Half A Life
by Maya Tawipart four
"I looked into your eyes and saw
A world that does not exist"
-VAST
"Gods," Iolaus sighed blissfully. "Real ale. In a real tavern, with real dirty floors and a real cranky bartender and real huge bastards in the corner looking for somebody to beat up. I've missed this."
Autolycus rested his elbows on the polished wooden bar of the tavern and gazed into his mug. "All right, let's think about this. What's your idea?"
"Distraction," Iolaus said. He gulped down a mouthful of the aforementioned ale. "The Conqueror'll be expecting someone to come after Tiro, we both know that. What she can't know is that we're working together. So one of us goes in and gets the attention of the guards, in a very unobtrusive way of course, and while they're occupied, thinking they've got the only intruder, the other gets Tiro out before anyone notices."
"Yeah," Autolycus agreed, "I was thinking along the same lines." Ignoring Iolaus's dubious look, he continued, "The only problem there is, whoever 'distracts' the Conqueror's guards had better be one Hades of a runner."
"That's a point." Iolaus gave him a hard look; he had an uncharacteristically dark expression on his face. Then again, that could have just been the bruise. "So who gets to distract the guards and run like fuck?"
Autolycus was scowling now. "Should be me," he muttered into his drink. "Now that'd be appropriate."
He certainly didn't seem to like the idea. "Appropriate how?" Iolaus asked warily, not sure he wanted to know.
"What?" Autolycus looked startled. "Nothing. Never mind."
Iolaus sighed. "I'll do it."
As soon as he said it, he wondered why. The voice of the young, pragmatic, stone cold killer he'd been was calling him fifty kinds of fool. Common sense dictated that you didn't blow off decrees from gods, but then, it also dictated that you didn't stick your neck out any further than was necessary. Certainly not far enough for someone to whack it off with one easy blow.
But then the grim, determined thirty-eight-year-old he'd become said, This is as far as you've got to go. So go there.
He looked up. His partner in crime still looked wary, like he thought he should argue but wasn't very keen on the idea.
"Okay, here," Iolaus said with another sigh. "We can talk about that later. Right now let's concentrate on how to get in."
Autolycus just shrugged, but he did seem to perk up. "Okay, listen. I have maps of the castle from when Sisyphus was king, and I don't think too much would've changed. There's a secret passage, but that's how I got in last time-- they'll have it guarded now."
Iolaus drained the last of his drink and set it down on the bar. Sisyphus? Something else he'd missed. He didn't look at Autolycus as he asked in a low, neutral voice, "Was Jason ever king?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man frown. "Gods on Olympus, where've you been for the past few decades?"
He ran his finger around the rim of his mug. "East, remember? Not for decades, of course, for about ten years, give or take. I, uh... I left when too many people started chasing me and decided it might be a good time to see other parts of the known world."
"So you went east, learned secrets of inner peace and harmony, then came back here and started stealing again?" Autolycus rubbed his hands together. "I knew I was doing something right."
Iolaus stared at him, surprised, and Autolycus smiled wryly. "Hey, being the King of Thieves takes a mind of great knowledge and cunning. I'm not completely ignorant of other cultures."
"Yeah. Well." Iolaus sighed. "It didn't work out quite so well as all that. I went the inner peace route for a while, but the more I did, the more I felt like... like there was some part of me that was missing. So I came back here and started up with my old life again. You know, to get things back the way they were before my whole identity crisis, or whatever that was."
"So did it work?"
"Kind of. For a while. I kept myself distracted, anyway." He grinned. "You know, that part wasn't bad at all."
Autolycus looked vaguely annoyed, but then he smiled back and Iolaus decided he must have been imagining it. "I'm sure it wasn't, you little scamp, you. And then you figured out our much-beloved ruler had it in for you, and Tiro showed you his little piece of backyard real estate?"
"You know the rest," Iolaus agreed, deciding to let the "scamp" comment slide. Once. He paused. "You didn't answer my question."
"What question?"
"If Jason was ever King of Corinth."
"Right." Autolycus swallowed a mouthful of ale. "Um... highly unlikely, really. The name isn't ringing any bells."
"Jason, son of Aeson?" Iolaus pressed. "When Aeson died, I heard his brother Pelias took over the throne."
"Oh, that Jason." Iolaus rolled his eyes, mockingly mouthing the words, and Autolycus continued, "No, he died around the same time his father did. Pelias reigned for a while, and conquered most of the land around Corinth, and then one day apparently the old guy got bored and just up and left. The throne bounced around until Sisyphus took over like a kid with a brand new toy... what? What is it?"
Iolaus felt faint, like he'd just been socked in the stomach. He took a deep breath and let his hands drop beneath the bar, lacing his fingers together; when he spoke, his voice was calm. "Nothing. I just... used to know him, once. Jason. For a couple weeks or so. Nice guy."
"Rough," Autolycus said without much sympathy. He didn't seem impressed.
It was just as well, because Iolaus wasn't listening. Jason... gods, he hadn't thought about the young prince in years. They'd met at Cheiron's Academy, where Iolaus had been sent after one of his many brushes with the law; he lasted less than a moon before he decided to leave and try his luck staying one step ahead of the law. He pictured Jason's face now, the close-cropped dark hair and dark eyes, so serious and intense about everything but with a smile that promised an easygoing, even gleeful sense of humor lurking just below the surface... one of the few guys Iolaus had known in his brief tenure who hadn't made fun of him for not being the son of anyone, well, important. Solid and muscled, Jason had looked more like a warrior than a future king. Figures, Iolaus thought with an inward sigh; apparently he didn't end up being either.
He'd heard of Aeson's death, of course, but not of that of Jason. It was something of a jolt, learning that his former classmate had died so soon after he'd left. He wondered what had happened.
"Iolaus?" Autolycus' voice cut into his thoughts. "Hellooo, Greece to Iolaus... are you playing with yourself under there? There've been better times for it than this."
"Sorry," he said absently, resting his hands once more on the bar.
Autolycus frowned. "What's with you? You're not supposed to just apologize. That's no fun."
Iolaus sighed. "Look, can we get on with this? The sooner we get Tiro to safety, the sooner I can get on with my life."
"Okay," Autolycus said. Iolaus ignored his curious gaze.
Autolycus exhaled loudly. "As I was saying Zeus knows how long ago, I have maps. From what I can tell, there are three good ways in." He cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder, making sure they were alone at the bar and that no one was paying them any attention, before pulling a folded piece of parchment from under his cloak and spreading it out in front of him. "Underground-- that's the secret passage. It starts next to the kitchens in the back and comes out at the dungeons, which would be ideal if that's where they're keeping Tiro, but like I said, it's likely to be heavily guarded."
"So, next option," Iolaus surmised, studying the blueprints over his shoulder.
"Definitely the next option. Now, the main thing to remember-- never overlook the obvious." Autolycus stabbed a finger at the map for emphasis. "Windows. If we know which windows are generally open at night, we can get in through there and plot a route." His hand went to his cloak again, pulling out a list scrawled in messy but legible handwriting, presumably his own. "These are the windows that were open more than three nights in a row."
Iolaus shook his head. "You know, you're really--"
"Thorough?" Autolycus suggested brightly.
"Well, I was gonna say anal, but... you know, your version does sound better."
"Hey, don't knock it, Blondie," Autolycus chastised, tapping him on the side of the head. "I'm not the best for nothing, you know. My thoroughness could end up saving your life."
"Not likely."
"So," Autolycus said, ignoring him. "A viable option, but dicey. After ou-- my little escapade, they'll be locking up the barn after the horse, so we can probably count the windows out."
Iolaus raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, you know, you never did say. If you're so good, how come you got caught?"
Autolycus frowned at the map. "Long story. So, third choice-- the roof. There's a bell tower in the east wing that's been blocked off from the rest of the castle, and it's open from the top and never guarded. The only tricky part would be getting from the tower into the castle itself, and here's where we're lucky-- the barricades went up in Aeson's day, when the old boy wasn't quite so sharp anymore. The guy who put them up happened to have a cousin who was a thief, and he left a secret entrance in special consideration for the rest of us. Nice guy," he added. "Anyway, only certain thieves know about it, so I'm thinking that's our best choice."
He paused, clearly waiting for congratulations and admiration. Iolaus said, "Can't we just bluff our way in? Get a couple guards' uniforms and walk in like we belong there."
"Hey," Autolycus said, "you're talking to the master of bluffing. It just so happens that the Conqueror makes a point of looking at all the guards' faces when she passes them, and if she happened to choose that night for a surprise inspection, well, I'm sure you can imagine what happens then. No, way too risky."
"I can't believe you know all this."
"Like I said," Autolycus said, "that's why I'm the best."
He paused again. Iolaus didn't say anything for a moment; when Autolycus started to look seriously peeved, he said, "There's another way."
Autolycus blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Option four. You missed one." He indicated the map as a whole with a vague wave of his hand. "A castle this big needs ventilation, if they have the choice of closing the windows at night. Right? There's your other way in."
The King of Thieves stared at him for a moment, then said, "I was just about to say that."
"Sure you were."
"No, really." Autolycus reached into his cloak for a third time, extracting another map. "Castle ventilation system," he announced, spreading out his prize.
Iolaus just shook his head.
After a moment Autolycus said, "This could work. So we have two good entrances into the castle-- we each take one, and that way, the distraction doesn't end up giving the other guy away...."
A sudden movement by the door caught Iolaus's eye, and he reached out, his warning hand landing on Autolycus's thigh. When Autolycus jumped, Iolaus said quietly, "Castle guard. Don't turn around."
Autolycus swore softly and bowed his head, letting his hood fall down further to hide his face. At the same time he swept the maps off the bar and tucked them back into his cloak.
"Barkeep," the guard was growling. From the brief glance Iolaus had caught, the guy was like a small Mount Atlas. "Do you know this man?" There was the accompanying rustle of parchment.
"Haven't seen 'im," the bartender said.
"Tiro must not be talking," Autolycus murmured. Iolaus bit his lip.
"Look again," came the guard's voice. He didn't sound any happier.
"I did look," the bartender snapped.
"So think harder."
"Listen, pal, I remember every face I see, all right? I got a portraitive memory. Every face I see. And that face, I did not see."
Another rustle. "Well, how about this guy?"
The bartender hesitated almost imperceptibly. "Never in my life."
"You're lying," the guard accused.
"Well, of course I know who he is," the bartender amended. "Everyone does."
Autolycus started to grin.
"He's that fellow stole the rock from the Conqueror's stick and then disappeared. Suicidal, I thought. You say you haven't caught him yet?"
The grin faded. Iolaus just smirked.
"I'll just take a look around," the guard said. "If you don't mind."
Iolaus gripped Autolycus's leg tighter. "Got any bright ideas?" he hissed.
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," Autolycus muttered back. "You know, I could think a lot better if you weren't groping me like that."
"Right." Iolaus removed his hand. "How about now?"
"As a matter of fact...." Autolycus fumbled around in his cloak, then pulled out a small container of gray powder. "Rub that in your hair."
Iolaus did so, a bit warily.
"Good. Limp a little. Help me down." Iolaus slid off the stool and grabbed his hand. "Pull your hood back, let your hair fall in front of your face."
Suddenly Iolaus got it. He wrapped an arm around Autolycus' shoulders, ignoring the fact that Autolycus had to hunch down for him to get a good grip, and started lurching towards the entrance.
Myndon didn't particularly like his job.
It wasn't that it was a bad job, or that the Conqueror was a cruel employer; it wasn't, and she wasn't. The Conqueror, in fact, was just cruel enough, being ruthlessly practical and understanding well what so many of his former employers had failed to realize-- that excessive force bred discontent, while a firm, unflinching, but ultimately fair hand would practically guarantee loyalty. The Conqueror knew exactly where the line was. And she was a fair ruler, with appropriately gruesome punishments for failure and a reasonable definition of just what failure consisted of. And it didn't hurt that every man-- and some of the women-- in her employ wanted to get her into bed but were too afraid to try.
No, the Conqueror's character wasn't the problem. More likely-- well, a more troubling issue was the fact that she was a she. Myndon had very traditional views of the world, wherein the men fought and ruled and the women cooked and cleaned and produced heirs. Nowhere in this vision was there room for a woman who could single-handedly conquer the entirety of Greece, not to mention Gaul, Rome, Egypt, and Chin. Working for her went against his deepest ingrained beliefs. Not that he'd ever say so where anyone could hear.
Another thing that bothered him was the sudden responsibility she had pressed upon him. In his other job, he'd just been a security guard, which meant that his duties consisted of standing outside a room and beating up anyone who tried to get in or out. That, he could do. The Conqueror, on the other hand, expected him to do things like find out who'd seen these two guys and then figure out from that where they might be. He wasn't sure he could, and he was terrified of what she might do to him if he couldn't.
So when the old man in the dirty cloak hobbled past him, his arms wrapped around his companion's neck, Myndon didn't think twice before grabbing his shoulder. "Hey, grandpa! Look at these pictures."
The old guy peered up at him through straggled gray hair. "Wha'? Whassat?" he shouted. "You'll have to speak up, I can't hear a word!"
Myndon gritted his teeth. "I said--"
"Whoops!" The old man slipped and staggered, clutching his friend's shoulder for balance. "See!" he said indignantly. "The bashtard's completely trashed! At the indeshent hour of-- of-- hey, sonny, what's the hour?"
The guard glared at him. "Hey, pops, you wanna sleep it off in the dungeons?" he demanded. He could see the other people in the tavern starting to turn and stare. This was not good. This was definitely not professional.
This was a matter of pride now.
"Abshamently not!" the old man snapped with as much dignity as he could muster. "Sleep it off! Why, it's only an indeshent hour in the morning!" He dropped his companion, who sprawled bonelessly on the floor with a loud thump, and lurched forward. The old man clutched at Myndon's shirt collar with a grip like Damascus steel, too quickly for the guard to react. "Can you believe this guy? Always drinkin' like this! He's gotta stop it, I always tell 'im, but does the thick-headed bashtard listen, oh noooo," he wailed into the folds of a bemused Myndon's tunic. "'Snot got-- 'snot healthy, it makes 'im-- makes 'im forget stuff, you know, dumb bashtard, mind like a shieve--" He paused, squinting up at the guard through his hair. "Who're you?"
Face twisted in disgust, Myndon tried to pry him away, but the old man clung like a barnacle. Disgusting, the way these people were just allowed to wander around like this. The Conqueror really ought to do something about it.
He didn't make a habit of beating up old people, but he felt the situation warranted it. And it'd been a long time since he'd gotten to beat up anybody, young or old. He drove one hammer-like fist into the old man's ribs.
The old man crumpled to the floor like a house of cards. Myndon kicked him once for good measure, then turned to where the other man had fallen, intending to pull back the hood and examine his face. Myndon was nothing if not thorough.
The body wasn't there.
Warning bells started to go off in the back of his mind, but before he could turn around something hard smashed into the back of his head. Myndon sank to his knees, bewildered, and tried to look over his shoulder. Another blow struck his skull; he swayed for a moment, then toppled over backwards, blinking. He stared muzzily up at a confused, blurry, yet somehow familiar face, thinking that the Conqueror was not going to be happy at all.
Then a third blow sent him soaring into oblivion.
Autolycus dropped the bar stool that had temporarily doubled as a club and scowled down at the guard's prone body. "Head like a rock," he muttered.
Iolaus rose slowly to his knees, coughing. "Damn it," he complained, clutching his sore ribs. "Next time you get beat up, and I'll knock out the bad guy. Or good guy, depending on whether or not you're us."
Autolycus ignored him, looking around the silent tavern. Countless pairs of interested eyes watched them. He met their gazes steadily.
After a few moments the first watcher deliberately turned away. Others followed suit, and before long, the tavern was abuzz with people talking among themselves about their own business and pointedly ignoring the two thieves standing over the body of the unconscious castle guard.
Iolaus stood and staggered over to Autolycus, leaning against his side.
The bartender gave them a disinterested glance. "You boys might want to move it along. We'll take care of this." He nodded at the guard.
Autolycus hesitated. "Well... thank you very much."
The bartender snorted. "You just get out of here. Glad to be of service, Iolaus... Autolycus."
The King of Thieves bowed, inadvertently dislodging his partner in crime. "Good to be known."
Then, in unison, almost as though they'd choreographed it, the two pulled their hoods over their faces and hobbled out of the tavern.
Xena climbed the steps up from the dungeon, occasionally pausing to listen for screams that never came. She smiled to herself. The old man was tougher than he looked.
The slim, muscled blond woman walking beside her was obviously thinking along similar lines. "If you can't break him, there is a girl. His daughter, I believe. If she were threatened, I'm sure the old man would talk."
"A daughter," the Conqueror mused. "And why wasn't I told of this?"
The warrior strove to look unconcerned, but something about her manner suggested that she was bracing herself before replying. "I didn't think such measures would be necessary... your highness."
A faint smile graced the Conqueror's painted lips. "Didn't you? You have such a low opinion of men, Glaphyra. That's your weakness-- you underestimate them. And I can't afford for my soldiers to have weaknesses."
Glaphyra was silent for a moment. Carefully she said, "I have never been proven wrong before."
"Yet just once could prove deadly." Then Xena's smile faded and she said in a low voice, "I must know everything, Glaphyra. I didn't come this far by only being told what my soldiers thought I should know."
The blond woman bowed her head stiffly. "I... apologize, your highness."
The Conqueror neither acknowledged the apology nor harped on the transgression. Instead she said, "The priest's daughter is safe for now. I am not in the habit of punishing innocent girls for the sins of their fathers."
"Yes, your highness."
"Have some men watch her. The instant she commits a crime of any sort, bring her to me."
"Yes, your highness."
"Dismissed."
Glaphyra retreated back to the dungeon. Xena continued up the stairs.
Almost immediately the hair on the back of her neck started to crawl; she was prepared a few moments later when Ares, God of War, flashed into existence, accompanied by the faint smell of burning ozone.
"The old man isn't talking," the god observed, gliding backwards up the stairs.
Xena didn't spare him a glance. "I noticed."
"Those two could be miles away by now--"
"Ares, does being the God of War simply not take up enough of your time? Because I can't imagine why else you keep hanging around. I don't need your advice on how to run my empire."
"Dear, sweet Xena," Ares retorted, "in case it's slipped your mind, you rule the known world with an iron fist. You wage wars. I am doing my job. And you might want to keep in mind that you are everything you are because of me."
The Conqueror's upper lip curled. "I don't need you."
"Oh, I think you do." He took her arm, forcing her to stop. "If I wanted, I could cause an uprising so large, even your... legendary... army wouldn't be able to put it down. I am, after all, the God of War. Never forget that."
She shook him off. "You wouldn't do that. You're far too obsessed with me. Now leave me be."
Ares folded his arms across his chest and watched darkly as she swept the rest of the way up the steps. "Awfully sure of yourself there, aren't you?" he said quietly, once she was too far away to hear. "Get over yourself, Xena. I have."
Then, with a blinding flash of light, he disappeared.
Outside the square, the landscape was strewn with bodies, the dead and dying who had committed crimes against the state, strapped to the wooden crosses that dotted the rolling hills. In some places the very dirt was red with blood. The moans of those still conscious mixed with the sounds of livestock at nearby farms, with the chirping of insects and that of the birds, until it was just one more aspect of nature's cacophony.
Inside, within the stone walls, the main square bustled with activity. Citizens went about their business, gaily ignoring the most piteous of the beggars who crawled on the ground through the sea of legs, begging for money and food. Occasionally they were thrown a few coins, but mostly they were paid no mind. For those who didn't share their straits, it was better to pretend that the beggars didn't exist, that the same thing could never happen to them.
This was life in the Conqueror's Corinth.
Iolaus took it all in, the province that had once been his home, feeling nauseated. How did this happen? he wondered. How did one woman cause all this? Was everyone just not paying attention the day she woke up and decided to take over the world?
Or was Xena really so good that all the armies of the world were powerless to stand against her?
"Pastries! Hot fresh pastries! Get 'em before they're gotten!"
Iolaus glanced at the vendor bellowing in his ear, then down at his pastries. They were certainly hot, and possibly fresh, and as far as he could tell, they were just mounds of shredded dough. He nodded politely and started to move away.
The vendor grabbed his arm, sensing a target. "Try it, mister. Just a taste, you'll like it, guaranteed."
Iolaus shook him off and scanned the crowd, looking for a telltale flash of green before he remembered that his partner would still be in disguise. Where was Autolycus? How long did it take to find a room at an inn, anyway? He was getting nervous standing out in public like this, with everyone still talking about "his" escapade the day before.
"Guaranteed," the vendor was insisting. "Here, you'll be my Thracian pig. You don't like it, you don't have to pay."
He sighed. "If I try one, you'll leave me alone, right?" They were starting to attract attention, the one thing Iolaus didn't need.
"Sure thing, mister." The vendor rubbed his hands together, eyes gleaming. He was a tall, greasy-looking rodent of a man, with a face like a weasel and a body like a ferret. His smile revealed teeth that were crooked and rotting. "Recipe's direct from the Land of the Nile," he announced, picking up one mound and pressing it into the thief's hands. "'Scalled konafa."
Iolaus eyed the pastry dubiously. It was stuffed with nuts and covered in some kind of sticky syrup. He shrugged and took a bite, then brightened. "Oh, that's good!"
"It is, isn't it?" The vendor beamed. "Five dinars."
He nearly choked. "Excuse me?"
"For that piece. Five dinars. It's a delicacy, you can't get it anywhere else--"
"It's robbery, is what it is!"
The vendor grinned like a shark. "No, mister. Robbery would be if you walk away without paying me."
He opened his mouth indignantly and felt his fists start to clench, but before he could say or do anything, an arm suddenly draped over his shoulders. He jumped, and Autolycus's voice cut in, "Here you go. Five dinars, obviously more than fair for such fine quality goods as these, don't you agree? Ignore my friend, he really shouldn't be out on his own."
Iolaus glared over his shoulder at the still-grinning vendor as Autolycus herded him away. "That guy was trying to rip me off!"
"Yeah, and he succeeded. Good for him. Don't look so shocked, Priscilla, you're a thief too, remember?" Autolycus's arm tightened around him. "What happened to not drawing attention to yourself?"
He scowled. "He wouldn't leave me alone, okay? People were starting to stare. Besides, I was hungry."
"Obviously."
Iolaus sighed. "So who paid for my dessert?"
"He did," Autolycus said with a grin. "Don't worry, he'll never notice."
"Very slick. Never?"
"Well, not till we're far enough away."
"I hope you pocketed some extra."
"What do you take me for?"
"I thought so."
"Well, I'm keeping it," Autolycus said. "I think I deserve it, for saving your diminuitive ass." He flipped a large key into the air and caught it with his free hand. "The room's on the first floor. Bad for unexpected visitors, good for quick getaways, so we'll just see how that goes."
Iolaus sighed again, leaning into Autolycus. He tried, for the time being, to put the legions of crucified men and women out of his mind, to just enjoy the sunlight, the crowd, the weight of the arm around him and the warmth of the body next to his.... "Wait a minute. Did you say the room?"
Autolycus raised his eyebrows. "Yes, well, the funny thing about it is, if one man asks for two rooms at an inn, people sort of naturally assume that he's got a friend, and not the interesting kind that'll share a bed with him. Now you're the one whose face everyone recognizes-- Zeus knows why," he added under his breath, "it's not like what you did was so great or anything... so officially, you're not even supposed to exist. At least not anywhere near me."
"I didn't even steal the damned thing," Iolaus muttered. One room... now that had possibilities.
"How I wish that ever counted for anything. Come on, here we go. Keep your face hidden."
"Yes, mother." Iolaus offered him the rest of the konafa. "Here, try it. Don't look at me like that, it's good. Just eat, okay?"
Once inside the room, Iolaus ripped the heavy cloak off and flung it to the floor. "How do you stand that thing?" he groused. "I feel like a boiled lamb!"
"Well, yes, if you're used to walking around half-naked I suppose it would be a change. You get used to it." Autolycus ignored the face he made and quickly inspected the room, then turned back to find Iolaus sprawled across the bed. His eyes widened. "Oh no you don't. I get that."
Without moving a muscle Iolaus said, "I was here first."
"So? I paid for the room!"
"Like you were even using your money."
"Well, okay, but--" Autolycus growled, agitated. "I did all the work. Getting the money and all."
"I could've done that."
"But you didn't."
"So?"
Autolycus hesitated.
"Rock, parchment, dagger?" he said hopefully.
Iolaus sighed and opened one eye. "We'll both get the bed," he said. "We both need to be rested, right? So we'll share."
Autolycus scowled. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just get busy, shall we?"
Iolaus sat up and grinned. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the King of Thieves was sulking. Actually, he didn't know better, and Autolycus was sulking.
It was really cute on him.
The maps were spread out again, and Iolaus lay with his feet up near the pillows and his chin propped up on the end of the bed. Autolycus stretched out on the floor.
"Okay," Iolaus said, "so here's what I was thinking...."
Autolycus yawned. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse from overuse. "We'll have to make sure there's another way out before we go in, just in case. Maybe an open window--"
"You know, this room service thing is a great idea," Iolaus said, his voice muffled. He swallowed the food in his mouth and picked up another stuffed grape leaf. "I think it'll really catch on."
Autolycus glanced up at him and rolled his eyes. It wasn't that Iolaus was a pig or anything when it came to food-- well, not in so many words. It was more like a hobby with him. One he spent a great deal of time on and got really good at.
"You're not listening," he complained.
"Sure I am." Iolaus scooped up the last of the yogurt sauce and popped the vine leaf into his mouth. "And you sound like Tartarus. Let's give it up for the night, all right?"
Autolycus frowned. "You're not tired."
"Well, I wasn't nearly crucified yesterday, either." Iolaus grinned. "In fact, I've spent the past week doing nothing but resting up. You've spent it-- what? Being caught and thrown into a dungeon. See my point?"
Autolycus sighed and gathered up the maps, sliding them under the bed. He stood reluctantly, then paused. "Um... look. You're shorter than I am--"
"So?" Iolaus glared at him, wiping off his hands and very pointedly leaning back against the pillows. He leaned over and snuffed out the candle beside the bed, plunging the room into patches of darkness and moonlight. "We settled this. I'm not moving."
"But--"
"If you can't handle it, you're free to use the floor."
Autolycus crossed his arms and glared. He scratched his head and frowned. He sighed again.
Then, with dizzying abruptness, light dawned. He blinked, shrugged, and smiled.
"Okay," he said.
Iolaus smirked. Autolycus's smile widened into his best predatory grin.
It wasn't like he'd never done it before or anything, just not with anything approaching regularity. Or even mild frequency. Autolycus knew the whole guy-guy thing was getting popular in a major way, ever since that Plato guy-- or was it one of the others? They all tended to run together in his head, the philosophers-- but somehow the opportunity had rarely presented itself. Or, if it did, the propositioner was unappealing in the extreme, or else too decked out in leather and chains for the prospect to be a comfortable one. No; on the whole, the King of Thieves had generally preferred someone small, soft, and rounded in certain important places to be the one warming his bed.
But he was nothing if not open-minded.
So it had taken him a while to catch on to what Iolaus was doing. He'd been a little distracted, understandably so, and anyway he had gotten it, eventually, which did count for something. The little guy wasn't completely unattractive, at least, and besides Autolycus found that he was starting to like him. A little. In a grudging sort of way.
And anyway, he needed something to take his mind off of... well, everything.
So he yanked off his boots and quickly unlaced his tunic, then strode over to the bed in a purposeful way and flopped down on the mattress, folding his hands behind his head and taking the opportunity to admire the way the muscles moved in his chest. Yep, the King of Thieves still had it.
Iolaus rolled over to face him. The smirk was still there. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Most people do," Autolycus said, feeling rather smug.
Iolaus just stared at him, his smirk slowly fading. Then he, too, rolled over on his back and was silent.
Autolycus sighed yet again. So that was how he wanted to play it. Well, they could wrestle about who wanted to be on top some other time. Suddenly all he wanted to do was just go to sleep.
Sleep, however, refused to come; he settled in on top of the bedclothes and stared at the silver-and-velvet shadows on the ceiling, watching them shift as a lazy breeze rustled tree branches just outside the window. His chest felt uncomfortably hot in his long-sleeved shirt, but he didn't really want to strip down any further. Besides, he suspected it probably wouldn't help.
His mind started working again, going over the plan once more, then revisiting the events of the past few days. Autolycus rather wished it would stop. The problem with being a master thinker, he decided, was that his brain didn't come with a snuffer. Not a temporary one, anyway.
Finally, more to distract himself than anything else, he muttered, "I can't believe we're actually doing this."
He'd thought Iolaus was asleep; he almost jumped when the thief yawned and spoke. "Doing what?"
"This. Playing hero. It's unseemly."
"I dunno," Iolaus murmured. "It's not so bad. 'Skinda fun."
"You've gone loopy."
"Yeah? Well, that's fun too."
Another pause.
"So," Autolycus said, "you wanna do this or what?"
"All you had to do was ask."
"Ask nicely and bend over, you mean."
"Oh, no," Iolaus said, "it's not like that at all."
"Isn't it?"
"Of course not." He grinned. "We'll take turns."
Much later, Auolycus lay silent, once again staring at the darkened ceiling. They'd rescued one of the blankets from the floor so they wouldn't freeze later, and now Iolaus was curled up beside him, head resting on his shoulder. Autolycus's arm had fallen asleep, but he didn't dare risk rousing his partner and having to explain why he was still awake.
Partner. Lover.
It wasn't as though he weren't exhausted; that, he was. Iolaus certainly knew what to do, and he did it often, and with gusto. As a matter of fact, it had been the best night he'd had in quite some time.
And it couldn't happen again.
The gods knew he wasn't picky when it came to sex. As long as the other person was reasonably attractive and had a certain amount of experience, Autolycus was open to all sorts of different experiences. He'd long ago decided there was no point in denying his urges as they came, or turning down opportunity when it came up to him in a bar and offered him a drink; sexual morals, after all, were outdated, decidedly unpopular, and for the most part pointless. It wasn't like he ever stuck around long enough to have to deal with the consequences.
But one thing he'd learned, over a long and successful career, was that getting involved with his partners in crime was never a good idea. The few times he'd actually worked with lovers, it had always ended badly. There had been Luscious, and anyone could see how well that one had ended; and Thoola, who'd thought they'd had "something special" and, when he spent the night with a local king's daughter to get them access to the castle, had subsequently abandoned the caper and turned Autolycus in to the king himself and his none-too-gentle palace guards. Definitely not an experience to remember, at least not without large quantities of alcohol on hand to dull the remembered humiliation.
After Thoola, he'd thought he'd learned his lesson. Obviously not, seeing as he'd pretty much jumped Iolaus at the first opportunity that presented itself.
It wasn't like he even liked the guy. Well, not really. It was just....
Just that, reluctant as he was to admit it to himself, he'd started developing a certain sneaking fondness for Iolaus in spite of everything. Anyone who could more or less hold his own against the King of Thieves was at least deserving of some respect, though Autolycus had respected several people over the years whom he hadn't tried to get into bed. And it wasn't like Iolaus was overly attractive, either. But....
It was something in his eyes, a distant sadness far back in the blue depths, like he was spending his life waiting for something that he knew didn't exist. Like he thought life was a fine idea for other people, but he personally might just be better off without it.
It was something that drew Autolycus even without him knowing why. Birds of a feather, maybe. One screw-up recognizing another.
He'd never thought he'd made mistakes before; he'd always considered himself just a victim of circumstance. But now, after these past few days....
Oh, stop dancing around it, already, he scolded himself. The fact is, you like the guy. You really... like... the guy. And you're worried that means you won't be able to throw him to the wolves if it comes down to saving your own skin.
Sometimes, late at night, Autolycus really didn't like himself.
Well, he wasn't going to change any time soon.
Beside him, Iolaus sighed and mumbled something inaudible, then huddled in closer to his side. Autolycus very carefully didn't look at him.
There was nothing for it. He had to stop... liking... Iolaus and start thinking of him as a means to an end, and that meant pretending the night had never happened. That meant it could never happen again. He had to keep his options open, especially when he was going up against someone as deadly as the Conqueror; he had to be able to sacrifice his partner if necessary. Surely it got easier after the first time.
It could never happen again, at least not until Tiro was safe. And then, if they got that far, Iolaus probably wouldn't want to.
The thought made his stomach knot up like the strings of a child's abandoned puppet, and Autolycus knew he was too far gone already.
Professional. They had to be professional, distant, cool. Starting right away. Starting now.
Autolycus looked down at the strong, compact, muscled body currently holding on to him like a drowning man clutching the only life raft on the horizon.
Starting in the morning.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Epilogue Email: mayatawi@populli.net