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Hades checked his watch. Six minutes.
Six minutes and 14 seconds, but who's counting?
Him, he's counting. He's been counting since the second he stepped back onto the train and left his wife up top.
Five minutes and three seconds.
Five minutes and three seconds until the train grinds to a stop. He can already see the rolling green fields that she's so famous for, little flowers dotted all over them like the freckles she always comes home with.
They fade a few weeks into her stay, but for those few weeks, he thinks they're the most precious thing in the world.
Four minutes and 47 seconds.
The treeline breaks and Hades catches a glimpse of the station. So tantalizingly close, but horribly far away.
If he squints, he can barely make out a shock of chartreuse against the brick.
Three minutes and 23 seconds.
He stands and paces his car, his boots muffled by the carpet. The feeling in his stomach is difficult to place for a moment. It's been gods know how long since he felt it.
Two minutes and 31 seconds.
The train starts to slow. Hades forces himself to take a deep breath.
It's only been six weeks. We've written so many letters. She's going to be happy to see me. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be-
A shrill screech of metal on metal feels his ears. It's a familiar sound that brings with it many mixed emotions. He can picture her face so clearly, her brows and nose scrunched up in a grimace at the "wretched noise" she's always hated.
Hades grabs his suitcase and puts on his shades preemptively. He'd like to be able to see his wife clearly the moment he steps out, not be blinded by the sun so much he can't even make out the shape of her.
Fifty-six seconds.
He stands, ready to step off the moment the train stops moving.
Thirty-two seconds
The passing scenery outside has slowed almost to a halt.
Eighteen seconds.
He can hear her. Probably calling to her mama about something.
Three seconds.
Everything stops. The train, the meadow outside the window, his pounding heart. Even her voice is no longer audible. Like the whole world has paused to witness the reunion of Life and Death, four months too early and in a very different setting.
The car door opens and the man steps out.
And, to his eternal gratitude, is immediately met with a relieved sigh and footsteps coming toward him.
"Lover!"
He drops his suitcase and focuses on her face seconds before her arms wrap around his neck and she almost knocks him backwards.
Hades catches Persephone and holds her tight against him. She's exactly how he always remembers her: sweet flowers, crisp leaves, bright sun, and cool breezes.
He lifts her off the ground and twirls them in a circle, her laugh balming his frayed nerves. When he gently sets her down and finally looks, really looks at her, it's a punch to the gut.
It's been so long since he's seen her up here. Persephone in the Underwold is beautiful and ethereal in her own right. She's regal and powerful and the perfect queen that he desperately needs.
But up top? She reminds him so much of the girl he met so, so long ago. She's glowing, radiating a kind of soft energy. Her skin is already darker, her hair loose and just a little wild, like she's been out in the meadow all day, which is probably true.
Up here, she has the same kind of light that captivated him in the first place, eons ago. It makes him regret it even more, all that time they wasted.
A small, deliberate cough shakes him from his revery. Hades realizes Persephone has one brow raised in a teasing question and her eyes shine up at him with affection.
"I missed ya," he says in lieu of an explanation.
She shakes her head, but there's a smile on her face that betrays her true feelings. She places her hands on his shoulders and stands on her tiptoes.
"I missed you, too, you adorable, ridiculous old man."
"Alright. One, I am not ad-"
Before he can get any further, she closes the already small distance between them and kisses him. It's mostly soft and sweet, but hints at a little bit of the longing they've both been feeling for these long weeks.
Writing the letters had almost made it worse. They needed to, that was no doubt. It made it so much easier for them to tell each other how they felt. However, in doing so, it made him actually feel his feelings instead of ignoring them. It was torturous, seeing her writing, reading her words with her voice in his head and wanting more than anything to have her there. And to then have to answer her, with all that yearning still heavy and burning in his chest. By far, one of the most painful things he's had to do in his immortal life.
They only have a moment to bask in their reunion before they're whisked off by an array of driads to see Demeter.
Hades's relationship with his mother-in-law has never been a particularly affectionate one, but they're at least not openly hostile anymore. That got old a few centuries in. Especially to Persephone, who made her disapproval known quite vocally.
The rest of the day passes in something resembling one of Zephyrus's whirlwinds. The mortals, of course, want to celebrate the presence of such an old, powerful god, but most of them are too terrified of the Lord of the Underwold for the party to be much fun. Persephone does drag him out to dance, though, which is secretly his favorite part of the evening.
At the end of the night, they collapse onto her bed, so exhausted they don't even realize that was the first time they'd done that so casually in years. They both manage to drag themselves around to change and actually get into bed, Persephone following him by a few minutes to take down her hair.
Hades finds himself wanting to say something, but he doesn't know what. So he settles for lying on his back and holding his arm out for her to lay beside him with her head on his chest. She does, a bit to his surprise, and he delicately drapes his arm over her shoulders to hold her close.
Persephone hums and he can hear the soft smile in her voice. She rests her hand on his chest, just under her chin, and he can feel the heat of her palm through his thin shirt.
"I can hear you thinking, lover. Sum' you wanna say?" Persephone questions, her voice low from the day.
Hades huffs out a small laugh. A slightly nervous one.
"I dunno, just... been a while since I've been up here."
"Mhm, it has. And that's not what you're thinking about."
Persephone props herself up on an elbow to look at him. His skin glows in the moonlight and his eyes are like the onyx in his mines. It takes her breath away for a second, how otherworldly he looks, but she shakes herself out of it for the sake of getting to the point.
"What are you actually brooding over, my husband? Us?" she asks with a practiced nonchalance, raising a brow.
His brow creases and his lips form something that in a less intimidating god would be called a pout.
"Not brooding... but yeah, so what if I was thinkin' about us?"
Persephone rolls her eyes. She's not surprised he went on the defensive, but she's not really happy about it either. She lays a placating hand on his cheek.
"Nothing. I was just teasing." She lies back down, thinking this conversation might be better had without having to look each other in the eyes. "So, what about us? Talk to me."
He sighs.
"Well... okay, maybe I was... a little nervous- not really nervous, but- I didn't know if all the things we talked about would... translate, once we saw each other again."
Persephone takes a deep breath.
Wow, she thinks, that was a lot of putting around just to avoid saying he was scared.
But, she does know the man she married and doesn't expect much less. She simply reaches for his hand and takes it in hers.
"Me too," is all she says. It's an olive branch if there ever was one. An admittance of mutual fear.
And it seems that's all he needed. He doesn't say anything else, just laces their fingers together and brings their joined hands to his chest, right next to her face. She kisses his wrist and he sighs. A quiet, content thing that anyone else would be shocked to hear come out of him.
But she's not. She expected it. Coaxed for it, even. She's been married to this man for far too long to not know how to play him like a lyre.
"Foolish man," she whispers.
"Stubborn woman," he answers.
They both laugh and close their eyes. It's an old dance between the two of them. An old song. One calls, the other can't help but respond. Their tones have changed over a few millennia, through new love and venomous fights and quiet jadedness. Now, they revel in the familiarity of it all. They never have to doubt if the other will reply.
She will always follow, and he will always turn back.