister was always better than him at accepting the hard truths of life. She was always better at rising above. He could only try to imitate her.

“She had a boyfriend, and I hated him. I don’t really know why; he just reminded me of my uncle. And I hated him.” He smiled slightly at the memory. “He would come to my soccer games and I would pretend I didn’t know him. This went on for months. I was… I was a stubborn kid.”

“You still seem stubborn,” Helen observed. He was looking past her.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I get that.”

A deep breath. He needed to continue. “But I guess, somewhere in there, I just let go. I thawed. I realized how good he was for her. I came around. And Comaetho had been pretty annoyed with me this entire time, but she forgave me.”

“Are you saying she’ll forgive me?”

“I’m saying family is a hard thing to get rid of.” Even when he was used to his family biting back. Even when his stubbornness could ruin his love. “You just have to be open to it.”

“What happened?” Helen asked. “To the boyfriend?”

“Aegialeus,” Diomedes corrected. Aegialia had no way of knowing the similarity in their names. He had never commented on it. “He became my brother. And then they broke up, and he just… wasn’t.”

He hadn’t really ever grieved that. Not seriously. He had just known it was something that was true. Just like all of Odysseus’ intricacies; he didn’t grieve what might have happened. It didn’t. He just had to work to rise above.

“I’m sorry,” Helen said. “That you lost that.”

“I have my sister.” Diomedes said. “You’ll have yours.”

Now it was Helen staring past him, to the space that Odysseus should have filled, just as soon as she came back. He needed to believe she would come back.

“I hope so,” she said.

He hoped so too. He had one sister, but the other one had yet to come home.

Chapter Text

It hadn't been her decision that she and Odysseus would stay together, but Penelope couldn't say she was sorry. Even after she had gone to take her makeup off and untied her hair, the sleeping arrangements still seemed unsure.

"Comaetho's room has a queen bed," Diomedes had offered. "So two people can stay in there. If you are all staying here."

Odysseus had sighed melodramatically, falling back against Penelope where they sat on the floor. Penelope wrapped her arms around Odysseus’ waist, laughing. “Oh no,” Odysseus sighed. “I guess I have to share a room with Penelope. Whatever will I do?”

Helen squinted at the pair of them, glancing at Diomedes. He nodded as if disappointed. “The pair of them.”

Helen glanced at him, eyes wide. “You two are dating?” she asked. Odysseus looked up, her head against Penelope’s chest.

“Historians will say we were friends,” she said seriously. Penelope swatted at her hair.

“You two are not sharing a room.” Diomedes said. “Where would Helen go?”

"Is there a third room?” Helen asked, pulling her knees towards her chest. He was sitting by the headboard of his bed as she sat by the foot, trying not to squish his legs. Diomedes hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Nope. Only Comaetho’s,” Diomedes said. “And we can’t fit three people in there.”

Odysseus snapped, pointing at him. “We can fit four people.”

“That makes no sense.”

She shrugged. “As long as I get to share with Penelope.”

Penelope scoffed. “It’s not exactly going to be romantic, Odysseus.”

“Anything can be romantic. I’m an excellent snuggler.”

Diomedes shook his head. “She kicks,” he protested. “Hard.”

Odysseus put a hand to her chest. “Lies.”

Helen furrowed her brow harder. “Why am I not surprised you know that?” Diomedes shrugged.

“New plan,” Odysseus said. “Helen sleeps in Diomedes’ bed, Penelope and I take Comeatho’s room, and Diomedes sleeps on the floor.”

“This is my house,” Diomedes protested. “Go home.”

Odysseus shook her head, blinking up at all of them. Penelope couldn't see her expression, but it had made her smile just imagining it.

"I'll stay in here," Helen had offered, softly. Penelope wanted to argue, but Helen cut her off before she could begin. "There's a loveseat. Pen, I want you to sleep."

Why hadn't she argued? Now she was worried about Helen, on top of everything.

Sirens flashed outside the window, and Penelope wondered what would have happened if Odysseus hadn’t been there. If Diomedes hadn’t stepped in. If no one had acted. Would she have done it herself?

She wasn’t acting now. She was standing with her back to Odysseus, staring out the window. She didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t be quiet forever, though.

Odysseus stepped closer to her. “Hey, Comaetho–”

“Keeps her t-shirts in her dresser,” Penelope finished. “Yeah, I know.”

Was that nervousness in Odysseus’ face? Was she capable of being afraid? Penelope didn’t know, anymore.

Diomedes’ words were stuck in her head, along with Odysseus’ response.

Do you really want to talk about it now?

No.

And then everything that came before.

Did she really care? She had known Odysseus and Diomedes had been together, and Odysseus said there was nothing there, and she believed her. Until now. Why did she say that she had loved him like it was a wound that was still healing? Why had she lingered at all?

Penelope finally turned all the way around to face Odysseus in a shirt that couldn’t have been hers, a wry smile on her face. She wanted to collapse into her arms. Odysseus loved her.

She believed that she loved her.

She had just forgotten to ask what that looked like.

“What’s wrong,” Odysseus asked. She put a hand out, reaching for Penelope’s arm. “Did the party upset you?”

“Why didn’t you tell me your plan?” Penelope asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“There wasn’t time,” Odysseus said, eyes shifting, but Penelope didn’t trust that answer. She bit her tongue, hard, walking towards the bed in the center of the room, letting herself sink down onto it. Odysseus paced in front of the window, outlined in siren lights, glowing blue and red. The whole room was bichromatic. It should have been romantic.

“Did you only say you loved me because I didn’t ask?” Would that be her role? Did Odysseus just want someone to protect, another excuse for everything she did, someone who wouldn’t question anything? Did Penelope love her enough just to be that?

Odysseus blinked. “What?”

“You said you loved me. Right after I agreed. Would you have said that if I didn’t ask?”

Odysseus stared at her, running her hands through her hair. She was hesitating. It felt like she was about to lie.

“I love you because you trust me,” Odysseus said. “You think of me as someone worth trusting. It makes me want to try.” There was a question there. Did she trust Odysseus? Really?

Penelope sighed. “You scheme so much,” she admitted, as Odysseus crossed the room to sit next to her, leaning her head on Odysseus’ head. “You talk about things like they were all planned, always. No one can ever tell when you’re lying.”

Odysseus ran her fingers through Penelope’s hair. “You can tell, love.”

Penelope could. Was it awful that it made her feel better? She knew Odysseus had been lying when she was talking to Diomedes, one way or another.

<><><>

Helen’s breath was uneven, the only real sign that she wasn’t actually asleep. She had become exceptionally good at playing a part, letting herself melt into a form that wasn’t actually hers, becoming marble. She held perfectly still, fingers relaxed, eyes barely closed.

She knew that if she were to tilt her head over, she would see Diomedes, eyes open, unmoving. They were both playing a part here.

She was reclining on the lush loveseat in his room, legs thrown over the arm. She refused to take his bed. The idea of that– the intimacy–

Her fist didn’t curl.

They could be speaking. They could tell stories all night. There was nothing she wanted to do more than to ask him what was happening behind his eyes, what he was contemplating over there, lit by a lamp she didn’t ask him to leave on.

She didn’t. If she asked that, she’d have to ask a thousand other things.

Her hair was plastered to her forehead, still slick. It will not dry until tomorrow morning. Sunday, the aftermath. She will have to go home.

Helen opened her eyes fully. Diomedes looked at her without moving his head. She could feel his gaze on her. He could not seem to regard her casually.

She did not want to see herself in his eyes. Did not want to see his eyes at all. She did not want to be alone, but she wanted to be watched less. She thought.

Was it so bad to be awful, if no one else knows? Did that help at all?

She thought that might be Odysseus’ charm, her irresistibility. She knew everything you had done, somehow. She had done worse. There was no such thing as shame with her.

“Are you comfortable over there?” Diomedes asked. She still did not move, but she did allow herself to regard the question as he tilted his head, ever so slightly. His bed was a queen, dark green blankets, untouched. He hadn’t even moved enough to ruin their smooth surface.

She was never comfortable. Helen was always a foreigner in her own skin, a stranger to everyone. She had never felt observed in a way that didn’t feel damning, alone in a way that didn’t feel endless. She tried to become a statue because marble was never comfortable.

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t shift towards her. The lamp did not gutter. She still faced the temptation to run, anywhere where she wasn’t known.

“If you want–” he started. He did not finish. She wanted to know what he was going to say.

“I want a lot,” she said. “You’ll have to be more specific.” Now she did look at him, raising her head, tightening her fingers. He did not look shocked. She ought to trust him more. She ought to let him hold her again, to feel his warmth.

She wanted too much, though. She wanted things fixed when they were her fault. She wanted a friend. She wanted him to stop regarding her calmly or maybe stop regarding her at all. She wanted not to be wanted.

Helen was hot with shame just from the sensation of him watching her, just the knowledge that she let herself lean into him and be comforted. It was a bad idea, and it was getting worse. The fact that she has stayed was only compounding the matter.

“What do you want?” he asked instead, also sitting up fully. Helen disliked that question more than the first one. If she answered she would reveal her selfishness. She would reveal her naivete.

I wanted the attention, I think. Or I fear.

She didn’t want the attention. She wanted him to stop looking at her. She wanted to just be a presence, an ephemeral spirit, something without a body. She didn’t know if spirits can be beautiful.

She hoped not.

“Stop looking at me,” she said, but it wasn’t harsh. She pulled her knees in towards her chest and watched in shock as he nodded, closing his eyes, the shadows of his lashes on his cheek.

It seemed so simple, but there was a lingering question in the air between the two of them. Now what?

“What do you want?” she asked him. She thought she might be shaking again.

“I want you to be comfortable,” Diomedes responded easily. She thought again about his friendship with Odysseus, his razor-sharp wit. This felt like the most dangerous she had ever seen him.

Helen stood, walking across the room to sit by the foot of his bed. She knew he could feel her weight, but he didn't open his eyes. Her hands were shaking.

What was she going to do? What difference did it make? He would know all of it, but he wouldn’t be able to see her. For a moment, it was almost like she didn't exist.

“Do you really not mind?” she wondered aloud. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“What?” he asked.

“You can’t see what I’m going to do next,” Helen said. At that, he grinned.

“I’ve probably done worse.”

That was a kind of affirmation that felt more honest than anything else he’d said, more gentle than the rest of his condolences. She finally let herself take up the space next to him. They weren’t touching.

He turned his head towards her, and she wondered if she didn’t see his eyelids flutter, like his eyes had been open this whole time. Maybe she didn’t mind either way.

“I’ll leave on the lamp,” he said.

Helen let herself exhale.