bravest above the clouds; an athena/icarus, lito 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 (IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE):
bravest above the clouds, an athena/icarus mythfic, pg
He flew higher than he should. She favors the bold. An unlikely match. But there may come a time when Icarus will need Athena's support, and he means more to her than he might expect...
She’s leaning against the convertible, her red trench coat impossibly vivid against the black metal. Once again, he feels like he’s living in a Hollywood film. And seeing her standing there, wearing aviator sunglasses and that coat, with her mahogany hair pulled back in a fashionable scarf, he wonders if it isn’t directed by Hitchcock. (5,183 words)
He’s only brave twenty thousand feet above the ground.
She knows she can change this.
*****
He was nine years old the first time he flew. Only as a passenger, of course, in the second bucket-seat behind his father. It was a ramshackle little plane-his mother would have had an apoplectic fit if she had been alive. But in his bright, naïve eyes it was better than a golden chariot, better even than a rocket ship.
In a machine like this, a man could be a god.
*****
She’s always favored the brave. It’s become one of her defining characteristics. Without some well-muscled hunk to watch out for, is she still Athena the Wise? And as the humans are so fond of saying, old habits die hard.
Perhaps that’s because no one has tried hard enough to kill them.
All she’s certain of is that the courage of humanity seems to be fading, or perhaps evolving into something paler and less ostentatious, and it’s that much harder to pick out the truly brave to mentor and mold. Most are mere meatheads, jocks, handsome faces with fine abs but very little spark behind the eyes-like golems baked improperly, the fires banked down rather than burning brightly.
She’s exhausted by the whole production. She’s ready for a change of pace.
The day she meets him she loses a step completely.
*****
“Remind me why I’m here, brother?” Poseidon asks impatiently, twisting at a cufflink as they make their way across the tarmac. It’s one of his most frequent displacement activities; Athena notes it casually as she holds up her unfurled umbrella. The finest of mists falls around them, just enough to make the air taste sweet, not enough to impede an important test flight.
“Uncle,” she says quietly. “There’s room for us both under here.”
“Thank you, dear, but I’m quite fine. I don’t mind a bit of water,” Poseidon replies, somewhat distracted but with a toothy smile. “Well, brother? Will you be answering my question, or continue with this aloof businessman routine? Is this an elaborate opportunity to gloat over me?”
“Gloat? Brother, I haven’t gloated over you in at least three centuries,” Zeus says.
“And what would you call India, 1912?” Poseidon counters.
Zeus shakes his head with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. “What’s it like in your head, Poseidon? Is it a ledger, with grievances and debts listed neatly in the margins?”
“Father,” Athena says with a warning edge to her husky voice.
“Yes, dearest, I know. No, brother, I did not ask you here to parade my latest victory over you. I simply invited you because I know what an interest you have in green technology. Daedalus’ designs are pure genius. He’s going to be revolutionizing the world within a single generation. His machines will bring about the equivalent of a second Industrial Revolution.”
“And you know how fond I was of the last one,” Poseidon says sharply, crossing his arms across his chest. “Those lovely smokestacks of yours, the oils and tars and sludges-”
“Those were as much Hephaestus’ doing as mine-”
“Will I be forced to separate the pair of you?” Athena interrupts in her very best schoolmarm manner. Her father and uncle turn to stare at her, standing with a hand on her hip and a scowl on her face. She had expected this sort of childish behavior; it was the reason she had invited herself along on this mysterious demonstration. Poseidon and Zeus haven’t been allowed alone together since the last War-there is a good reason for that.
Zeus’s only response is the slightest shake of his head before he pulls a phone from his jacket pocket. “Vernon? Give the boy the ok. We’re ready for him.”
“You mentioned green technology,” Poseidon says pointedly.
Athena tunes out the following conversation. The last time she was at Zeus’ office she’d gotten a glimpse at the schematics; it had taken less than a minute to understand the workings of this prototype “air ship”. She’d been rather impressed, actually. This mysterious Daedalus her father had discovered was certifiably brilliant, and his work was theoretically sound.
Now to just see if it remained as sound in practice.
They hear the faint whine and rumble before they glimpse the craft itself. Not nearly as loud as a typical plane, she notices. It appears Daedalus had noise pollution as well as chemical on his mind when he designed this.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Zeus says with the air of a proud father and Athena covers her derisive snort with a cough. As if her father had anything to do with this beyond signing blank checks. As King of the gods, Zeus has always had that infuriating air of accomplishment-as if everything that happened on Earth was his doing. Except for the messes, of course. No, those would be attributed to Hermes or Hades or Ares…
“Very distinctive shape,” Poseidon observes. “Quite birdlike.”
“Daedalus’ inspiration, obviously. This is a plane that relies more on aerodynamics and gliding than actual forward thrust. There will have to be adjustments, obviously, to make it more practical. At the moment, it’s only good for one, maybe two, passengers. There’s no money in personal aircrafts…”
She filters out his voice again, as easily as flipping a switch. Her father’s little more than a blowhard, especially since the Pact. Such a small mind when compared to his power and influence. His head is full of dollar signs and waitress’ phone numbers-and little else. A shame, really. Sometimes she thinks about the day of her birth and wonders if she didn’t carry away some of his intelligence with her, or if it just tumbled out of the fissure she left in her wake.
It’s a beautiful aircraft. Light and delicate, it seems to float through the clouds like a weightless feather, wheeling and turning with graceful ease. The bright, shining red of the fresh paint is a stark contrast with the deep blue and gray of the sky. The entire scene looks like something out of a children’s picture book. A is for airplane…
Athena wonders who the pilot is. Someone talented, obviously. Someone who loves the freedom of an open sky, who must look at their craft as an extension of themselves judging by the joyful, easy maneuvering.
Her breath catches in her throat as it spins, then twirls into a loop-the-loop. In all of her centuries, she’s never felt so moved by something man-made. Not even Van Gogh has made her gasp quite like this. And it’s silly, and ridiculous, and bizarre. Because it’s only an airplane, piloted by a faceless human she’s never met before. There’s just something so… fearless about it. Just watching makes her blood sing, her heart leap and sway.
It’s impossibly inspiring.
Zeus and Poseidon are bickering again over some ancient triviality-she catches Riska and Kiev, 1895!-but Athena says nothing. Because the plane has begun to wobble suddenly in a decidedly unnatural way. It’s shivering and bucking now, like a restive horse caught in a swarm of flies, and it would be clear to anyone that it should not be moving like that.
“It’s going to crash,” she hears herself say quietly, a blank statement of fact, and her tone makes the gods behind her suddenly fall silent and follow her eyes upwards.
“Shit,” her father whispers as the plane twists sharply, engine falling silent as its nose points earthward.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” Poseidon demands.
“You know my hands are tied!” Zeus snaps.
“Oh, fuck that,” Poseidon curses, reaching out one hand. Athena feels the crackle of raw power coursing through the air, turning everything hot and muggy and sharp at the edges. Every hair along her arms leaps to attention.
“Poseidon! The Pact!” Zeus shouts, his words drowned out by the thunderous cracking of the earth. The ground is shaking and splitting open, leaping in opposite directions as if desperate to flee, and in the suddenly formed crevice water rushes upwards, frothing and roiling violently.
It takes less than ten seconds for Poseidon to make the lake, and fifteen seconds later a gentle, unnatural wave reaches up to catch the falling plane, cushioning the machine and safely redistributing the force of the impact.
Athena runs forward into the spray, umbrella snapping inside-out in the gust of wind, stumbling slightly on her heels as the ground gives one final tremor before settling. Had she taken an extra moment to analyze the turbulent emotions rushing through her head, she would have been confused by the intensity of her concern. But she doesn’t hesitate or stop or even think (a first for her). She runs to the edge of the freshly-made lake and looks out at the slowly sinking plane. Her heart seems to be sinking with it.
“…Excuse me?”
She looks down, eyes wide. There’s a man swimming towards her, wearing an old-fashioned bomber jacket. There’s a tear along the left sleeve, she notices. His dark hair is plastered flat to his head. A pair of frighteningly pale blue eyes meet hers.
“Sorry, but could you give me a hand up? My left arm’s no good.”
“Of course,” she says brusquely, kneeling and reaching out with her umbrella.
“Thanks an awful lot,” he says, hooking his good arm through the handle. “Wow, you’re pretty strong.”
“For a woman?” she asks, eyebrow arching as she helps him stand.
“For anyone,” he says sincerely, rubbing his hand across his face. “I know I’m not a beast, but soaking wet I’m no lightweight. Name’s Icarus,” he adds, holding out his uninjured hand.
“Athena Pallas,” she replies.
His eyes boggle slightly. “Athena Pallas?”
“Yes.”
“…Charmed. And a little flabbergasted.”
“What the hell happened up there?”
The last time she wanted to punch her father this badly there were Nazis marching towards them.
Icarus’ whole manner changes so abruptly it’s like looking at another person entirely. His shoulders slump, his face tenses, his voice isn’t steady by half. “Something blew in the console,” he manages to say. “The engine just went dead.”
“Perhaps if you hadn’t been showboating,” Zeus seethes, and Athena knows he’s only taking his anger with Poseidon out on this hapless young man. A decidedly unfair lashing out, considering Poseidon will be punished enough for bending the rules of the Pact.
“It seems obvious to me that Daedalus simply needs to fine-tune his design,” she cuts in quickly. “He hasn’t worked out all of the kinks just yet. The blame doesn’t lie with the pilot, who clearly knew exactly what he was doing, but with the inventor. Now, Father, if you’ll excuse us, I’m going to make sure Icarus sees a doctor about his arm. Wouldn’t want the company held liable for any injuries incurred on the job, would we?”
And she takes the pilot by his good arm and steers him away with all of the firm defiance she’s legendary for.
He doesn’t know what she’s doing, but boy, is he ever thankful. He’s had enough terror for today. Looking down at the ground as it rushed towards him, hearing the shrill whistling of the air streaming past the ship (a very unsettling sound to someone used to engines drowning out the wind), then watching as a fucking earthquake created a lake in all of the blink of an eye, and that giant wave rushing up to meet him-
Then seeing Zeus Olympian storming towards him, his face a veritable thundercloud of rage, feeling as though he’d just lived through the storm only to drown in the following flood… And all the while he could just hear his father, the disappointment and anger in his voice, all of it reflected in his face, as he explained what happened to his precious air ship.
But that bit is yet to come, and he’s less than enthused by that. Right now, in this particular moment, he’s sitting in the infirmary with an aching arm to worry about and an enigmatic woman sitting at his side who’s well-known to be the most intelligent (and sharp-tongued) person in the world. The entire damn world.
He wonders what he’s done to deserve all of this.
“You fly beautifully,” she says. He almost slides from his chair.
“Up until the whole burning out and crashing, right?” he manages to say.
“I wasn’t speaking hyperbolically to my father just then,” she says. “That crash was no fault of yours-I think your father needs to recalibrate the balance in the wing struts in proportion to the thrust of the engine. It was clear to me that the strain was too much on the frame.”
“…I’ll be sure to tell him that.”
“And that wasn’t a hollow compliment. You’re the most talented pilot I’ve ever seen.”
He wants to seize the opportunity to brag. He wants to tell her that he was labeled a prodigy at the flight school, that he had his license by the time he was fourteen, that he was an exception to the age limit because he’d so impressed the instructors. It wouldn’t be hollow boasting-he’s fully aware of how capable he is in a cockpit.
But that would take more confidence and self-assurance than Icarus has ever felt with both feet firmly on the ground.
He stays silent.
But perhaps Athena picks up on the undercurrent of his thoughts, because she’s smiling knowingly at him.
“You’re a very interesting man, Icarus,” she says thoughtfully.
“Bet you say that to everyone,” he replies. Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush.
“Most of the men I meet are blowhards. Or idiots. It gets very tiring. How is your arm?”
“It’s not bad,” he says quickly. “I banged it a bit against the door, trying to get out. I think it’s just a bad bruise, really.”
“Here, let me see it,” she says, taking his arm without waiting for him to respond, carefully rolling up his sleeve and pressing her fingers gently against his skin. He’s glad the pained flinch covers up the shiver. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “The bone feels sound enough, but I’m sure your doctor will insist on x-rays.”
“Icarus?” a nurse calls as if on cue, clipboard in hand and hair back in a no-nonsense bun.
“Shall I wait for you? Give you a ride home?” Athena asks as he stands, grabbing his ripped jacket from the back of his chair.
“Uh, if it’s not a hassle for you?”
“No hassle. I’ve no plans today.”
“That’d be great then. Thank you, Ms. Pallas.”
“Athena. Just Athena.”
“Okay, Athena. I appreciate all of this.”
“It’s nothing,” she says with a slow smile, and he has something of a spring in his step as he follows the nurse down the cold, white hallway.
*****
He’s only just stepped out of the exam room, arm in a sling and a prescription for a mild pain medication in hand, when he sees Poseidon.
“You were at the airfield,” Icarus says.
The man nods, his hat slightly tilted. Judging by the water clinging to the brim and the dampness across the shoulders of his jacket, the mist has turned into an honest rain.
“My name is Poseidon.”
“Mr. Olympian’s brother?” Today’s already met his quota for impossible surprises-he doubts his heart can take much more.
“Yes. I believe my brother’s offered you a job with Olumpus Air? You and your father?”
“…Yes, he has. But the contracts haven’t been signed yet-I was under the impression that today’s test flight would determine everything. And after that stunning misfire-”
“The concept behind the aircraft is sound, and from what I saw you’re a more than capable pilot. I’m sure Zeus’ offer will still stand.”
“Alright, good to hear, but if you don’t mind my asking-why are you here? I was under the impression that you weren’t involved in Mr. Olympian’s company.”
“I’m not,” Poseidon says, a derisive note to his voice. His opinion of Olympus Air is obvious. “My brother and I haven’t seen eye to eye in a very long time. I’ve been more than a little displeased with some of his business practices as of late.”
“Then why-”
“Would you believe me, boy, if I told you I was responsible for that wave that saved you?”
“Sir, at this point, I’d believe you if you told me you were a ballerina from Mars.”
For a moment, Poseidon seems unsure of how to continue, but he rallies quickly.
“Had my brother had his way, you would have died today,” he says. “He would have let you crash. Left you to die in a mess of pressure and metal and fire.”
Icarus feels the shiver creep across the back of his neck. He knows it. He looked into death’s face today. It’s a bloody miracle he’s still breathing, still blinking, still in possession of every limb. He was supposed to die today.
“Thank you, sir, for preventing that,” he says finally, heart thudding in his chest.
“I had the power to stop it. I couldn’t simply stand by and watch-unlike my brother,” Poseidon replies. “And that should tell you all you need to know about Zeus Olympian. He cares nothing for individuals, for common people. He only looks at pretty women and bank accounts.”
“Are you warning me about this job offer? You think I should convince my Dad to go elsewhere with his designs?”
“No, Icarus, I want you to take Zeus up on his offer.”
“Sorry, sir, but you’re confusing me-”
“Work for Zeus, boy. Make sure your father’s inventions are successful-those plans of his are admirable and more than worthy of development. I’m very solidly behind green technology.”
“I’m hearing an ‘and’ in there somewhere.”
“And should you, during your day-to-day work at Olympus Air, uncover any useful information about my brother’s business-any questionable practices or suspicious activity-I would be most obliged if you’d pass that information on to me.” Poseidon reaches up to straighten his hat. “A small price to pay, to show your gratitude to me, don’t you think? Glad to see you’re okay, Icarus. Have a pleasant evening. I’ll be in touch.”
*****
“Apologies if this comes out wrong but… Your family? They’re not… normal. Are they?”
Athena glances over at him, turning onto the highway. “What exactly gave it away? The fact that we never age, or that my father is hardly old enough to be my father, or that my uncle created a lake today?”
“…Cut me some slack. Today’s been a confusing one.”
“It might just be best to accept us at face value and not think too much about who we really are or where we came from,” Athena suggests helpfully. “Your head won’t hurt half as much.”
“Speaking of your uncle, what sort of a guy is he?”
“He can be something of a zealot, always off on one crusade or another. But he’s positively decent compared to most of the family. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
There’s always a reason. She half suspects already, but is diplomatic and doesn’t push him further. The pilot’s discombobulated enough as it is, and she decides to hold off on any further conversation until they reach the little bungalow he shares with his father.
“When my Mum died,” Icarus explains hastily, well aware of how it looks. In his thirties and still living with his father. “Dad took it pretty hard. I was just a kid when it happened, but… Well, he depends on me. Other than his machines, I’m all he’s got. And I can’t just leave him…”
“That’s very sweet of you,” Athena says with a small smile. “So, when can I see you again? Not to pressure you or anything-I’m sure you’ll need a few days to feel better and recover from the shock. My family tends to have that effect on most people.”
“Uh, well,” Icarus stammers. Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush. “I could call you?” Very smooth, just like a drunk co-ed at a dive bar-
“Perfect,” Athena says, pulling a gold-embossed business card out of her purse. “You can reach me at this number pretty much any time. I’ll look forward to your call.”
He manages to climb out of the Porsche without looking too ridiculous, card clenched in his uninjured hand. He watches her pull out and down the street with a distinctly flummoxed expression on his face.
Athena Pallas was flirting with me. And her uncle wants me to be a spy. Jesus H. Christ.
*****
So. Here he is. Working for Zeus Olympian. Spying for Poseidon Neptune. Accompanying Athena Pallas to glitzy, glamorous events.
He wonders if tomorrow will be the day he finally wakes up. But after five months of this, it does indeed seem to be his actual life he’s living, and not just some wild dream brought on by bad Chinese food.
Then again, he did just watch Life on Mars. Perhaps he’s comatose from that impossible crash he ‘miraculously’ survived.
He’s walking across the tarmac, unbuckling his helmet and pulling off the goggles, rubbing at the red lines across his nose, when he sees her waiting for him. She’s leaning against the convertible, her red trench coat impossibly vivid against the black metal. Once again, he feels like he’s living in a Hollywood film. And seeing her standing there, wearing aviator sunglasses and that coat, with her mahogany hair pulled back in a fashionable scarf, he wonders if it isn’t directed by Hitchcock.
“Didn’t expect to see you today,” he says.
She pulls off the sunglasses. “You sound so suspicious.”
“More curious than suspicious. What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion, per se. I just wanted to see you. Get away from the family for a while.”
“Is some new drama going down?”
“This is my family we’re talking about. When does the drama cease?”
“Fair point. What did you have in mind?”
“Let’s just go for a drive. Stop when we feel like it. You don’t have plans tonight, do you?”
“Not unless you count watching the History Channel with Dad over microwave meals a plan.” He tosses his helmet into the backseat.
She ends up putting the top up, so they can hear one another over the wind. The first chance she gets, she turns off the main highway and onto a little-used back road.
“We haven’t really had any time alone together since the party,” she says matter-of-factly.
Ah, yes. The party. The one where she told him she was onto his playing the mole. Where she offered her help, should he ever need it. And where she’d made her interest in him rather obvious.
“I’ve been thinking-about what you said. And I wanted to tell you I appreciate what you’re doing for me. But…”
“But?”
“I have to admit, I’m beginning to feel something like a kept man,” he confesses.
She says nothing, eyes straight ahead on the road, and he worries that he’s offended her. At the same time, though, he feels he knows her enough by now to speak so candidly. Athena is a woman who appreciates honesty over careful platitudes. And it was a thought that had been niggling in the back of his head for several weeks, the insidious idea that perhaps she was only using him, too, as her uncle and father were. Does she see him as a means to an end? An arm decoration to keep others at bay at the publicity orgies, a useful way of deflecting the tabloids and gossip columns, a mere distraction from the pressures of her life? Or is there something even bigger going on, something to do with her father-is he just another tool at her disposal in that age-old fight?
How well does he know her, anyway?
The car slows down, gradually rolling to a stop on the sandy shoulder of the road. There are massive trees on either side of them, pines and oaks, so tall that they bend over the road. There’s a canopy of green above them, the light filtering through dappled and shifting as if through water. As the engine cools and pings into silence, the simple, uncluttered sense of nature presses against them.
Athena leans back in her seat. “Icarus, do you even realize how you interest me? Sometimes I think you’re a human puzzle box, the kind Chinese philosophers used to make. You’re such a contradiction, you fascinate me.”
“Not sure I follow,” he says.
“That first day we met-you’ll never forget that day, I trust? I think I was half in love with you before I ever saw your face.”
There was that damn blush again. No need to be embarrassed, old boy. It’s not like the most beautiful and intelligent woman you’ve ever known didn’t just admit to being half in love with you.
She looks over at him. There’s a strange sort of sadness in her eyes. “You’re impossible, Icarus. And you don’t fully appreciate just how special that makes you. Watching you fly that day-watching you fly any day since-is like a religious experience for me. We can claim to be responsible for a lot of grand things in this world, but one thing we can’t claim is your talent. And I’ve checked. That’s all you.”
“I’m hardly the best pilot there’s ever been,” Icarus says quietly.
“That may be. But you fly with such joy, such love, and a breath-taking sort of fearlessness.” She sighs heavily. “I’m a goddess, Icarus. I take everything for granted. I don’t mean to. I don’t want to. It’s just a part of being a goddess. From time to time I can understand and recognize something wonderful, and even appreciate it in a fashion. But it never lasts long. The wonder pales quickly-far faster than it would for you. I think that might be part of the reason I’ve always mentored the brave and heroic-their exploits are so far beyond what the average mortals do, their adventures that much more exciting. But they burn out quickly, my brave boys, and after a few centuries it feels as though I’ve seen every dashing rescue and every valiant battle. Like an addict, it takes more and more for me to feel the old rush.”
She’s pale, much paler than he’s ever seen her, and it frightens him. He’s never seen Athena so withdrawn and diminished, and it makes his heart painfully ache. She’s letting him see her at her most vulnerable, and it occurs to him that doing so is huge for her. She’s treating him as a full equal, as a friend and a partner.
“I’ve tried to be above the others, and act in a more dignified and praise-worthy manner. But there have been missteps, of course. I’m not above selfishness and spite-I am my father’s daughter. And since the War, I’ve been altogether too dissolute. My so-called achievements have felt hollow. Nothing’s moved me or touched me in decades. Can you understand how crushing that can be? The emptiness of this mortal life we’ve chosen to lead, full of surface artifice and useless prestige… The never-ending bickering and back-biting of my ridiculous family... I’ve been alone for a very long time.
“Then I saw you fly. I could never have predicted that something so simple would wake me up. I felt alive again, in a way I haven’t for decades. It was like looking at the world in a different way; you made everything bright and new again. And then actually meeting you, seeing the sweetness and steel beneath your skin, your gorgeous contradictions. Your very existence thrills me, Icarus. You’re proud yet humble as so few men are. Every minute I spend with you I feel more connected to this world, more a part of it. I suppose in that way I’m very selfish-perhaps I am using you. But I also know that being with you makes me want to be better and do more, and… I’ve always supported heroes because it was fun for me, a game, something interesting to pass the time. With you, though, it’s different.
“I offered my support because I simply don’t want my family’s machinations to hurt you. I want you safe. Because you’re a good man, and I don’t want to imagine a world without you. Some people look at art to be moved, or listen to great symphonies, or travel to exotic and sacred places. All I have to do to feel peace is look up to the sky when you’re in it.”
Her hand stretches out; he takes it before she can touch his cheek. He feels unsteady suddenly, shaken, and he’s not sure he trusts his voice any more. He wants to tell her how much her words mean to him, how she’s moved him, how he’s never felt more appreciated or loved than in that moment. But he can’t speak.
So he presses his lips to the palm of her hand, and she sighs.
*****
Hours later-or it could be days, time suddenly feels meaningless-they find themselves at the end of a road, at a small and empty bed and breakfast. The tiny town is a tourist trap. It’s clearly the off-season. But that’s all the better, because right now neither of them feel up to dealing with other people.
He stops at a convenience store to pick up toothbrushes. She gets them sandwiches at the deli next door. They toss their coats in the corner, lock the door behind them, and stretch out on the bed. For several minutes there’s an easy silence between them. She pulls one of his arms around her waist, presses comfortable close against his chest. He closes his eyes, one hand tracing lazy circles against her back. It’s enough to just be.
There’s a goddess in his arms, and he’s far from afraid. The little niggling voice he’s so used to, the one that constantly frets and double-guesses as soon as he steps clear of the cockpit, is silent. He suspects that’s purely Athena’s doing. Her soft warmth envelops him, soothing away every concern. This is them, this is now, and there’s nothing to fear.
He shifts, dislodging her slightly, and she makes a soft, subdued sound of protest, hands tightening around the fabric of his shirt. “Athena?”
She looks up slowly, eyes heavy-lidded. “Icarus?”
“My mother told me something the day she died. It’s my only clear memory of her, after all of these years. She said, ‘You’ll find someone, someday, who will make you feel like you’re flying with your feet flat on the ground. When you find her, hold on tight. And don’t you dare let go.’”
He holds her tighter, a smile curving his lips. “I won’t let go till you tell me to.”
“Don’t ever let go,” she whispers, eyes bright. “Don’t you dare.”
*****
He’s only brave twenty thousand feet above the ground.
But with her, he’s always flying.
CAST (IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE):
bravest above the clouds, an athena/icarus mythfic, pg
He flew higher than he should. She favors the bold. An unlikely match. But there may come a time when Icarus will need Athena's support, and he means more to her than he might expect...
She’s leaning against the convertible, her red trench coat impossibly vivid against the black metal. Once again, he feels like he’s living in a Hollywood film. And seeing her standing there, wearing aviator sunglasses and that coat, with her mahogany hair pulled back in a fashionable scarf, he wonders if it isn’t directed by Hitchcock. (5,183 words)
He’s only brave twenty thousand feet above the ground.
She knows she can change this.
*****
He was nine years old the first time he flew. Only as a passenger, of course, in the second bucket-seat behind his father. It was a ramshackle little plane-his mother would have had an apoplectic fit if she had been alive. But in his bright, naïve eyes it was better than a golden chariot, better even than a rocket ship.
In a machine like this, a man could be a god.
*****
She’s always favored the brave. It’s become one of her defining characteristics. Without some well-muscled hunk to watch out for, is she still Athena the Wise? And as the humans are so fond of saying, old habits die hard.
Perhaps that’s because no one has tried hard enough to kill them.
All she’s certain of is that the courage of humanity seems to be fading, or perhaps evolving into something paler and less ostentatious, and it’s that much harder to pick out the truly brave to mentor and mold. Most are mere meatheads, jocks, handsome faces with fine abs but very little spark behind the eyes-like golems baked improperly, the fires banked down rather than burning brightly.
She’s exhausted by the whole production. She’s ready for a change of pace.
The day she meets him she loses a step completely.
*****
“Remind me why I’m here, brother?” Poseidon asks impatiently, twisting at a cufflink as they make their way across the tarmac. It’s one of his most frequent displacement activities; Athena notes it casually as she holds up her unfurled umbrella. The finest of mists falls around them, just enough to make the air taste sweet, not enough to impede an important test flight.
“Uncle,” she says quietly. “There’s room for us both under here.”
“Thank you, dear, but I’m quite fine. I don’t mind a bit of water,” Poseidon replies, somewhat distracted but with a toothy smile. “Well, brother? Will you be answering my question, or continue with this aloof businessman routine? Is this an elaborate opportunity to gloat over me?”
“Gloat? Brother, I haven’t gloated over you in at least three centuries,” Zeus says.
“And what would you call India, 1912?” Poseidon counters.
Zeus shakes his head with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. “What’s it like in your head, Poseidon? Is it a ledger, with grievances and debts listed neatly in the margins?”
“Father,” Athena says with a warning edge to her husky voice.
“Yes, dearest, I know. No, brother, I did not ask you here to parade my latest victory over you. I simply invited you because I know what an interest you have in green technology. Daedalus’ designs are pure genius. He’s going to be revolutionizing the world within a single generation. His machines will bring about the equivalent of a second Industrial Revolution.”
“And you know how fond I was of the last one,” Poseidon says sharply, crossing his arms across his chest. “Those lovely smokestacks of yours, the oils and tars and sludges-”
“Those were as much Hephaestus’ doing as mine-”
“Will I be forced to separate the pair of you?” Athena interrupts in her very best schoolmarm manner. Her father and uncle turn to stare at her, standing with a hand on her hip and a scowl on her face. She had expected this sort of childish behavior; it was the reason she had invited herself along on this mysterious demonstration. Poseidon and Zeus haven’t been allowed alone together since the last War-there is a good reason for that.
Zeus’s only response is the slightest shake of his head before he pulls a phone from his jacket pocket. “Vernon? Give the boy the ok. We’re ready for him.”
“You mentioned green technology,” Poseidon says pointedly.
Athena tunes out the following conversation. The last time she was at Zeus’ office she’d gotten a glimpse at the schematics; it had taken less than a minute to understand the workings of this prototype “air ship”. She’d been rather impressed, actually. This mysterious Daedalus her father had discovered was certifiably brilliant, and his work was theoretically sound.
Now to just see if it remained as sound in practice.
They hear the faint whine and rumble before they glimpse the craft itself. Not nearly as loud as a typical plane, she notices. It appears Daedalus had noise pollution as well as chemical on his mind when he designed this.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Zeus says with the air of a proud father and Athena covers her derisive snort with a cough. As if her father had anything to do with this beyond signing blank checks. As King of the gods, Zeus has always had that infuriating air of accomplishment-as if everything that happened on Earth was his doing. Except for the messes, of course. No, those would be attributed to Hermes or Hades or Ares…
“Very distinctive shape,” Poseidon observes. “Quite birdlike.”
“Daedalus’ inspiration, obviously. This is a plane that relies more on aerodynamics and gliding than actual forward thrust. There will have to be adjustments, obviously, to make it more practical. At the moment, it’s only good for one, maybe two, passengers. There’s no money in personal aircrafts…”
She filters out his voice again, as easily as flipping a switch. Her father’s little more than a blowhard, especially since the Pact. Such a small mind when compared to his power and influence. His head is full of dollar signs and waitress’ phone numbers-and little else. A shame, really. Sometimes she thinks about the day of her birth and wonders if she didn’t carry away some of his intelligence with her, or if it just tumbled out of the fissure she left in her wake.
It’s a beautiful aircraft. Light and delicate, it seems to float through the clouds like a weightless feather, wheeling and turning with graceful ease. The bright, shining red of the fresh paint is a stark contrast with the deep blue and gray of the sky. The entire scene looks like something out of a children’s picture book. A is for airplane…
Athena wonders who the pilot is. Someone talented, obviously. Someone who loves the freedom of an open sky, who must look at their craft as an extension of themselves judging by the joyful, easy maneuvering.
Her breath catches in her throat as it spins, then twirls into a loop-the-loop. In all of her centuries, she’s never felt so moved by something man-made. Not even Van Gogh has made her gasp quite like this. And it’s silly, and ridiculous, and bizarre. Because it’s only an airplane, piloted by a faceless human she’s never met before. There’s just something so… fearless about it. Just watching makes her blood sing, her heart leap and sway.
It’s impossibly inspiring.
Zeus and Poseidon are bickering again over some ancient triviality-she catches Riska and Kiev, 1895!-but Athena says nothing. Because the plane has begun to wobble suddenly in a decidedly unnatural way. It’s shivering and bucking now, like a restive horse caught in a swarm of flies, and it would be clear to anyone that it should not be moving like that.
“It’s going to crash,” she hears herself say quietly, a blank statement of fact, and her tone makes the gods behind her suddenly fall silent and follow her eyes upwards.
“Shit,” her father whispers as the plane twists sharply, engine falling silent as its nose points earthward.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” Poseidon demands.
“You know my hands are tied!” Zeus snaps.
“Oh, fuck that,” Poseidon curses, reaching out one hand. Athena feels the crackle of raw power coursing through the air, turning everything hot and muggy and sharp at the edges. Every hair along her arms leaps to attention.
“Poseidon! The Pact!” Zeus shouts, his words drowned out by the thunderous cracking of the earth. The ground is shaking and splitting open, leaping in opposite directions as if desperate to flee, and in the suddenly formed crevice water rushes upwards, frothing and roiling violently.
It takes less than ten seconds for Poseidon to make the lake, and fifteen seconds later a gentle, unnatural wave reaches up to catch the falling plane, cushioning the machine and safely redistributing the force of the impact.
Athena runs forward into the spray, umbrella snapping inside-out in the gust of wind, stumbling slightly on her heels as the ground gives one final tremor before settling. Had she taken an extra moment to analyze the turbulent emotions rushing through her head, she would have been confused by the intensity of her concern. But she doesn’t hesitate or stop or even think (a first for her). She runs to the edge of the freshly-made lake and looks out at the slowly sinking plane. Her heart seems to be sinking with it.
“…Excuse me?”
She looks down, eyes wide. There’s a man swimming towards her, wearing an old-fashioned bomber jacket. There’s a tear along the left sleeve, she notices. His dark hair is plastered flat to his head. A pair of frighteningly pale blue eyes meet hers.
“Sorry, but could you give me a hand up? My left arm’s no good.”
“Of course,” she says brusquely, kneeling and reaching out with her umbrella.
“Thanks an awful lot,” he says, hooking his good arm through the handle. “Wow, you’re pretty strong.”
“For a woman?” she asks, eyebrow arching as she helps him stand.
“For anyone,” he says sincerely, rubbing his hand across his face. “I know I’m not a beast, but soaking wet I’m no lightweight. Name’s Icarus,” he adds, holding out his uninjured hand.
“Athena Pallas,” she replies.
His eyes boggle slightly. “Athena Pallas?”
“Yes.”
“…Charmed. And a little flabbergasted.”
“What the hell happened up there?”
The last time she wanted to punch her father this badly there were Nazis marching towards them.
Icarus’ whole manner changes so abruptly it’s like looking at another person entirely. His shoulders slump, his face tenses, his voice isn’t steady by half. “Something blew in the console,” he manages to say. “The engine just went dead.”
“Perhaps if you hadn’t been showboating,” Zeus seethes, and Athena knows he’s only taking his anger with Poseidon out on this hapless young man. A decidedly unfair lashing out, considering Poseidon will be punished enough for bending the rules of the Pact.
“It seems obvious to me that Daedalus simply needs to fine-tune his design,” she cuts in quickly. “He hasn’t worked out all of the kinks just yet. The blame doesn’t lie with the pilot, who clearly knew exactly what he was doing, but with the inventor. Now, Father, if you’ll excuse us, I’m going to make sure Icarus sees a doctor about his arm. Wouldn’t want the company held liable for any injuries incurred on the job, would we?”
And she takes the pilot by his good arm and steers him away with all of the firm defiance she’s legendary for.
He doesn’t know what she’s doing, but boy, is he ever thankful. He’s had enough terror for today. Looking down at the ground as it rushed towards him, hearing the shrill whistling of the air streaming past the ship (a very unsettling sound to someone used to engines drowning out the wind), then watching as a fucking earthquake created a lake in all of the blink of an eye, and that giant wave rushing up to meet him-
Then seeing Zeus Olympian storming towards him, his face a veritable thundercloud of rage, feeling as though he’d just lived through the storm only to drown in the following flood… And all the while he could just hear his father, the disappointment and anger in his voice, all of it reflected in his face, as he explained what happened to his precious air ship.
But that bit is yet to come, and he’s less than enthused by that. Right now, in this particular moment, he’s sitting in the infirmary with an aching arm to worry about and an enigmatic woman sitting at his side who’s well-known to be the most intelligent (and sharp-tongued) person in the world. The entire damn world.
He wonders what he’s done to deserve all of this.
“You fly beautifully,” she says. He almost slides from his chair.
“Up until the whole burning out and crashing, right?” he manages to say.
“I wasn’t speaking hyperbolically to my father just then,” she says. “That crash was no fault of yours-I think your father needs to recalibrate the balance in the wing struts in proportion to the thrust of the engine. It was clear to me that the strain was too much on the frame.”
“…I’ll be sure to tell him that.”
“And that wasn’t a hollow compliment. You’re the most talented pilot I’ve ever seen.”
He wants to seize the opportunity to brag. He wants to tell her that he was labeled a prodigy at the flight school, that he had his license by the time he was fourteen, that he was an exception to the age limit because he’d so impressed the instructors. It wouldn’t be hollow boasting-he’s fully aware of how capable he is in a cockpit.
But that would take more confidence and self-assurance than Icarus has ever felt with both feet firmly on the ground.
He stays silent.
But perhaps Athena picks up on the undercurrent of his thoughts, because she’s smiling knowingly at him.
“You’re a very interesting man, Icarus,” she says thoughtfully.
“Bet you say that to everyone,” he replies. Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush.
“Most of the men I meet are blowhards. Or idiots. It gets very tiring. How is your arm?”
“It’s not bad,” he says quickly. “I banged it a bit against the door, trying to get out. I think it’s just a bad bruise, really.”
“Here, let me see it,” she says, taking his arm without waiting for him to respond, carefully rolling up his sleeve and pressing her fingers gently against his skin. He’s glad the pained flinch covers up the shiver. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “The bone feels sound enough, but I’m sure your doctor will insist on x-rays.”
“Icarus?” a nurse calls as if on cue, clipboard in hand and hair back in a no-nonsense bun.
“Shall I wait for you? Give you a ride home?” Athena asks as he stands, grabbing his ripped jacket from the back of his chair.
“Uh, if it’s not a hassle for you?”
“No hassle. I’ve no plans today.”
“That’d be great then. Thank you, Ms. Pallas.”
“Athena. Just Athena.”
“Okay, Athena. I appreciate all of this.”
“It’s nothing,” she says with a slow smile, and he has something of a spring in his step as he follows the nurse down the cold, white hallway.
*****
He’s only just stepped out of the exam room, arm in a sling and a prescription for a mild pain medication in hand, when he sees Poseidon.
“You were at the airfield,” Icarus says.
The man nods, his hat slightly tilted. Judging by the water clinging to the brim and the dampness across the shoulders of his jacket, the mist has turned into an honest rain.
“My name is Poseidon.”
“Mr. Olympian’s brother?” Today’s already met his quota for impossible surprises-he doubts his heart can take much more.
“Yes. I believe my brother’s offered you a job with Olumpus Air? You and your father?”
“…Yes, he has. But the contracts haven’t been signed yet-I was under the impression that today’s test flight would determine everything. And after that stunning misfire-”
“The concept behind the aircraft is sound, and from what I saw you’re a more than capable pilot. I’m sure Zeus’ offer will still stand.”
“Alright, good to hear, but if you don’t mind my asking-why are you here? I was under the impression that you weren’t involved in Mr. Olympian’s company.”
“I’m not,” Poseidon says, a derisive note to his voice. His opinion of Olympus Air is obvious. “My brother and I haven’t seen eye to eye in a very long time. I’ve been more than a little displeased with some of his business practices as of late.”
“Then why-”
“Would you believe me, boy, if I told you I was responsible for that wave that saved you?”
“Sir, at this point, I’d believe you if you told me you were a ballerina from Mars.”
For a moment, Poseidon seems unsure of how to continue, but he rallies quickly.
“Had my brother had his way, you would have died today,” he says. “He would have let you crash. Left you to die in a mess of pressure and metal and fire.”
Icarus feels the shiver creep across the back of his neck. He knows it. He looked into death’s face today. It’s a bloody miracle he’s still breathing, still blinking, still in possession of every limb. He was supposed to die today.
“Thank you, sir, for preventing that,” he says finally, heart thudding in his chest.
“I had the power to stop it. I couldn’t simply stand by and watch-unlike my brother,” Poseidon replies. “And that should tell you all you need to know about Zeus Olympian. He cares nothing for individuals, for common people. He only looks at pretty women and bank accounts.”
“Are you warning me about this job offer? You think I should convince my Dad to go elsewhere with his designs?”
“No, Icarus, I want you to take Zeus up on his offer.”
“Sorry, sir, but you’re confusing me-”
“Work for Zeus, boy. Make sure your father’s inventions are successful-those plans of his are admirable and more than worthy of development. I’m very solidly behind green technology.”
“I’m hearing an ‘and’ in there somewhere.”
“And should you, during your day-to-day work at Olympus Air, uncover any useful information about my brother’s business-any questionable practices or suspicious activity-I would be most obliged if you’d pass that information on to me.” Poseidon reaches up to straighten his hat. “A small price to pay, to show your gratitude to me, don’t you think? Glad to see you’re okay, Icarus. Have a pleasant evening. I’ll be in touch.”
*****
“Apologies if this comes out wrong but… Your family? They’re not… normal. Are they?”
Athena glances over at him, turning onto the highway. “What exactly gave it away? The fact that we never age, or that my father is hardly old enough to be my father, or that my uncle created a lake today?”
“…Cut me some slack. Today’s been a confusing one.”
“It might just be best to accept us at face value and not think too much about who we really are or where we came from,” Athena suggests helpfully. “Your head won’t hurt half as much.”
“Speaking of your uncle, what sort of a guy is he?”
“He can be something of a zealot, always off on one crusade or another. But he’s positively decent compared to most of the family. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
There’s always a reason. She half suspects already, but is diplomatic and doesn’t push him further. The pilot’s discombobulated enough as it is, and she decides to hold off on any further conversation until they reach the little bungalow he shares with his father.
“When my Mum died,” Icarus explains hastily, well aware of how it looks. In his thirties and still living with his father. “Dad took it pretty hard. I was just a kid when it happened, but… Well, he depends on me. Other than his machines, I’m all he’s got. And I can’t just leave him…”
“That’s very sweet of you,” Athena says with a small smile. “So, when can I see you again? Not to pressure you or anything-I’m sure you’ll need a few days to feel better and recover from the shock. My family tends to have that effect on most people.”
“Uh, well,” Icarus stammers. Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush. “I could call you?” Very smooth, just like a drunk co-ed at a dive bar-
“Perfect,” Athena says, pulling a gold-embossed business card out of her purse. “You can reach me at this number pretty much any time. I’ll look forward to your call.”
He manages to climb out of the Porsche without looking too ridiculous, card clenched in his uninjured hand. He watches her pull out and down the street with a distinctly flummoxed expression on his face.
Athena Pallas was flirting with me. And her uncle wants me to be a spy. Jesus H. Christ.
*****
So. Here he is. Working for Zeus Olympian. Spying for Poseidon Neptune. Accompanying Athena Pallas to glitzy, glamorous events.
He wonders if tomorrow will be the day he finally wakes up. But after five months of this, it does indeed seem to be his actual life he’s living, and not just some wild dream brought on by bad Chinese food.
Then again, he did just watch Life on Mars. Perhaps he’s comatose from that impossible crash he ‘miraculously’ survived.
He’s walking across the tarmac, unbuckling his helmet and pulling off the goggles, rubbing at the red lines across his nose, when he sees her waiting for him. She’s leaning against the convertible, her red trench coat impossibly vivid against the black metal. Once again, he feels like he’s living in a Hollywood film. And seeing her standing there, wearing aviator sunglasses and that coat, with her mahogany hair pulled back in a fashionable scarf, he wonders if it isn’t directed by Hitchcock.
“Didn’t expect to see you today,” he says.
She pulls off the sunglasses. “You sound so suspicious.”
“More curious than suspicious. What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion, per se. I just wanted to see you. Get away from the family for a while.”
“Is some new drama going down?”
“This is my family we’re talking about. When does the drama cease?”
“Fair point. What did you have in mind?”
“Let’s just go for a drive. Stop when we feel like it. You don’t have plans tonight, do you?”
“Not unless you count watching the History Channel with Dad over microwave meals a plan.” He tosses his helmet into the backseat.
She ends up putting the top up, so they can hear one another over the wind. The first chance she gets, she turns off the main highway and onto a little-used back road.
“We haven’t really had any time alone together since the party,” she says matter-of-factly.
Ah, yes. The party. The one where she told him she was onto his playing the mole. Where she offered her help, should he ever need it. And where she’d made her interest in him rather obvious.
“I’ve been thinking-about what you said. And I wanted to tell you I appreciate what you’re doing for me. But…”
“But?”
“I have to admit, I’m beginning to feel something like a kept man,” he confesses.
She says nothing, eyes straight ahead on the road, and he worries that he’s offended her. At the same time, though, he feels he knows her enough by now to speak so candidly. Athena is a woman who appreciates honesty over careful platitudes. And it was a thought that had been niggling in the back of his head for several weeks, the insidious idea that perhaps she was only using him, too, as her uncle and father were. Does she see him as a means to an end? An arm decoration to keep others at bay at the publicity orgies, a useful way of deflecting the tabloids and gossip columns, a mere distraction from the pressures of her life? Or is there something even bigger going on, something to do with her father-is he just another tool at her disposal in that age-old fight?
How well does he know her, anyway?
The car slows down, gradually rolling to a stop on the sandy shoulder of the road. There are massive trees on either side of them, pines and oaks, so tall that they bend over the road. There’s a canopy of green above them, the light filtering through dappled and shifting as if through water. As the engine cools and pings into silence, the simple, uncluttered sense of nature presses against them.
Athena leans back in her seat. “Icarus, do you even realize how you interest me? Sometimes I think you’re a human puzzle box, the kind Chinese philosophers used to make. You’re such a contradiction, you fascinate me.”
“Not sure I follow,” he says.
“That first day we met-you’ll never forget that day, I trust? I think I was half in love with you before I ever saw your face.”
There was that damn blush again. No need to be embarrassed, old boy. It’s not like the most beautiful and intelligent woman you’ve ever known didn’t just admit to being half in love with you.
She looks over at him. There’s a strange sort of sadness in her eyes. “You’re impossible, Icarus. And you don’t fully appreciate just how special that makes you. Watching you fly that day-watching you fly any day since-is like a religious experience for me. We can claim to be responsible for a lot of grand things in this world, but one thing we can’t claim is your talent. And I’ve checked. That’s all you.”
“I’m hardly the best pilot there’s ever been,” Icarus says quietly.
“That may be. But you fly with such joy, such love, and a breath-taking sort of fearlessness.” She sighs heavily. “I’m a goddess, Icarus. I take everything for granted. I don’t mean to. I don’t want to. It’s just a part of being a goddess. From time to time I can understand and recognize something wonderful, and even appreciate it in a fashion. But it never lasts long. The wonder pales quickly-far faster than it would for you. I think that might be part of the reason I’ve always mentored the brave and heroic-their exploits are so far beyond what the average mortals do, their adventures that much more exciting. But they burn out quickly, my brave boys, and after a few centuries it feels as though I’ve seen every dashing rescue and every valiant battle. Like an addict, it takes more and more for me to feel the old rush.”
She’s pale, much paler than he’s ever seen her, and it frightens him. He’s never seen Athena so withdrawn and diminished, and it makes his heart painfully ache. She’s letting him see her at her most vulnerable, and it occurs to him that doing so is huge for her. She’s treating him as a full equal, as a friend and a partner.
“I’ve tried to be above the others, and act in a more dignified and praise-worthy manner. But there have been missteps, of course. I’m not above selfishness and spite-I am my father’s daughter. And since the War, I’ve been altogether too dissolute. My so-called achievements have felt hollow. Nothing’s moved me or touched me in decades. Can you understand how crushing that can be? The emptiness of this mortal life we’ve chosen to lead, full of surface artifice and useless prestige… The never-ending bickering and back-biting of my ridiculous family... I’ve been alone for a very long time.
“Then I saw you fly. I could never have predicted that something so simple would wake me up. I felt alive again, in a way I haven’t for decades. It was like looking at the world in a different way; you made everything bright and new again. And then actually meeting you, seeing the sweetness and steel beneath your skin, your gorgeous contradictions. Your very existence thrills me, Icarus. You’re proud yet humble as so few men are. Every minute I spend with you I feel more connected to this world, more a part of it. I suppose in that way I’m very selfish-perhaps I am using you. But I also know that being with you makes me want to be better and do more, and… I’ve always supported heroes because it was fun for me, a game, something interesting to pass the time. With you, though, it’s different.
“I offered my support because I simply don’t want my family’s machinations to hurt you. I want you safe. Because you’re a good man, and I don’t want to imagine a world without you. Some people look at art to be moved, or listen to great symphonies, or travel to exotic and sacred places. All I have to do to feel peace is look up to the sky when you’re in it.”
Her hand stretches out; he takes it before she can touch his cheek. He feels unsteady suddenly, shaken, and he’s not sure he trusts his voice any more. He wants to tell her how much her words mean to him, how she’s moved him, how he’s never felt more appreciated or loved than in that moment. But he can’t speak.
So he presses his lips to the palm of her hand, and she sighs.
*****
Hours later-or it could be days, time suddenly feels meaningless-they find themselves at the end of a road, at a small and empty bed and breakfast. The tiny town is a tourist trap. It’s clearly the off-season. But that’s all the better, because right now neither of them feel up to dealing with other people.
He stops at a convenience store to pick up toothbrushes. She gets them sandwiches at the deli next door. They toss their coats in the corner, lock the door behind them, and stretch out on the bed. For several minutes there’s an easy silence between them. She pulls one of his arms around her waist, presses comfortable close against his chest. He closes his eyes, one hand tracing lazy circles against her back. It’s enough to just be.
There’s a goddess in his arms, and he’s far from afraid. The little niggling voice he’s so used to, the one that constantly frets and double-guesses as soon as he steps clear of the cockpit, is silent. He suspects that’s purely Athena’s doing. Her soft warmth envelops him, soothing away every concern. This is them, this is now, and there’s nothing to fear.
He shifts, dislodging her slightly, and she makes a soft, subdued sound of protest, hands tightening around the fabric of his shirt. “Athena?”
She looks up slowly, eyes heavy-lidded. “Icarus?”
“My mother told me something the day she died. It’s my only clear memory of her, after all of these years. She said, ‘You’ll find someone, someday, who will make you feel like you’re flying with your feet flat on the ground. When you find her, hold on tight. And don’t you dare let go.’”
He holds her tighter, a smile curving his lips. “I won’t let go till you tell me to.”
“Don’t ever let go,” she whispers, eyes bright. “Don’t you dare.”
*****
He’s only brave twenty thousand feet above the ground.
But with her, he’s always flying.