Chapter Text
His car stops at the corner of Eleusis and Attica, just out of sight of the flower shop. Hades turns off the engine. Rain taps on the windshield. Otherwise, silence. She’s faced away from him, toward her home, her work, her world…
They had followed Hecate’s advice: waited for the phone to charge. Send a simple text message. Depart immediately. ‘My phone was dead. Hecate said you thought I went missing. Sorry I worried you, mom. I’m on my way.’ The message was read. Demeter had seen it. There was no response.
It isn’t until Hades says her name that Persephone turns to face him. Before he opens his mouth, she thanks him for returning her, and says not to worry. He can leave if he wants; she’ll walk the rest of the way. He shouldn’t have to be put in the middle of this.
But he firmly tells her ‘no’. He’s just as responsible for this as she is, that none of it would have happened if he hadn’t taken her. He will face her mother alongside her. Besides, it would make for a poor start of things to be on Demeter’s bad side.
Hades swallows. A start of things. He’s said too much. They haven’t talked about them, about each other and what the last 24 hours all meant since they got in the car. Just a fumble for directions, grabbing an umbrella at the last minute, flooring it through yellow lights… Is this the beginning or the end?
Persephone smiles at him. And surprises him when she says that no matter how it goes, she’s glad she said yes when he came into her shop. And more so that he took her with him— gave her a glimpse of his world, and of him. The car is quiet, steam clouding the edges of the streaked windows. The rain stopped falling, at least. He frames her face with his hand, thumb lightly grazing her cheekbone. She leans forward and kisses him, not in the dark but in the full light of day, one last time before they leave the safety and warmth of his car.
The sun peaks out as he opens her door. Hades warns her of the puddle filled with yellow leaves, the uplifted slab in front of the ginkgo tree. Persephone thinks is sweet of him, but she’s been running up and down this block since she was a child. She knows every crack in the sidewalk.
She rubs her goose flesh prickled arm, and Hades keeps a respectful pace behind her. He wants nothing more than to warm her, to offer her his coat again, to hold her and if he’s being honest with himself to skip ahead a day, a month, a year, when the start evolves into the middle part, when they are settled in the comfort of each other. Where Persephone is no longer cold in her short sleeved dress, because she’s nestled against his skin under a blanket or two, and the threat of rain is no threat at all as it streaks the glass of his bedroom window with its wide view of the river…
It’s a thought that if voiced right now would be enough to scare either of them. It doesn’t make it any less true. This woman is worth fighting for. But this moment requires contrition, explanation, and enduring whatever Demeter throws at him because he’s more than willing to do that for Persephone. Let the blame be laid at his feet. He’s suffered worse.
The closed sign hangs heavy in the window and Persephone turns the key to the flower shop, and suddenly the scent of lilies and roses, freesia and moss replaces concrete and rain.
Demeter rises from her chair. Persephone! Oh, Persephone! The text message heralding her return had flooded her with relief but not half as much as seeing her daughter safe and sound. She holds her close and hours of worry spill out as ugly tears against Persephone’s shoulder. Demeter holds tighter, then wipes her eyes and looks her daughter up and down to make sure she’s alright. She’s wearing her black dress. Demeter looks beyond to the man looming in the doorway. Her eyes narrow and she asks her daughter who this is.
Before Persephone answers, Hades volunteers that he’s the one responsible. That he drove off with her. That if not for him scrambling to cover services for a funeral yesterday, Persephone would not have been swept up in all this. Persephone interjects here and there with details about a wreath of white roses and the casket spray she designed, that she had stayed up late to finish it and blearily forgot to lock the door in the morning…
Demeter is bewildered to say the least. What— whose funeral? Pieces fit together. This is the mortician from across town that Hecate’s mentioned once or twice in passing. Hades . He took Persephone. It was his black sedan Helios saw speeding away. She wags a finger at him wanting to know what he was doing, pressuring her daughter—
Persephone speaks up, gets defensive. It was her choice. Her arrangements, her decision to stick with it even when Hades had given her a way out long before this morning. She enjoyed it and wants more.
How could Persephone ever enjoy something so dismal? Hades’s brow furrows at Demeter’s words while he opens his checkbook and writes out the full amount owed for the wreath and bouquet. The casket spray he leaves off. She told him to, after all. As he’s tearing the check and contemplating leaving, Persephone tells Demeter she wants to work with him again, if he’ll have her.
The room feels warmer all of a sudden and he smiles at her and clears his throat. Of course he will. He turns to Demeter and extols Persephone’s work, how touched everyone was by her art, how her compassion is written into every detail, that he wants no one else.
Persephone soothes her mother. This could be a new venture. A whole other world opened up for her. And she finds it just as rewarding as everything Persephone loves about working with Demeter. She has no plans to shirk her duties here. But with the days growing shorter and colder, with fewer bouquets and flower girls in the near future, Persephone can be where she’s needed.
They’re defending each other, praising each other. Stumbling over the other to do so. And all the while looking longingly at the other, both clearly hoping Demeter doesn’t read between the lines. But she can see just fine. Demeter nods at Hades and softens. He’s clearly not unworthy of Persephone. So far. But she silently swears she’ll have his balls if he hurts her daughter or breaks her heart.
When she asks why Persephone’s phone was dead when she’d had it plugged in under the register all day yesterday, they exchange a glance, quiet and flushed. Demeter chuckles to herself and shakes her head then says she has to go in the back and start making some calls, to Metaneira, Calliope, Iris, and let everyone know all is well. Before she disappears, she reminds Persephone to flip the sign in the window and make sure the door’s open. The sun came out. Customers will surely follow.
Persephone nods and walks to the door, kicking down the stop after she opens it wide. She flips the sign. Open for business. It flies away a bit and taps against the glass. She faces Hades, hands clasped in front of her, fidgeting, knowing their time right now is short.
Hades knows he has to go. There’s still so much to attend to on his side of town… cleaning up after guests, helping Charon catch up on his work, forms to fill, certificates to write… But he doesn’t want to leave. They exit— briefly, she reminds herself— and step just clear of the front window of the shop, into the privacy of a brick alcove. They crowd under the eaves and away from droplets glittering in the sunlight as they barely cling to the turning leaves.
She bites her lip and pulls him down to her by his black tie. He gathers her in his arms, drawing her in, holding her waist, pulling at her lips, her tongue flicking out against his teeth and he tastes a hint of pomegranate.
Hades pulls away and shakes his head, sighing heavily. He should have gotten her something for lunch. Persephone shrugs. She can always nibble on one of Metaneira’s pastries. If she’s lucky there’s one of those French apricot ones waiting for her.
But— Persephone smiles wryly at him and twirls his tie around her finger— Hades can make it up to her by buying her dinner tonight.
Against the light press of her lips, Hades whispers his parting words from yesterday, before Persephone deliriously, delightfully upended his entire world.
He’ll pick her up. 8 o’clock sharp.