snowbound hearts, an athena/icarus mythfic
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is another in my series of "mythfics", to borrow the term from my darling etzyofi. In order to fully appreciate these, be sure to look at the casting picspams.)
CAST:
snowbound hearts, an athena/icarus mythfic, pg
athena is nearing the snapping point with worry;
icarus makes a timely suggestion of a vacation to the mountains.
He knew and understood what she was and had yet to shy away from it, regardless of the inherent danger. And she knew now just how much she had come to rely on his human courage, his frail yet valiant bravery. (2,282 words)
It had been his idea.
The tension at the Lito had reached a snapping point, and he could see the effect it was having on her. The tight lines around her mouth and eyes only deepened; the stress she carried in her shoulders; the way her hands would unconsciously fist at her sides. She would come to the field to watch him fly and would stare up at his plane so hungrily, as if it was the one moment of peace she was allowed.
He was climbing out of the cockpit when the inspiration struck.
“You know what we need?” he told her, awkwardly pulling off his flight goggles. He felt his sweat-dampened hair spring out in every direction. She was immediately smoothing it back, the tips of her fingers warm against his forehead.
“A stiff drink?”
“Well, that, too, but I was thinking of a vacation. Yeah? Just the pair of us. A proper one, too. At least a week. Somewhere far away-away from work, away from family, away from everything.”
“Icarus, I don’t know-”
“I do,” he interrupted quickly, stopping in mid-step and grabbing her hand. He stared at her for a long moment before threading his fingers through hers. “It’ll be good for you. For me. For us. Don’t over think, just this once, and let’s just do.”
The smile crept up slowly. “…Alright. If it means all that much to you. Where shall we go?”
“Somewhere remote. Where the phones are on the blink half the time. Here, I’ve never been up close to mountains before. Let’s see how useless I am on skis, how’s that sound?”
He wasn’t useless-he was utterly bollocks at skiing. After the fifth embarrassing slide down the beginner slope (knees bent awkwardly, arms pinwheeling madly, before he toppled completely and went down the last thirty feet on his ass), Icarus was more than happy to break for lunch in the warm and homey pub-cum-restaurant just a few doors down from their cabin.
She hadn’t laughed at him. There hadn’t even been the hint of a suppressed giggle. But her eyes were over bright, and she kept smiling at him. Those elegantly arched eyebrows kept bouncing up and down at him cheekily; just seeing her light up like that was worth all of the aching joints, damp pants, and the complete and total loss of pride.
“You should go ahead to the higher slopes,” he told her as he nursed his mug of steaming cocoa. “I don’t want to keep you back here with the kids and spazzes.”
“I’m enjoying myself plenty down here,” she said warmly, kissing his stubbled cheek before resting her chin on his shoulder. “Thank you for suggesting this. It’s so easy to get pulled into every bit of drama back home-and it’s difficult to drag yourself away from it.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, at all,” he said. “But that place-it’s a bit of a black hole, isn’t it?”
“My family is certainly denser than most,” she said wryly.
“Ah, science jokes. That’s when I know you’re feeling better.”
“What shall we do tonight? First night I’ve been without wireless internet in years, it seems. Hardly remember what people used to do before Blackberries and iPads.”
“How does a sit-down around the fireplace sound? We can just sit and talk and read. Eat an obnoxious amount of chocolate and drink the wine cellar dry.”
“Hmm, sounds lovely. Heard something on the radio about a snowstorm coming in late tonight.”
“Maybe we’ll luck out and be snowed in.”
“Think there’s a Scrabble set in the closet. That should help pass the time.”
“Scrabble against you? I’m not that daring. It’s been years since I’ve seen snow,” he added after a heavy-lidded pause. The rest of the tourist diners were gathering up their coats and heading back out, eager to get another round or two in before the clouds rolled over this particular stretch of the Alps. “Good and proper snow, I mean. Snow that sticks and falls like spun sugar.”
She finished her cocoa and set the mug down carefully. “I’ve been neglecting you.”
He snorted derisively. “Athena, I’m not a puppy.”
“No, you’re very much your own man,” she agreed. “But this is still a relationship. A partnership. And I haven’t been contributing as much as I should. I keep letting the old worries fill my head, until there’s precious little room left for the here and now. I need to be better.”
“‘To err is human,’” he quoted softly.
“Yes. And that’s both the blessing and the curse.”
“Everything that’s been going on-would it help if you talked about it?”
“It might organize my thoughts, but help? Unlikely,” she said in that eternally honest way of hers. “The only thing that would help is if the moles were dug out of their tunnels, if the traitors were dragged into the light. Things are unfolding back home that, that scare me, Icarus. These warning bells in my head; I haven’t heard them since the War. Since Ares stood over a German dictator’s shoulder and smiled at uniformed troops.”
Her hand was still on the handle of her mug. He reached for it, and she met him halfway. She took comfort from the touch, the simple press of warm skin to warm skin, his larger fingers gentle around hers. It was a grounding sensation that reminded her that this moment was still theirs, still safe and unspoiled. She was Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and champion of heroes; and he was Icarus, a modern-day knight with metal wings. But she was also just Athena, a smart woman with a passionate spirit, and he was just Icarus, an optimistic young man prone to flights of fancy.
She loved him. He loved her. Theirs was a bond shaped as much by their hopes as by their realities, by their dreams for the future and need for true companionship. He knew and understood what she was and had yet to shy away from it, regardless of the inherent danger. And she knew now just how much she had come to rely on his human courage, his frail yet valiant bravery.
If this was another War brewing on the horizon, how long would a man like Icarus last? How many days, weeks, months would it take for the battle to hammer him flat and shapeless, or shatter him entire? Would he burn in a brilliant, blinding flash of momentary glory; would he crash upon the rocks this time in a scream of metal and blood? And how could she, diminished as she was by the confines of the Pact, ever properly shield her dearest hero?
Was there a moment looming ahead of them, deceptively small at the surface but a brutal iceberg beneath, that would erase this bond completely? Was there a day not so very far away when she would look back at this perfect sweetness before the storm-see him with snow in his hair and his skis in the air, cheeks red from laughter and the cold, reveling in buffoonery if only to make her smile-and feel her heart crack from the pain of the remembrance?
It could have been the shiver of her hand, or the sharp, pained intake of breath that warned him of her current thoughts. But Icarus moved so quickly it was as if he’d been electrified, cupping her face and kissing her roughly, fiercely, stealing the last of her breath with his lips and tongue. She sagged against him, fingers clutching at his maroon sleeves, half sliding from her stool.
“This is what we have,” he said hoarsely, thumbs tracing the ridges of her cheeks. “Here. Now. Moments. That’s all anyone has. Everything changes. Everything fades. Everything dies. That’s what being human means. It’s how the world spins. Even at the Lito, all there is is a moment. You, and Zeus, and Poseidon-all the others-you may have more of them, perhaps an infinite supply compared to the rest of us. But being down here, with us, you’ll lose and you’ll grieve. Not even your power or wisdom can change that.”
She gripped his arms a moment longer, steadying herself. She ducked her head to stare at the floor and he kissed her forehead gently. “…And you claim you’re not a philosopher.”
He laughed, a short and shaky sound. “Being around you, a man picks a few things up.”
“I don’t want to waste our moments.” She looked up and met his eyes, and the glance struck him to the quick. “And I don’t want to go back up the mountain today.”
The storm was worse than the reports had warned. The snow piled so high the front door was completely blocked. On the third day, Icarus jimmied open the window in the attic and made a wild leap into the drift on the east side of the cabin. After nearly four hours of frantic digging, he managed to clear a narrow pathway from the door to the road.
And that night it snowed again.
They were buried in white for seven full days. Seven days without television, cell phones, Internet, any contact with the outside world. And it was the most glorious week Athena had had in decades.
She taught him how to bake a pie-or at least attempted to. For a man more accustomed to heating pre-packaged meals in a microwave, wrangling with an ancient wood-burning stove was a hefty challenge. That evening had ended in flour everywhere, and faces sticky with apple juice and sugar.
He had picked up Psyche’s latest bodice-ripper at the airport as a joke, and performed dramatic readings of it in front of the fireplace while she laughed until tears streamed down her face. After a particularly ridiculous scene, he’d tossed the book aside and hefted her over one shoulder, determined to test out the realism in the descriptions.
They played dozens of games of Scrabble, gin, poker, and chess. Each read three books from cover to cover. Drank, as promised, every bottle of wine in the cellar. Made love and laughed.
And they talked. About the past, themselves, their work, the family, the Pact-all of it. Athena organized her thoughts aloud; he offered reassurance and support. When the sadness or anger or fear became too much, he would gently pull her away from the source of unease, sometimes with a quick word, often with a soft touch. As the flames cast flickering shadows across their faces, Icarus helped shape and temper her words and knowledge as deftly as Hephaestus molded metal. She had always sensed unplumbed depths in the young aviator; had known from the beginning that he was a complex man that defied casual explanation. But in those snowbound days and nights, Icarus continued to impress her with his sense and reason.
It was the last night, and somehow they both knew it. Could feel it in like a breeze across their skin. Tomorrow the road would be unblocked, and they would be released from their seclusion. Tomorrow they would begin the journey back home, back to the problems they had put on hold to snatch these few moments of respite.
Athena also knew, at some bone-deep level where the fragments of her divinity were kept, that things had only worsened in their absence. In her dreams she had seen omens, and on waking had known that whatever had happened involved Pygmalion and his muse.
“I know who’s behind it,” Athena said quietly, her cup of tea forgotten on the table. “And the why is obvious. It’s the how of it that still confuses. And I know she can’t be doing everything herself.”
“Traitors at the Lito.”
“Yes. And I’ve got a very good idea about one or two, but… Things haven’t been clear cut with the family since the War. Some of us have gotten very good at keeping secrets. The resentment alone, allowed to fester… So many could be involved, in subtle ways.”
“Perhaps I could-”
“No.”
“I’m already in the lion’s den, so to speak. I’ve been spying on your father for months, and you know he seems oblivious to the fact. It may be time for me to turn my focus in another direction.”
She wanted to forbid him, wanted to argue that putting himself further into danger would be of no benefit to anyone; that just because he’d been lucky so far didn’t warrant pushing that luck past its breaking point. She wanted to shout at him that he wasn’t a spy, not really: he was a pilot with a messy debt to repay, and he hardly knew what he was doing to begin with.
But he was his own person, with a perfectly functioning brain, and she had no right to order or forbid him. This was a partnership. She couldn’t believe that and then claim superiority because of her divinity.
“When we get back,” he said, getting up from the table and collecting the dishes. “Just point me where to go, tell me what to keep my ears open for, and I will.”
He turned the faucet on, added the soap, started washing the plates and cups. She pushed her chair in and came to stand behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her forehead against his back.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too. Give me a moment to finish these and we can get in a last game of Scrabble, yeah?”
“Yes.”
She paused at the doorway as he started to hum under his breath. “…I’ll give you every moment I have.”
CAST:
snowbound hearts, an athena/icarus mythfic, pg
athena is nearing the snapping point with worry;
icarus makes a timely suggestion of a vacation to the mountains.
He knew and understood what she was and had yet to shy away from it, regardless of the inherent danger. And she knew now just how much she had come to rely on his human courage, his frail yet valiant bravery. (2,282 words)
It had been his idea.
The tension at the Lito had reached a snapping point, and he could see the effect it was having on her. The tight lines around her mouth and eyes only deepened; the stress she carried in her shoulders; the way her hands would unconsciously fist at her sides. She would come to the field to watch him fly and would stare up at his plane so hungrily, as if it was the one moment of peace she was allowed.
He was climbing out of the cockpit when the inspiration struck.
“You know what we need?” he told her, awkwardly pulling off his flight goggles. He felt his sweat-dampened hair spring out in every direction. She was immediately smoothing it back, the tips of her fingers warm against his forehead.
“A stiff drink?”
“Well, that, too, but I was thinking of a vacation. Yeah? Just the pair of us. A proper one, too. At least a week. Somewhere far away-away from work, away from family, away from everything.”
“Icarus, I don’t know-”
“I do,” he interrupted quickly, stopping in mid-step and grabbing her hand. He stared at her for a long moment before threading his fingers through hers. “It’ll be good for you. For me. For us. Don’t over think, just this once, and let’s just do.”
The smile crept up slowly. “…Alright. If it means all that much to you. Where shall we go?”
“Somewhere remote. Where the phones are on the blink half the time. Here, I’ve never been up close to mountains before. Let’s see how useless I am on skis, how’s that sound?”
He wasn’t useless-he was utterly bollocks at skiing. After the fifth embarrassing slide down the beginner slope (knees bent awkwardly, arms pinwheeling madly, before he toppled completely and went down the last thirty feet on his ass), Icarus was more than happy to break for lunch in the warm and homey pub-cum-restaurant just a few doors down from their cabin.
She hadn’t laughed at him. There hadn’t even been the hint of a suppressed giggle. But her eyes were over bright, and she kept smiling at him. Those elegantly arched eyebrows kept bouncing up and down at him cheekily; just seeing her light up like that was worth all of the aching joints, damp pants, and the complete and total loss of pride.
“You should go ahead to the higher slopes,” he told her as he nursed his mug of steaming cocoa. “I don’t want to keep you back here with the kids and spazzes.”
“I’m enjoying myself plenty down here,” she said warmly, kissing his stubbled cheek before resting her chin on his shoulder. “Thank you for suggesting this. It’s so easy to get pulled into every bit of drama back home-and it’s difficult to drag yourself away from it.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, at all,” he said. “But that place-it’s a bit of a black hole, isn’t it?”
“My family is certainly denser than most,” she said wryly.
“Ah, science jokes. That’s when I know you’re feeling better.”
“What shall we do tonight? First night I’ve been without wireless internet in years, it seems. Hardly remember what people used to do before Blackberries and iPads.”
“How does a sit-down around the fireplace sound? We can just sit and talk and read. Eat an obnoxious amount of chocolate and drink the wine cellar dry.”
“Hmm, sounds lovely. Heard something on the radio about a snowstorm coming in late tonight.”
“Maybe we’ll luck out and be snowed in.”
“Think there’s a Scrabble set in the closet. That should help pass the time.”
“Scrabble against you? I’m not that daring. It’s been years since I’ve seen snow,” he added after a heavy-lidded pause. The rest of the tourist diners were gathering up their coats and heading back out, eager to get another round or two in before the clouds rolled over this particular stretch of the Alps. “Good and proper snow, I mean. Snow that sticks and falls like spun sugar.”
She finished her cocoa and set the mug down carefully. “I’ve been neglecting you.”
He snorted derisively. “Athena, I’m not a puppy.”
“No, you’re very much your own man,” she agreed. “But this is still a relationship. A partnership. And I haven’t been contributing as much as I should. I keep letting the old worries fill my head, until there’s precious little room left for the here and now. I need to be better.”
“‘To err is human,’” he quoted softly.
“Yes. And that’s both the blessing and the curse.”
“Everything that’s been going on-would it help if you talked about it?”
“It might organize my thoughts, but help? Unlikely,” she said in that eternally honest way of hers. “The only thing that would help is if the moles were dug out of their tunnels, if the traitors were dragged into the light. Things are unfolding back home that, that scare me, Icarus. These warning bells in my head; I haven’t heard them since the War. Since Ares stood over a German dictator’s shoulder and smiled at uniformed troops.”
Her hand was still on the handle of her mug. He reached for it, and she met him halfway. She took comfort from the touch, the simple press of warm skin to warm skin, his larger fingers gentle around hers. It was a grounding sensation that reminded her that this moment was still theirs, still safe and unspoiled. She was Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and champion of heroes; and he was Icarus, a modern-day knight with metal wings. But she was also just Athena, a smart woman with a passionate spirit, and he was just Icarus, an optimistic young man prone to flights of fancy.
She loved him. He loved her. Theirs was a bond shaped as much by their hopes as by their realities, by their dreams for the future and need for true companionship. He knew and understood what she was and had yet to shy away from it, regardless of the inherent danger. And she knew now just how much she had come to rely on his human courage, his frail yet valiant bravery.
If this was another War brewing on the horizon, how long would a man like Icarus last? How many days, weeks, months would it take for the battle to hammer him flat and shapeless, or shatter him entire? Would he burn in a brilliant, blinding flash of momentary glory; would he crash upon the rocks this time in a scream of metal and blood? And how could she, diminished as she was by the confines of the Pact, ever properly shield her dearest hero?
Was there a moment looming ahead of them, deceptively small at the surface but a brutal iceberg beneath, that would erase this bond completely? Was there a day not so very far away when she would look back at this perfect sweetness before the storm-see him with snow in his hair and his skis in the air, cheeks red from laughter and the cold, reveling in buffoonery if only to make her smile-and feel her heart crack from the pain of the remembrance?
It could have been the shiver of her hand, or the sharp, pained intake of breath that warned him of her current thoughts. But Icarus moved so quickly it was as if he’d been electrified, cupping her face and kissing her roughly, fiercely, stealing the last of her breath with his lips and tongue. She sagged against him, fingers clutching at his maroon sleeves, half sliding from her stool.
“This is what we have,” he said hoarsely, thumbs tracing the ridges of her cheeks. “Here. Now. Moments. That’s all anyone has. Everything changes. Everything fades. Everything dies. That’s what being human means. It’s how the world spins. Even at the Lito, all there is is a moment. You, and Zeus, and Poseidon-all the others-you may have more of them, perhaps an infinite supply compared to the rest of us. But being down here, with us, you’ll lose and you’ll grieve. Not even your power or wisdom can change that.”
She gripped his arms a moment longer, steadying herself. She ducked her head to stare at the floor and he kissed her forehead gently. “…And you claim you’re not a philosopher.”
He laughed, a short and shaky sound. “Being around you, a man picks a few things up.”
“I don’t want to waste our moments.” She looked up and met his eyes, and the glance struck him to the quick. “And I don’t want to go back up the mountain today.”
The storm was worse than the reports had warned. The snow piled so high the front door was completely blocked. On the third day, Icarus jimmied open the window in the attic and made a wild leap into the drift on the east side of the cabin. After nearly four hours of frantic digging, he managed to clear a narrow pathway from the door to the road.
And that night it snowed again.
They were buried in white for seven full days. Seven days without television, cell phones, Internet, any contact with the outside world. And it was the most glorious week Athena had had in decades.
She taught him how to bake a pie-or at least attempted to. For a man more accustomed to heating pre-packaged meals in a microwave, wrangling with an ancient wood-burning stove was a hefty challenge. That evening had ended in flour everywhere, and faces sticky with apple juice and sugar.
He had picked up Psyche’s latest bodice-ripper at the airport as a joke, and performed dramatic readings of it in front of the fireplace while she laughed until tears streamed down her face. After a particularly ridiculous scene, he’d tossed the book aside and hefted her over one shoulder, determined to test out the realism in the descriptions.
They played dozens of games of Scrabble, gin, poker, and chess. Each read three books from cover to cover. Drank, as promised, every bottle of wine in the cellar. Made love and laughed.
And they talked. About the past, themselves, their work, the family, the Pact-all of it. Athena organized her thoughts aloud; he offered reassurance and support. When the sadness or anger or fear became too much, he would gently pull her away from the source of unease, sometimes with a quick word, often with a soft touch. As the flames cast flickering shadows across their faces, Icarus helped shape and temper her words and knowledge as deftly as Hephaestus molded metal. She had always sensed unplumbed depths in the young aviator; had known from the beginning that he was a complex man that defied casual explanation. But in those snowbound days and nights, Icarus continued to impress her with his sense and reason.
It was the last night, and somehow they both knew it. Could feel it in like a breeze across their skin. Tomorrow the road would be unblocked, and they would be released from their seclusion. Tomorrow they would begin the journey back home, back to the problems they had put on hold to snatch these few moments of respite.
Athena also knew, at some bone-deep level where the fragments of her divinity were kept, that things had only worsened in their absence. In her dreams she had seen omens, and on waking had known that whatever had happened involved Pygmalion and his muse.
“I know who’s behind it,” Athena said quietly, her cup of tea forgotten on the table. “And the why is obvious. It’s the how of it that still confuses. And I know she can’t be doing everything herself.”
“Traitors at the Lito.”
“Yes. And I’ve got a very good idea about one or two, but… Things haven’t been clear cut with the family since the War. Some of us have gotten very good at keeping secrets. The resentment alone, allowed to fester… So many could be involved, in subtle ways.”
“Perhaps I could-”
“No.”
“I’m already in the lion’s den, so to speak. I’ve been spying on your father for months, and you know he seems oblivious to the fact. It may be time for me to turn my focus in another direction.”
She wanted to forbid him, wanted to argue that putting himself further into danger would be of no benefit to anyone; that just because he’d been lucky so far didn’t warrant pushing that luck past its breaking point. She wanted to shout at him that he wasn’t a spy, not really: he was a pilot with a messy debt to repay, and he hardly knew what he was doing to begin with.
But he was his own person, with a perfectly functioning brain, and she had no right to order or forbid him. This was a partnership. She couldn’t believe that and then claim superiority because of her divinity.
“When we get back,” he said, getting up from the table and collecting the dishes. “Just point me where to go, tell me what to keep my ears open for, and I will.”
He turned the faucet on, added the soap, started washing the plates and cups. She pushed her chair in and came to stand behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her forehead against his back.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too. Give me a moment to finish these and we can get in a last game of Scrabble, yeah?”
“Yes.”
She paused at the doorway as he started to hum under his breath. “…I’ll give you every moment I have.”