Chapter Text
I breathe in the scent of asphodels as I lay among the fields of Elysium. The air is floral, fresh, and fills me with a sense of belonging, of freedom and love all at once.
I exhale, and happily hum as the hand in my hair carefully traces warm circles into my scalp.
“You’re coming together,” He whispers, and his voice is like fire and conflict, and yet soothes me all the more. “It is a slow process, but soon you will be whole enough to finally see the living world again, at least until your memories and soul returns to you in full.”
I hum again.
“And when you are brought back to that mortal plane,” He continues. “I will protect you. I will raise you if I have to. My most courageous warrior, yet I do wish you were less selfless. This would not have happened if you had less compassion for your lessers.”
“But,” A soft, warm and enchanting voice calls, and the man who has my head in his lap jolts slightly. “He would not be Patroclus if he were not selfless. If you change one part of him, he ceases to be the noble soul he is.”
“But–”
“Hush, beloved,” The voice soothes. “What has happened, has happened. We can only return this sliver of the soul to Patroclus, and hope that soon he will be whole enough to speak with us, and be reincarnated.”
“This one can hum, Aphrodite. He is getting stronger.”
“And that process can only progress further if we do not squirrel away each fragment of his soul or memory when we find them, Ares.”
He sighs.
“You are right, of course,” He grumbles. “I only wish we could do more.”
“Psyche and Mnemosyne are doing all they can. We can only help them find the pieces to fit together.”
“Then, we should return this fragment,” He says, and his hand removes itself from my tresses.
I cry out, keenly missing the warm touch.
It quickly returns.
Both are silent for a moment.
“... another five minutes?”
The woman laughs.
————
I wake up on the morning of my release feeling both relieved and anxious. Relieved to be going home, anxious because of the churning feelings that remain from Hector’s visit and Ulysses’ contract.
It sends a sickening feeling through me each time I think of it, how it limits my freedom even more than it already was. Not that I had known, of course, considering how they had hidden the deeply entrenched surveillance they had on me. But I could not hold that against them, for I had already forgiven them. However, I could certainly hold this new contract against them, even though Ulysses had made no promises to lay off me.
I sigh, and finally open my eyes to the room that is aglow with a warm light. The window is closed, but the sun makes itself known in the early dawn with its radiant rays that soothe my worried bones and my burdened mind. I smile at the feeling it lays upon me, like a gentle good morning from a close morning.
Good morning to you too, I cannot help thinking, and imagine the tender touch of the sunrays becoming warmer.
Achilles sleeps by the side, too close yet too far. For once, his hand was not in mine when I woke, nor was his golden thread hair displayed across my bed. In some ways it creates some worry in me, to know that Hector’s appearance has driven such a wedge between us. It is unfathomable, and my heart and soul aches that he doesn’t want to touch me anymore. A rejection, an unexplainable one that tears me apart more than Alcander and Ulysses’ questionable choices for my ‘protection’.
I’ve known Achilles for less than two weeks, and yet…
And yet he holds such an integral part of me in a way that I cannot begin to explain.
The voice mumbles deep inside, but the words are unintelligible. Like they are barely there deep in the recesses of my mind like a forgotten memory.
He must sense me staring, even as he slumbers, for his eyes snap open and land on mine within moments. Vibrant green eyes gaze into my honeyed brown ones, unblinking and austere.
“Pat,” He says quietly, breaking the stillness of the room. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I whisper. “Did you sleep well?”
He shakes his head.
“I dreamt of…” He starts, but suddenly sharpens. “It doesn’t matter.”
I blink at him, but do not push. I care not if he keeps this secret as it is his personal matter. His dreams are not my own, and despite that lingering need to touch him and be close to him, I do not own him. He is not mine.
Ours, the voice says much clearer now. He is ours.
I sigh, and Achilles tilts his head at me.
We say nothing more, and I turn away, my eyes fluttering back close.
I laze in that relaxing atmosphere for some time before Machaios arrives with breakfast and the final release forms. He talks me through them as I eat yoghurt and fruits, and looks disapproving alongside Achilles as I eat barely half.
“You have not eaten much since yesterday,” He says. I shrug. His frown pinches inward even further. Achilles is tense, his fingers twitching on the side table. Even the food he had brought the night before with a bouquet of flowers had been barely touched. “You’re not still thinking about–?”
I shake my head, even though I am still thinking of Hector, Alcander, Ulysses and Achilles. Even though I am still thinking of how my freedom is restricted, restrained in a way that makes my stomach twist up in intricate knots of steel.
Machaios huffs at me, reproachful but not pushing further, which I’m grateful for. I would rather leave the hospital today, not have an extended stay.
“Achilles will be one of your escorts home,” He says instead. “But because he did not drive here, one of ours is coming along to drive you both. Alcander has arranged it all.”
I nod, even as I think bitterly of how Alcander may be wanting to show his care, and yet he stifles me without knowing.
“I’ll do my last checks,” Machaios confirms. “Then I’ll sign you off. No doubt by then Achilles will be allowed to cart you off home as soon as Dion arrives.”
“It’ll be Dion?” Achilles says then, and the name sounds familiar. I frown at him.
“Is he the one who–?”
“Helped save you?” Machaios fills in the gap. “Yes, he helped Achilles pull you out. He’s quite a strong character, so do expect some words from him. But he means well.”
I hum, and go quiet as Machaios completes his last check over.
“All is in order,” He says fifteen minutes later. “Although you are healed, you may find some weakness in your legs, so I advise taking it easy for a few days. We’ll use a wheelchair–”
“I’ll carry him!” Achilles interrupts, and I look at him with wide eyes. Why would he–? He notices my bemused look, and immediately backs down. “I mean… I can carry him once we get to his home.”
I look at Machaios, praying that he has an explanation for this.
He huffs.
“Achilles,” He starts sternly, and Achilles visibly wilts. “You have not known Pat for long. I understand you are still worried because of how you found him, but he may not feel comfortable with you carrying him.”
The man starts to nod, and–
“I don’t mind him carrying me,” I say, or the voice says, or both of us say. They both blink at me, and I blink back, wondering where these words came from. “I mean… once we get to my home. The wheelchair in the hospital sounds fine.”
Achilles brightens up at this, and there’s a strange glint in his eyes.
Machaios gives him a look of absolute dismay, a dark reprise and warning within his eyes, but Achilles does not care. Achilles looks at me as though I hung the sun in the sky, as though I am his most sacred deity, as though I am his oxygen. It chokes the breath out of me, the sincerity of it, the fervour of it, and my cheeks surged with what could only be the blood of ancient heroes going into battle.
“Achilles,” Machaios bites out, and I startle. Achilles’ eyes still bore into me heavily. “Go and wait for Dion outside, and cool your impassioned blood. You do not want to do anything you’ll regret.”
He hums, and instead of locking up like the last time Machaios scolded him, he simply stands up and walks out with a confident stride I’d yet to see from him. It felt familiar, and is far more suited to his stature.
I stare after him, and Machaios looks up to the heavens and sighs.
“Why am I not surprised you two are already like this…”
I blink at him in confusion, but he only shakes his head.
He and Zeva both help me to get ready to leave, and it isn’t long before I am sitting at the side of my bed, clothed in loose but comfortable attire, and looking at the wheelchair that awaits me. My bag with Eirene’s wine and other things Machaios has given is slung over the handle. Machaios has already explained that I’ll remain in the wheelchair until we reach Dion’s car, after which Achilles will ensure I get back into my home safely.
The reminder that Achilles will be carrying me sends a soft thrill through me.
“Pat?” Achilles calls from the door, and I look at him in surprise. I hadn’t heard him approach. He smiles as he comes into the room and stands next to me, but there is something else behind it. Something deeper, or darker, or unusual. “Ready to go home?”
I nod, and notice the tall man who stands just behind him for the first time. He is tall, broad, with a short beard that matches in shade to his hair, which is tied up into a low ponytail. His face is angular and honed, and his eyes furrow into my face, amber brown and sharp like an eagle. They look over every detail, looking for something.
I merely flicker my eyes at him in response.
He is familiar. So familiar.
“Patro–” He starts to say, his voice just as sharp as his jawline and eyes. Achilles shoots him a look, and he restarts. “Pat. I’m glad to see you well.”
“You must be Dion,” I surmise, and he nods jerkily. “Thank you for saving me.”
His brow furrows and he scoffs.
“Like I would do anything else,” He bites out. “You’re not allowed to– look, we’ve had enough suffering for one lifetime. Like f*cking hells am I going to let you die.”
For some reason, it felt like an ‘again’ should have been tagged on the end of his words.
But that’s absurd. I haven’t died before.
“Still, thank you.”
He huffs and turns away.
Achilles smiles slightly, and holds something out to me. I look at it, and look back at him with wide eyes.
“A gift from Ulysses,” He explains. “Dion brought it over.”
“This is a recent model,” I whisper, taking the phone from his hand. “My old phone was–”
“Not good enough for you,” Achilles nods, and I give him a look of exasperation. “And as you know, it was destroyed. Ulysses did promise you a new phone. It’s already been set up. The pin is 3003. I set it up for you.”
“3003?” Dion barks out a laugh. “Seriously? Gods, you disgust me. You’re so besotted.”
“Is there something wrong with 3003?” I ask even as I input the code and watch the phone to life. I look back up to see a smugly smirking Dion and a blushing, glaring Achilles.
“Yeah,” Dion chortles. “It’s his–”
“Nothing!” Achilles says hurriedly. “It’s just a random number!”
I hum, and open the contacts. I scroll through them, seeing both names I do know and don’t know (Who is Adrastos? Who is Panos? Who is ‘Philtatos’?). I try to ignore the slight flare of anger and despair when a certain name is missing, but I cannot help it. The contacts list feels emptier without him, even if he did break my heart.
I sigh and put it down.
“Thank you.”
Achilles smiles, the pink tinge of Eos’ dawn still on his cheeks. “You’re welcome.”
————
The drive home is swift between Dion’s reckless driving and Achilles’ quips at the older man.
I hold onto the seat with a white knuckled grip even as Achilles scolds the uncaring Dion.
“Take it easy!”
“Isn’t it better that we return quickly so you can–?”
“Shut up! How do you not have your own driver?”
“I did, but Sthenelus got annoyed that I kept telling him how to drive, so he quit.”
“Who is Sthenelus?!”
I sigh with relief as we pull up outside my apartment building.
The sooner I’m out of the death trap with squabbling idiots, the better.
Achilles is quick to get out and open my passenger door as Dion takes a more lackadaisical approach, taking my bag and making his way out slowly. Achilles blinks down at me in the seat, his previous bravado gone, and I sigh.
He looks more like a newborn lamb than a former General.
“Well,” I say eventually. “I doubt I can walk by myself.”
“Right.”
We both stare at each other.
“How do you want to…?”
“You could just give me a piggyback.”
He hums. It sounds like a dismissal of that idea.
A few moments more pass by.
I blush at his intense gaze.
“Well…”
“Hurry the f*ck up!” I hear Dion shout, and I jump. “Achilles, pick him up and stop being a little spineless whelp!”
Achilles huffs, and bends down.
I naturally lock my arms around his neck as he lifts me in a bridal carry, a small exhale on his breath as he adjusts to my weight. He pulls me away from the car carefully, and I hear the door slam shut as he turns away and heads towards the building.
At the entrance, a uniformed man stands talking to Dion, and he nods at me as Achilles passes the entrance-way that Dion holds open.
The two escort me up the stairs, and I tightly grip onto Achilles as he ascends. I try not to think about the placement of his hands behind my knees and around my ribcage. I try not to think of how intimate it is that I can feel the warmth of his body against mine, or how comforting it is despite how strained it felt between us after Hector’s uncomfortable visit.
We arrive at the top floor, where the tablet stays untouched, and I watch as Dion unlocks my door with new keys.
I wonder briefly if this was a new copy for me, or if Alcander and Ulysses had taken liberties with my own space. Then I remember they own the building, so what does it matter; it’s all legally theirs anyway.
We enter with little fanfare, and I sense more than see Achilles looking around the untouched apartment with an assessing and critical eye. I try to remember how I’d left it when I went to work on that day; had it been tidy? Had I left anything embarrassing out? It can’t have been too bad, for Achilles continues inside and gently places me down on the couch. He crouches down next to me, a hand intimately held on my knee as he peers into my face.
“You’re okay here? No pain?”
I shake my head.
He nods, and stands swiftly. The space on my knee where he had placed his hand goes cold. He turns to Dion who is rummaging in the kitchen with quiet grumbles.
“Dion, can you make Pat some tea?”
“I’m trying to find some,” He says sharply. “But Alcander and Ulysses must have gone overboard with restocking his food. I’m struggling to find anything between the six different olive oils.”
“There should be some tea in the cupboard next to the sink,” I say quietly, mind already reeling at the thought of six different olive oils. “It’s where I normally keep my tea.”
“Let’s see… aha!” He shoots a grin at us in victory. “There’s a whole treasure trove here. Chamomile, ironwort, yarrow…”
“I’ll have yarrow tea, please.”
He sends another look my way, this one more lecherous than the last.
“Yeah, I’d bet you’d like yarrow in your–”
“Dion!” Achilles hisses out, and hurries over to the kitchen. I blink at the flash of pink cheeks as he moves away. “Don’t even–”
“What? Am I wrong?”
“Not the time!”
The strange duo bustle around the kettle, like a comedic act at a show. They both fumble with the motions, like they aren’t used to serving others, and it makes me wonder what their lives are truly like.
“Here,” Achilles says eventually, and a hot mug is placed into my hands. “Drink it. I added some honey too.”
I nod, and breathe in the aroma. I sigh, and look back up at Achilles.
He watches me with burning eyes.
I swallow.
“Achilles?”
“Why are you not drinking? Does it not smell right?”
“It’s not that–”
“Then, is it–?”
“It’s too hot,” I tell him. “I just have to wait for it to cool down, and then I will drink it.”
“Oh. Right. I…”
He tapers off as Dion approaches us, having tidied up the kitchen area.
“Right,” He says. “It’s time we’re off!” He slings an arm around Achilles’ shoulders despite the tension in the shorter man. “Alcander has left you some things in that bag, and there’s a cane to help you hobble around here. I’ll leave your new set of keys on the side, and the set I’m taking I’ll leave with the doorman.”
A twisted ball of anxiety that I hadn’t been aware had formed unravelled at that.
They weren’t keeping the keys.
This is still my space.
Dion must see the relief on my face, for his own sharp look softens slightly with… with care, concern, affection.
“Don’t worry, Pat,” He says, a strange inflection in his tone. “I have no intention of boxing you in like a wild cat. You’re your own man.”
I look up at him, eyes wide with a touch of awe, gratitude sinking in my bones.
An unsettled noise from Achilles makes me look at him, and his face is pinched in both confusion and discontent.
“Dion, what are you–”
“Achilles,” Dion says with that edged voice of his. “I already told you that Aj– Adrastos, Alexios and I plan to have an intervention with you and those idiots we affectionately call our leaders. Machaios has told me everything, and you’re going about this the entirely wrong way.”
“You can’t presume to tell me how to–”
“I can and I will,” Dion rumbles. “Otherwise you will hurt him, make no mistake.”
Achilles puffs up like a feral cat, opens his mouth to argue, and that voice inside me sighs and murmurs in exasperation.
Achilles.
“Pat,” Dion turns back towards me. His words may be sharp, but his eyes are gentle. “I’ll lug this one out and make sure he goes home properly. Don’t worry about him.”
How he can read my mind, I’m not sure, but I nod anyway.
“I don’t want to go home–”
“And where are you going to go instead, Pelides?” Dion laughs as he takes a hold of Achilles’ shoulder and steers him towards the door. The blonde man keeps looking back at me with wide, pleading eyes. “Will you sleep outside? Get a local hotel room? You need to rest properly, otherwise how are you ever going to have him reciprocate?”
“I would not–” Achilles shakes his head, and calls back even as Dion tugs him through the door. “I’ll come round tomorrow, Pat!”
“Sure,” Dion agrees. “But we’re all having a talk first, boy-wonder.”
The door slams shut behind them, the lock turns, and the noises of the two bickering men fades away.
I’m alone at last.
It takes me a while to figure out how I feel about this, for the twirling mess of emotions both say I am relieved and left bereft in one fell swoop. However, one feeling comes out on top.
I finally feel a hint of freedom.
————
Alcander’s bag that Dion pointed out turns out to be a bag of gifts.
I slowly go through it some hours after they leave, pulling out first a bottle of Assyrtiko white wine, then a box of baklava, and then a gold bracelet with a note attached reading “Filotimo”.
Empathy, compassion and generosity without expecting anything in return, I think as I turn over the bangle, examining the circular open-ended bracelet. Somehow, “filotimo” is not what I think of when I think of Alcander.
And yet, he still sent these gifts, possibly with or without expectations. He still tried to show some care, despite being furious with me about hiding the secret of Hector.
I sigh, feeling a bubbling anguish rise in my chest.
It hurts to know I pushed them away, and that Ulysses chose Alcander over me, but I can’t help but think of them even now.
I sit back on the couch heavily, my legs still unsteady, and look at my phone quietly.
It doesn’t take long to make my decision, and within seconds I am listening to the dialling tone. It keeps going, ringing for what feels like an eternity, and I start to wonder if I’ve misread the gifts, if this is his punishment for hiding from him–
“-- just shut up for five minutes while I talk to–” I hear as the phone is finally answered. “No, Phoenix, don’t try to– Nestor, hold him please– Pat?” He calls through the phone.
“Hi, Alcander.” I say back, confused.
There is noise on the other end, like a wave of tumultuous anarchy, and I hear the voices of many as they seem to clamber over each other in their bid to be heard.
“Patroclus–!”
“Let us speak with him, Agamemnon, you’ve hoarded him long enough–”
“You didn’t even let us visit him in the hospital–”
“Hold on– Be quiet!” Alcander roars, muffled like his hand is over the receiver. “I’m talking to him! Get out!”
“Agamemnon–”
“No, leave!”
There is crashing and grumbling and cursing, but eventually there is nothing but he and I.
And–
“You’re not throwing me out.”
“I can and I will, Odysseus. He’s called me, not you, so scram.”
“Tell him that we’ll be there tomorrow. To explain ourselves. You heard Diomedes.”
“To hell with Diomedes,” Alcander snaps. “We need to discuss this together more first, and then we will go together with Eirene to finalise the contract. Eirene already drafted it up. It’s to protect him, you know that”
“Protect him from who? If I were put under the same level of surveillance that he is, I would snap and murder all of us. The last time I stubbornly kicked my heels in, our men died of plague. I do not intend to risk his health like this ever again.”
“So soft for him, you are, when he wilfully hides things from us–”
“We have hidden more from him than he has from us–”
“You’re choosing him over me now?”
“I’m choosing our family over your feelings. This contract is a bad idea, and I only went with the idea because I felt the same concern for him that you did. I proposed it, I took the backlash for it, but you–”
“Pat,” Alcander says into the phone, and I start from my transfixed position. “We will come round tomorrow to speak with you. Now isn’t a good time, but I can assure you that I will do my best to fix this.”
I swallow.
“Okay, Alcander.”
“Good,” He huffs, even as Ulysses curses in the background. “Enjoy your gifts, there’s some food you can heat in the fridge. We’re going to figure this all out. And–”
He pauses.
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” He says eventually.
My eyes sting, and I can’t decide if I’m enamoured by Ulysses finally being on my side, or despondent at Alcander’s insistence on me being a locked up bird. My blood sings with my remaining simmering anger and despair.
“I know,” I say quietly. “We can talk tomorrow.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He agrees, and hangs up.
I sink into the couch, and rest my weary body with a newfound hope.
————
I wake up the next morning to my phone ringing.
I look at it with bleary eyes, before answering like a man who has slept for a thousand years.
“‘Ello?”
“Mr. Moirmenos, apologies for disturbing you so early,” The caller says. “There are three visitors here for you. A Mr. Atremenos, Mr. Laerides, and a Mr. Agenon. Would you like for me to send them up?”
I blink and take a moment to realise what he was saying.
“Sorry, who are you?”
“Apologies, Mr. Moirmenos. I am the doorman, the concierge. Should I send them up?”
“Yeah, sure.” I say, and he hangs up after an affirmative. I lay back for a moment, realising the absurdity of the doorman refusing entry to the President and Prime Minister unless I gave permission, and found myself somewhat charmed that they hadn’t just come up and let themselves in.
It almost feels like whatever talk Dion had committed to has worked.
A soft knock on the door rouses me again, and I slowly make my way out of bed. I carefully move towards the door, leaning on the crutch, and open it to let the men in.
“Good morning, Pat,” Ulysses says quietly as they enter. “Apologies for dropping in so early, but we have work to go to afterwards.”
“That’s fine,” I yawn, and look at the third man who looks older and wiser than both Alcander and Ulysses combined. “Sorry, I’m Pat Moirmenos. It’s nice to meet you. You work for the President?”
“Fotis Agenon,” He greets back, voice both soft and rough. “Yes, I’m his conflict resolution specialist.”
I look at both Alcander and Ulysses as they look chagrined.
“You need a conflict resolution specialist? Just how many conflicts do you get into?!”
“Too many, mostly between ourselves,” Ulysses grimaces, before taking my arm carefully. “Come, sit down. You look unsteady. Did we wake you?”
“Yes, but it’s fine,” I say. “It was getting late anyway. This is a good time to wake up.”
We move into the main living area, and we find ourselves sitting around the coffee table. Ulysses stays by my side, somewhat touchy and yet carefully keeping some distance, while Alcander looks away, awkward and furrowed. Fotis simply stares at me, his eyes piercing and yet welcoming.
“We wanted to speak with you about the contract,” Ulysses says after a moment. “Dion and Machaios spoke with us, and, well…”
“They have been idiots,” Fotis declares. “All of them. Putting you under a contract when they already hid so much from you is a fool’s errand, and we have corrected them thus.”
“You don’t need to put it so bluntly, Fotis.”
“I do, otherwise it will not penetrate your thick skulls,” He scowls. “None of you have had the brains to ask Pat for how he feels about all of this. For all your experience, Alcander, you have been wilfully ignorant to the needs of Pat and have solely focused on how you feel. At least Ulysses has the courage to admit that if this were him, he’d feel suffocated and alone.”
“He’s not alone,” Alcander quietly argues, voice defeated. “He has us.”
“Not for long if you keep pushing him into a cage.”
We all stew, but finally, Alcander speaks.
“Pat,” He starts, the words forced out. “I am sorry. It wasn’t my intention to infringe on your privacy.”
“You’re jumping ahead, Alcander. Ask him how this has made him feel first. You need to hear it, even if it is a harsh truth.”
Alcander struggles with the words, looking both miserable and stressed, like this is the hardest thing for him to do.
To admit that his protectiveness has gone too far. That there are consequences.
I try not to think of just how many times he has apologised to me since I met him. Just how many times he has let his anger or some other negative trait cause strife.
Protectiveness, in comparison, is not an awful thing to apologise for.
“How are you feeling… about all of this, Pat?”
I hum.
How do I feel?
“Do you want the complete truth?”
“That would be for the best, Pat.”
I look him in the eyes.
“I feel like you have speared me to the ground and refuse to let me move.”
All three men flinch with horror in their faces.
“Pat–”
“No,” I say, voice cold. “You asked how I’m feeling, so I will tell you. I feel like I am a toy to you. A thing to play with. Something to ply with a home and food like an obedient dog. A bird with clipped wings who can never escape the confines of its master. I’ve been drowning in a sea of sorrows, and none of you saw that. You just kept piling the restrictions on me. You own this building. You came in and restocked the food. You got me my job. You introduced me to those I consider friends now. You gave me a bodyguard. You want to implement a contract. You control nearly every facet of my life, and the one facet that you didn’t control you called me a hypocrite for keeping a secret from you even though it was my personal life and not anything you could influence. He’s a bastard, sure, but it is my business, and I already explained that what happened between him and I was not political. If you cannot accept that explanation, I do not know what to tell you. But I would appreciate it if you did not interfere in my life to such a degree again.”
They do not reply, and the silence is suffocating.
I do not back down.
“That is… how you feel, Pat?”
I nod in response to the President.
“Then,” He grimaces. “I have not been a good friend to you. It wasn’t my intent for you to feel like you’re imprisoned. I wanted to protect you from him, and from everything. I already… lost people close to me, and I did not want you to join them.”
“That is life,” I say bluntly. “We all die eventually. I told Ulysses before. He cannot defy fate. The fates are objective, and they come for everyone. I am not excluded from that.”
Ulysses’ words from that day echo through my mind.
“If you meant your words, then stand by them.”
I didn’t have the courage until now, I didn’t have the strength.
But now, what feels like the blood of the god of war flows through me, and I feel indomitable.
Alcander bows his head.
“Then I have wronged you again, and ask for your forgiveness. What would you ask of me?”
“Give me space,” I say immediately. “The doorman can stay. The second bodyguard can stay. The cameras can stay. But stop expecting me to bow to every whim. Stop feeling like you’re entitled to my time and my life. I… I do cherish you, all of you, and I do care. But you don’t own me, Alcander.”
“I cherish you as well,” He admits. “We all do. When I met you that day so many months ago, I felt both blessed and cursed. Blessed to have you, but cursed to care so much. I am sorry that we have stifled you.”
“It will not happen again, Pat,” Ulysses says. “We swear it, by the gods and our honour.”
“I will take you on that oath,” I sigh. “But please, if you’re feeling protective, just talk to me first before jumping to conclusions or making decisions without telling me. I can handle whatever is happening. I am not a fragile bird that needs to be caged.”
“I know,” Alcander smiles. It looks weak, and wavers. “We forget that sometimes. You are the strongest of us after all.”
Aristos Andras.
A twinge of pain flashes through my mind, and I can’t help but minutely flinch. All three men jointly frown.
“Pat? Are you okay?” Ulysses says, raising a hand to my hard to card through my hair.
“Fine,” I lie, even through the aftermath. “Just a headache. I think from the stress.”
Alcander looks contrite. “I did not mean to cause pain.”
“I know,” I tell him with a weak smile of my own. “It’s fine. Don’t worry.”
“So,” Fotis declares. “We are resolved, yes?”
“Yes,” I tell him. I smile, somewhat stronger, and he relaxes at the sight of it. “Thank you for the intervention.”
“Think nothing of it, lad,” He waves off. “I’m simply glad to have dealt with this at last. I just need to wrangle Achilles now.”
“Good luck,” I wish him. “I feel like he will be more petulant than these two.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” He chortles and stands, waving both Alcander and Ulysses up at the same time. “These two have work, but I will be happy to check in on you whenever you like. It would be nice to meet and have tea under more favourable conditions.”
I nod in agreement, and he nods back brusquely, before putting his own hand in my hair, replacing the one Ulysses had previously.
“Look after yourself,” He says as I melt into his affectionate touch. “We’ll be in contact.”
“Wait,” Alcander says, and turns just before they start to head to the door. “It is Christmas in a few days. Will you celebrate with us?”
I open my mouth to say yes, but…
I smile.
“No,” I say quietly. “I’ll stay home. I need to rest, after all.”
He shudders, and looks to argue, but says nothing. His eyes are pained, but he nods his agreement.
I feel that newfound hope flourish into a relief as they finally leave.
Freedom, I muse. Freedom at last.
————
Later that night, as I’m settling in to watch something on TV, the heavens open up, and rain lashes down on Athens.
I blink out at the dry balcony, the backdrop being a miserable grey dullness that is the expected weather of December rather than the summer weather of a blazing sun we’ve been having.
It’s strange, I ponder. Before the last couple of weeks, I’d never seen rain before. And now it is appearing in my life, like some kind of bad omen.
I shrug, and watch the TV drama mindlessly, only paying attention slightly to the weather which peters back into clear skies after around twenty minutes.
The only thing that disrupts me is that after a minute of the rain stopping, my phone rings.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Mr. Moirmenos, apologies for the late call,” The doorman states. “There is a visitor here for you. A Mr. Pelides.”
“Achilles?” I mumble. Why is he here so late? “Send him up. Thank you… sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Skylos Chthoniadis, sir,” He replies, and I note it down. “I’ll send him straight up.”
Some moments later, Achilles graces my threshold drenched through, as though he has waded through the floods of the Nile to get here.
“Achilles,” I exclaim, and pull him in quickly. “You– you’re going to catch a chill! Wait here, I’ll get–”
“No,” He says. “I’ll get the blanket. You should be resting still. Go sit down.”
I worry my lip between my teeth, and his eyes flicker to it.
“But–”
“Sit,” He commands. “Where are the blankets?”
“Airing cupboard, that door,” I gesture, and slowly step back to the couch where my own blanket and pillows remain. I relax into them as Achilles pulls out a plush cover of his own, and settles in next to me. “Why did you come? The weather has been–”
“It’s cursed,” He scowls. “It started to rain as soon as I left my home, and then didn’t cease until I got here. Meddling little... But that doesn’t matter. How are you?”
“I’m…” I hum. “I’m fine, I guess, considering everything.”
He looks at me, but his gaze is dampened compared to yesterday.
“I…” He sighs, and looks away, remorseful. “I wanted to apologise, but the words do not come easily to me.”
I huff out a laugh, and he looks at me again.
“You are all the same,” I say with a teasing lilt. “Struggling with apologies. Did you never apologise to anyone before I came along?”
“Never,” He says vehemently. “Not once. It’s only you.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“None? At all?”
“None. You… you’re you. My apologies are owed.”
“What do you have to apologise for?”
“I came on too strong,” He tells me. “I did not take into account… how suffocating it may be. I did not intend to stifle you, Pat. I shouldn’t be allowing my own… trauma to make you suffer. It is not your fault. It is mine.”
“Achilles, it’s fine.”
“It isn’t,” He argues. “By being so needy, clingy, so desperate to keep you, I was pushing you away. It would have damaged you irrevocably.”
I open my mouth to say something I might regret, but he continues on.
“I will be more careful in the future, because I do want to be… friends with you, Pat. I will make sure I don’t overstep and dishonour you further.”
“Achilles,” I sigh. “I kind of…”
Kind of liked the clinginess, from you at least.
“... already knew,” I finish with a smile. “Do not fret. All is fine between us. We can be friends.”
He looks at me steadfast, and nods shakily.
“Yes,” He says. “Friends.”
“And as friends,” I continue, an idea coming to mind. “I was wondering if you’d like to spend Christmas here. For dinner.”
“You’re inviting me for Christmas?” He gapes, eyes wide and wondering.
I nod. His sunken face brightens, and he nods greatly.
“I’d love to come,” He declares with a cheeky smile that feels more at home on him than the dour looks of a repentant sinner. “But… can I bring others? Like my team? You’d like them, I promise. And Dion will be there!”
I smile at the thought, and nod my agreement.
It’ll be the first Christmas I spend with others since my childhood, when my Auntie and Uncle arranged a picnic on the mountain for us.
The thought of spending that day with others warms me from my core, and I feel a part of my heart or soul become more whole.
————
The days leading up to Christmas pass swiftly thanks to the contact from those who I cherish.
“Ulysses told me off the other day,” Evri tells me over the phone one day. “I had mentioned moving into the apartment below you, but he said we need to give you space. But I just want to hang out, is that so wrong?!”
“Evri, typically the best way to ‘hang out’ is to call and arrange it, not live on my doorstep.”
“But–!”
The same day, Nestor brings groceries and we have tea.
“This is a delightful blend of ironwort,” He praises, and I chuckle. “Where did you get it? I would like some for myself.”
“I’ll ask my supplier,” I tell him cheekily, and he laughs. “She just sends it whenever she feels like it.”
“It’s incredible,” He nods. “Divine. Maybe it’s been blessed by gods!”
The day, Marios and Dimitris call about the second bodyguard as Machaios checks me over.
“His name is Alexios Nelemenos,” Dimitris says. “He currently works with Achilles as his second bodyguard, but has offered to shift between the two of you since you two now appear to be… friends.”
“That’s kind of him,” I state, the name familiar as one of the ones Achilles has invited for dinner. “I will meet him in a few days, no doubt.”
“He is a good man,” Marios praises. “If anything, he’ll be more like a friend than a bodyguard.”
After we hang up, I relay this news to Machaios, who nods as he pours another cup of herbal tea.
“Have you decided on your therapist yet?” He inquires.
“The Elefteria,” I tell him. “The one run by those Laconian women. It looks good.”
“Elefteria…” He muses. “They have a great reputation, though we have never used them before. The founder is Doctor Lydia Thestias. I believe two of her daughters and a niece of hers are the main employees. I will see if I can get a referral.”
In the evening, Ulysses calls with news about the increased security in the capital.
“We’re not sure yet who is causing the riots or trying to assassinate Alcander,” He admits. “But we have implemented some additional guards around the mansion. Don’t worry, though. You’ll always be allowed in, whenever you’re ready to come back for the weekly meals.”
I smile at the thought. I have missed the family meals.
“It’ll be nice to meet eventually,” I state. “Although I see Achilles a lot now, it’ll be nice to meet more of his friends.”
“His friends?” Ulysses hums. “Achilles hasn’t been friends with any of the Presidential team for some time now.”
“Wasn’t he the General?”
“Begrudgingly,” Ulysses chuckles. “But he was always uncomfortable with us. It got worse last year. There was a great rift torn between us all, and it has yet to be fixed.”
I hum.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Maybe when we’re around five bottles of wine deep in our woes, Pat, but today is not that day. However, let me tell you about the time that Melanion…”
“... he told you about that?!” Melanion exclaims over tea and snacks the day before Christmas. He looks mortified, face ruddy and blotchy. “I swear, when I see him…”
“It’s not that bad,” I soothe. “I’m sure your wife appreciated it.”
“She was mortified and asked if I had lost my brains in the war,” He groans. “Let me tell you, Pat. Golden apples and women do not mix well.”
I mentally note it down, although I slyly think to myself that I doubt I’ll have to deal with golden apples and women anytime soon.
Golden haired men, however…
————
Achilles arrives early on Christmas day, which I am thankful for. The extra pair of hands does not hurt, even if I am more mobile now.
“Place the roast lamb in the middle,” I direct him. “That’s the main star. The pitta and tzatziki can go on the side, and the salad. Then, place the keftedes and spanakopita near the head of the table, and the potatoes at the other end.”
“You seriously made a lot,” He praises, wonder in his voice. “I’m looking forward to tasting all of this. It smells and looks delicious.”
I glow under the compliments.
“The greens are almost ready too,” I say in response. “They can be placed next to the lamb. All the melomakarona and baklava are ready for desserts.”
“This is a feast fit for gods. We’re so lucky to have this.”
I smile quietly as I serve out the greens, and watch as Achilles sets the table with great care and a meticulous eye. It feels almost domestic, and the way he sets it is satisfying in a way I hadn’t known I needed.
This is the first Christmas dinner I’ve had in years, I think, and I did it myself and with the help of a friend.
The warmth in my heart grows and grows.
“I have a couple of wines,” I say next. “An Assyrtiko Alcander gifted. Expensive. And another Eirene gifted, a vintage red. Also very expensive.”
“Well, my favourite pastime is to drain Alcander’s money, so…”
I laugh. It is bright and cheerful, and Achilles’ own face brightens incrementally at the sound of it.
Achilles’ face has been brightening more and more with each visit, honestly.
“Well, I’ll see if I can get more–”
My phone rings, and I answer it swiftly.
“Good afternoon, Skylos,” I greet. “Happy Christmas!”
“Happy Christmas, Mr. Moirmenos,” He responds, his own voice more light and relaxed than when I first spoke with him. “I have five guests here for you. Shall I send them up?”
“They’re here for Christmas dinner,” I tell him. “I’ll send one of them back down later with a plate for you.”
“That’s very kind, thank you, Mr. Moirmenos.”
“I’ve told you, it’s Pat!”
He laughs, and tells me he’ll send them up before hanging up. I turn back to Achilles who looks at me with a satisfied and easy smile.
“What is it?”
“You,” He says. “You’re amazing. The best of men.”
Aristos Andras.
I ignore the twinge of pain. My happiness sweeps over it with a far stronger fervour.
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, and I head towards it.
I open the door, and greet the men on the other side with a cheerful grin.
“Dion!” I say. “I’m so glad you’re here. Achilles is being too sweet again.”
“Again?!” Dion sighs, but it sounds exasperated rather than angry. He walks in, four strangely silent men behind him, looking at me warily with wide, glistening eyes. “Pelides, didn’t I tell you that being sweet does not suit you?!”
“Shut the f*ck up, Tydides!”
“They’re always like this, right?” I commiserate with the other four. “I’m Pat, by the way. Pat Moirmenos. Thank you for coming!”
“Adrastos,” The tallest of them says quietly, his figure formidable and imposing, yet his expression open and kind. “Adrastos Telamon. I’m Achilles’ bodyguard, not that he needs one.”
The next introduces himself as Alec Oiledes, shorter and more stout. He is less terrifying in appearance, but his face does not crack into smiles like the others.
“Andreas Diorides!” The youngest of them says. “I’m Achilles’ driver, since he can’t be trusted to drive himself around.”
“I heard that!”
Finally, Alexios Nelemenos introduces himself, and I smile in greeting at my second bodyguard. He is handsome, well-built, and has a noble bearing that is reminiscent of a prince.
I also discover who his father is.
“You’re Nestor’s son?!” I exclaim as we all finally settle with glasses of wine and food in front of us. “I didn’t know he had a son!”
“Nestor may as well be a father to all of us,” Adrastos admits. “He brought us all together in some way. He worked for the previous President and was a high profile figure. We just flocked to him, especially after he started to work for Alcander.”
“You must have loads of stories to tell,” I hint, and Achilles snorts into his glass. I gesture to him with a grin. “Please tell me you have embarrassing stories about this one!”
“About Achilles?” Dion hums. “I have plenty, but I’m not sure they’re suitable for young ears.”
“Hey!” Andreas complains. “I’m not that young!”
“You’re barely out of your teenage years,” Alec dismisses. “You’re basically a baby.”
“Why, I should ought to–”
“Here, Pat,” Adrastos says, spooning a large serving of the potatoes onto my plate. “Eat up. You’re far too slim. If we don’t roll you out of here and into your bed, you have not eaten enough.”
“Have some of the spanakopita too,” Alexios places a slice on my plate. “It’s delicious.”
“All of this food is delicious,” Dion states resolutely. “We’ve been blessed to be invited.”
“I never knew you could cook so well,” Achilles says under his breath. “Did you hide this from me?”
“I did tell you that I would cook for you,” I tease. “That should have been hint enough.”
“Well…”
“Well,” Alec interrupts. “Now that I have tasted such delights, I need to find a wife. Aj– Adrastos, please find me a wife.”
“Why are you asking me?” Adrastos complains. “It’s not like I have a line of women trailing behind me. I have Messa, I don’t need anyone else. Ask Dion.”
“Dion–”
“No.”
“But Dion–!”
I smile into my glass, and meet Achilles’ eyes.
He nods at me.
Is this okay?
I nod back.
This is more than okay.
—————
A knock at my door interrupts my post-Christmas daze the next morning, and I answer it after a moment.
It has been a while since someone has directly knocked on my door without going through the doorman. I wonder if it is a neighbour coming to wish Happy Christmas.
However, when I open the door and see the towering man with burning eyes, I know this is not the case.
“You!” I gasp. “I worried–!”
“Patroclus,” He says, his low timbre rumbling. “May I enter?”
“Of course,” I say, without even thinking about it, although this stranger is still a mystery to me. I move out of the way to let him enter, and he has to bend down slightly to come through the door. “Would you like some tea?”
“That would be kind, thank you.”
I make us a pot of chamomile, and we sit on the couch with some distance, both cradling the warm drink in the morning sun.
“I worried you didn’t make it out,” I tell him. “I asked one of my friends to check the footage, and they didn’t see you at all.”
“An explosion such as that cannot harm me, as you know.”
I hum, not sure what he means, but not ready to dive into that statement.
“I came to express my regrets,” He continues. “That I did not get to you in time. I had been… distracted from my duties, and you paid the price.”
“I have to know something, to be honest,” I tell him. “You’re not hired by Alcander or Ulysses, right?”
He blinks.
“... no.”
“Then,” I hum. “Who are you, exactly?”
“... Athena did warn me,” He sighs. “But I am… Areios. You used to call me Uncle Ares.”
“Uncle Ares…” I muse. “I know I have an Auntie and some Uncles, but…”
“You don’t quite recall,” Areios nods. “I am aware. Another of your Uncles is looking into it. Do you remember the wooden sword I gifted you? Made from–”
“Oak,” I gasp. “With the little symbols on it! That was you?”
“I had hoped you would bring it with you to Athens, but I do not sense it.”
“It disappeared,” I admit. “When I went to university.”
“Interesting…” He muses. “I wonder… How was the university, Patroclus? Did anything happen there?”
I shrug.
“Just the normal I guess. I did my studying and placements, and I graduated.”
“Nothing happened?”
“Nothing that I remember.”
He hums, and finishes his tea.
“You should re-add my number,” He says next. “Not that you used it, but now you know I am your Uncle, you can message me whenever you need something.”
He places a new contact card on the coffee table.
“You’re leaving already?”
“I have to look into something,” He says, and his eyes burn into me. “Stay safe. Do you understand?”
I nod with a passifying smile.
“I understand.”
“Good,” He carefully and gently bumps his forehead into mine, before standing. “I will see you soon, Patroclus.”
“I’ll see you soon… Uncle.”
He leaves.
A few moments later, my phone rings.
“Alexios?”
“Is everything okay, Pat?” Alexios asks, a sharp edge to his voice.
“Everything is fine. Why?”
“The cameras in your block cut off around thirty-minutes ago,” He sighs. “I’ve been trying to arrange for them to come back on, but an engineer cannot get to them before tomorrow. You’re fine, right?”
“Absolutely,” I smile. “Don’t worry about me.”
————
In the afternoon, Skylos calls.
“There’s a courier here,” He says, voice impressed yet strangely hostile. “A delivery for you. I will send him up.”
“Thank you, Skylos.”
The delivery man who knocks on my door does so with a gigantic bouquet of flowers, bigger than any I’ve ever received before.
I gape at them in both astonishment and horror.
“What… who…”
“Emilios Couriers!” The man cheerfully says, foot tapping lightly on the ground. “And your gift is personally delivered by Emilios Theodis himself. Aren’t you lucky?”
“Who are these even from?” I ask, even though I already think I know.
“A man called Hector Priamos,” Emilios waggles his eyebrows. “Quite the looker, if you ask me. He did leave a note, too. Are you happy to accept them?”
I nod, and take the bouquet like it is a time-bomb ready to go off.
Emilios whistles and salutes.
“See you later, Patroclus!”
“Bye,” I croak out, and slam the door closed. I look at the flowers with wide eyes. “What the f*ck?”
I place the bouquet on my kitchen counter, and look over it with a critical eye.
This bouquet makes Hector’s last one look pitiful. Lilies, roses, hyacinths, anemones and olive branches bloom from a white terracotta pot in an elegant yet extravagant display that is fit for royalty. In the middle is an envelope with a delicately written ‘Pat’ across it. I grab it, and open it swiftly.
‘Pat,
I am sorry for my words last week. I wish to make it up to you. Can we meet? My number is the same. We should talk, and I should explain.
-Hector’
The gall. The audacity. The boldness.
It makes me fluster with different emotions all at once.
How dare he? I think, throwing the card in the bin.
How dare he? I think, as I line up the bouquet on the table on the balcony in a proud display.
How dare he? I think, as I drink a glass of wine that evening.
How dare he? I think, as I tap out a message on my phone and send it.
How dare he?
‘Let’s meet. 9am tomorrow. The Eatery. Bring your wife.’
